by Rik Thompson
“Please don’t take my jewelry. It is all I have to pay for this house!”
“Shut up, bitch!” the man shouted. “Get back in the house before I put a bullet in you and I know you will be quiet then.”
The boy was now less than twenty feet from the man. He rushed the man, thrust himself in the air, and struck the man just below the knees. The man fell backwards; the blaster flew from his hand. The boy got to his feet his stare focused on the man staggered to his feet. The boy lurched at the man striking the man in the face with his left fist, as the man fell back to the ground, the boy rushed to the blaster. He picked it up and pointed it at the man.
“Stay right where you are, and don’t you move.”
·
The boy cocked the hammer of the blaster, and it was then that he heard sirens coming from just up the street, and a squadron of police cars came screeching to a halt, as lights came to life in the nearby homes.
· * * *
Sheriff Jack Jones seated at his big oak desk, inside the precinct, wore a bemused look on his overweight face.
That little son-of-a-bitch; how in the hell did that sucker get away?
Just some of the thoughts the sheriff considered. He was so deep in his thought, head lying in his hands and rubbing upward across his partially bald top, he failed to recognize the door to his office open. Sylvie Robers noticed the perplexed state the man was in; it was the very first thing that she noticed. She did not hasten one bit with the question: “What do we know?”
The sheriff spoke back in his southern drawl. “Miss Robers, your boy has flat out disappeared; off the radar completely, and all I can think of at this time is, he has gotten rid of the chip. We could extend the net, and block off the roads, but if he can miraculously disappear like he did, I believe he would also know about road blocks. But we will throw them up and try to get him pigeon holed.”
Robers captured a look that drove right into the constable’s brain, and said in a lowly tone.
“Theories don’t apprehend fugitives, do they? Mr. Sheriff, actions do. What kind of actions can I put down in my report?”
· * * *
People began to drift out of their homes and onto the street. They gawked at the scene that was taking place at 2690 Robertson. It was Mrs. Hathaway, across the street that dialed up the police when she heard a disturbance, went to the window and got a visual of the confrontation. Two policemen escorted the perpetrator to a squad car, while two other officers talked to the woman of the house and the boy, as the beckoning day loomed, a bright flash of light exploded directly behind the boy. He wheeled about quickly to discover a camera crew just behind him. A well-dressed man approached, extended his hand toward the boy; he did not respond.
“I am Justin Davidson,” the man announced, “Channel Four News, and I would like to do an interview of our home town hero.”
FOURTEEN
Abra had just stepped out of the shower and was toweling herself off when the doorbell rang. Quickly she snatched a dry towel off the towel rack, wrapped it around her soaking hair, rushed into the bedroom, threw on a light blue bathrobe from the hook on the bedroom door, and charged into the living room leaving behind a trail of wet footprints along the emerald carpeted floor. Reaching the front door, she took a peek out the concave spyglass, stepped back quickly, and thought for a moment.
Who is that?
He was surely suspicious, she thought, what could he want with me?
He was bedecked in an off-white trench coat, a grey sport cap, complete with wrap around dark shades which completely hid his eyes.
“Who is it?” she finally asked.
“It is I, Donnie.” The robot replied distinctively.
“Donnie?”
“Yes. I am a personal friend of Book.”
“Book?” she thought for a second. “Oh, Book. That Book.”
Abra opened the door and the robot strolled into the living room, just as if he really was on one important mission.
“I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion Miss Abra; Mr. Book has sent me to you on pressing business.
Abra toweled her hair. “Is he all right? Why couldn’t he come, where is he?”
Donnie reached up, pulled off his shades, and then without warning his eyes began to spin around. “Oh, he’s in Lake Charles, Louisiana.”
“Aw shoot,” Abra said, backing away, “You’re a robot!”
“A humanoid would be a more realistic approach,” Donnie countered.
· * * *
Sylvie Robers Pulled the wooden handle on her Lazy Boy recliner set off in a corner of the living room, and leaned back. Sometimes, to relax she would lie down on the matching cordovan leather reclining couch. It all depended on how tired she was. She settled back for the six o’clock news. The only light in the room was provided by a floor lamp, dimly lit and controlled by a rheostat.
She closed her eyes and let the news of the day wash away the daily grind of the never-ending issues that she faced daily at work. The images across the sixty-five-inch plasma screen caressed her closed eyelids. Then she caught wind of a story coming out of Lake Charles, Louisiana, and her brown eyes flew open wide.
· * * *
Two days have passed and Jonathan Book, as he now calls himself is the undisputed hero of Lake Charles. In these passing two days he has been given the key to the city, by Mayor Quincy Devereaux, and placed in a luxury hotel, on the east side of town at no cost to him. Tomorrow he will be featured on the Channel Four news’ cast.
