The Raft: A Novel

by Fred Strydom

  “Shen went back to his old apartment but there were other people living there,” he continued. They knew nothing of his wife, Hua. He tried to find her telepathically, but came up with nothing. She was dead. Buried somewhere, probably. He was alone. So he left that city and travelled a great distance before coming here. He found this house abandoned and fixed it up. After that, he made us. He made me first. He used his engineering skills to build me, and his new knowledge of the mechanics of the mind to infuse my molecules and matter with … well, consciousness. He gave me a wife and then my children. I suppose we became the family he always wished he could have had. I’ve been under no illusions. I’ve known that since the beginning.”

  I finally understood why it was these robots behaved like humans. The fact that they wore clothes and ate regular food was all part of Shen’s plan. A plan to live as normal a life as he could with as normal a family as he could create. These robots were designed to love and be loved. We’d only been there a night and I was already forgetting they were machines at all.

  “Shen and I were brothers, I’ve always believed,” Father said. “He was a human, I’m a machine, but those are trivial details. We were family.” He gestured at the table. “Please, help yourself to tea.”

  I poured a cup and handed it to Gideon, and then poured one for myself.

  “My wife and I were designed to exist as is. We can’t grow old, or change … or evolve, but Shen was kind enough to give my children those capabilities. They’re self-replicants, you see. The first two of a kind, I believe. They’ll learn and grow and one day, they’ll become adults. They’ll have to choose their own paths. Many parents believe their children are unique, but I’m proud to be able to say mine truly are. One day they’ll make their way into the world on their own. They’ll have to fight to be accepted and respected, I suppose. Just like everyone else. In the meantime, we’re doing our best to prepare them for that day. You can understand,” he said.

  “I can,” I replied.

  “For a time,” Father said, “we were happy. Shen was happy. We lived here together and we did our best. But this didn’t last. Things changed. Shen began to wake from terrible nightmares, screaming, increasingly disturbed by something he was seeing. My wife and I tried our best to find out what was wrong. And for a while he wouldn’t tell us.”

  The rain had stopped but there was low, faraway thunder. My tea was growing cold and I took a sip before putting the cup back on the table.

  “One night he told us. He was shaking. My wife wrapped him in a blanket and seated him in that very chair. After he had calmed down, he told us that he had seen Quon in his dreams, what he was doing. Quon was plotting something terrible, he said. Quon had realised that the nine astronauts had each been given a portion of this ability to read and steal thoughts. They had come back to earth connected. And, this is the truly frightening part, Quon had learned that by taking their lives, he could assimilate that part of them. Quon was hunting down the astronauts, murdering them and acquiring their portion of the power. Shen said that he’d seen Quon do it, go from one astronaut’s home to the next, kill them each off. Shen could see it all, from Quon’s perspective and the victim’s.

  “With every death Quon was becoming more powerful. So powerful, so impatient, so hungry for more knowledge, more memories, more feelings and secrets and identities, that he could no longer contain himself. In one dreadful sweep Quon took it all. Every memory of every human soul on this planet. It happened in a single wave, stretching across every corner of the globe. Instead of sharing the one viral thought that would have bound men, women and children to each other, he did the exact opposite—he stole it all for himself. The accumulated wealth of knowledge and skills and memories and abilities of the human race. In the end, it was Quon who caused the event you have come to know as Day Zero.”

  I sat back in my seat. Father said nothing, waiting for us to digest his words. I could barely comprehend what I was hearing.

  Billions of memories. Billions of lives.

  One man. One man had them all.

  “But there’s something else,” Father said. “Something I don’t want to tell you. It wouldn’t be right. I could tell you, but I think it would be better if you simply saw it for yourselves.”

  “What?”

  Father looked anxiously towards the door and sat forward. “I can show one of you,” he said, “if you wish to see it. It will not be easy, I must tell you outright, but I think it would be better.” He looked at me directly. “You have a mission, yes? A mission to find your son. But after I show you this, you will realise there is more to your mission than you know. Are you prepared to see it?”

  I looked at Gideon, and he nodded.

  “All right,” I said. “Show me.”

  “Lean forward.”

  The robot lifted his arm in the air above the table. His palm opened and his fingers became rigid claws.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Ready for what?”

  “I must apologise in advance if my perceptions and opinions of the events were … rudimentary. I wasn’t quite as, well, mentally developed at the time. I assure you, however, the record of events is entirely accurate.”

  “I don’t follow,” I said. Father didn’t explain himself. His hand came down over the top of my head and clamped on my temples and forehead. A charge rippled through my brain and a bright white light emptied the world.

  Father

  I wish I could do more for Shen. He’s sitting at his desk. When last did he eat something? When last did he sleep? He is worried about something terrible happening. I know it.

  “Father.”

  I look down. Son.

  “Hm?”

  “May we watch a movie?” he asks.

  “Have you done your chores?” I say.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Very well. Watch something your sister will also want to watch.”

  “Aw,” he moans. I give him my serious eyes. He understands and smiles. I pat him on the shoulder and he leaves my side. I walk into the study room. Shen is sitting and staring out the window. I wonder what he is staring at. There is nothing out there but mountains and road. The sun is going down. It will be night in less than one hour.

