by Carme Torras
21
Leo’s on his way to his interview with the Doctor and has no idea what to expect. If this is all about comparing his prototype with those of his competitors he wouldn’t have made him leave ROBco in the cubicle. How could Dr. Craft possibly evaluate the prosthesis without having it in front of him? And he’s been so demanding: he wants the meeting to be free of recording and listening devices, like the one on the day of the convention, but this time in his quarters.
His memory of that first conversation is vivid—none of the following visits have been on that level—and he secretly hopes it will be repeated today. That day he proposed that Leo participate in his creativity project; who knows, maybe today he’ll ask him to continue his work on wireless transmutation. He’s kidding himself. The other day the Doctor disappeared without even saying goodbye, fed up with his verbal diarrhea. He can imagine what kind of impression the Doctor has of him now.
He sees a figure leaning against the wall at the top of the ramp his mobile platform is heading toward, and thinks it might be Dr. Cal’Vin. Just then a thought hits him: she must have sent the recordings of Celia to the Doctor, that’ll be why he’s been called over. He holds his breath and only when he’s just a few feet away from the blonde woman does he breathe out again, relieved. It’s not her. It must be a new employee, he’s never seen her before. If there’s anyone he doesn’t want to bump into right now it’s that idiotic neuropsychologist. She puts him on edge. Now he’s even more pleased the meeting will be private.
One more floor and he’ll be at the top of the tower. Now he needs to prepare his argument that the girl is essential to the project. The Doctor doesn’t lack perspicacity, and if he constructs a decent argument, he’s sure he can convince him of her worth. That is, of course, if he doesn’t lose his head like the other day and manages to make himself heard.
Alpha+ greets Leo at the door and shows him into the dueling room, while at the same time asking him to please excuse the president for a moment as he’s occupied with another visit. In case Leo wasn’t surprised enough that they’d asked him to wait in such a private space, he is invited to sit down in the armchair in front of the table that had fascinated him so much the first day, and even more so after the Doctor demonstrated how the timeout button worked. He ecstatically contemplates the immense horizontal screen surrounded by swords and sabers of inlaid pearl that change color as you move around, and he sits down, his right leg next to the iridescent pink button sticking out of the front panel.
He can’t get his head around why he’s been left alone with such a valued artifact and he glances around the room, afraid someone might be spying on him. He’d give anything to be able to take it apart and inspect its inner workings. Maybe that way he could discover the secret of timeout and spare himself that awful feeling of having rented his brain out every time he comes in and out of the cubicle. He rests his arms on the armchair in an effort to control his hands. Given half a chance they would fly right over to the screen that seems to beckon them. Three human icons are blinking at the top: one without eyes, one without ears and one with all its senses, but cut up into bits, like a badly finished puzzle. Leo’s eyes avidly focus on the textbox:
There are now three monks living in the cloistered monastery, one of whom is blind and another deaf. A message informs them of an epidemic that manifests itself in the apparition of a red mark on the forehead, while at the same time it comforts them by saying that God wants to ensure the future of the order by having only one monk contract the disease.
Leo stops for a moment to take a breath. The Doctor lives in such an exotic universe. It’s hard enough for him to understand the words “monk” and “God,” and he has no idea what “cloistered” and “order” mean. He couldn’t possibly compete in this game. The world of chess is more fixed and conquerable, not as absorbing perhaps, but the rules are clear and they’re the same for everyone. Who makes them up here? Each competitor? No wonder he said it was a battle for only the best swordsmen.
When he leans over to keep reading, his hands wander to the edge of the table and his fingers rub up against a rounded, well-polished border. He likes this contrast of old and new: fleeting images trapped in a timeless frame, and never has that description been more apt … A unique setting to match what appears on the screen:
In order to accomplish the heavenly dictate, for the time being the superior lifts the ban on communication, but they can only speak under strict regulations: they will stand in a line, and in order they will be allowed to say “diseased,” “well,” or “I don’t know.” Only once. Then the monks will go straight back to their cells and those who are not convinced they are well will commit suicide to avoid infecting the others, thereby saving the community.
The last word, which has an anti-techno flavor, makes him suddenly lean back as if he might catch something. Feeling cowardly, he again glances from side to side wondering whether they’re testing him, but he can’t see any cameras or microphones around. What does it matter if they spy on him, right now he wants to finish reading:
As usual, there are no mirrors, lakes or any reflective surfaces at the monastery where the monks could see their reflections. Can the three monks guarantee the future of the order by placing themselves in the right order in the line? Three points for a correct answer within a five-minute period.
Now that he’s finished reading, it doesn’t seem that difficult. Let’s see. There are seven possible combinations of sick and healthy monks. If they all decided to look after themselves and they didn’t commit suicide, they would have only a one-in-seven chance of surviving. One must trust in the intelligence and desire of everyone to want to save the order, and know how to exploit each person’s capacities. They have two sources of information available to them: the marks and the answers of their colleagues. The deaf monk, whatever position he’s in along the line, will only know that he’s well if he sees two red marks. The one who can see and hear is the one who receives the most information, and also the one who can give the most. The blind one doesn’t add anything, he might as well be mute. That’s it: he’s found the way to save the order and, without thinking, drags the icons into their correct position on the board.