The boy is seated in a cushy green, velveteen chair, in the green room awaiting his cue to come into the studio, and sit down for a chat with Channel Four news’ anchor, Janice Rule. He sits there quietly, staring down at his hands, which are perspiring; caught up in several different thoughts that are coming to him in fragments. Where is my confidant, and friend, Donnie? What will happen to me when I come out of this room, and onto the television which could be watched by certain people that I care not to be seen by? Will I get out of here and be safely on my way? Will I . . .?
“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Book, “said the usher coming through the door. “Please follow me.”
He followed the man out the door, and onto a stage with bright lights. In the middle of the stage were two chairs, and as he came out, the host and anchor of the six o’clock newscast, Janice Rule stood up to greet him.
APPLAUSE
He took the anchor’s hand, and she motioned him toward the vacant chair beside her, and the two sat down.
“We are privileged, and honored to have you here in this exclusive interview.”
The boy was nervous, and as he looked straight ahead to the small audience of people sitting there, he felt as if he might throw up any second.
“I know you must be a wee bit nervous, Jonathan. May I call you Jonathan?”
The boy answered in a low guttural reply, “Yes.”
“Nothing to be nervous here about, in fact you should be very proud of yourself and we are delighted to have you here. It is not every day that we can interview, or have in our midst a hero such as you.”
The boy fielded the questions that the anchor flung at him rapid fire whilst trying to avoid the camera that focused on him in pinpoint precision.
Sylvie Robers sat right in the middle of the small audience craning her head like an eagle ready to strike. She had seen photos of the boy when he was much younger than he was now, but she knew absolutely that it was he, and as she stared at the boy all anxiously agape, she went over her plan mentally.
The anchor and the boy were down to the last particulars of the event. It was then that Janice Rule stood up.
“We have a special surprise for you, Jonathan. The lady that you saved that night from that horrible situation is here, sitting in the green room, where you were previously. She would like to come out right now and personally thank you for saving her life. Let’s give a warm welcome for Lucy Willamette.”
APPLAUSE
Lucy ran out onto
the stage, the boy stood up to greet her and she threw her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss, smack, right on the mouth. Then releasing the boy, she began to cry.
“He is such a wonderful boy; he saved my life that night and I will always thank him in my heart for his heroic actions the rest of my life.”
APPLAUSE
And that was all of it, the cameras went dark and the newscast was over. The boy, thoroughly embarrassed walked away and right into a confrontation with Sylvie Robers.
“Excuse me, could I have a word with you.”
“Guess so, after all, you’re standing right in front of me.”
Sylvie Robers smiled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to impede your progress, but I wanted an exclusive interview with you,” she said taking out a phony press card, “I’m with the Amalgamated Press, and I could see by all the publicity of this event that you are a special young man deserving of much more exposure than you have currently.”
“Okay, but I am going back to my hotel room, and if you want to come, that’s okay with me, I guess.”
They caught a cab right outside the studio to the smiles of passersby’s which immediately recognized him as their hometown hero. Twenty minutes later they both walked into the lobby of the hotel. A short ride up to the fourth floor in the elevator, and the boy slid his card into the card slot of his room.
They walked into the room; Robers turned and faced the boy. She drew a snub nose thirty-eight revolver from under her jacket where it was holstered.
“I know who you are, and you would be best to just stand there and do nothing, and I will ask all the questions here, okay?”
What?
“Okay.”
“Where is that god-damned robot?”
“I don’t know; honestly, I don’t.”
“I know the police disabled him, and he was taken to a military facility where he escaped, and I also know that he found you. Now where the hell is it?” she asked, looking at the boy as if he was some kind of insect, and leveling the blaster at him.
“I swear I do not know where he is,” he answered truthfully, “far as I know he went his own separate way.”
“I don’t believe you!” she shouted, “but for now there isn’t a damned thing I can do about that presently. What I will do though is make sure that you are returned to the Moon base.”
“I’m sorry I left the Moon, I had to find my parents, and Don . . . I mean, I had to find the people responsible for me being here in the first place.”
Robers screwed up her face, “What people?”
“My parents, my mother and father, I had to find them.”
“Hah!” she replied as she grunted a shrill laugh. “You don’t have parents. You were created from an experiment known as, The God Project; you were created from nothing more than a Petri dish.”
“That’s a lie,” the boy challenged. “That’s just one more lie in a string of lies that I have been led to believe. And you know it as well as me . . .”
“Shut-up,” Sylvie Robers yelled, “and remember you little piece of shit, I am asking all the questions here. I have spent too much of my precious time and energy running you down already, so just shut the hell up, or I swear I will use this blaster to end your sorry life.”
· * * *
Donnie entered the hotel lobby. He could sense his friend was in danger. He could sense the anxiety and terror in his friends’ being. As he monitored his vital signs, he found the stairway and bounded up the stairs as fast as his metallic legs could carry him. At the door of the boy’s room he listened to a woman arguing with the boy.
