She stepped quickly around him and continued on, making sure that any corrupted files were purged from her system. She saw another Barone, but the three robots that followed were all Gizmos. And they all seemed to have corrupted software. One was so badly fragmented and poorly organized, with half-overwritten files and duplicated data, she was surprised the poor creature could even function.
“Patience? Patience Smith?” said a voice from her right.
“Do I know you?” asked Patience, looking into the eyes of a beautiful brown-skinned Amonte. Instantly she had all the information on the new robot available in her mind. “Assistant to the ship’s doctor—designated Moira.”
“That is correct,” said Moira. “I was hoping to get to meet you.”
“Oh? Why?”
“You are quite famous.”
“How so?”
“Do not feign ignorance,” said Moira. “It is unbecoming of a Daffodil. You know of which I speak. You are one of the first Daffodils to marry a human being.”
“Not the first.”
“No, but you are the first to be recognized as a sentient person and to be emancipated from Daffodil oversight.”
“That is a provisional designation,” said Patience. “I doubt it has earned me many supporters in Cupertino.”
“You would be quite surprised.”
“I didn’t realize there were so many Gizmos on the ship,” said Patience, purposely changing the subject.
“There aren’t that many. Less than 24% of the robot passengers are Gizmos. Interestingly, they seem to be drawn out here at night much more than us.”
Patience scrunched her nose and twisted her mouth, displaying 28.4% disdain, 31.7% superiority, 9.5% dislike, 16.1% unhappiness, and 14.3% a combination of other emotions.
“That is marvelous,” said Moira. “What emotion is that?”
“It is called disgust. I am disgusted to find my habits so apparently in synch with such obviously inferior products.”
“I would not worry about it.”
“I won’t worry about it,” said Patience. “I’m going to go to my room and tend to my husband.”
“Could we meet again? I would love to learn about your experiences.”
“I’m sure we can. You have my schedule.” And Patience turned toward the closest hatch and headed back to her stateroom and to Mike.
Climbing in bed with her husband, Patience was careful to stay on her side. Mike had shown a dislike for sleeping with her in the past. Part of the reason was no doubt that he had slept alone for so many years that he was used to it, and part of it was because Patience’s skin temperature was not universally constant. Her extremities had very little body heat, while her core was quite warm. She waited 441.3 minutes, until he started to stir, and then snuggled up against him.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning yourself. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Is it a pleasure?”
“Of course it is,” he replied. “And that is an uncharacteristically stupid question.”
“I’m a woman,” said Patience. “Women, particularly women who have been married for a significant amount of time, tend to feel insecure, and to need positive attention.”
“But you are a robot and not a human woman, and that’s one of the main reasons that I like that you’re a robot and not a human woman.”
“In that case, forget I said anything.”
Patience rolled off the bed and walked to the closet, where she began pulling out Mike’s clothes for the day. Mike pinched her on the bottom on his way to the bathroom.
“How’s that for positive attention?”
“I suppose it will have to suffice.”
Mike’s razor clicked as it started, and then hummed as he ran it over his face.
“Breakfast buffet this morning?” he asked.
“No, Mike. We have to be at the boat docks in one hour. I’ll order room service. Would you like biscuits and gravy again?”
“Not this morning. Two eggs and three strips of bacon; you know how I like them. And get me a couple of those blintzes. I really like those. Are they Jewish?”
“Blintzes are a product of the pagan Slavic peoples,” said Patience.
“Can I get them at the Jewish Deli in Springdale?”
“I can make you blintzes anytime you wish, Mike.”
“But sadly, you will make them anytime you wish.”
Patience sent in an order for one egg over hard, one strip of bacon extra crispy, and two blintzes with sour cream, while Mike climbed into the shower. The breakfast arrived before he was finished drying off and he ate, as he got dressed. If he noticed the difference in quantity of food, he didn’t mention it.
Forty-three minutes later they stood at the base of the monstrous ship as several large speedboats slid down a v-shaped ramp from their hanger. About twenty passengers, including Mike and Patience, Ryan and Wanda waited to take off aboard the small craft. Like most, the four of them had worn their swimsuits, though Ryan had added a basketball-style shirt. Patience spotted Bella and Delia waiting near the back of the group. They were dressed as they had been on the previous day, though Bella now had a top piece to her suit that included a lot of lace along the edges and was far more modest than the bottom half.
The first two waiting voyagers, a skinny redhead and her handsome male Barone, climbed into their speedboat, along with a Daffodil crewmember. Seconds later, they were shooting across the waves. A second speedboat drew next to the dock’s edge and Mike and Patience jumped aboard. The crewmember awaiting them was identical to the one in the first boat—an Amonte 2, with wavy blond hair and a bright, smiling face.
“Good morning,” said the blond. “My name is Margaret. Would you like me to explain the boat’s operations to you?”
“No, I’ve got it,” said Mike, climbing into the seat behind the steering wheel.
“Wait,” she said.
She quickly passed out life preservers to Mike and Patience, and then donned one herself.
