Analog SFF, September 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I don't eat or excrete or sleep—although I sometimes dream while awake—but money allows me to buy clothes, presents for my friends, books for myself, and lately, transportation. Also of late, I've enjoyed giving money to needy people on the street.

  Today, my apartment held a very needy person, but money wasn't her problem.

  “How'd it go?” Alison Norhaart demanded.

  I'm a poor judge of human attractiveness, but Alison's features were unusually symmetrical. Her sandy hair was long and glossy, and her large eyes were even bluer than her father's. Still, her long addiction had burned fine wrinkles around her lips and turned the flesh near her eyes thin and fragile-looking. And her skin had a slightly grayish undertone, although maybe that was from anxiety. She'd gone through a successful rehab and was no longer using drugs. So she'd said and I believed her.

  “I'm afraid it didn't go anywhere."

  Her shoulders slumped. “But you told him, right?"

  “About your pregnancy, yes. But he wouldn't talk to me about it or about you. Alison, you're not only asking a machine to deal with a tricky human problem, but an alien machine. If there's any way I could be less qualified to help you, it escapes me. I can't begin to understand the depth of his feelings or how to ease them."

  “That's not—Daniel, I haven't told you ... everything yet.” She stopped and when she spoke again it was barely a whisper. “After I'd killed mom. And my unborn sister. I didn't want my own baby. Didn't want to raise a baby without mom. And the father would be no help. Didn't even know which asshole he was and it didn't matter; they were all losers like me."

  She fell silent for twenty-eight seconds.

  “Maybe I wanted dad to know my plan and stop me. Why else would I have told Linda?"

  “What plan?"

  “Abortion. I was nearly in my fourth month. Dad begged me. Said the baby and Linda and me were all he had left of mom. He promised to raise my baby himself, if I couldn't do it."

  All this was beyond me, but it gave me a terrible feeling where humans keep their stomachs. Having no idea what to say, I said nothing.

  “Daniel. I had that abortion. I think I was really trying to kill myself."

  “I'm sorry.” Why do people have to suffer so much? “I need to think about this. Maybe it can help me figure out how to reach your father."

  She nodded, but kept watching me. To escape those eyes, I grabbed my remote, pushed the power button, and turned to the Light Emitting Plastic membrane on the east wall of my living room, which immediately lit up.

  “My God,” she said after a moment, “I'd assumed that was a virtual window, but it's a TV! I haven't seen a physical video monitor in a private home since I was a kid."

  I turned back toward her. “CV doesn't work on me, Alison. Sorry, I didn't intend to sound upset about it. It's just that it's so easy to stream data into a human's visual cortex and auditory nerves. And with me, it seems to be impossible. I probably don't even have a visual cortex."

  She wasn't listening. “Hey! Look what's on! That's you!"

  I looked. She was right, but it wasn't any clip I might've expected. Neither my cranium out for a nice morning roll, nor the toddler-rescue from yesterday afternoon. While some commentator was happily commentating about how I'd been named after a robot character in an “obscure” novel by Isaac Asimov, Dan the Can was lifting a large truck by its rear bumper, scooting it over a yard or so, and letting the tail end drop. This shouldn't be online for hours yet. Some reporter had been following me.

  I watched the replay, fascinated as usual at how strange I appear from the outside. Much larger than I imagine myself, and the extra pair of arms I keep minimized and pressed against my sides are still too noticeable. The effect is distressingly inhuman....

  My phone rang.

  “What the hell was that?” Alison asked, eyes wide.

  “A telephone. I need an external one of those, too."

  The voice on the other end was Professor Norhaart's, which wasn't too surprising since only eleven people could reach me this way, but the synthesized phasing characteristics I heard were unique in my experience. I guessed he was applying the broad powers of his high-security megapatch through the Metropolitan Data Authority to connect two normally immiscible systems: my phone line and a DNA-encrypted telicell link. Such a call should be eavesdrop-proof and leave behind no trace, assuming the system lacked a category in which to note this freak event.