“Now walk over here, not too fast, but slowly,” she demanded as she drew a pair of handcuffs from her back pants’ pocket.
Donnie hit the door with a run and broke through the door shredding it into pieces. Fragments of the door pummeled Robers and she fell. The blaster flew out of her hand.
“Donnie!” the boy exclaimed. “You sure can show up at the most opportune time.” The boy retrieved the weapon.
Donnie checked the woman. “I don’t think we will need that. She is, as they would say down here on earth, out like a light.”
· * * *
They ran, and they walked and finally in a little clearing in the woods, outside of town the boy sat down on a fallen tree.
“Let’s take a break. I am quite worn out.”
“Oh, but I found the excursion quite exhilarating.”
The boy shook his head, “I guess so you’re a machine.”
“And I must say that inclination is not a good one while here on earth.”
“Why do you say that?” the boy asked.
The robot clasped his metallic fingers together. “I had an extended conversation with Abra about you.”
“Abra, did you see her for me?”
“Please let me finish, Book. I have a pertinent point to get across to you.”
“Okay,” the boy replied, a bemused look on his face.
“Continuing on then; I met a woman on the little task you sent me on.”
“No kidding, really?”
“Really,” Donnie replied, “and she was quite interested in me, and I went home with her. And then she took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom.”
“Oh, no – you mean she wanted. . .”
“Yes. She took my trousers down and – “
The boy began to smile, and then a great laugh exploded from him.
“You mean the woman wanted to have sex with you?”
“Yes, if that is what it is called. She wanted to procreate with me only to find out that. . .”
“This is amazing – she only found out that you were a robot when she tried to grab your cock?”
“Cock, is that what it is called?”
“Well that is what Abra referred to it as. What happened then?”
“The woman was quite surprised, and her eyes grew really big, and then she asked me what the fuck was going on with me.
“You have one of these, cock things?”
“Certainly, I am a human, and every male human has one.”
“Can I see it.”
The boy looked at the robot incredulously. “That’s silly, Donnie.”
“It is not,” the robot answered matter-of-factly,” I want one of those things, known as a cock, and to be sure I get the right thing, I will need to see yours, as a model.”
“Uh-uh, you’re a robot, not a human being. These things are for . . . it’s a human thing, Donnie. Let’s just be done with this conversation, okay?”
Donnie wrung his hands, “Okay, you won the war this time, my young friend, but know this, I will find out more about this . . . appendage, or whatever you humans want to call it, and I will personally see to it that I obtain one. I know it’s most possibly a private matter to you, so I will no longer indulge in the point that you show me yours, but I will obtain this information on my own. I think it will be a great asset for us in the future, and in our ongoing partnership.
“Now onto Abra and what she brings to our freedom.”
Donnie reached into his trench coat pocket and handed the boy a handful of cash. The boy studied the wad of bill for a few moments; taking the time to count them.
“This is great, Donnie. This will keep us free.”
The boy looked upon the robot seriously. “I apologize, Donnie for coming down on you for your desire to be a human, and the desire to provide yourself with all things human,” and then he paused briefly, “but you cannot be human.”
“Why is that young friend?”
“It is because your AI does not have the ability to express emotion. Furthermore, you don’t have a heart, so you cannot believe in a higher power, a God.”
“No, I guess you are right about that. I don’t know what any of that is.”
That ended the conversation and the pair cleared their way out of the woods and took to the road, and began to resume their journey down the asphalt jungle.
FIFTEEN
EA
ST OF BALMORHEA, TX
“Looks as if we’re getting into town,” Book replied as he and Donnie reached the outskirts of the town.
“Yes, best to walk the rest of the way into town – avoid suspicion from the local police,” Donnie answered as the two sauntered along taking in the sights of the small Texas town.
“We should find the library, and see to it that there aren’t any derogatory articles in the local paper about us,” he continued. “Also, what we can do is look into the paper for a possible job. After all, the money that the girl gave us won’t last all the way to L.A. That is of course there isn’t any bad news in the paper concerning us.
“It is hard to believe that it is still almost nine hundred miles across Texas, and over eight hundred after that, before we get to Los Angeles,” Donnie continued.
“You amaze me, my friend, how you know these things, and they just spout right out of your metallic jaws,” Book said.
“There is nothing to it, Book. Even so I am an old prototype, I am still packed full of information that is necessary and needed at just the correct time.”
· * * *
They took a table in the library, and laid out an assortment of newspapers they collected, and began to sort through them. They scanned The Valley News, the local paper first. Not finding any stories that had anything to do with them, they scanned the remaining four regional papers.
“Good deal. Our story has not hit here yet, so I think it might work out fine to find a small job here few a few days.”
“Yes,” The boy agreed, “at least until they catch up with us here.”
It was then that a scruffy, disheveled man, with a long, unkempt beard joined them at the table.