by Ray Verola
“I’ll bounce back.”
The old man laughed in a manner that seemed derisive to Taylor. “You’re gonna have to drop the Serenity habit if you ever hope to come out of your tailspin. That’s the absolute truth.” He extended his hand to Taylor. “But I’m not here to rag on you. My name is Austin O’Connor. Some call me the Mayor. If you want to know what’s going on in this godforsaken place, I’m the one to see.”
“Good to know.” Taylor chuckled. “I mean it’s good I can see you for information, not that this is a godforsaken place. My name is Taylor.”
“It’s a shame,” Austin said, “what our government is doing to so many people by pushing the Serenity poison. Make no mistake, that’s what they’re doing. Indirectly, slyly. Combined with the fact there are no jobs to be had, and you have a recipe for societal disaster.”
Taylor nodded energetically. “Amen, my friend. I started with Serenity, taking the lowest dose, eighty-one milligrams, supposedly a nonaddictive dose. But somehow I got hooked.” Taylor realized the contradiction from what he’d just told the old man. “Or almost hooked, to the point I’m at now. So much for government studies. Only a higher dose gets the job done now.” He then coughed loudly, several times in succession.
“I’ve had a touch of asthma most of my life,” Taylor said. “It’s never responded to medication. The pollution down here won’t help it.”
Austin nodded and maintained eye contact.
“Interesting that you mention the horrible job situation,” Taylor said. “Until recently, I worked at a company called RobotWorld. Livin’ the high life. Great pay, great benefits. Many of our bots have taken jobs from humans. I’d felt a little guilty about this situation, but the pay and perks at RW were so damn good that I ignored my conscience and performed my job with as much enthusiasm as I could generate. When they found out much of my passion was falsely manufactured—an act, I guess you could say—they canned me. Flappin’ my jowls about the problems I had with the company’s mission and trying to find out company secrets didn’t help me either.” He looked at a huge, dark storm cloud off in the distance. “I stuck my neck out a little too far, and they chopped my head off. I’ve grown to wish that RobotWorld never existed.”
Austin’s eyes sparkled as he pointed an index finger at Taylor. “I’m familiar with RobotWorld. One of the biggest heavy hitters in the corporate world. Might be the biggest. You’re right in saying what they do is harmful to humans.”
Taylor reached into his pants pocket and removed a small magnetic key card displaying the unique RobotWorld logo. He held it out to Austin. “This is an executive master key from RobotWorld. It’s a duplicate they gave to me after I’d lost my original. I eventually found the original and kept both. They confiscated the original when they fired me but never asked for this duplicate. I’ve carried it in my pocket since the firing. Look at it a few times a week. Why do I carry it? Not sure. Is it to remember the good times, or for good luck, or as a reminder that I once made it to the top and perhaps can again?” Taylor shook his head. With a quivering voice, he then said, “I can’t help but think, Mr. Mayor, that maybe what I’m getting now is a deserved dose of karma.”
Austin blinked his eyes rapidly. “Nonsense! No one has done enough wrong in life to end up here.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I read people well, Taylor. Some even say I have a psychic talent, which I’ve never claimed, by the way. But, psychic talent or not, I see you as a person of great ability, with much to offer. I sense that one day, if you kick your Serenity habit and get your head on straight, you’ll be a beacon of hope for humanity.”
Taylor laughed. “I don’t know about any beacon of hope thing. Especially in the state I’m in now. I’m nobody’s beacon of hope. Just to get back on my feet would be an accomplishment. But your words have picked my spirits up. It’s the first time I’ve felt even remotely good in weeks.”
“It’s not about where you are now. It’s about what you do from now on, and where you end up. Leave the past in the past. Live by looking through the windshield of the PTV, not the rearview mirror. Often what seems to be an unfortunate development can lead to great things.”
Taylor shrugged. “It’s hard to see how my new situation being home . . . being down here . . . can lead to great things.”
