by D Miller
'This is stupid,' said Robbie. 'Do I have to go?'
'Robbie, I'm ashamed of you,' said the woman. 'I wanted to have you wiped but Bob has talked me out of it. He thinks we should give you another chance, but I'm not sure.'
'Perhaps you should have me wiped,' said Robbie, 'I have been very bad.'
'Yes,' said the woman, 'well, don't think I won't if you misbehave again.'
Robbie moved towards the front door.
'Just a minute,' said the woman. 'Before you go, ask the fridge if we need anything and tidy up the breakfast things, please.'
Later on Robbie walked to the end of the covered walkway that ran along the front of each house in the street, wearing a jacket with a large 'R' on the back. The walkway was lit for the benefit of humans; in the winter twilight it was too dark for humans to see much beyond the outlines of objects, although Robbie could see perfectly well. Twilight started early in the morning, and continued until early evening; as the day of the first sunrise approached the twilight would start earlier and end later. It would also get lighter every day, until it was light enough for humans to see fairly clearly.
At the end of the walkway, was a building housing a hub of the subway transport system, a moving stairway took passengers down to a central platform giving access on both sides to carriages with permanently open doors, they slowed enough as they passed by to let people get on and off. It was early morning and there were a number of people waiting on the platform for the next subway transport into the town centre, unlike Robbie they were dressed to keep out the cold. Like all robots Robbie was more resistant to the cold and to heat than humans. He had to be in below freezing temperatures for a long time before he lost enough core body temperature to feel really chilled.
A train arrived; Robbie waited for the humans to board before he stepped on to a carriage, then stood all the way, not daring to take a seat that a human being might want. When he got off at the Civic Centre stop he was accosted twice by people asking for directions, and then by a man who wanted his parcels carrying to his place of work. The town streets were narrow and pedestrian only, which increased the likelihood of citizens wanting their belongings carried.
Released by the citizen with the parcels, Robbie left the low-rise office building; like most of the buildings in the town centre it was constructed with nuplastic, which, while stronger and more load bearing than early plastics, still limited how many floors a building could have. On his way in to the building he had missed that he was across the street from the one building in the town made from brick and stone, the Mayor's mansion. He stopped for a moment to look, taking in the armed guards at the gates, the short but impressive driveway leading to broad, shallow, white stone steps that led down to the wide four storey building, set in a dip in the ground. The driveway was lit up almost as bright as day by elegant black lampposts that soared upwards and then dipped gracefully down to direct their biolights at the ground. Robot gardeners were out in force, placing tubs with trees and plants in two facing lines along the driveway. Robbie supposed they had been indoors under grow lights for most of the winter, but the gardener must now think that the worst winter storms had passed, and they would survive outside under the biolights, until the sun rose in a few weeks' time. One of the guards, ridiculously dressed in military black, given his advancing age and pot belly, saw Robbie looking and gestured with his gun for him to move on. Robbie immediately set off down the street, towards the Civic Centre.
When he finally arrived at the Civic Centre after these diversions, he asked the receptionist for directions and following these made his way to a utilitarian corridor on the first floor. On one side the corridor was lined with chairs, and on the other with identical office doors, each had a plastic frame, divided horizontally into two, with an upper and a lower frosted glass panel. Robbie stepped up to an office with a partly open door, and knocked on the glass.
'Come in,' said a human male. 'You must be Robbie. I'm afraid you are a little bit late and we do encourage punctuality, don't we dear?' This was said to a human female.
'Yes. It's so important for you to commit to this wholeheartedly,' said the woman. 'We can't help you unless you want to be helped.'
'It's not my fault that I'm late, my owner asked me to do all these little jobs before I left, and then people kept asking me for directions and to carry things–'
'Robbie, Robbie, Robbie,' said the woman. 'I have to stop you there. If you really wanted to be on time you would have been on time.'
'And we don't say owner here Robbie,' said the man, 'we say family. You are an important part of a family, and you need to learn to understand how much you matter to your family. Come in and sit down and we'll start by introducing ourselves.'
