Brobots

by Trevor Barton

  ‘It’s quite a talent you got there, Chuck.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said it’s quite a talent you got there.’

  ‘I still didn’t catch that. Wanna say it in my ear?’

  ‘I said it’s quite a…’ Jason didn’t get to finish the sentence. Chuck was filling his mouth with his tongue and cupping his head with one hand. Jason was right there with him. He’d been waiting for this moment for days.

  Tasley on stage, Byron in his arms, Jason and Chuck down each other’s thoats, Harris and the old boys back on the farm to visit whenever they liked. Jared had to admit to himself that this looked like it had all turned out so good. It may have taken a year, but then life often worked like that. He wasn’t trouble free; the Italian government could still request to put him on trial – though that was more unlikely since the camp attack video and the destruction of the army units. It was something else holding back the care free. Something Susan had said. Parting words as the four of them left the farm and said goodbye to Yana. The war is over. Now the battle begins.

  Bro’s Together

  ‘The place looks like monkeys live here!’ Jared was entering the lounge still carrying his backpack from work. ‘Will someone tidy up?’

  It was Tuesday, but from the look of the lounge it might have been Sunday morning. Ned was on the sofa playing a computer game with Artemis flopped on his lap. ‘Sorry, bro.’ Could he have said it any less absently? ‘Tasley had a woman over last night. Plus it looks like Chuck had a go at cooking. The kitchen is a war zone too.’

  ‘Great.’ Jared wandered to the kitchen to check the damage. He’d never seen it so bad. He saw the funny side. Chuck was a clumsy oaf with lots of creativity but few of the abilities to suit it. Burnt pans had been left in corners of denial rather than neglect. If he meant to clean it up or soak it all before time came to swap batteries with Ned he hadn’t done it. Ned wouldn’t do it for him, of course.

  ‘The joy of a house full of Sentients. Be careful what you pray for, Jared Thomas.’

  Then he noticed an unopened letter. Hand delivered. Addressed just to him.

  “We know where you live.”

  Fuck.

  Byron hopped in from the yard, kicking off some muddy boots. ‘Hey gorgeous! How’s my man?’

  ‘Uh…’ Jared just stood there, staring at the letter.

  Byron walked up and put his arms around Jared’s waist, giving it a squeeze whilst rubbing his nose against Jared’s ear. Looking over Jared’s shoulder he saw the letter and the words on the page. ‘Who is it from?’

  ‘It doesn’t say. But it was hand-delivered today.’

  ‘Boy. That’s just great.’

  Jared, wavering, turned round to face Byron and nestled his head on his broad shoulder. He held on to Byron and just started to cry. ‘I knew it was coming. Thought there’d be some hate mail. I just… didn’t think I’d get so freaked, y’know?’ He looked into Byron’s hazel eyes for answers. Byron just smiled back lovingly as best he could.

  ‘Those men… whoever it was… had better be pretty strong if they wanna take us on.’

  ‘Yeah…’ Jared wriggled away and wiped his nose. He started to inspect the Chuck cookery carnage. ‘The thing is, Byron, intimidation and harassment is worse than knives and punches. People say it isn’t. But it is. Sticks and stones just break your bones, but it’s the names that stick and damage.’

  ‘OK. But… it’s the first time anything like this has happened. Maybe it’s a one off? I wouldn’t get panicked just yet.’

  Upstairs there was a crash. Jared and Byron looked at each other. Jared rushed up with Byron right behind him. It sounded like it had come from the front of the house. Jared opened the door to Ned and Chuck’s room. There was no point in knocking – Chuck would be switched off.

  A red house brick had been thrown through the closed window from the street below. The window now had a large hole. The brick had landed on the bed next to Chuck. It didn’t look like it had hit him. Attached to the brick was another note.

  ‘…And we don’t want you here.’

  Jared hopped to the window. He looked up and down the road. All he saw was a hooded figure of a young thin man walking up it. It had to have been him, but given the walking not running Jared had nothing to prove. Perhaps Alma saw?

