Eye Candy

by Ryan Schneider

Candy averted her eyes and lowered her face.

  “Why Candy, if your face weren’t covered in my sperm, I’d think you were blushing.”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “We just got busted trying to be Mister and Misses James Bond and now we’re sitting here with semen on our faces and you’re suddenly embarrassed?”

  “Yes. No one. . . .”

  “No one what?”

  “No one has ever said anything like that to me. I always thought I was kinda pretty and I’ve always tried to stay in shape, but I’m not a glamour girl. I didn’t have boys chasing me in high school. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I didn’t date the captain of the football team. In fact, I didn’t date anyone from my high school. I did date a guy on my gymnastics team. But the night we tried to have sex for the first time, he couldn’t get it up. I thought it was me. Finally he confessed that he was gay, and that he’d been using me to prove to himself that he wasn’t.

  “Even in college, I didn’t get that much attention. I was always the smart chick.”

  “Smart is sexy.”

  “People don’t like the smart chick. They want to copy her lecture notes and they want her to come to study hall, but when Friday night rolls around and there’s a kegger at the Omega Chi house, no one calls. And the smart girl ends up in her dorm room by herself, eating Dulce de Leche Haagen-Dazs, watching sixty-year-old re-runs of 90210, and rewriting her Robo-Physics lecture notes.”

  “Candy, look at me.”

  When Candy didn’t look up, Danny touched her chin and gently lifted her head. “Look at me.”

  At last Candy’s eyes met his.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being the smart girl. It’s simply that other people can be intimidated by that intelligence. They feel inadequate. They may even feel jealous.”

  “But why? I worked really hard to get good grades. Graduating with honors with dual degrees in Robotics and Psychology doesn’t happen by itself. It takes work.”

  “I know it does. But it’s human nature to be jealous and insecure. Those people who wanted to study with you but who didn’t call on Friday night didn’t consciously decide that they didn’t want to be your friend. I would guess that it actually had nothing to do with you. It was all about their insecurities and their own feelings of inadequacy. They felt they were not capable of getting two degrees at the same time, and looking at you reminded them of this. But rather than being able to make that distinction, they projected all those negative feelings onto you, or they simply didn’t want to think about it. And the easiest way to do that was by not being around you. Being your friend would’ve been the smartest move they could’ve made. We all have our individual strengths. Just like we all have our individual weaknesses. Their weakness was their own fragile ego. It’s nobody’s fault, really. It’s just human nature.”

  Candy studied his eyes. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

  “I don’t think anything. It’s a fact. You’re gorgeous. Didn’t you see the guys checking you out tonight when we were strolling through the mall?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Wow. It was all I could do not to say something. A couple of guys actually turned their heads. One guy was holding hands with a woman. I bet he’s sleeping on the couch tonight. Idiot.”

  Candy’s gaze was cast down. “Women learn from a very early age to ignore men. If you look at a man who is looking at you, he thinks you’re interested. Some women enjoy being sex objects, but being hit on gets old really fast. So women learn to not look. They learn to keep their eyes fixed on where they’re walking, and use body language to convey that they’re not interested. Most of the time it works. But some guys are relentless. I was in Paris a few years ago for a robotics conference and some French guy followed me down the street telling me I was his reves humides, his wet dream. I pretended that I didn’t understand. Then he started asking me to take off my shoes.”

  “Why would he ask you to take off your shoes?”

  “I don’t know; I didn’t ask. Maybe he has a foot fetish.”

  “Or a shoe fetish. Maybe he wanted to smell your shoes. Some guys like that.”

  “So anyway, no I didn’t notice any guys examining me tonight. I’m mostly oblivious to that sort of thing.”

  “Well, take it from me, doctor, as a trained professional with years of experience dealing with aesthetics, I can say that in my unequivocal and highly professional opinion, you are divinely beautiful.”

  Candy slowly smiled and looked up at Danny.

  Danny said, “And I’m not just saying that because you have my semen all over your face.”

  “Thank you, Danny.”

  “You’re welcome, Candy. So, how long do we have to leave this stuff on our face?”

  Candy leaned forward and wrapped her arms tight around Danny’s neck. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then, still holding fast to Danny, released it. She murmured, “Forever.”

  Danny enfolded Candy in his arms, savoring the brush of her soft blond hair against his face, her body pressed against him so warm and firm, and was equally lost in the embrace.

  Forever was perfectly fine with him.

  Chapter 20

  Dry Water and Bright Darkness

  After a wonderful, peaceful, restful night’s sleep with their bodies entwined, Danny and Candy roused themselves late the following afternoon. They enjoyed a luxurious brunch comprised of Danny’s self-proclaimed world-famous scrambled eggs (the recipe for which he refused to disclose to Candy so early in their courtship) and Candy’s allegedly equally-famous nacho-cheese-flavored tortilla chips topped with a massive quantity of grated Jack and Colby cheese and dosed liberally with her favorite fast-food chain-supplied picante sauce, then popped into the oven for ten minutes at 400 degrees.

