Gracie was not akin to being silent—she simply did not do, quiet. Wherever she was, whatever task she was busily about, the woman could always be located. All one had to do was listen. Gracie couldn’t do a thing without singing, humming or whistling to herself. At the very least she could be heard cussing at Hank over something or other. But this afternoon had seen a very different individual in Gracie Reitman, and Ruthanne was not the only one to have noticed.
“Is she okay?” came Ellen’s voice echoing over Ruthanne’s wristcom. She and Eli were working in one of the underground’s remote substations, nearly two miles west of Sandcastle.
“I do not know yet. She is not answering my knock,” Ruthanne responded.
“Ooh! If Jimmy has upset her again, I swear I’ll—”
“Jimmy is still away on business, Ellen. It is not anything he has done this time. There is something else wrong,” Ruthanne stated, leaning into the audio device. Then she puzzled for a moment. “Can you access Hank’s real-time readouts?”
Ellen tossed Eli a glance. He nodded and touched an area on a panel located just in front of him. He punched in a salvo of commands. Soon, lines of data appeared in the center of the transparent screen, scrolling down until a visual depiction of Gracie ended the sequence. The clarity of the image from Hank’s optical sensors (his eyes) was excellent, giving the twins a real-time rendering of whatever Hank was viewing. In the display, Gracie was clearly viewed sitting quietly in her chair. Hank stood at her side with a synthetic hand resting on the chair’s back. The robotic-assistant was engaged in a soft cadent sway against the heavy rocker. In the display, Gracie was not asleep. Her eyes were open, yet strangely unfocused. Her normal, pleasant expression was absent, replaced instead by a blank subdued look. Her head rested against the high cushioned back, and although she looked comfortable, her demeanor was one of distress.
Ellen noticed almost immediately what appeared to be the pages of a letter resting on her lap; and clutched in Gracie’s left hand, was an opened envelope.
“According to Hank, she’s fine.” Eli added with some relief. “She’s just resting in her chair. Her stats look normal.”
“She’s not normal,” countered Ellen, peering closer at the screen. “Just look at her.”
“Are we certain Hank’s data is accurate?” Ruthanne broke in, her voice heavy with concern.
“Hank’s readouts?” Eli exclaimed. “Are you kidding? I just did a PM on him yesterday. He’s in perfect—”
Ellen threw a shielding hand over her device. “Will you settle down!”
“It is alright, Ellen,” Ruthanne replied. “I understand Eli’s resolve in his preventive maintenance regimen, but it was a tenable question.”
Eli shrugged, and whispered back to Ellen, “it was a tenable answer.”
Ellen kept her hand over the receiver, then frowned him down thoroughly. “We’re heading topside,” she replied back into her wristcom. “We’re in Delta-4 section, just outside of lab-seven. We’ll be at the hub in just a few minutes.”
Eli sighed annoyingly. “But I’m right in the middle of—”
“Good,” came Ruthanne’s voice back. “I will meet you in the library.”
Ellen motioned to her brother. “Let’s go.”
Eli protested one more time then set down his gear with a thud. He had two robotic droids working alongside of him, both balancing a long piece of equipment which he had been meticulously scanning. “Like usual, you two ladies are panicking. I’m sure Gracie is fine. Hank is with her and her readouts are nominal. If you ask me, she’s just been working too hard lately—like the rest of us, I might add,” he amended aggravatingly.
Ellen turned long enough to give him another glare.
“Okay! Okay! Gads. If looks could kill. Just give me a second to get this stuff shut down.” He removed his shoulder strap and set down the rest of his gear. He then turned to a remote readout system and punched indiscriminately on its panel. The pulsing hum of energized equipment suddenly died off. “Sorry guys. I’ll be back.” He threw his protective eyewear down, and stepped briskly to join his sister.
“You’re going to leave them standing there holding up that heavy equipment?” she exclaimed, hands on hips.
“They don’t mind!”