  “Dan?” Even sub-vocalizing, he sounded out of breath. “Just caught the latest newscast and we've got a problem."

  “What problem?"

  “God knows we've tested you often enough and you've never shown strength like that before! What made you think you could lift a truck?"

  “Never occurred to me I couldn't. But I shouldn't have put it down so roughly. Perhaps a letter of apology would—"

  “Dan! What were we talking about just half an hour ago? The military only released you because they decided you were harmless. Do you hear me? I'm watching your little demo on a loop right now and not too many people seeing this would describe you as harmless. Even to me you look ... violent. The government will be coming after you, and soon."

  “Why? I was just trying to help!"

  “I know you were, but you were moving so fast ... even CNN is saying you threw that truck out of spite."

  I stepped to the window and glanced downwards. Traffic on the street below was unusually slow and dwindling. The same was true of Lexington, the one avenue visible from this window. “Why don't I just tell the government I'm harmless?"

  He sighed. “You think they could afford to take your word? Look, do you want the army to lock you up again?"

  “No!” I was astonished at how much the idea disturbed me. “What should I do?” I enhanced my hearing and caught an approaching chop of helicopter blades.

  “Get out of there. I mean fast. Meet me at—no, they'll be looking for you here and at my house. Damn. Meet me at the Guru's apartment.” He supplied the address, knowing I'd memorized the entire New York City map. “You seem to be changing and this is no time for us to lose contact."

  “Professor. Alison's here, standing right next to me. And it might be coincidental, but a helicopter's landing on the roof."

  His hesitation was surprisingly brief. “She's in danger just being with you. Tell her to leave."

  I turned to her. “Your father believes I'm in trouble with the authorities and thinks you would be safer elsewhere. I'm meeting him at Professor Besden's home."

  She grabbed my upper left arm. “Then I have to go with you."

  “Hell, no!” yelled the voice on the phone. “I heard that! She can't be anywhere near you. I don't know what the army will have in mind, but Dan, they might even try to destroy you, to stay on the safe side."

  “Destroy me?"

  “You're tough as hell, but I doubt even you could survive a high-powered burst-laser."

  “You've convinced me. I'm out the door. We'll figure out our next move when I see you.” I hung up without saying goodbye.

  “You can't go with me,” I said to my guest, gently detaching my arm. “Your father's right."

  “I'll risk it. I may never have a better chance to show him how—how much he means to me."

  I studied her for a moment. “Do you want to risk your unborn child?"

  Her face paled as if I'd slapped her. “No. I hadn't—"

  “Hold on.” A second helicopter was approaching and a third wasn't far behind. I assessed the thuds of heavy boots already running on the rooftop thirty-four stories above us. At least twenty soldiers were on their way—heavily armed troops judging from some faint rattles. Even the footsteps sounded aggressive. If Alison left now, she might not be safe anywhere in the building even away from me. I've read that in combat situations, soldiers have been known to fire at any sudden movement.

  “Changed my mind,” I admitted. “Maybe there's a way we can protect each other.” Three weeks ago I'd seen an old cartoon feat
uring robots, which had given me a crash-course in applied topology. I could do more than just fit into cabs....

  “What do you mean?"

  “You'll see. Wait right there.” Boot-steps were drumming down the northeast stairwell; evidently, the army didn't trust elevators. ETA at my door at the current rate of progress: four minutes, sixteen seconds. I boosted my hearing further—yes, elevators were still running.

  I did some hurrying of my own, grabbing a utility knife from the kitchen and two microfiber suitcases from a closet, then cutting the back out of each suitcase and poking several tiny holes in the front of the smaller case. Alison watched silently with puzzled eyes. I stripped off all my clothes, stuffing them and the detached microfiber rectangles into one side of the smaller case, making sure not to block the light seeping through the pierced front.

  “I'll be going through some ... changes, Alison. Don't be alarmed.” I knew I looked far less human without clothes.

  “All right."