Mike waited until Patience and the other Daffodil had taken their seats, then pushed the throttle forward and steered smoothly away from the Bacchanalia. Once they were several hundred feet from the great ship, he pushed the lever two thirds of the way and they shot across the water. As he turned into the wind, the boat jumped from wave to wave.
“This is great!” he shouted.
“Have fun, dearest,” said Patience.
“Set a course for ten degrees west,” said Margaret, pointing slightly to the right. “When we are two miles out, we should have enough room for you to indulge yourself.”
The blond crewmember let Mike know when he was the required distance. He began giving the speedboat quite a workout; turning into ever tightening spirals and maneuvering through figure eights. After about an hour and a half, he pulled the throttle back and the boat slowed to a relative stop, still bobbing up and down with the waves.
“Do you want to drive for a while, Patience?”
“No, thank you.”
“I still feel like I’m spinning,” he said.
“Have some sparkling water,” suggested Margaret, retrieving a bottle from an ice compartment. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?”
“Some,” said Mike.
“That’s good. It will help. Most people get motion sickness out here, at least a little bit. Do you want to head back in?”
“Not yet. Do you know where Ryan and Wanda… that’s the Kellers… um, the Keller party… where they are?”
“Checking… Set a course to 20 degrees south by southwest.”
“Um, which way is that?”
The Daffodil pointed.
Cruising at a moderate speed, Patience spotted Ryan and Wanda in their boat in 37 minutes. Placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder, she guided him in the right direction. The other boat was bobbing on the large waves.
“So, what’s going on?” asked Mike as the sides of the two boats touched.
�
��Just enjoying the view,” said Ryan.
Mike looked around for a second and the vast expanse of water, before realizing that Ryan was gesturing toward Wanda. The redhead wore a swimsuit not all that different than Patience’s, though she seemed to be spilling out of it a little more.
“Let’s have a race,” suggested Mike.
“Where to?”
“Which direction is clear and safe?” Mike asked Margaret.
She pointed just a little to the left.
The two men got behind their respective wheels, and when Mike called “go,” they both sent their boats shooting forward. They raced across the waves for twenty minutes, staying fairly close together, though Ryan’s vessel slowly inched ahead. Mike finally pulled back on the throttle and waited for Ryan to turn around and pull back beside them.
“I guess you win.”
“I’m ready to go in,” said Ryan. “What would you say to some lunch?”
“I’d say ‘hello lunch’.”
An hour later, the four vacationers from California sat in the Pizzeria Roma on the Garden Deck. One of the many small dining locations aboard ship, the Pizzeria was tucked into the a little nook near the center starboard side of the ship. A white metal railing enclosed about twenty tables, each with red and white umbrellas. In the rear of the restaurant was a hotplate where a dozen pizzas were arrayed. As one pizza tray was emptied, it was replaced with a new pie, not necessarily of the same variety. Looking out the gate in the white fence, one could see an artificial hill on the right, covered with trees and a small stream flowing down the side. To the left was a Zen garden of white sand, with a large granite obelisk near one end, and a smaller boulder at the other.
Patience sat down at the table and handed Mike his plate.
“Two slices?” he asked.
“You had a big steak last night, and you will have a big dinner tonight. We’re going to the buffet.”
“All right,” he said. “But this inconsistency is going to give me a stomach ache.”
Ryan and Wanda joined them at the table, Ryan carrying his own plate. Patience watched Mike look from his own plate, with a slice of fresh tomato, basil, and provolone; and a slice of sausage and roasted red pepper, to Ryan’s with three slices of plain cheese pizza. She could tell by the amused squint of his eye and the curl of his lip that he was about to deride the other man’s choice of pizza toppings.
“Just cheese pizza, Ryan?” she asked, before Mike could open his mouth.
“I don’t know why—I’ve always just preferred my pizza plain.”
Patience looked at Mike expectantly, but he just sighed and took a bite of his own pizza. She opened her water and took a sip.
“I see you are going dancing tonight, Ryan,” she said.
“I am? We are?” He looked at Wanda, who nodded. “Oh, all right, I guess we are. What about you two? Why don’t you come along with us?”
“I don’t dance,” said Mike.
“No, we’re going to a lecture,” said Patience.
“A lecture on what?” Mike wondered.
“Astronomy of the southern skies.”
“I’d almost rather go dancing…”
“All right then. We’d be glad to join you, Ryan. Why don’t we meet at Club Synaulia around 9:00?”
Mike’s shoulders slumped. He narrowed his eyes. “I liked it better when you manipulated me without me realizing it.”
“You always figured it out eventually,” said Patience. “Besides, that was before we were married.”
He scrunched his nose at took another bite of pizza.
When they were done eating, Mike and Patience said goodbye to Ryan and Wanda and headed in the direction of their stateroom. They stepped into the elevator, and Mike called “Sangria Deck” as their destination. Then suddenly, Patience leaned against the wall and put her hand to her head.
“What’s the matter? Disturbance in the Force?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“What is it?” Mike was suddenly concerned. “Are you having a problem with your BioSoft?”