The two droids turned, looked at each other, blinked, then assumed their stance. Their large, metal arms extended outward, balancing the load with uncanny precision.
Ellen let her jaw drop.
“Oh, alright!” Eli conceded with a snort. He turned toward the metal workers. “You heard her! Set it down . . . but carefully. Then I suppose you might as well download the diagnostics back into memory and evaluate the data for consistency. Oh, and calculate the deviation of error to,”—he paused, tapping a finger to his chin—“let’s say, ten-to-the-fifteenth.” He wheeled around mumbling, “that should keep them busy until I get back.” Then he marched smugly past Ellen. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she replied sarcastically. “Now let’s get up to Sandcastle. I’m telling you something is wrong with Gracie. I have that feeling.”
“Women’s intuition?”
“No. Observation and attentiveness. Heard of those words?”
“Hmm,” he snorted.
They entered a pod-shaped transport designed for inner-tunnel travel between stations. The vehicle hovered motionless just off the ground repelling gravity as effortlessly as a feather on an updraft. As soon as they entered the small shuttle, the robot pilot closed the glass canopy and they were off in a flash, flying down the long passageway back toward Avalon and the elevator entrance to the estate above.
At Sandcastle, Ruthanne had already left the upper hallway, descended the marble staircase, stepped onto the foyer-rotund, hurried briskly down the great hall, and finally entered the library—her favorite room. This was undisputedly the most secured room in the estate: the only room containing a secret umbilical to Avalon, as well as the underground complex and all its tributary sections. There, she had just opened the hidden panel concealing the transport’s entry. She then moved to a comfortable sofa and sat patiently waiting for the twin’s arrival.
Ruthanne sat very still, as she often did when pondering a dilemma. She felt the sting of temptation as she considered, for just a moment, reading Gracie’s thoughts. To delve where she had sworn never to go. It would have been so easy to drop in for a quick peek. In a matter of seconds, she could obtain her answers, solved the mystery of the woman’s odd behavior, and put her mind—and the minds of the others—at ease. But it was a fleeting enticement, and her compunction soon forced the thought from her mind altogether. She had taken an oath, as had the others; a concord made long ago during those dark days of Nazi imprisonment. When they had all sworn to never use their unique abilities on each other, or those considered family. It was an encroachment forbidden not only by oath, but by respect and love. And she would adhere to it absolutely.
A presence suddenly entered the room, and Ruthanne’s head instantly shot up, pulling her back to the moment. She knew right away who it was, for she could sense a non-living entity.
“Hello, EmmaSue,” she replied politely. “Has Gracie locked you out as well?”
Of course it was a rhetorical question, the robotic figure had a limited response vocabulary—simple answers, basic commands.
“Can I assist you Miss Ruthanne?” came the typical, impassive response.
“No. I require nothing at this time. Thank you.”
EmmaSue had been the only attempt at a female robotic humanoid, built after much consideration, and some formidable debating between the group (between Jimmy and everyone else). Below ground, the grid-city bulged in its futuristic realm; safeguarded and protected by multiple tiers of security. It crawled with the industry of the robot conglomerate: worker-drones, intelligent-droids, and the unintelligent, automated systems. While these were deemed justifiable and necessary for the project’s success—for HOPE—above ground the rules were very different.
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There was, in fact, one rule only: no unauthorized technology allowed. And certainly artificial humanoids were about as unauthorized as it got. But time has a way of changing things, or more specifically, changing people.
Both the underground complex and Avalon were provisional facilities. They, and all the marvelous things which harbored within them would forever vanish when HOPE came online—like training wheels on a bicycle, when no longer needed, they would be removed. But Sandcastle Estate was Gracie’s domain, built within the probing eyes of the world. Zen had been tormented by this conundrum: the desire to fill the estate with technological wonders—comforts a hundred years ahead of their time—all for his Gracie. But his own cardinal rule precluded this, forcing the unimaginable advancements used in world below ground to stay below ground, and under the safety of an impenetrable security net.