  My feet are attached to my legs with tricky little camshafts it took me years to perfect. But it only took a moment to revert my feet into wheels. Narrowing my legs into rods was also quick work, but needing some way to hide the extra mass, I held the big suitcase to my lower torso and filled it full of me. The extrusion hid the back and supported the luggage, thus freeing my arms for more important work.

  “Brace yourself,” I said quietly. “I'm going to try repeating something that happened to me by accident. If, ah, I fail to catch my head, please pick it up and stick it back on my neck."

  Without waiting for an answer, I held my arms out and commanded my head to pop off. The room seemed to shoot upwards and I lost touch with my body. But my head came to a soft stop even before Alison gasped. The next part was utterly experimental and if it failed, I'd need a plan B and fast. But I had a hunch....

  Maintaining an internal silence—my version of holding my breath—I shoved my head against my upper chest, begging it to attach in this unnatural position. To my great relief and mild surprise, it did. My normal sensations flooded back, although I had to migrate my eyes to get them pointed forward. Evidently my sense of touch reached my head through something other than fixed nerve paths.

  It was odd suddenly feeling so much shorter and my balance was off for a few moments, but the weirdest thing was suddenly repossessing a clear memory of arriving on the Moon, leaving an artifact that was nothing like any human concept of a starship—all diaphanous veils and champagne bubbles. But this was no time to reminisce, so a moment later, I'd stacked the smaller case on the larger and wriggled my head inside the top case far enough to see out through the holes I'd made. Lifting my arms, I thinned them into tubular brackets, using the extra material to expand my neck into a luggage-holding clamp, which covered any suspicious gaps behind the upper suitcase.

  “How do I look?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Incredible! Just like an auto-carrier! The kind that follow their owners like obedient dogs."

  “That's the idea. Those lumps on my legs are supposed to be motors."

  “They look it."

  “Listen, Alison. Once we're outside this room, we can't risk anyone hearing me talk. So here's the plan. We'll move into the hall and dash to the elevators to our right. You'll probably need to push the down button. Once the lift arrives and we're inside, press the lobby button and don't say anything; the elevator has a security feed. Any questions so far?"

  “I—I guess not."

  “Good. The lobby will likely be filled with soldiers and you should follow their instructions. If anyone wants to know about you, try not to reveal your last name, but say you've been apartment-sitting for Sharon Weiss in 26E who's coming home late tonight. Which is close enough to the truth."

  “Sharon Weiss. Apartment 26E. Anything else?"

  “Yes. If anyone asks, you're on your way to, ah, Penn Station and Long Island. Leave the building if you can. I'll be right behind you and we'll play it by ear. If the authorities won't let you leave, listen for whoever is issuing orders. After about ten minutes, approach that person and tell him or her that you're pregnant and ... very hungry. If that doesn't work, stand close to me and I'll whisper some new suggestions.” Assuming I could think of any. I could envision a thousand contingencies, but we were out of time. “We've got to hurry now."

  If my apartment building had slower elevators we wouldn't have made it. As it was, the doors closed behind us and we were headed down when I heard the stairwell door on my floor crash open. Even over the whine of cables on pulleys and assorted hums and rattles, the pounding on my apartment door sounded like an attack.

  Leaving the building was no problem; soldiers practically shoved Alison outside and I followed with appropriate programmed loyalty. Then we only had to go five blocks to catch one of the mainline busses, the ones with big ramps for wheelchairs and faithful auto-carriers like me.

  * * * *

  Jon Norhaart was just knocking on the Guru's door when Alison and I arrived. If Professor Moshe Besden was surprised to have two members of the Norhaart clan on palpably bad terms suddenly descend on him, or to witness me relinquishing my job as an autonomous luggage-carrier after I'd rolled into the foyer—including repositioning my noggin—it didn't alter his usual benevolent smile. No doubt my mentor had already outlined the situation via telicell. As to Jon himself, his jaw dropped at my latest trick, but then he clamped that jaw tight, perhaps to avoid any comments leaking that might lead to interacting with me.