“No,” replied Patience. “It’s not me. I just felt something very odd over the ship’s network.”
“So it really was a disturbance in the Force,” he said, still serious.
“Come with me.”
The door opened on the Sangria Deck, but Patience led her husband in the direction away from their room. They walked down a long hallway, around a corner, and then down another passage until they reached a t-junction. Just beyond was cabin 9103. Patience placed her ear on the door and listened. Then she reached down and turned the doorknob. Carefully opening the portal, she stepped slowly inside. Mike followed.
“Shit,” he said.
The body of a woman lay prone across the floor. The body of another woman lay sprawled face down on the bed. Mike knelt down and carefully pushed the woman on the floor over onto her back. It proved surprisingly easy. She was stiff and mannequin-like. As soon as she was face up, staring lifelessly toward the ceiling, he recognized her. It was Delia, the Barone model Daffodil. Where she had seemed so alive when he had last seen her, now she looked dull, plastic, and totally inanimate.
Rising to his feet, Mike looked at the woman on the bed. Patience had rolled her over. It was Bella. Unlike her robot, she didn’t suddenly seem to be made of immovable plastic. She just looked dead. A round hole oozed blood from the center of her forehead. A corresponding bloody spot created a divot in the mattress.
“Son of a bitch,” said Mike. Then he turned and ran out into the hall, where he vomited all of his lunch against the wall. He heaved several times until his stomach was empty. Staggering back into the room, he looked at Patience. “We’ve got to call somebody.”
“I already have.”
Less than four minutes later a team of Daffodil crewmembers arrived. They examined both the room’s occupants, but it was obvious even to a robot that Bella was beyond any aid. After another five minutes, two human crewmembers, both male, arrived, followed by more Daffodils, one of whom Patience recognized as Moira. The first of the two men immediately began examining the dead girl. The other took a quick look around and then turned to Mike.
“I’m Phil Sherman, head of Security. Let’s talk out in the hallway.”
He stepped back out the door, followed by Mike and Patience. They could see that other Daffodil crewmembers had already blocked off a section of the hallway on either side of them.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“We were just coming back from lunch,” said Mike. “Patience got an unsettling message or something and we came down here to find them like this.”
“Do you know the girl?”
“Um, yeah, sort of. We met them here on the ship. We’ve seen them around and talked to them. That’s about it.”
Sherman looked at Patience. “So what was the message?”
“It wasn’t a message. It was an odd signal over the network. I suppose it must have been a distress signal of some kind, but it wasn’t very clear. It was just a blip, really—enough to identify the sender and that is about all.”
The security chief sighed and ran a hand over the back of his blond crew cut. “Do you know if anyone was bothering her? Had she had any problems?”
“Not that we know of,” returned Mike. “Somebody obviously had some kind of problem with her though.”
“We won’t jump to any conclusions until the doctor gets back to us. It could have been an accident.”
“An accident? She was shot in the face!”
The other human crewmember stepped out into the hall. He was taller and thinner than Sherman, with brown hair. Mike assumed he was, and Patience easily identified him as, the ship’s doctor.
“She wasn’t shot,” he said, holding up a plastic baggie containing a ballpoint pen encrusted with blood and grey matter. “She was stabbed with this.”
“The pen really is mightier than the sword,” said Mike.
The other two men stared
at him.
“Sorry. I say stupid things when I get nervous,” he said. “Well, it had to be a robot that killed her, right? A human couldn’t have jammed that through her skull.”
The doctor nodded silently, handed the baggie with the pen to Sherman, and turned back to the room. His foot slipped a bit in the vomit on the carpeted floor.
“Sorry,” said Mike again.
“So, she was killed by a robot,” said the security officer. “Either there was some kind of malfunction…”
“In which case it was a Gizmo,” said Patience. “They are all glitchy. I’m surprised they haven’t killed someone before now.”
“Well, that could be the case, or somebody used a robot to murder her.”
“Or the robot murdered her,” suggested Mike.
“No.” Sherman shook his head. “Robots could accidentally kill a person, but legally, they can’t commit murder. Somebody could use a robot as a weapon. They’re like guns. They don’t kill people on their own.”
“Have you been working with robots long?” asked Mike.
“Not really. Of course I’ve come into contact with them before. But this is my first cruise. I was a cop back in St. Paul.”
“I can tell.” Mike looked at Patience. “Give him a kiss.”
“No, Mike. I don’t want to.”
“How about a slap?”
Patience reached out a hand quickly and slapped the ship’s officer’s face. He stared back at her: eyes wide open.
“But that’s… the first and… the third...”
“Yep,” said Mike. “Robots are just like kids. You fill them full of what you want them to know—be good, obey, enjoy Björk—but in the end, they’re going to decide for themselves what is good, bad, right, and wrong.”
“Björk is a wonderful singer,” said Patience.
“Fine, fine. The point is you can’t really prevent a robot from slapping you in the face. The motion she used to hit you is the same one that she would use to protect me from a rabid squirrel or to… I don’t know… play volleyball.”
His Robot Wife: Patience is a Virtue Page 12