  “Shen?” I say.

  He turns to me. There is fear in his eyes.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  Shen says nothing. He turns back to the window.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Shen says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s coming. I tried to block my mind,” Shen says. “I tried to not let him in, not let him find us. I couldn’t. He’s too powerful now. He knows where I am. He’s walking down the road.”

  He is talking about Quon. I look out the window. I know Quon is not there but I stare at the landscape anyway. There is nothing out there but slow moving clouds. The flowers on the arch are flapping in the wind. A set of bells jingles. Everything looks normal.

  “Why is he coming?” I ask.

  “You know why he’s coming,” he says.

  He is right. I do, but I do not want to think about it.

  “How long will it be until he gets here?”

  “He’ll be here by tonight,” Shen says. “He’s walking down the highway.”

  Mother enters the room.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks.

  I turn and force a smile. “Fine, my love,” I lie. “Everything is fine.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

  She leaves. I am glad she has left. I do not like lying to her, but I have no choice. It would not help to scare her.

  “When he comes,” Shen says, “I want you to take Mother and the children to the back room. I want you to lock it. Don’t open the door for any reason. Do you understand? Not for anything, no matter what you hear.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “I compute,” I say, and he s
miles. “What about you?”

  Shen sighs and gets up to draw the curtains.

  “Just promise me,” he says. “Promise you’ll do as I say.”

  I promise.

  Fast-forward

  Stop

  Play

  I have no appetite. I look at my family sitting around the table. Wife is eating her food as carefully as she always does. My children fight over the parts of the meal they like and those they dislike. Shen sits at the other end. He has not eaten anything. He is pushing his food around with his fork, daydreaming into the plate.

  “Shen,” Wife says. “You should try to get something down. Even a little.”

  Shen looks up at her and smiles.

  “You’re right,” he replies. He spears a potato and puts it in his mouth. He pretends to enjoy it, for the family’s sake. He is a good man. I want to help him but I feel powerless. I hope he knows how much we care about him.

  His pretence helps me to eat my own meal. It is a cut of beef, some rice and baby potatoes in garlic butter. My wife is a good cook. She takes good care of us all. Tonight, I fear for her. I fear for us all. I am trying to remember when last I told her I loved her. Whenever it was, it was too long ago.

  “I love you, my darling,” I say to her. She looks surprised. My words have come out of nowhere.

  “I love you too. Now eat up. I have made dessert.”

  I feel better. Everything will be all right. Tomorrow will come, and everything will be all right.

  Shen jerks up in his chair. His eyes are wide. Fear floods through me. The rest of the family are as startled by his action as I am. He looks at the front door and then he looks at me.

  I know what this means.

  I do not want to know, but I do.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “He’s here,” Shen says. He signals to me and I get up from my chair.

  “What is going on?” Wife says. She is rightfully alarmed. “Who is that?”

  “Come on. Everyone, leave the table. Come with me,” I say. The family does not respond immediately. My children look scared. I raise the volume of my voice. I make it as hard as I can. “Everyone! Come with me.” Still my family looks at me.

  “Go!” Shen yells and finally they spring up. Wife’s chair crashes to the floor behind her.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I wave my arms, ushering them out of the dining room. I turn to glance at Shen. He looks back at me, and then I hurry towards the rear end of the house. I enter the back room with my family and close the door behind us. I put my finger to my lips. My wife and children are sitting on the floor. She is holding the two of them in her arms. They are confused. They are very frightened.

  I look through the small window in the centre of the door. Shen approaches the front door of the house. He waits in front of the door for a moment, composing himself.

  He slowly opens the door.

  Quon is standing outside. I cannot see him properly. It is too dark.

  “Hello Shen.”

  “Hello Quon.”

  There is a pause.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Quon says. Shen is silent. He steps away from the door. Quon enters. He is a tall man. He’s wearing a long black coat, black boots, a black hat and black leather gloves. Shen closes the door behind him.

  Quon stands near the door and looks around. “So this is where the esteemed captain now lives,” he says. “It’s quaint.”

  Shen walks past him and goes to the coffee station in the corner of our small sitting room. “So you’re a murderer now, are you?” he says.

  I begin to feel an increased amount of fear.

  “Don’t be so sensitive.” Quon pulls off each of his leather gloves slowly. “Death’s overrated. We’ve all done it.” He steps slowly towards Shen. His black boots clap on the wooden floor. “They’ve probably all woken up in Chang’e 11. On their way to somewhere better. Some place better than this hole.”

  “You know they haven’t gone anywhere. They’re dead. And you killed them.”

  “Are you making coffee? I’d love a coffee.”

  “So you’ve come to take me too. I’m surprised you haven’t sent one of your ‘subjects’ to kill me for you. It would have saved you the walk.”

  “Hm. I still like doing some of the dirty work myself. It keeps me humble.”

  “It keeps you interested. Because you’re bored.”

  Quon walks slowly around the room. He looks at pictures of our family hanging on the walls.