  While I rejoined human civilization somewhat by retrieving my clothes from the larger suitcase and getting dressed, Besden battened the hatches, locking the outer doors and scurrying around closing curtains, humming cheerfully.

  But the subsequent scene around the Guru's mahogany lozenge of a dining room table was anything but cheerful. After studying her father's face briefly, Alison didn't even try to talk to him and he wouldn't glance at her. And he was unmistakably furious with me for ignoring his wishes and bringing her along. Perhaps this meant I'd achieved that state referred to as “being in the doghouse.” If so, it was hard to imagine any canine enjoying the experience.

  I sat in an oversized armless chair, stretching my legs out beneath the table to keep my knees low, and reread two hundred memorized psychology books without gleaning the faintest clue about how to get Jon to forgive me so I could talk to him about forgiving Alison.

  The Guru attempted to brighten the mood by offering a braided sort of raisin-bread, cheeses, the latest designer apples called “Sweet and Sours,” and hamentoshen—triangular cookies that he explained were a traditional part of the current Jewish holiday. “I try,” Besden said, patting himself on one massive thigh, “to give at least hip service to all the noshing holidays. Purim is no exception."

  When his efforts and good humor fell flat, the Guru sat as quietly as the rest of us, contemplatively rubbing his chin with its usual one o'clock version of five o'clock shadow.

  A somewhat short man, Besden resembled a gorilla and was nearly as strong and hairy, yet his broad face radiated friendliness and his small dark eyes brimmed with intelligence and warmth. I hadn't yet determined exactly what subtleties of expression and underlying structure produced such pleasant effects, and I'd been working on this mystery for the last two years.

  According to TimeWebzine, Besden was a “towering figure in high-energy physics,” and “a person of profound insight into nature, including human nature, who wields administrative skills inspiring fanatical loyalty in those fortunate enough to work for him.” Doubtless the description was accurate if adjective-heavy, but it wasn't these qualifications that had earned him his nickname. I understand he'd been dubbed “Guru” due to a temperament so calm, even an animate inanimate such as myself found it soothing to be around the man.

  Still, the tension around the table must've tested even his limits, and it didn't ease when the doorbell rang. Besden said he wasn't expecting anyone, but we all know how people do drop in, which was news to m
e. Then, while I wondered what kind of people dropped in on the Guru, I heard our host thread the maze of his home to his foyer, open the front door, and invite someone inside in a tone pitched to carry into the dining room, and then some. An unfamiliar male voice with a slight southern accent and a nasal twang complained, “You don't need to yell, Moshe, I'm not deaf yet. And why are your curtains closed?” Besden claimed he'd had a migraine earlier and keeping the sun out had helped the pain. The Norhaarts sat tight, so to speak, and I quickly dimmed the dining room chandelier to support the migraine deceit, headed to the nearest bedroom, silently shut the door, boosted my hearing, and worried.

  How could I bring Jon and Alison together? Clearly, they were desperately unhappy as things stood. Their misery was making me miserable and Jon's anger toward me was hard to bear. On top of that, I felt frustrated at losing my chance to see one of the Guru's personal friends. I knew almost nothing about the physicist's private life.

  Meanwhile, Besden slowly led the newcomer to the dining room where he introduced the man as “Dr. Joshua Hewitt, an old buddy.” The old buddy greeted Jon and Alison, then, finding himself virtually snubbed by both Norhaarts, steered a casual conversation with the Guru in a direction that surprised me, concerning God, creation, the Bible, and what the doctor referred to as “the great blindness” of modern science. I gathered this was a running argument and Hewitt was something of a self-anointed evangelist. I wondered how the Guru could be friendly with someone so belligerent about converting others to his belief system.

  Normally I would've found such a discussion fascinating, but today it seemed annoying and irrelevant. I just wanted Hewitt to leave and perhaps Besden felt similarly because Hewitt sounded taken aback by the Guru's responses.

  “You're not proving anything to me,” Besden said, “when you use the Bible to support the Bible. And frankly, the way you thump it gives the Good Book a hollow ring."