A pair of shorts was all he wore, revealing a tanned, well-muscled torso.
“If it pleases you, ma’am, our creator would like to know how you beat his program.”
“Oh, this little thing?” She popped the sunglasses back over her eyes, flipping over on the lounge chair onto her stomach. “You didn’t really think it would work on me, did you?”
“Our creator —”
“Stop pretending, Slithen...”
“...Er, I didn’t realize you had this kind of control.”
“That’s more like it,” she said. She lifted her feet playfully as she nuzzled her head on the pillow of the lounge chair.
“Tell me — is your body still this perfect in real life?”
“Actually, I let myself go in this simulation,” she said. “It is a vacation, isn’t it?”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Slithen fretted.
The man tossed the drink tray aside, and squatted in the sand next to Celia. His physical appearance didn’t alter in the slightest, and yet his face, previously with an air of youthful naiveté, suddenly took on years of wisdom and knowledge.
“Aren’t you worried about your companions?”
She flicked her dark bangs playfully. “No, not really,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“You know how the tests are. You think they’re skilled enough? In control of their minds enough?”
“Nope.”
There was a silence between them, only broken by the rhythmic crash of waves on the white, pristine shore.
“I assumed you’d elaborate.”
She rested her chin on the backs of her hands. A more serious look crossed her face.
“I don’t know them well. Not all of them.” She turned her head so that she was facing him. “But I do know one thing. They won’t let each other down.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“Question is,” the man said, reaching over her to grab an empty cocktail glass on a table next to her. “Will you let them down?”
She frowned as she watched him walk away with the tray of empty glasses.
Chapter 12
The desert wind blew sand into Joey’s face, invading every crevice and causing him to constantly wipe his mouth and eyes. He looked out into the horizon between gusts, searching, finding nothing.
Nothing.
Then something. Slowly, something appeared on the horizon. He squinted as he walked, thinking his eyes were deceiving him — they must be deceiving him. He blinked.
The figure slowly emerged, obscured by blowing sand. The sun was three-quarters of its way to its destination below the planet’s horizon. He squinted at the silhouette as it approached.
Joey moved faster, not sure catching up to the silhouette was an entirely good idea but determined to just the same. At this point, whatever was the source of the silhouette, it beat the feeling of being alone. As he walked, the figure appeared to be getting closer.
A twinge of fear mixed with excitement tingled the back of his neck. He shivered it out, despite the desert’s extreme warmth — for a moment, he felt cold. The stranger could represent a threat, but Joey’s curiosity, his sense of aloneness over-rode his fear.
The figure began to take shape — slowly, the silhouette of a woman became apparent. This relieved Joey, despite the fact that he personally knew a very dangerous woman. Her femaleness somehow gave him comfort.
Or was it something else?
She took one last step, just close enough for Joey to make out her face, then stopped. She rocked her head forward and back, dusting sand out of her hair. She removed a pair of goggles covering her eyes, resting them on her dusty locks. She smiled warmly at Joey, who didn’t know whether to be happy or dumbfounded.
“Mom?”
“What’d I say about leaving your toys in the sand?” she said, grinning.
***
“Get out of there! She’s going hot! Isellia!”
“I got this!” Isellia shouted. Porter forced the earpiece into his ear with one hand and gripped the front of the captain’s chair with the other. The ship had entered the atmosphere, and the fire of re-entry engulfed its hull. The ship shook, rattled, the floor felt like it was twirling, stable one minute, then frantic the next.
And the scream. The scream.
The ship’s hull screamed as if it were in pain, screamed in the agony, screamed its metal head off for it to stop. The metal roared as it heated, a metallic, prehistoric noise that nearly muffled Isellia’s voice in the earpiece.
“Goddammit, that’s an order!” Porter shouted over the noise.
“I said I got it! I got it.”
“Isellia!”
“Ow! Shit.”
Relative silence.
“Isellia!” He shouted into the earpiece, but nothing but static returned. “Goddammit...” he muttered, bolting out of the bridge. “Manny, keep her stable!”
Porter’s feet hammered the metal floor as he sprinted down the corridor. The metal deck shook underneath him — he was thrown several times against a bulkhead, but still he pushed forward, a linebacker refusing to fall, gaining, gaining, gaining. Fighting.
He threw open the engine room doors, was nearly thrown in the opposite direction, righted himself and fell through the door nearly on his face as the force reversed.
Porter staggered over to Isellia as the whole ship continued to sink. She sat against the engine, gripping her right hand.
“It’s too hot.” She said. She didn’t look up.
Porter took a moment to catch his breath. He looked at her hand and noticed the burn marks. His eyebrows raised in concern, then narrowed with resolve as he knew what he had to do. “Move aside.”
Isellia looked up at him in disbelief. “You can’t...”
“I said move aside!”
Isellia stood up, and Porter noticed the burns. They’d be painful, but they’d heal. It would be worse now. Much worse.