  In between bites of scrambled eggs and feeding each other tortilla chips covered in melted cheese, Danny commented that the special protein mask they had enjoyed the night before seemed to have had a positive result on her skin, which he assured her in no way needed any anti-aging treatments of any kind.

  Candy thanked Danny and said that perhaps, if he were lucky, she would apply more of the magical fluid on his face later that night.

  They agreed to visit Robot City, a small unincorporated township which had grown up between Silverlake and downtown Los Angeles. Robot City was a city comprised almost entirely of robots, primarily robots whose owners had no longer wanted them (perhaps after acquiring the new model year ’bot), or owners who had passed away, and their faithful servant had no longer had a human to serve. The reasons were as wide and varied as the variety of robots which inhabited Robot City.

  Robot City was a quiet place during the day, but it came to life at night. It was a great, glowing place full of lights and neon signs and flashing, brilliant edifices designed to entertain the eye. Who knew robots were such night owls?

  The human population of Robot City was less than three thousand, as opposed to the robot population numbering near 50,000. At least, that was the estimate. No census had been taken in Robot City, and it was unlikely ever to happen. For although Robot City was an odd place reviled by many human beings, there was an informal de facto city council comprised of four humans and five robots. The council had modeled itself after the nine justices of the Supreme Court of the United States, selecting the odd number of nine so that there would not nor could ever be a tie when it came to deliberations pertaining to the daily operations and wellbeing of Robot City and its inhabitants. The council also saw to it that both Los Angeles County and California State taxes were paid. Robot City was left almost entirely to its own devices, and all nine members of the counsel, as well as the vast majority of residents, had no problem buying a bit of privacy and autonomy with their quarterly tax payments.

  To their credit, the county of Los Angeles and the State of California left Ro
bot City well enough alone. Despite its reputation for being a place of electronic and positronic oddities, it was a relatively peaceful place (more so than most other townships within Los Angeles County), and the LAPD almost never had to venture into Robot City jurisdiction during its day-to-day business of keeping the peace, of protecting and serving. The occasional off-duty forays into Robot City tended to be of little consequence; as long as residents and visitors were respectful, and that pertained to humans and robots alike, no one much cared what went on in Robot City. Crime was almost non-existent, there was no pollution, and it was a steady stream of tax money. What was there to complain about? Let the robots and the robot freaks alone.

  While many people were afraid of venturing into Robot City, regardless of whether or not they would publicly admit to being so, Danny and Candy both adored it. Each had visited Robot City once or twice, but it had been many years ago, and they agreed that a stroll together through the Arcades would be a great way to spend an evening.

  The Arcades consisted of a great span of many high arches, towering above the street itself. It was a pedestrian-only thoroughfare, open only to foot traffic, and bordered on both sides by businesses and shops and establishments both small and large, almost all of which were unique, one-of-a-kind storefronts. (One of the fundamental tenets of the Robot City Council was no admittance to franchised businesses of any kind.) The streets of Robot City had been designed and built in a gentle S-curve, so while the city itself was a traditional grid of north-south and east-west avenues providing easy navigation and travel, the gentle curve of the streets limited visibility; one could not see from one side of Robot City all the way across to the other. This created an effect of intimacy and quiet. It also tended to slow the rates of the electric vehicle traffic, which further discouraged any form of hustle-and-bustle. Robots were never in a hurry, nor should their home encourage them to be.

  Candy and Danny enjoyed the diversity of shops, everything from robot repairs to eateries ranging from pastries and confections to fine dining. The tiered, multi-story buildings festooned with lights brought to mind images of a quaint yet futuristic European hamlet.

  Nearly all the food-related establishments offered a patio for outdoor dining. The pleasant southern California climate contributed to the always-genial temperature inside the Arcades. The city had also been designed such that rainfall was carefully routed through a series of filtration systems and gathered for uses such as drinking water and for the production of steam-powered electricity which supplemented the solar-generated electricity that provided the vast majority of Robot City’s power needs. The net result was that it never rained in the Arcades, and only the parks and certain well-defined and well-known areas of Robot City were deliberately left open to receiving natural rainfall.

  Candy and Danny strolled past patios where people were enjoying their dinners. Robots and humans alike sat in twos and threes and fours, conversing together.

  Smaller cafés and coffee shops and patisseries offered electronic games on their patios, everything from 3-D checkers to virtual backgammon to digital wizard’s chess. Pairings for such games had no biological predispositions; robots and humans were valued as equals in Robot City, thus humans played checkers against humans, robots played backgammon against robots, and humans and robots shared equally in a good chess match. Any combination was possible and it was often impossible to predict the winner (though a bit of quiet, good-natured gambling on such outcomes was certainly never discouraged).

  Danny and Candy ventured into a candy store bearing the name Isaac's in brilliant purple and green neon. Isaac’s was the most well-known candy store in all of Los Angeles county. All of their sweet confections were made entirely by hand; entirely by robot hands, a fact ignored by humans possessed of a sweet tooth greater than their anti-robot attitudes.

  The proprietor of Isaac’s was a man of indeterminate (and undisclosed) age. He presided over his candy store from a loft overlooking the many barrels and bins and trays and tubs of candy. Great grey sideburns adorned his smiling cheeks, and his fingers danced over the keys of an old-fashioned typewriter, for he was also a well-known writer and novelist.