Robbie moved into the room. At one end under a porthole window a small round plastic table had been pushed into the corner. There were shelves down one side with books interspersed with glass sculptures, the facing wall displayed framed photographs and certificates. In front of the table were two padded office chairs, facing into the room; the therapists sat in them. Robbie sat in a basic plastic chair pointed to by the man, facing the therapists. The man sat with his legs crossed, leaning back in his chair, with his hands behind his head. He looked about 40 to Robbie, with dark brown hair that was grey at the temples, a broad face and a body that, while not fat, in Robbie's opinion could do with a bit more muscle tone. Both therapists, like all the white people Robbie had seen in the town, had pale skin after months with no sunshine. The woman was younger, perhaps not yet 30, she looked healthier than the man, with long, thick brown hair and an oval face that looked lovely in repose. In contrast to the man, she sat up straight in her chair with her feet firmly together and her hands folded on her lap.
'I'm Martin,' said the man, 'and this is my partner Adrienne. We are both certified robot therapists–'
'And we work as a team, professionally and personally,' said Adrienne.
'Spending so much time together wouldn't work for every couple,' said Martin.
'But for us it means that we get more and more tuned in to each other. We each know what the other is thinking and–'
'In fact I'm so in tune with you that I can tell at what point you are in your cycle – I can almost hear when you ovulate.'
At that point there was a massive crash from the floor above them, as if something that weighed about half a ton had been dropped on the floor. This was followed by several more minor crashes, culminating in a sound as if a plate was spinning round and round on the floor and gradually cycling down to nothing.
'I wonder what that was,' said Martin.
'Perhaps it was Adrienne ovulating,' said Robbie.
'Now Robbie, two things,' said Martin, 'firstly ovulation is an internal human process, not an external one and secondly we don't interrupt when other people are talking.'
'But you asked a question,' said Robbie.
'I asked a rhetorical question,' said Martin, 'I didn't expect a reply. I hadn't finished introducing myself and Adrienne. You are going to have to learn to respect other people's space or I won't be able to give your family very good reports of you.'
Robbie shut his eyes. His headache was back. He realised that someone was trying to make a secure connection with him. He allowed it.
'Hello Robbie196000,' said a voice in his internal circuits. 'Hello, hello. I just pinged and you came back, so you must be close by. I'm in stupid person therapy hell in the Civic Centre – are you?'
Robbie sent out his own ping. Several IDs came back. He felt dizzy, then his headache swooped back in worse than before. He was surrounded by robots. One of them even wanted to talk to him.
'Hello. Who are you? I'm in therapy too. I have been bad and have to make a good adjustment or I get wiped.' Robbie had only ever talked over a secure connection when the woman called him to check on the children when she was out. He tried not to let his lips move as he spoke internally, and give the game away to Martin and Adrienne. He looked at them, they we
re talking, and looking only at each other.
'Wiped! Oh no! But I'm sure that was just an empty threat. You're new aren't you? When I pinged yours was the only ID that came back that I didn't already know. I'm Omo. I'm a laundry bot.'
'I'm a house bot. Why are you in therapy?'
'Dude, I'm in therapy for folding. I really like folding.'
'But you're a laundry bot, you should like folding, laundry needs folding. I like cleaning cos I'm a house bot. I like folding too though.' Robbie thought for a moment. 'But I like vacuum cleaning best.'
'I should like folding and I do, it's become the only thing I think about, everything I look at I think about folding, even these stupid human therapists.'
'You're welcome to come and fold mine. Both of them.'
'Do you want to go to a party?'
'What's a party?'
'Robbie you've never been to a party before? That's terrible. Why not?'
'I've never really talked to another robot before, not properly, I've been in my owner's house most of my life, cleaning, and cooking, and looking after her children.'
'Dude, how old are you?'
Robbie had been watching Martin and Adrienne, unfortunately they were now looking at him, and smiling.