“Porter.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You found the problem.” He threw open the hatch and looked inside. “Now we just have to fix it.”
“Such a stupid problem.”
“You know where the clog is?”
“Upper left side.”
Turbulence jolted the ship, sending them sprawling to the deck. The two scrambled back to their feet, Isellia watching over Porter’s shoulder.
“Is it that red piece, right in there?”
“Yep. It’s supposed to be black.”
Porter didn’t need to be told the color change was due to heat — its scorching waves blasted him in the face as soon as he flung the latch open.
“This isn’t going to reverse our fall, but it should jump-start this engine enough for a smoother landing. Survivable,” Porter said.
He ripped off part of his sleeve, wrapping it around his hand and started to reach inside.
“Porter ... I couldn’t. That won’t protect you enough.”
“I told you not to.”
“I tried.”
Porter grabbed the piece, then recoiled.
“I told you,” she said.
He looked at his hand, then at her, a moment of rumbling silence.
He reached in, grabbed the metal handle. Pain seared through his palm, reaching his flesh through the sleeve. He screamed, Isellia’s eyes went wide, the ship rumbled, shook, the heat increased.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Porter ...”
“I got it!” Porter exclaimed, his words more of a growl than actual words. The muscles on his forearm strained as he pulled, the smell of burning flesh wafted, he braced against the side of the conduit, pulled, struggled, grimaced against the pain.
Then release. He fell back, fell to the floor, sprawled on the deck. The metal piece went flying behind him, its mark burned into Porter’s hand.
“Oh my god, Porter.”
He grinned, gritted teeth in pain.
“I did it.”
&
nbsp; He leaned his head back against the deck, relief and leftover adrenaline masking the pain that was coming.
“I did it.”
The jolting and crashing and sparking and creaking and roaring reduced to a slow rumble as the engine roared back to life. Porter collapsed to the deck, holding his hand with his eyes shut as the glow of the engine cast a pale light on his face.
***
He spun. And spun. Then he spun some more.
“Trying too hard. Don’t try.”
He tried not trying. He tried so hard not to try that it hurt.
“Ha, ha, ha. Foolish young man. Young people try so hard. Fail.”
He continued to spin, feeling his muscles get tired. He persisted, spinning and spinning.
Every time the stone dropped.
“Why try so hard? There’s nothing to it. It doesn’t do anything. It’s a worthless skill. Turn and catch a stone. Who would practice it? Who would try hard? What’s the point?”
The old man stood watching him with his arms crossed. He didn’t appear very sage, save for the white hair. He wore a white shirt and some slacks — no fancy robes, fancy hat, nothing. He would have appeared to be just another worker in any Company C colony.
Rex liked that.
“Spin, catch, spin, catch. Child’s play.”
Rex stopped. He felt exhausted. He’d been spinning since morning; it was nearly afternoon. He reached down to pick up the stone and nearly fell over.
“Oh good, you’re tired. Rest a minute.”
Rex sat down, not looking at his master. He felt like he failed him.
“Why am I behind everyone?” Rex asked. He was quiet by any standards, more so for a teenaged boy. It was the first time he’d spoken all day.
“Because you try harder than everyone. Because you want it more.” Kenpur sat in a squat next to him. “Because you fear failure.”
Rex looked up at the old man, wide-eyed. He wanted to disagree, but every argument died before reaching his mouth.
Kenpur stood up. “Now’s the time. Muscles tired. Useless anyway. Mind.” He pointed to his head; his eyes bugged out in a way that made Rex grin slightly. “Use it, bub.
“Okay, up. Try again. This time, breath.”
Rex held the stone, let go and spun. Three more drops. He sighed, and then ...
Something changed this time, something different — he felt something let go. He spun — no, he simply reappeared with the stone in his hand. He paused a moment in disbelief, staring at his hand he knew held the stone, then did it again. And again.
“Told ya.”
Rex stopped, gripping the stone slightly. He looked around. The Mountain of Yo was gone. He was on a hill barely able to be called a mountain. He looked out over a desert landscape, empty, save for sand, tumbleweed and — a ship. It looked like a ship. He felt his age — not a teenager. He felt like his old self again.
“Huh.” Rex shrugged, starting off toward the ship.
***
“Since you can’t follow very simple instructions, and since you fail to understand the order of things — I think we have no choice but to send you to the mines.”
The manager didn’t bother to look up, assuming his orders were made clear. He began shuffling papers — a needless practice now, as everything was done electronically, but the manager liked to keep them. They made him feel important. Respected. Like he—
“No,” Stephen said, in a voice as small as one would expect from a such meek-looking person.
The manager stopped shuffling his papers. He looked up; not at Stephen, but just up in general, as if he’d heard a barely audible noise. He knew he’d heard something unexpected, but he wasn’t prepared for it, and his reaction wasn’t natural or practiced like everything else he did.
“Pardon?” he asked, in a tone that suggested anything but asking for pardon.
