Brother Keepers

by Brian S. Wheeler

  Chapter 2 - Limited Tomorrows

  "Open the door, Ernie. It's time for me to draw your blood and to administer your weekly physical."

 

  I sigh. I've locked my door, but I've learned that, in addition to all the scalpels, scissors and needles hidden in his fingers, that Oliver's hands possess a complete kit of lock picks. Dr. Zito truly planned for every contingency when he pieced that robot together. There was no way the doctor was going to let a locked door keep his Oliver from me in the event of an emergency. So no matter how I might want to resist the physical, or how I might simply want to delay its administration, I know Oliver will simply unlock the door himself should I fail to open it for him.

  I seldom put up much any resistance when Oliver visits to administer my weekly physical. I'm a very experienced pin-cushion, and Oliver's so capable with the needle that I hardly pay the little pinch any mind when the robot begins drawing my blood. There's no inch of my body that Oliver hasn't examined. None of Oliver's procedures make me squirm or blush.

  Yet I've just invested forty minutes gathering together companions in my favorite online computer game. Dr. Zito surely thinks my hobby of online gaming to be a harmless waste of time. He would never allow me to access the game if he thought otherwise. Dr. Zito doesn't allow me create an email account. I'm granted no phone privileges, and an envelope with my name on it has never appeared in the estate's mailbox. My online game of sword and sorcery is my only connection to a larger world beyond the estate's walls. I realize it's strange that all I know concerning that world beyond Clover Fields comes to me in the pixels glowing in a fantasy world of champions and monsters. But I've gathered three new friends during the forty minutes I've spent gathering companions, and Oliver couldn't have chosen a worse time to administer my physical.

  I open my door before Oliver's lock picks click out of his hands, and the robot casually rolls to his preferred spot at the side of my bed.

  "We can begin the examination after you please recline on your bed, Ernie."

  I sidetrack back to my computer monitor to check if I've lost any of my new friends during my interruption from the game. "I need to ask a favor from you, Oliver."

  Oliver remains silent for a moment. His delicate circuitry must be racing. "What is it?"

  "I need another hour before we start the exam."

  Oliver's telescoping lens clicks and turns as it faces me. "Why wouldn't you want to start the exam now so that we can complete it as efficiently as possible? Dr. Zito reminds us that we cannot procrastinate in any of our routine duties if we hope to be prepared in the event of emergency."

  "I'm playing a game at the moment, and it's a bad time to leave my computer."

  "A computer game doesn't sound like a good reason to delay the physical."

  My shoulders slump. Oliver's programming is so predictable. "It's more than just a game to me, Oliver. It's the only hobby I have."

  "I would suggest that you might better spend your time by reading a book."

  "Dr. Zito closed the library to me after security caught me trying to climb over the estate's fencing." I sigh. "He took the books away after I told him I wanted to see some of the places mentioned in all those books and newspapers."

  "I was unaware of Dr. Zito's decision," Oliver replies, "but it was very foolish of you to attempt to leave the grounds of the estate. You are a clone, Ernie, and the clone's brand of numbers and hashes circle your eye. You could've been hurt, or stolen. Dr. Zito would have little recourse if you would've been killed. What if Dr. Zito should suffer an emergency when you were beyond the estate's fences? How would we be able to quickly locate you?"

  "I only wanted to peek at what was on the other side. I know I'm not a real man, Oliver. Yet I'm not a robot. I get lonely."

  Oliver pauses again before responding. "I will wait another hour while you finish your game. If Dr. Zito should ask why the exam's results are not displayed until a later time, I will tell him there was a minor malfunction with one of my hands."

  Maybe it's because Oliver is otherwise so predictable that any deviation from the robot's usual behavior catches me so off-guard. I feel a little guilty after I return my attention to the game, like I'm causing Oliver an inconvenience that could threaten to melt his motherboard. One of my companions within the game abandoned the group in the delay, forcing me to spend time locating a replacement while Oliver's gears quietly whirl next to my bed. I'm very surprised when my invitation for a healing player is immediately answered by a priestess of the Lehmur moon. Our gathering doesn't have to wait long before the priestess reaches us, and though I long ago saw everything that pixelated world offers, I still take a breath as I see the priestess' digital face. I swear that face looks just like Ms. Saunders'; even the character's eyes appear to hold that woman's wonderful, green glow. My fingers dance, and the game's view zooms closer to that priestess, revealing the dark hair and the very earrings I noticed when Ms. Saunders interviewed me in Dr. Zito's study. A hungry imagination like mine should be forgiven for blending fantasy and fact together from time to time.