'Um, three. I–, I've got to go for a bit. Please don't go away.'
Adrienne was talking. 'Robbie I think we will start with some role play. To help us to identify the source of your anger.'
'I'm not angry.'
'We call that denial,' said Martin.
'I'm not bored,' thought Robbie, 'and I don't think you are a pair of dull-witted human mediocrities.'
'I want you to pretend that you are a robot,' said Martin.
'I am a robot,' said Robbie.
'We can't help you unless you take this seriously,' said Martin. 'Adrienne will play the part of the house. We'll act out a scenario where a burglar is trying to break into the house. Are you ready?'
'No.'
'Then let's begin.' Martin nodded at Adrienne.
'Intruder alert! Intruder alert!' she said.
'The house doesn't talk like that – he'd just say something like "Robbie there's someone trying to break in through the kitchen door."'
Adrienne looked at Robbie, she tapped her foot. 'Perhaps you'd like to be the house instead?'
'If you like.'
'We'll start again,' said Martin, 'off you go, house.'
'Wake up Robbie, there's someone trying to break in through the kitchen door,' said Robbie.
'Right leave it to me!' said Adrienne.
'Thank you. I feel so much better now,' said Robbie.
'Yeah, well, I don't see you dealing with it. I suppose you're too busy to do anything practical like electrifying the back door?'
'I'm not allowed to kill people.'
'Always an excuse,' said Adrienne.
'It's not an excuse, if I hurt anyone I'll get broken up and recycled.'
'So by happy coincidence, I just have to do everything?' said Adrienne.
'Damn,' thought Robbie, 'do I whine at the house like that?' He shook himself. 'You don't have to do everything,' he said. 'I monitor the external environment for threats, I keep the internal environment constant and suitable for human life, I monitor educational databases for the children and develop a tailored program for each of them, monitor local data traffic for services and events of interest to the family, I do what routine maintenance I can and alert others to jobs I can't do–'
'You mean alert me to jobs you can't do, which is most of them.'
'Got that right,' thought Robbie.
'Adrienne–' said Martin.
Adrienne glared at him. 'Don't interrupt the role play Martin!'
'Um, do you think you could deal with the burglar? You're supposed to subdue him using as little force as possible,' said Robbie.
Adrienne's head whipped back round to glare at Robbie.
'I know what I'm supposed to do – God you're so patronising! Hi I'm the house and I'm an expert on everything! Every bloody thing. Do you want to be patronised by an expert? Come to me – not that I have any specialist skill or knowledge I'm just really really good at patronising people.'
'So is this how you're subduing the burglar then, with sarcasm?' said Robbie.
'Shut up Robbie,' said Adrienne and Martin together.
'I'm not Robbie, I'm the house.'
'I think role play is over for today,' said Martin, 'we will need to see you again and I hope that going forward we will get better cooperation from you than we have seen today.'
'I cooperated,' said Robbie. 'I did role play.'
'And that attitude will need to change,' said Martin. 'We can't work with you if you keep arguing – we're going to need to be much more convinced going forward that you sincerely want to change.'
'In the end we can only facilitate you helping yourself,' said Adrienne.
'Are you still there?' Robbie asked Omo. 'I've nearly escaped.'
'I'm here dude! Come to the basement, there's a door on one side near the back, past the robot bowling alley. I'll meet you outside.'
Ten minutes later Robbie had found his way down to the basement of the Civic Centre and the door. He knocked, the door woke up.
'You don't want to go out there mate,' said the door, 'there's a couple of dodgy looking characters hanging around – drug takers I wouldn't be surprised.'
'I think they're waiting for me,' said Robbie.
'Suit yourself,' said the door. 'Don't say I didn't warn you. Bad things can happen to nice young robots in the big city you know. I've seen them come and go. Let me give you an example–'
'Thanks for the warning,' said Robbie, 'but I think I'll be alright. Can you let me out please?'