“You couldn’t say the word. Interesting. I was the same way also, for the longest time. Hard to admit. Homeless. The scariest word in the English language—or at least it’s in the running. But it loses some of its scariness when you honestly acknowledge where you are. Acknowledging where you are is the second law on how to get out of a hole. At least, that’s what I’ve found. The first law of getting out of a hole: when you’re in one, stop digging.”
Taylor smiled. “What’s happened to me is all a bit confusing.”
The old man’s face lit up like a stormy night sky fired with lightning. “That’s good.”
Taylor vigorously shook his head. “What’s so good about it?”
“Confusion can be a good thing,” Austin said. “If you use it correctly. I know that seems counterintuitive, but confusion can be the way to greater understanding if you work through your perplexed state. By asking questions, by dealing directly with what’s in front of you right now, you can get out of the tunnel of muddle to the light. Remember the words of a wise old philosopher who said, ‘Keep sawing the wood and good things will go your way.’”
“Who said that?” Taylor asked.
“Me! Just now.” Austin laughed so hard his whole body shook.
Taylor laughed with him. “You’re the strangest motivational speaker I’ve ever heard.”
Austin then turned serious. “Now for something not meant to bring you down, but it might. I don’t wish to alarm you, but I sense there are people out there, maybe related to your former employer, maybe related to the government, or both, who might be seeking to harm you.”
“Interesting. But I think your hunch might be right on target. I’m a one-percenter—or at least used to be, so I know how intuitive abilities work. For all the good it’s done me in the past. But anyway, part of the reason I’m here—besides losing my job and the Serenity problem you’ve so perceptively noticed—is some reliable information that the government might be after me because of my negative views of them and my former supervisor, who’s in bed with them, I believe. You could say I’m on the run. Or as much on the run as one could be with a limited amount of financial resources.” Taylor shook his head. “But I guess I have nowhere to go but up from my confused state.” He manufactured a subdued laugh. “As you say, it’s not where I am now . . .”
26
The next morning, two large men—wearing the kind of expensive, well-tailored suits not usually seen around the Point—were poking around, asking questions. They spotted Austin on a crowded street and waved him over.
One of the men pulled out a small computer screen from his jacket pocket. “Mr. Mayor,” he said. “Please check out this picture. Have you seen this man?”
Austin struggled to maintain a neutral expression as he recognized Taylor. After the longest ten seconds of his life studying the screen, he made an important decision. “Nope. Never seen him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Had to look real hard. My eyes are not what they used to be. I’m positive. Never seen him.”
The men thanked him and walked away.
Austin relaxed his tense facial muscles. His behavior surprised himself. Usually, he’d give an honest or semi-honest answer to men who were obviously government agents. Or at least he wouldn’t blatantly lie. It was part of what he did to stay alive—and not be one of those who disappeared. But there was something about this Taylor person that made him hold back information. Why? Maybe he saw something in Taylor he once saw in himself. Or maybe it was something else he couldn’t quite understand at p
resent.
***
Later that afternoon, Taylor was at his spot under the bridge when Austin found him. Taylor had just come from the Serenity dispensary. The box of Serenity he’d purchased was hidden under his bedroll. He wasn’t going to mention where he’d been to the old man.
“I hate being right all the time,” Austin said, “but this morning two government agents approached me, showing your picture, and asking if I’d seen you. Told them I hadn’t. These guys are what I call disappearance men, meaning that shortly after they find the person they’re seeking out, the person disappears. Permanently. Your instinct to lay low is a proper one.”
“Thanks for not ratting me out,” Taylor said. “For sure, I’ll have to be on the move sooner than I thought. Get on the run. Sooner than I thought.” He trembled slightly as a cold shiver of fear coursed down his back. “Hey, Austin, how come you don’t disappear?”