  It doesn't take long to realize that the new priestess is terrible at the game. Our dungeon is a lower-level, beginner adventure, nothing as challenging as what the game holds for more dedicated players. Still, our priestess gets lost at almost every turn. She struggles to keep up with the group. Her character doesn't pause to loot the bodies of any of our vanquished foes. She fails to heal any of us in a timely manner as we battle the large troll boss and the more difficult wolf pack. Companions in the party ping my monitor with messages begging me to expel that ineffectual priestess. Though I usually never hesitate to drop a poor player from my groups, I find I can't give that priestess the boot. That player reminds me too much of Ms. Saunders, and I'm hoping she doesn't finally give into frustration and leave the party, no matter how many times her poor performance buries my avatar into the grave.

  Eventually, our party succeeds despite our priestess' poor play. The priestess requests to be included in my contact list kept in the game, and that makes me smile. Somehow, knowing I will probably again meet that pixelated face feels like a better treasure than any of the other spoils I loot from our adventure.

  "How do you feel, Ernie?" Oliver asks after I logout of the game and hop onto my bed.

  "Much better."

  "Your heart rate is a little quick."

  "I'm excited."

  Oliver nods. "I'm sure you're as healthy as always."

  I feel that pinch, and my blood gathers into Oliver's bag. I imagine how and when I might next find that priestess within my cherished game. Will I unite with her to battle our way up the stone steps of the Serpent Destroyer's pyramid? Will we swim together in the turquoise Lake Flauna located at the heart of the dark, elven forest? Will I run into that priestess on a Tuesday afternoon, or will I find her during a late night Saturday session?

  I seldom think of my future. Doing so is frightening and depressing. Knowing that priestess in now my friend within my game, however, gives me reason to give tomorrow more thought.

  "Can I ask you a question, Oliver?"

  "Of course, Ernie."

  "How much time do you think Dr. Zito has left?"

  Oliver's gears whirl inside his plastic face. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

  "How much time do you think the doctor has before his heart breaks?"

  Oliver again goes quiet. I hear his internal fans churning to keep his delicate circuitry cool.

  "I'm a clone, Oliver. I'm not a mannequin, or a pin cushion. I have a mind, and I used it to read so many of the Dr. Zito's medical books before he locked the library from me. I know the severity of Dr. Zito's obesity. I hear him wheeze at the slightest physical activity. I watch him take his pills and medicines. I watch him eat all those plates of the tastiest and fattest foods while my diet is limited to vegetables. I don't think it takes a lot of intelligence to know that Dr. Zito's heart must be in terrible condition."

  Oliv
er suddenly speaks. "Dr. Zito built us, Ernie, because of his poor heart."

  I close my eyes and take a breath. It will do me no good to become scared. Fear will only make the examination last longer. Fear will only make everything more unpleasant.

  "I'm well aware of that fact, Oliver."

  Oliver's telescoping eye whirls. "The doctor's heart has stabilized, Ernie, but it does not improve. The doctor still smokes those cigars. He does not change his diet. He does not exercise in the least. He will not even take a slow walk around the estate's fences. His heart might last for several more years, or it may stop this afternoon. I have no ability to say for certain, Ernie."

  I feel my pulse quicken. I'm scared once again, no matter how I tried to fight it. Sometimes, I wish Dr. Zito would just instruct Oliver to keep my asleep, to place my comatose body in some cold, dark storeroom, where I couldn't brood upon my limited tomorrows. I know my future belongs to Dr. Zito. I wonder why the doctor keeps me awake at all.

  Oliver no doubt recognizes my fear.

  "You're very healthy, Ernie. No trace of even a cold. No need for me to keep you any longer."

  I don't rise from my bed as Oliver's arms twist and fold. A minute later, Oliver pauses at my door.

  "I'm sorry, Ernie."

  "For what?"

  "I'm sorry I fail to convince the doctor to take better care of himself. If Dr. Zito will not think of himself, then I wish he would think more of you."

  My eyes feel like they're about to pop out of my face as I watch Oliver roll into the hall. Something's gotten into that robot. Oliver doesn't seem at all predictable anymore.

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