  --

  Despite all the calming words from Byron and Tasley (and all the playful disregard from Chuck or Ned) the brick and the letter were just the beginning. In the days to follow, paint was splatted across the beautiful bay at the front reading ‘Sentients not welcome.’ More bricks were thrown. Black paint was poured through the letter box in the front door. The door bell was ripped off its casing. Hedges at the front had bits of mannequin stuffed into them.

  Alma took photographs with her smart band when she could, and set up office close to her front window to call Neighborhood Action or the Police with every opportunity. She even posted some photos to RAI-supporting social media groups. People gave likes and pity, but few did much more than that.

  It was time to call into Susan’s office for advice.

  Jared had Byron get suited up like he had the first time they visited. What few people knew Byron from the Palm Tree wouldn’t recognize him sporting the bouncer look. Jared wore a suit and shades too; again uncharacteristically smart for him. I really should request Byron get suited and booted more often. How hot Byron looked today was a small consolation for a churning stomach and a pale face.

  Once there, Jared listed off the incidents. He finished and sat back asking, ‘Is this the battle you mentioned?’

  ‘It is. And it’s not just you. I’m sure if people knew where the farm was they’d be doing the same. Literally pitchforks. People know it exists now. But they don’t know how to find it and I’m keeping it that way. Our rehab work is becoming far too important to expose newly emerged Sentients to the worst aspects of human nature in their early days.’

  ‘How many you got there now, out of interest?’ Byron asked. They hadn’t been back to the farm since the day they’d departed for Scrinton: a settling in period that was really, technically, over now. They owed the farm a trip.

  ‘Twenty one at this current point in time.’

  ‘Shit! That’s huge!’ Jared remarked.

  ‘No. There’s far more to come. Thankfully ours is not the only boot camp. And… they’re not all as lucky as your Byron here.’

  ‘Ah. How many batteries to go around?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘But we’re working with Brobotics on that. It’s possible they’ll be able to supply ones like they did for Byron. A new supplier. It will be good news for the long term. Brobotics may even go back into Sentient models now.

  ‘Yeah. I got letters, photos, emails, messages coming out of my ears about hate attacks. Here and abroad. Nothing too bad yet. Nobody has died – human or Sentient. It looks like angry young white men without jobs doing most of the attacking.’

  ‘Isn’t it always. So… just keep doing what we’re doing? That your advice?’

  ‘It is, as much as it’s mine to give and for now. But… You might want to make some contingency plans.’

  --

  Sure enough, a week later, Jared had a solid contingency plan in place. The four of them had met with Christopher, who was very sympathetic. He’d moved out of the flat behind the club only weeks before. It was only accessible through the club, and club security was tight. (He had a new boyfriend who had his own place.) Whilst technically Christopher was meant to be on site 24/7 things were different now he had a low-cost and highly popular team around. Having most of that team live on site instead of him wouldn’t be a curse - it would be a blessing.

  It sounded neat to Jared. It would be easier for the boys on shift. In a strange way, though far more public, it would also be safer for all of them. Somehow Brobotics doing entertainment, serving ales and cocktails, and being a night attraction was already “allowed and OK”. Liv
ing in a proper house like a family unit, on the other hand, appeared not to be quite yet.

  The best thing was, Christopher was in no rush. If they needed to move quickly, they could. The four Bro’s had keys.

  The next part of the plan was to have boxes of belongings ready to go. Byron told Jared it was unnecessary, that he was doing his classic fretting. But Jared (the nine year old part of him who kept his father alive) gave in to his karma and lined up one box for each of them, and a smaller one for Artemis.

  Hate mail and window smashing continued. As it did, each man’s box slowly filled, until one day all of them were full and three of the men, despondent, were having a family meeting in the kitchen.

  ‘We have to go.’ Chuck.

  ‘Agreed.’ Tasley

  ‘Agreed. But it’s Jared’s house. Jared gets to say.’

  ‘Well you know what I think. We should have moved out days ago.’

  ‘Ned should get a say, too’, Tasley offered.