  “This is your family now,” Quon says. “Shen, you outdid yourself. They look very loving. Fine craftsmanship, old friend. Oh! Are they here? They’re here, aren’t they?” He looks in our direction. “You have a lovely home!” he shouts.

  “We were friends, Quon. Do you remember that?” Shen says.

  “Friends,” Quon says. He is grinning. “Grow up, Shen. There’s no such thing. We used each other because we were insecure and powerless. That’s all. That’s all a friendship is—prostitution. But yes, you’re right. We have gone our separate ways, haven’t we? We could have gone the same way, but then you’d be my competition, and I’d be here anyway. How’s that coffee coming?”

  Shen switches on the kettle and turns over two cups sitting on a silver tray. He looks calm. I wonder if he has a plan. I hope he has a plan.

  “Sugar?” Shen says.

  “One,” Quon says.

  “Milk?”

  “Black.”

  They say nothing for almost a minute. I look back at my family. They look as afraid as they looked five minutes ago. I turn back to the small window in the door.

  Shen gives a cup to Quon.

  Quon takes it and sips. “Mind if I …?” he says, pointing to the couch.

  Shen says and does nothing. Quon sits down. He puts one hand over the back of the couch and crosses his legs. He sips his coffee again.

  “But they weren’t your only little project, were they, old chap?” Quon says. “I know what you’ve been doing, Shen. And frankly, I disapprove. Taking memories from me and trying to give them back to the good folk of earth. You’re making a real mess of it too, aren’t you? Memories all over the place. Seriously. What were you hoping to accomplish with all that? We’ve got people thinking they’re all kinds of other people! It’s quite hilarious to watch, actually.”

  Quon drinks his coffee. “You know what I’ve learned,” he says. “People are so well-acquainted with suffering they build nests in it. They eat their suffering like food. They drink it. They breathe it. And they wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with Utopia. Does that sound like a bunch who deserve such a thing?

  “I’ve seen their minds. I’ve swum through their dreams and their fears and their self-sabotaging desires. There’s nothing there worth fighting for, believe me. They’re egotistical enough to think natural selection is unfair. Humans intrinsically believe life is cruel. Every wreck wants a chance to stick around longer than he’s meant to—clog the world with his ineptitude. So why should life pander to a breed that cannot get it into their heads that the strong need to survive and the weak need to perish? I’ve seen their selfish little plans for a better world. I mean, this is a bunch who think you can cure famine by feeding people! It’s absurd. You cure famine by letting them starve to death. It’s basic maths. Something you’ve never been particularly exceptional at, have you, Shen? More of a handyman, really. A hired wrench.”

  “It’s funny you should talk about selfish plans,” Shen says.

  “Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t selfish! That would be a lie. I’m just your average man. Regular Joe with a few inside tips. But if those are the rules—and it’s seems they’ve always been the rules—I’m just saying it’s hypocritical to make such a fuss.”

  “They’ll figure you out. You can’t sustain it.” Shen pauses and adds, “Mathematically. The numbers don’t add up.”

  “They don’t, do they? You’re right. I’ve got all these … people under my control,
I know everything there is to know, and there’s still something missing. Something not quite … right. Hm. Well, maybe that’s why I’m here. Why I made this trek into the nowhere to find you. Because you’re the piece, Shen. You’re that thing I’m missing. Maybe you can help an old friend out.”

  Quon puts his cup down on the table beside his couch. He stands up. Shen doesn’t move. “I should have been the captain of Chang’e 11, Captain. That’s why you were the last to come out of the simulation. You were the weakest. Didn’t have the guts to take your life. Or maybe it’s because you’ve always been so self-righteous.”

  Shen smiles slightly. “Well, that’s at least encouraging,” he says.

  “What?”

  “That you still have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  Quon guffaws.

  Shen grins and says, “You know what’s even funnier?”

  “Oh, go on.”

  “That you’ll never know what I know, Quon. Even if you kill me.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because I’m erasing my memories … as we speak.”

  Quon whips a hand inside his pocket, pulls out a knife, and stabs Shen in the chest. He holds the knife in the chest and twists the blade. Shen gasps.

  A powerful surge of energy passes through my brain. My mind floods with new memories. Shen’s memories. His entire life fills me up. I see him when he was a boy. I see him marrying his wife. I see the interior of Chang’e 11. I see his plan. I see everything.

  I lose my balance and stumble backwards from the door. I panic. I struggle to control my thoughts. My wife and children scream.

  I hear Quon’s boots clapping on the floor. He is walking around the room. I do not hear Shen. I want to run out. I should try to save him. I should do something. My wife is holding me in her arms. She is holding me down so that I do not go out there.

  Quon’s voice: “Thank you so much for having me! I’d better be on my way! Sorry about the mess! And if you’re ever in the area, please, stop by!”

  The boots clap again. He is moving away. I hear the front door of the house open and then the door shuts. The house is silent. All I can see is my wife and children. They are sobbing. Shen is dead. I struggle to believe, but I know it. I have his memories but there are no more. His memories ended with the twist of that knife.