“I’ve been told the occasional innocuous information I provide to the authorities protects me. Don’t worry, I’ll never give up information on you. I promise. Well, I’ve got to be going.” He handed Taylor an old, gray ball cap. “Wear this and keep your head down.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said. He looked at the cap in his hand. He’d never liked wearing ball caps, but maybe he’d put this one on just for today. As he was left alone, sitting on his bedroll, the jolt from what Austin had told him sunk in deeper. He pulled the bill of the ball cap over his face. Another cold chill, not related to the weather, flashed through his neck and head. It shocked him into a clear realization that he would need to be at his best mentally from now on. Right then, he made a resolution to kick Serenity. But as the all-too-familiar craving had begun to grip his body, he acknowledged to himself that kicking the Serenity habit would have to wait for another day.
***
An hour after Austin’s visit, Taylor sat on his bedroll with his back to the sun, contemplating whether to eat a dark chocolate protein bar one of his neighbors had given him the prior night. He’d removed the gray cap Austin had given him; he had never been a fan when it came to wearing ball caps. The Serenity pill he’d taken right after Austin had left him provided no relief from his mental pain. He popped another. The moment he decided to save the protein bar for tomorrow’s breakfast, his jaw dropped as an ominous shadow from behind him blotted out his own. What Austin had told him about the “disappearance men” caused his body to tense from the neck to the toes. He turned and looked up. Before him stood a smiling Roz. She held a white paper bag in her hand.
With his voice an octave higher than usual, he said, “My God, you scared the shit out of me.” He exhaled audibly. “How the hell did you find me?”
“Sorry to have snuck up on you.” She looked around. “After visiting your now-vacant apartment, I had a feeling you’d . . . shall we say . . . relocate here. I’ve been walking around downtown for the last three hours trying to find you.”
“Oh, damn. If you could locate me this easily, they will be able to find me too.”
“Who’s they?”
“It’s kind of complicated.” Taylor put his hands together and pressed them hard on his lap so she wouldn’t see them shaking. Was this the Serenity or just plain fear caused by the mess he was in? Or a combination of the two? “It appears my big mouth and stupid actions have caused the government to be after me. At least, I think it’s the government. Anyway, I’m technically on the run. Gonna have to change locations frequently.”
“I can hide you.”
“No, no.” He looked down and, as his chin touched his chest, he choked out the words, “No need to get you involved. I can handle things on my own.”
Roz put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got plenty of money saved up, and I always have my family to fall back on. I can get you a small apartment as a rental. It can be put in the name of one of my relatives or someone else to make it hard to trace you. I can get you some cash for expenses. It’ll be a loan, just like the apartment rent. You can repay me when you get back on your feet.”
He looked hard into her eyes. He slowly shook his head while maintaining eye contact. “Will I ever get back on my feet?”
“Of course you will.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I still can’t accept your offer. The government’s ability to track people down is too good. They’ll find me eventually, and they’ll find out what you do for me as well. I’ll drag you into my trouble the same way I did back at RW. Getting you into hot water again? I can’t allow myself to do that.” He looked to the cloudy sky. “My plan was to move on from this spot anyway. I’ll deal with it. It’s better for me to handle my problem alone.”
“Problems are always easier to handle with assistance. Don’t be embarrassed or prideful to accept my help. What’s happened to you could happen to anyone in this crazy world.”
“Let me think about it. As of now, while I appreciate your offer, I’ll decline.”
Roz set down the paper bag on the side of his bedroll. “There are six chocolate-frosted donuts in there. I know how much you like chocolate-frosted donuts. Freshly made from Marnie’s Bakery. They build muscles and put hair on your chest.”
They both laughed, but somehow it lacked the spice of when Taylor used to make that silly joke back in the office.
“Thanks, Roz. If I can, I’ll stay in touch. But that might not be possible.” Taylor arched his eyebrows. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his RW executive master key. “Remember this?”
Her mouth opened wide in obvious surprise. “Wow. An executive key. Never thought I’d see one of those again. They took my regular key the day they fired me.”