“Correct response, but outside the time limit.” The reply fills the box for a second before making way for the next question: “Which monk would you rather be?”
Leo automatically presses the icon of the blind man, the only one who would be saved every time as long as he’s not unwell. Such irony: the one who has the most disadvantages and provides the least information is the one who benefits the most.
Leo is so absorbed in answering questions that he’d never have guessed he’s been waiting almost two hours when the Doctor’s deep voice booms out of a far corner of the table and makes him shake from head to toe:
“Damn kid, that’s enough. Who gave you permission to touch anything?”
Leo stands up so quickly that he hits the pink button with his knee and bounces back into the armchair. On the second attempt he manages to stand up and babble an apology. Into thin air, of course, since there’s no one in the room.
He stands there for a second, disoriented, not daring to sit back down and regretfully looking at the table, until the Doctor comes in and makes him jump once again:
“You’re a bold one, alright, and quicker than the other two.”
Seeing him disheveled, wearing a black bathrobe and slippers, Leo wouldn’t have recognized the Doctor if it weren’t for his eyebrows, as vigorous and emphatic as ever.
“I came as soon as you called for me, yeah. Who are the others?”
“The deaf one and the mixed-up one, of course. I hope you’re not offended about me blinding you.”
“Blinding me?”
The Doctor takes a quick look at the table.
“Did you press the button as well? You are a quick-fingered one …” He comes closer and presses the button, inviting Leo to sit down.
“I knocked into it when I s
tood up.” He apologizes while he settles himself in the chair facing the Doctor. The monk problem resurfaces in his mind making it clear that there must be some deeper meaning he’s missing. “I guess you called me over to evaluate the prosthesis.”
“Exactly. And you’ll be pleased to hear that you’ve come out on top in the test, just like the blind man. Now it all depends on whether or not you have the red mark.”
Leo feels like he’s been challenged to a duel that is going straight over his head. He doesn’t know what move he has to make, what he has to say.
“But you haven’t even seen the prototype.”
“So gifted in some areas but so short-sighted in others. What would I get out of examining that heap of bytes? What I’m interested in is its effect on PROPs, on you in this case, in order to extrapolate how it would affect me if I implanted it in Alpha+.”
“Then you need to see me with ROBco, don’t you?”
“What do you think I waste my time watching over you in your cubicle for? To spy on what you’re doing? I don’t have any desire to be a policeman, you know, or a voyeur. I don’t give a shit about your life, what I wanted was to see you interact with the robot. And I’ve seen that already, but I need to check the permanent effects, what’s left when he’s not there. It’s not about making us dependent on lumps of metal.”
It’s strange to hear the president of CraftER say that, Leo thinks, even if it is in private with no one listening in. Eager to continue hearing the Doctor speak in this direct way, without the metaphors he used before, he stares intently into his eyes in order to flatter him with his attention. And to spur him on that little bit more, he stresses the point:
“Of course not, the most important thing is …”
“To design stimuli so that they shape us the way we want, the way I want, dammit. And then do without them. Your prototype is heading in the right direction, but it still has serious drawbacks. Today Alpha+ will send over the list of features that are missing. Alph,” he shouts.
A sudden flash pops into Leo’s mind. He’s just another stimulus for the Doctor, and when he’s fixed the prosthesis’s deficiencies, the Doctor will do without him, just like he said. He decides to take a risk:
“This table is the best invention I’ve ever seen,” he says, bringing his hands closer without daring to touch it. “Will you get rid of it too someday?”
“You are incisive and obstinate boy, aren’t you? I’m glad you know how to appreciate excellence and ambition. That’s why I picked you. The timeout device is the best I’ve ever come up with … that anyone’s ever come up with! But … not only would the time need to have run out, I would also have to be dead before I agreed to get rid of this table and let you enjoy it. Only the table, of course, since even with me dead you wouldn’t be able to use the timeout device,” he adds with an enigmatic smile. “Ah, Alph, you’re here already. From now on you will give maximum priority to what Mar’10 asks for, starting with the list you have to send him. And you, get a move on, I want that prosthesis ready next month.”
Leo leaves the room feeling proud that the Doctor recognized his talent, but at the same time worried about not seeing in this recognition the reward he hoped for: a guaranteed future.
22
When she gets up Celia can sense that something’s not right. Everything looks the same as any other day: her dress and calendar are there next to the bed, as if she were going to school, and she can only hear ROBbie doing his chores around the house. Could it be that ROBul’s forgotten to wake Lu up? She’s about to go out into the hall when she stops herself, remembering she’s naked. What a nuisance having to sleep with no pajamas on, she’ll never get used to it. She covers herself with her robe, despite not having bathed yet, and heads straight for the machine room where, indeed, she finds ROBul connected to the DOMOsys carrying out the daily maintenance tasks.