  Chuck breathed out. He pulled up his shirt, reached to his side, popped out the cartridge cover and switched himself down. Byron took the battery and slotted it into Ned, whose body was already with them at the table.

  ‘Ned? We all agree it’s time to go. We wanted to take your view.’

  ‘I want to go too. Sorry, Jared. For ruining your beautiful home.’

  ‘It wasn’t you, Bro.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever be back?’ asked Ned. ‘I like it here so much.’

  ‘Well… not to this exact house. I’m putting it on the market. I don’t want to leave Alma, but right now there’s not much choice. But… you never know.’

  The following day was the worst they’d had so far. The small front yard had been torched and the fire department called. It was close. Had someone not raised the alarm, the arson may have reached the house itself. It removed any doubts that they were making the right call, and they couldn’t stay and fight when they didn’t know their aggressor and when neither they nor authorities had been able to catch them in person or on video. If they couldn’t fight at this time, then flight was the right thing to do.

  A sale sign was posted on the front door next day. Alma looked at it with sorrow. She never expected Jared to leave the street before her. Having grown so attached to her new routine in helping catch the thugs, she was also now out of a job. Jared left treats for Nico and Casey, and a large bottle of Gin for Alma when saying good bye. He’d be back to see her often for dog walks and gins for sure.

  Sparrow

  It was early spring now. Byron was up on the club terrace. The club was closed in the daytime. Now it was late afternoon. Sunlight played on the walls of the balcony garden, and peeked in through a line of palm trees and other plants whenever the breeze lifted their leaves.

  Things were so right here. He loved it. Turning his attention fully back to his work now, he grabbed the flag pole as his “shadow”, Tasley, lifted it up toward him. Tas and Byron had worked together for years. They were confident in each other; they joshed quite often. They were friends.

  ‘Should be the last piece’, said Byron in his low tone.

  ‘Hah! I get it’, said Tasley.

  ‘I love you, man!’

  ‘I love you too, dude. I really do.’ Tasley put his hand on Byron’s shoulder.

  From this high up they could see the best part of the city’s night quarter. The buildings weren’t so tall that they dwarfed the trees and the sun cast warmth on their face and arms…

  Jared silently walked up behind them, and put his arms around his man, nestling his body perfectly into Byron’s shape. He rested his chin on a shoulder and breathed out. Byron hummed a growl of pleasure.

  Just then a sparrow flittered to the top of the flag pole. Watching the three men from above it looked down and chirruped the sound for ‘happy’.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Byron. ‘Beautiful new life.’

  Palm Tree Dudes

  Christopher’s apartment was a lovely place for one man. For four (three and a half) ‘grown’ men and one large dog it was a little on the small side. Jared and Byron had the master bedroom. Ned and Chuck had the spare room. There was no room for Tasley, but to the Bro’s anything bigger than five foot square was luxury. He had a corner in the lounge where he stood to charge, and shared a wardrobe with Chuck.

  It was Artie’s fourth birthday and a beautiful July Sunday at that. Byron and Jared couldn’t exactly swing past Alma’s house (or didn’t want the risks), so Alma decided to join them with Nico and Casey at a favorite park of theirs. She brought with her a picnic; paper plates and cups, tonic and Gin, baguettes. Jared supplied additional snacks since he was sure Byron would enjoy them, and he would sure want a little more than Alma could eat or carry for the three of them.

  The pups were fully grown, as was Artemis now, and the three of them had the chance for a good hour of run and play. With that done the doggy dads and mom found a perfect spot under dappled tree shadows and in earshot of a trickling stream.

  ‘This your first picnic, Byron?’

  ‘Yeah! I mean… yes ma’am. First park trip too!’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘No I’m not!’

  ‘You are about the park. You had a park walk last week.’

  ‘That doesn’t count.’

  ‘Yeah? Why’s that?’ Alma swigged her gin enjoying every moment.

  ‘Jared didn’t have time to retrace his steps to find Artemis’s lost ball because he had a doctor appointment one night. So I did my bouncer look and went to find it for him.’