  Candy purchased half a kilogram of the sugar-free dark chocolate for which Isaac and his robot confectioners were famous.

  Danny perused the magazine rack. He enjoyed the pulp art on the science fiction novels, swashbuckling space-faring depictions of robots rescuing maidens from thieving marauders and giant robotic dragons.

  Candy and Danny waved goodbye to Isaac and exited the candy store.

  They resumed their stroll along the promenade and soon stopped at a gelato stand, where each ordered a scoop of gelato on a warm, freshly-made waffle cone. Candy asked for a scoop of dulce de leche while Danny opted for green pistachio.

  Danny paid the robot and thanked him for the gelato, and he and Candy walked on.

  Candy took Danny’s arm as they strolled, and they took turns tasting each other’s gelato. Danny seemed to prefer Candy’s sweet caramel-flavored gelato and he took too large a bite. Waves of cold radiated all the way into his brain.

  “Brain freeze!” he cried. He grabbed the top of his head with his hand, as if that were likely to have any effect.

  “A gelato-induced mental freeze-out,” said Candy. “I wonder what it feels like for a robot to freeze out. You think they feel anything?”

  Danny considered Candy’s question while the chill in his head subsided. “I don’t know. Howard says he feels changes in his positronic potential sometimes. He says sometimes he experiences what you or I would consider anxiety.”

  “Really? Anxiety?”

  “A few days ago, he told me that he tried several times to ask me if he could go flying with me. But he was afraid I might say no, or that Floyd wouldn’t want to risk him in an airplane. Howard was concerned he would be embarrassed, that he would lose face, as he put it. He said that each time he wanted to ask me, it became more difficult for him to think, to perform basic mental operations, even difficult to move. So he decided not to ask me. Each time he decided not to, the slowness seemed to subside, and he felt better.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Although, a couple days ago, I found him in the kitchen with his head in the refrigerator.”

  “Why was his head in the refrigerator?”

  “He said he wanted to see if cold affected his brain function.”

  “Testing his limits,” said Candy, “just like humans do. Fascinating.”

  They walked on, enjoying the gentle thrum of conversations, of people and robots conversing all around them, the aromas of coffee and pizza and the baking of waffle cones by the gelato vendor. A faint breeze whispered through the archway, carrying the scents and sounds of Robot City with it.

  Candy said, “Do you believe in God?”

  “Do you?”

  “Chicken.”

  Danny grinned and licked his gelato.

  Candy continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Barney.”

  “I see.”

  Candy took a crunching bite out of her waffle cone. “What do you think happened to him when he died?”

  “I think he was switched off.”

  “Like a light?”

  “More or less.”

  “You don’t think robots have souls?”

  “No, they’re machines. They do not have souls. You don’t get upset when your computer breaks. Well, you do, because there can be lost data if you weren’t doing your back-ups like you should, and then there’s the time and expense and the pain in the ass-ness of having to go get a new computer, but you don’t mourn the computer. It’s a machine which broke down. Nothing more.”

  “Then how do you explain the individuality of robotic sentience?”

  “The what?”

  “Every robot is different. Even robots of the same make and model, produced on the same assembly line in the same factory. When they’re activated, they’re different from one another. They look the same and
they sound the same, but they’re not.”

  “How so?”

  “A couple years ago, I spent some time in Pasadena, at Jet Propulsion Laboratories. The folks at JPL were building some serious robots up there, each of which was designed for long-duration space flight. I was called in to help evaluate them, to see how they were going to react to spending years in space. Some of them were going to be launched into deep space. They won’t arrive at their destination planet for five hundred years. They’re going to sit in their little capsule and do nothing but record and monitor the trip for five centuries. They don’t need to eat, don’t need to sleep, don’t need any kind of interaction. But I found something very interesting.”

  “What did you find?”

  “When the robots were activated, each of them was unique. Even their voices and the way they spoke was somehow . . . different. Most of the other scientists and physicists and roboticists thought I was crazy, and ultimately I stopped mentioning it. But I spent a lot of time with three of the deep space robots and they were all different. It was like human triplets: the same, but different. Two of them were gung-ho for their trip, but one of them did not want to go. His name was Casey. His full name was Cadmium Space Explorer Yellow, or C-S-E-Y. So everyone called him Casey.

  “I spent hours talking with Casey. When it came time to drive him out to Vandenburg for the launch, he couldn’t get into the van. He literally couldn’t move. We had gone over and over and over the importance of the mission and what it meant to humanity and how millions and billions of human beings were going to directly benefit for generations from his discoveries. He said he knew all that, but that he still was afraid.

  “Finally, I took my supervisor aside and told him that my recommendation was to find a different robot. But they couldn’t. The launch window was very narrow and there wasn’t time to prep a new ’bot for that particular mission. Plus Congress had already earmarked almost two trillion dollars for the next five hundred years, and if they didn’t go within that twelve-day period, they were at risk of having the funding pulled. Which is ridiculous if you ask me; who knows if any of us will even be here in five hundred years?”