Soon after Zen’s death, however, it became apparent that Gracie needed someone (or some thing) to help her. Sandcastle’s massive expanse was never meant to be a single dwelling, a place of isolation. But the toxic sunlight prevented any of the Four from spending daylight hours outside of Avalon—the time when Gracie most needed someone with her. Ironically, it was this loneliness which often brought the old woman to the underground. To the land of Avalon, as she jokingly called it. For Avalon was not a lonely place—not any sense of the word. In fact, Gracie loved being there, and spent easily as much time in Avalon as she did at Sandcastle; and although the Four loved having her with them in their underground paradise, Jimmy, for whatever reason, did not want her there.
Before Tom left the sanctuary of Sandcastle—or was driven out, as the Four had seen it—he had been the one individual who could fulfill that vital role; the adopted son who was always there to help out, especially when Jimmy was away—which was often. But Jimmy had put a jealous end to that. In the aftermath of Zen’s death, and with Tom’s forced departure, Gracie found herself, at least by day, alone in her Sandcastle microcosm.
EmmaSue, then, became the consequential solutions to this dilemma. Jimmy, having feigned concern for his mother’s wellbeing, used this need as the driving force for the shattering of the Five’s original cardinal rules, established to protect their technology. In truth, Jimmy simply did not want to risk Tom returning to Sandcastle. He knew as long as Gracie was alone and in need, Tom might feel the prick of abandonment, and inevitably, the need to return. It was a tenable threat, one which Jimmy was not willing to take.
There had already been many replications of the companion-type V10 android engineered and in use in the underground complex. But EmmaSue, now she was an original. Jacob had been thrilled beyond words to get the chance at something different. And EmmaSue was certainly that. The end result however, albeit a complete success and a tribute to Jacob’s genius, did have a small quirk . . . the female android was ugly. Pitifully so. Jacob, it seemed, had no talent for feminine attributes. That much was made obvious. Hence the reason for only one prototype—Gracie couldn’t handle looking at more than one of them. But as a robotic domestic-engineer—cook, housekeeper; pretty much all assisted living needs, there was nothing quite like EmmaSue.
Soon afterwards, when security in the estate had been pragmatically enhanced, Two-of-Ten, Gracie’s Hank, had joined the ranks above ground to serve as her personal aide; instated by the justification that Gracie’s inability to walk, restricted her. Hank, like EmmaSue, was built to be unique. Jacob had made even more advancements in his V10 series robotic technology, which he incorporated into both droids. For starters, they were the most intelligent (next to Jacob’s Three-of-Ten, of course), Ruthanne having enhanced their programming specifically to accommodate Gracie’s needs. But besides that they had been equipped with the EMR defense module: the fail-safe, self-annihilation protocol integrated into every robotic counterpart working in the underground facilities. The EMR transformation trigger operated on the atomic level, realigning nuclei particles in each and every atom. The effect of this realignment would be a transformation of the original element into another, while conserving total mass and energy. In the case of Hank and EmmaSue, the EMR’s preprogrammed target element was to be a common mixture of Hydrogen and Oxygen—or simply water. In other words, in the event of a security breach, both Hank and EmmaSue would end up as mere puddles on the floor. An odd end for a system more complex and advanced than any artificial intelligent mechanism on the planet.
Although initially, Gracie had fought Jimmy fervently against violating the cardinal rule, adamantly stating that . . . our industry below, including Avalon and her technology, exist as the ephemeral blood of HOPE, and can never breach beyond that of salt and sand! But she had been worn down, and eventually capitulated when the additional security had been amended to the mansion’s existing system.
Now, surprisingly—although she would never admit to it—these two androids, at least during the daylight hours, had become the old girl’s friends and family, and she loved them. But when the sun hung low in the western cradle, and Sandcastle yawned and rubbed her tired eyes, Gracie’s true family would drop in . . . or should we say, drop up.
Ruthanne, Ellen, Eli and Jacob were all standing dinner guests at Gracie’s nightly table. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, this was the groups time to visit, discuss issues, coordinate schedules and set deadlines. It was a perfect postlude to Gracie’s day.