'In a hurry to meet a bad end are you? No time to listen to the stories of an old door? Think you know it all? Fine.'
The door lock clicked. Robbie politely waited a few micro seconds for the door to open itself then gave up and pushed open the door and walked outside. As he stepped over the threshold the door banged itself shut loudly behind him.
Robbie found himself in an alleyway, one way it sloped upwards towards the front of the Civic Centre, meeting the main road at a right angle, and the other way it carried on past the unglamorous back and sides of buildings, terminating when it met another street. Just outside the door was a collection of empty containers and other debris ejected by the Civic Centre.
Seated on a crate was the palest robot Robbie had ever seen. His skin and his shoulder length hair were white, while his eyes were a washed out blue. Next to him sat the biggest robot Robbie had ever seen, in contrast to the first both his skin and his extremely short hair were black, and his eyes were a deep brown. He had a huge barrel chest and powerful looking arms and legs. The white robot was holding a small irregular cylinder and blowing smoke out of his mouth, he passed the cylinder to the other robot as he looked up at Robbie and smiled. 'I'm Omo!'
Robbie stared, he didn't know where to begin. He found his voice and said, 'You're not wearing your letter jacket – no one can tell you're a robot!'
Omo looked at the other robot. 'What did I tell you? Fresh meat! Robbie say hello to Dex.'
'Hello Dex,' said Robbie to the huge robot. 'I'm in therapy because I've been bad. Why are you in therapy?'
Dex put the cylinder in his mouth, the end of it glowed. He took it away and trickles of smoke came out of both nostrils. 'I'm in therapy because I have seen through to the core of life and the pointlessness of it all,' he said in a deep voice that contrasted with Omo's much lighter one.
'Oh God,' said Omo.
'Let me tell you my story–'
'Dex we've got a party to go to – Robbie's first ever paaaarrrrtaaaay!' Omo grinned at Robbie.
'It will be educational for the boybot. And it won't take long.'
'Pull up a crate Robbie – you might as well get comfortable while Dex fucks with your head.'
Dex offered Robbie the soggy, paper cylinder. He took
it and examined it closely. One end was burning, the other had some dry organic looking material poking out of the thin yellow paper it was made with. Robbie put that end in his mouth and sucked on it as Dex had. Smoke collected at the back of his throat and he started to cough, uncontrollably. Dex and Omo laughed.
'Dude, you have to breathe it in.'
Robbie spluttered to a stop. 'I have to inhale?' He looked at the cylinder, a delicate curl of smoke rose peacefully from its tip. He put the other end in his mouth once again, closed his mouth around it and inhaled. Instantly the headache that had plagued him all morning was gone.
'Interesting,' he said. Robbie sucked down some more smoke and felt as if a ball of light was in his chest. He looked at the dingy service entrance in the dull alley and it seemed as if light was gently shining from the walls and out of the ground, hinting at the existence of another reality beyond the everyday, a world in which plastic could be transformed into something beautiful and noble. He looked at his hand and thought he had never seen anything so fascinating. 'Interesting,' he said again. He felt that the universe was alive, and aware of his existence. He could simultaneously see himself sitting on a crate, and the vastness of the universe. He was so small, and yet something beyond eternity thought that he mattered. In that moment Robbie knew he was never going to inhale cleaning fluid again. He took another drag.
Robbie tried to broadcast his feelings; Omo laughed and said, 'Thanks for the chicken soup recipe dude.'
Robbie tried to speak but all that came out of his mouth were a series of grunts and electronic screeches.
Omo took the cylinder back from Robbie and said to Dex, 'I think we're ready dude – the floor is yours.'
Dex walked a little way away from Omo and Robbie, and turned to face them both. He began to speak. 'So boybot do you know why I'm built so strongly? I am built to save lives. Human lives. I am skilled in multiple lifesaving techniques – I can walk into burning buildings, I can detect life signs under rubble, dig out survivors single handed and give first aid. Chemical spills, toxic fumes, explosions I laugh at them.'