“Hello. We’re going to CraftER today, don’t you remember?”
“Information: The interview has been called off.”
“What?” Her voice comes out tiny and frail like the world has just collapsed on top of her. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Justification: Lu didn’t instruct me to tell you.”
“But ROBbie knows about it, right?”
“Affirmative: I have to inform him of all the schedule changes that affect him.”
“What day has it been changed to then?”
“Information: none. Lu said she was no longer interested in the project.”
“Lu? It was her who canceled it?”
“Affirmative.”
She’s enraged that Lu could have done such a thing without consulting her first, that she cares so little about what she might think or feel, but at the same time a small relief creeps up inside her: at least it wasn’t Leo who refused to see her again.
While she’s getting dressed, having breakfast, traveling to school, sitting before EDUsys, standing in front of the wooden figures in the socialization room, even when talking to Xis, she doesn’t stop thinking about it. She’s already lost her parents and she’s not ready to let go of the one person she’s ever excited about seeing. Well, maybe he’s not the only one, there’s Silvana too, but it’s different with her, she’ll always be there … The idea comes as a revelation while her friend is going on and on, complaining about never being allowed to go into CraftER: they’ll go there! The two of them, on foot. The company is only two blocks away and the exit in the school bathroom is never monitored. They often stay there chatting during the topic extension session. Not even their ROBs will miss them during that short period of time.
“And what about the entrance code?” Xis objects, all worked up.
In light of the prospect that has just opened up before her, there is no obstacle that could possibly stop Celia. She can take advantage of the fact that they registered her hand the other day and that their identity has to be protected since they’re minors. The voice at the entrance made it very clear. They can’t be identified, and, therefore, they’re indistinguishable. They can both go through as if they were one person. And, if it doesn’t work, they’ll get back to school earlier. It’s that simple. They’ve got nothing to lose.
“And what if we get caught?” her friend insists, obviously scared. “And what if we get lost?”
“I would have thought you’d want to see your mom at work … But, if you’re too scared, we can just forget about it.”
Celia’s not at all convinced she can forget about it. She’s not convinced she could escape on her own either … and even less so now that Xis knows about it. Why did she have to tell her about it so soon? She could have thought it over a bit. But what does it matter anyway, she would have had to tell her at some point if she didn’t want Xis to raise the alarm when she couldn’t find Celia anywhere. In fact, Xis would have to hide while she was out, because if they saw her wondering around on her own they would suspect something was up and would send the SEEKer to find her.
The advantage of sneaking out on her own is that the code would definitely work. But … how would she explain to Xis her reasons for wanting to go there? With the altruistic motive of visiting Xis’ mom out the window, her feelings would be revealed, and just imagining them being exposed like that makes her feel awful. Without a doubt the best option is for both of them to go. So Celia keeps on trying, determined to patiently defuse all the but’s that, one after the other, her friend keeps coming up with.
When she’s succeeded in convincing her and they’re in the bathroom ready to go, Xis offers up one final bit of nonsense:
“Do we have to go right now? Ok. I’ll just tell ROBix we’re leaving and then we can go.”
“No, I told you already”—many more moments like this and she’ll regret having persuaded her—“our ROBs can’t know anything about this, they might stop us or tell on us.”
“My ROBix … never!”
“How do you know? Have you ever tried it? Anyway, we already agreed, we’re not going to tel
l them anything.”
“You’re right, but …”—she’s all stressed out—“it always has to know where I am.”
“Why?”
“Because … I don’t know, how else will it keep an eye on me?”
“Xis, if they’re watching us they’ll never let us go to CraftER.”
“Yeah, I get it, I get it … but I’ve never done this before. How will we find the way?”
“Don’t worry. You want to see your mom, don’t you?”
“Yes …”—a pair of hopeful eyes eclipse any last minute doubts.
“Well, it’s really close.” Taking her by the arm, she leads her to the exit without any resistance.
Outside there’s not a soul in sight. The only movement they can detect is going on above their heads, where a swarm of aero’cars crosses paths time and again, creating a massive spider web that, although fleeting, is, in Celia’s eyes, clearly drawn. She’s never seen them from this far down and, for an instant, the perfect order of their trajectories entrances her. It seemed so chaotic from up there.
Mechanically she’s taken a few steps forward, walking along close to the wall as if there were still sidewalks to keep to, when she realizes Xis isn’t following. When she sees her standing still in the middle of the road gazing lifelessly ahead, she turns back to take her arm again and tells her very quietly that there’s no need to worry, they can see CraftER from here: it’s that golden building, wide at the bottom and narrow at the top, that sticks out between two dark tower blocks. The pinecone, as she’d thought of it the other day. When they get closer they’ll be able to see the lattice of little cells where the aero’cars dock.