EmmaSue let the library door swing softly shut, leaving Ruthanne, and her contemplative thinking, to herself. She couldn’t understand what was taking the twins so long to arrive?
The library walls towered around and above her on all sides; each shelved hundreds of colored spines protruding out in neat even rows. The air was ripe with the scent of antiquity, polish, wood oil and elegant furnishings. Persian rugs, carpets and hand painted tapestries laid themselves out between thick footed tables, stained-glass windows, and renaissance artwork.
Ruthanne, of course, had never seen the ornate fanfare which gave the great room its unique character. But she knew the dimensions of each shelf, the placement of every book, the adornments on every wall, the intricacy of the crystal chandeliers overhead, and the exquisite architecture of the spiral staircase that rose upward joining each floor in a perfect geometric helix.
Finally, after what seemed like such a long wait, Ruthanne felt movement in the floor, followed by the sound of the elevator’s motor whining to a halt. The heavy vaulted door slid open. She stood as Ellen and Eli stepped past the sentry escorts, and anxiously out of the transport. The door shut behind them with a hiss as it resealed. Then the entire entry vanished behind a set of dark oak bookshelves which folded neatly into place, completing the facade.
“Sorry we took so long, Ruthy,” explained Ellen, giving the girl a quick hug. She took Ruthanne’s arm and the two of them moved back to a niche where Ruthanne had been waiting, in a quiet corner near the elevator door. “I’m just as concerned as you are,” Ellen continued.
Eli lagged behind for a moment, noting to himself that there was a delay on one of the decoy shelves as it moved into place. Hmm, he thought. Better get that fixed. He soon joined the girls, plopping into a chair opposite them. He leaned back, crossed his legs and rapped his fingers nervously together. “The Sandray is missing, so of course Jacob is nowhere to be found. We had to put the entire complex in auto-mode and engage the sentry systems in every section for passive-away. That’s what kept us,” he added, exasperatingly. “That boy has got to quite leaving without checking in first!”
“He did check in . . . with me.”
Gracie’s voice swept over them like a spray of cold water. They startled as she appeared in the entry, done up classy as always, like a gift-wrapped package. The library doors were still swaying gently behind the wheelchair as she engaged the motor and started toward them. Hank followed calmly to one side, his synthetic hand carefully resting on the transport’s right arm.
“Gracie,” spoke Ruthanne, relieved. “We were so concerned!” She stood and joined Ellen
and Eli who had jumped up to meet her.
“No, please,” Gracie gestured, raising a hand. “I’ll come to you. That’s a nice little nook for chit-chat.” She maneuvered skillfully around several pieces of furniture, then stopped abruptly to wait for Hank to get out of the way. She waited, then waited a little longer. Finally, she had waited long enough. “Will you move that big metal butt of yours!” she exclaimed.
Hank quickly stepped aside, but began an immediate assessment of his exterior end, to determine if there had been an increase in mass. He was only trying to help after all. He just wanted to assure that all obstacles had been cleared from her path; but arguably, he could have infused a bit more spring in his step.
“Sorry to annoy,” he puttered out.
Poor Hank. He used that phrase far more than any other of his enhanced vocabulary.
Eli finally interceded, helping the artificial humanoid move a large rug, which really wasn’t in the way to begin with. “I wish you would use the hover-seat, Gracie,” Eli exclaimed. “It would make it so much easier for you to maneuver around.”
“Yes it would,” she replied, peering up through cat-eyed frames. “But it is unauthorized technology above ground. You know that. And since I am neither in Avalon nor the complex, I will be using this chair.”
Eli sighed. “Of course.”
The motorized chair finally whined to a stop. Hank moved in and dutifully set the brake.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused some excitement this evening,” Gracie began. “But I needed some time to be alone and think . . . which I have done.” She turned to the robot aide, “get me some water, will you Hank?”
Of Salt and Sand Page 31