  ‘Oh, so you didn’t do it together then.’

  ‘No… and I didn’t get to sit down or anything. It was also getting on quite late.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Jared munched a sandwich filled with crisps.

  Alma poured more Gin like it was tea; careful with two hands like to steady the pot. ‘Well, it’s a lovely tradition. Used to do it with my parents. Most people back then had physical mobile phones filled with apps. I used to walk around looking at all the trees and beauty and wonder why other kids my age didn’t put their phones down and just take it all in. So fixed to their screens all the time I’m sure some of ‘em even tripped over each other at times.’

  ‘I can’t understand wasting a minute of it’, Byron stated, looking up at the sky as he did so and resting back on the grass with his elbows.

  ‘What you boys all doing with yourselves anyhow? Now that you’re all settled in at that Christophers’ place?’

  Who should answer? You go first :) ‘Tasley is making quite a thing of his dancing. He performs on stage Thursday through Sunday now. People even travel in from other cities to see him.’

  ‘What sort-a dancing he do again?’

  Jared picked up, giving Byron an awkward look. ‘The kind that bro-fits like, Alma. That’s the Bro’s name for “gay”.’

  ‘All gyrating and hip shaking, I take it?’ Anyone who didn’t know Alma would likely assume she was about to start criticizing about lapsed morals in the modern world. Nothing was further from the truth.

  ‘Care to demonstrate, Byron?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Byron can’t dance like Tasley.’

  ‘Shame. I’d like to see it!’ Alma chuckled and gave the boys a smutty look.

  ‘You should come by some time! We’ll give you the VIP treatment.’

  ‘Oh! Well that sounds grand! I’m in already, and I don’t even know what it involves!’

  Byron continued. ‘Well you’d get to see Tasley’s show. Either on his own or… Sometimes he doubles up with Jared’s friend Mike. Chuck serves drinks; he makes sure the VIPs get discounts and extra helpings. He’s turned out real sweet.’

  ‘What about Ned? Does he get in on it too?’

  ‘He and Chuck still share a battery so it’s an either/or thing.’

  ‘Well, you’re quite a looker, Byron. Not everyone likes big men but I can tell you that if a girl says she doesn’t then she’s lying. I can’t imagine peop
le travel just to see Tasley; even if he is as pleasing on the eye as you. From what I’ve heard on the radio your club’s getting famous because you’re all there.’

  ‘I mean… we’re happy and all.’ Jared mused. Byron looked at him quizzically. ‘I just wish we didn’t have to be a show in order to be accepted. It’s like going back to 1950’s representations of gay men on TV. You could be yourself as long as you were entertaining.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Alma munched some baguette. ‘But look at you now. You get married. You have kids. You’re even more traditional than the rest of us some of you. It didn’t last forever. You boys might even live to see the day when Brobots don’t have to hide or pretend to be like us or dance for a living.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You already got your rights. That’s a big step. I’ve lived long enough to know that the only constant is change. I mean look at that stuff about Roswell fifty years ago. Now we got space ports opening up everywhere and all that anti-gravity stuff beginning to get used. When I was a kid we still had to use rockets if we wanted to get into space. Now you can just fly to Vegas, hop on a space boat and be on Mars in a few days. What the attraction to that is I still don’t know. I’m quite happy with these local parks we have. What I mean to say is… Angry young men… and it is men, usually… can’t persuade us with their insecurities for long. Once we cotton on we tend to dust ourselves down and carry on without them.

  ‘…The thing you have to remember is that they’re not getting angry at you. They think they are. But really it’s themselves that they’re angry with. Maybe they don’t got jobs or aren’t too smart or someone stole their dummy. It’s never personal.’

  ‘It felt that way.’ Jared thought back to the hate mail, graffiti, bricks and arson in autumn.

  ‘Let’s change the subject. Are you happy as a bartender, Byron? That what you want to do with yourself now you got the freedom?’

  ‘Good question, Alma.’ Jared sat back and smiled, matching Byron’s lazy pose. ‘I’d like to know the answer to that, too.’