“I said ‘no,’” Stephen said, this time more clearly, with stronger emphasis.
The manager looked up to see Stephen still standing in his spot. The man in the suit looked perplexed, like he didn’t quite comprehend what was going on. The two stared at each other, not sure exactly what would happen next. The manager had experienced employees trying to pull fast ones, slow ones, sneaky ones, sideways ones — none had ever simply refused. He’d not even heard of such a thing happening within the Company.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“I — I mean, no, I won’t go. I won’t go to the mines.”
The manager looked at his desk a moment, puzzled. He tried to remember back to his training — the technical institute — trying to remember such a hypothetical situation. Surely this had been covered.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, you will go to the mines.” He was firm, and felt that would be the end of it.
“No. I won’t.”
The manager thought a minute. He normally ruled with an iron fist, but in his confusion, it felt more like a fist of jello.
“You can’t?” He didn’t follow what Stephen could mean.
“No, I can. I won’t.” Stephen slowly picked up momentum. He felt stronger and more confident as he continued to protest.
“Well, uh, well. Um, you can’t ... I mean, you should, you must, it’s ... it’s required. You can’t say no.”
“No.”
“No, you can’t say no.”
“Nope.”
“You can’t —”
“Not going to.”
“You must —”
“No.”
“You —”
“No!” Stephen shouted, for what felt like the first time in his life. It came from deep in his gut, in some center he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch but could feel. His yell released something in him, and it felt good, cathartic, purifying. He felt like doing it again, but it didn’t feel necessary.
The manager looked at him. He looked at his monitor, scanned it, saw the work piling up. It was always piling up, for middle management. He usually took it out on employees. He looked at Stephen again.
He decided to cut his losses. “Go back to your station.”
Stephen grinned a little as he left the room — he still grinned as everything started to fade away, and reality upended itself again.
***
Was there enough time? Enough time? Could she? Make it make it make it
go go go go go
go she pushed throttle, in, in in further full far as it would go, forward.
She propelled, passing, passing each one, in turn, twirling missing the obstacles, no slow down, edged one into it, too bad, better for her.
She could do it, she could
She kept on, front coming closer but the race nearly finished, the front runner, running, ahead, faster, seemed impossible to catch, she wouldn’t make it, XR-13 too old, too old
It’s too old, you know.
“Stuff it.”
too old, not for her, she knew it, fixed it, modified it, loved it, punched it.
punch it.
right ahead, nebulous form. reacts with thrusters. reacts. speed.
punch it
She hit it, punched it, throttled, forward, speed more speed so fast she would make it, she was almost — someone behind, same idea same idea, gaining, it was gaining, but the line is there it’s there
gripped the throttle, held hard hard,
go go go go go go go go go
GOT IT!!! Fist pumps, jumping, up and down, nose finish, in by a nose, she got it she knew she got it didn’t even look up, just went, just flew. felt great she felt great she
Then everything faded.
***
>>>> data retrieval command R ... Classified: Joey.
>>>>><><>>>>> ,,,,
...
Designation: Human. Sub-class: Boy.
//////////....>>>>>.>.>>>><><>>>>
....
lklklkl.....
zzzzzzzzzzzz.........
Further description: Friend ...
..
&
nbsp; ....
....
What is a friend?
....
...
..
Data retrieval error
////
What is a friend?
//// g////
...
...
Robot, what is a friend?
...
...
.zzzzzzzzz.z......zzzzzzzz...
Why is this Joey your friend?
////.....
...
...processing....
You don’t seem to remember...
...
..
...
RAM database retrieval code 762. error message: 41. Retrieval. Retrieval. Retrieval.
...
Your circuits are going to overload. You should stop.
/////t///////t/t//t///
...................
.............
...RAM: accessed. Data recovered.
Why is Joey your friend?
....Joey said....../// said/////////..Joey said. .... the boy. ..
Go on. Say it.
...//.././././.
“A friend never leaves you.”
....
..
End of recording. data. Reboot initiated.
Chapter 13
The room spun and spun, then gradually slowed as the linear blur faded into shapes that coalesced into solid forms as he reduced speed. Rex saw them all again, the crew he’d traveled with for the last month. Isellia’s hair, previously a pink blur, now slowed and took its familiar spiky but soft shape. Porter stood with his arms crossed over his large chest. The kid stood next to the robot, double checking something on the back of its cranial unit. Stephen, his traveling companion recently, sat watching him. And Celia — where was Celia?
They were on the bridge of the ship, but something was wrong. It was silent. Not the silence of space travel, punctuated by the hum of the ship’s engine, the creaks of the hull holding back the pressure of the void of space.
No, it was complete silence. Meaning the ship was aground.
Finally he slowed to a stop, not deliberately, but allowed inertia to lose its battle with gravity. The crew was surprised to see a look of confusion on his face as he slowed to a stop — they hadn’t seen that expression on his face before.
Robot Awareness: Special Edition Page 18