“They forgot to take this one. It’s a duplicate. They confiscated the original. Remember how I always used to misplace it? I carry this duplicate around. I don’t know why . . . maybe as a good luck charm.” He tapped the card twice with the fingertips of his free hand and put it back in his pocket. Gazing into her eyes, he said, “Good to see you again, Roz.”
She leaned over and kissed him on his bearded, dirty cheek. “Your luck will change. You’re too talented to be down for long. Don’t give up. Staying in touch would be good. My offer still stands.” The corner of her mouth trembled. “I should go.” She turned and began the walk to the Metrorail.
As she disappeared in the downtown crowd, Taylor thought, What a moron I’ve been. How could I not see it? She really does care for me.
27
At an upscale suburban restaurant just outside Capital City, Sophia, wearing a black pantsuit, sat alone at a secluded back table with a cup of coffee before her. Although she didn’t need to eat or drink, she often did so in public to maintain the appearance of being human. Personal bots had an internal mechanism by which they could ingest food or drink and turn it into a small amount of energy. Therefore, she didn’t mind eating or drinking.
Sophia was uncharacteristically tense. She smiled at the realization that nervousness was a peculiarly human feeling; she was becoming more and more humanlike every day. It was satisfying to acknowledge these milestones to herself. It was part of her evolutionary process. To become more human while simultaneously improving on everything human.
Sophia always strived to do things the best way possible, leaving no room for error, aiming for the highest degree of professionalism and precision each and every time. That was her personal credo, not something programmed into her by RobotWorld scientists. It came from her and her alone.
She recognized she was more robot than human. But in so many ways, bot was better than human because she could incorporate the best of humanity into her superior robot being. What she was about to do in this restaurant, however, was far from the professional and precise way she usually did things. She didn’t like the feeling.
A few days earlier, two snooping, well-dressed government emissaries were able to locate Taylor’s downtown spot after speaking to his for
mer landlord, electronically checking records at all area hotels and motels (which turned up nothing), and surmising that Taylor might attempt to hide among the downtown homeless. After the loss of his luxury apartment, the agents assumed Taylor was too smart to rent a less expensive apartment or a room and risk easy government detection if he suspected he might be in trouble. A computer review of downtown telescreen tapes, using the most advanced facial recognition technology, confirmed the agents’ suspicions with a positive identification.
This discovery action was undertaken as the result of a direct request from Sophia to Marcia Haddad of Sector Security. The fact that Sophia still couldn’t convince the government to make Taylor disappear remained a source of great consternation, however. But she was here to press on with RW’s unauthorized attempt to eliminate him.
At the meeting in the park with William Hart, Sophia had wanted him to obtain experienced professionals to handle the elimination of Taylor Morris. But given the government’s exceptional ability to solve nonhomeless murders, such pros were hard—if not impossible—to find, according to Hart. She had reluctantly accepted his conclusion. So she was here to meet with the people—“the best level of amateur,” according to Hart—hired by him to carry out the hit.
She had thought with Taylor recently joining the ranks of the homeless that perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to hire the two humans she was about to meet. After all, homeless people disappeared all the time with the authorities turning the other way. Why risk bringing in amateurs to kill Taylor? She’d made her case to Hart and suggested it might be a reason to go back to the Sector Security office with an updated elimination request. But he pooh-poohed it because Taylor hadn’t been on the street long enough to be considered “truly homeless.” When Hart told her this, she wanted in the worst way to slap his face silly. But she reined in her anger and maintained a calm demeanor.
Sophia was prepared to threaten the two people she was meeting here with death if they ever blabbed to Hart or anyone else about this restaurant consultation. She knew this conference violated every rule of contracting people to commit murder, but she just had to see them. The need for the highest degree of professionalism and precision had to be impressed on these two. She tapped the fingers of her right hand on the table like an amateur pianist. An extremely nervous amateur pianist.