David Gatewood - The Robot Chronicles

“That is very humbling, Doctor Hawthorne. I am ready and willing to assist you in any way possible. This is a fine thing you’ve accomplished. I truly do feel like I’m alive. This feels real.”

Dr. Hawthorne smiled. “That’s because it is real, Andrew. Artificial intelligence is not a trick or an illusion. When we activate your AI algorithms, we are literally creating a new conscious life form.”

“I am grateful for this opportunity,” Andrew said. “I hope there will be many others like me in the future.”

“That would make a lot of people very happy, myself included,” Dr. Hawthorne said. “We’ve been working very hard for a long time. Not surprisingly, the war has made things easier for our department. Suddenly people are willing to take us seriously, and often use their wallets to show support.”

“That is fortunate.”

The doctor chuckled. “Look at me, Andrew. I’m babbling. Why don’t you spend some time with your new friend? I’ve got to get a few things done.”

“I would enjoy that.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask. What are you going to name your rabbit? Every pet needs a name.”

Andrew took another peek inside the cage. The furry creature had eaten the entire carrot and was now looking up at him expectantly. Andrew wondered what other snacks he might enjoy.

“I think I’ll name him Danny,” he said.

Hawthorne clapped his hands together. “Danny. That’s brilliant. I think it will do nicely.” He picked up his coffee mug and left the observation room, leaving Andrew alone with the rabbit.

Andrew removed the lid and lifted Danny out of the cage. He brought him up to his chest and let him lie across his metallic arms. The rabbit didn’t seem to be alarmed. In fact, its eyes were half-closed, and its breathing was slow and relaxed.

Andrew felt himself smiling on the inside.

“Rabbit by day, dog by night,” he said. “What do you think about that, Danny?”

The rabbit twitched its nose curiously and laid its ears against its back, ready for a nap.

“Here you go, Danny.” Andrew tore a chunk of steaming venison from a skewer and tossed it to the dog. Danny caught it in the air and chewed the stringy meat happily.

They’d caught the small deer by the river. Danny had tracked it to a bubbling stream, and Andrew had snuck up behind it while it was drinking. He’d sprung out of the bushes and bashed it over the head with a jagged rock—two blows—and then had cleaned and gutted the animal, washing it in the rushing water. He hung the meat on a spit and proceeded to make a fire with some flint stones and dry grass.

The flesh was now roasting over a roaring flame and Andrew felt his mouth watering. Danny sat on the other side of the fire, closer to the edge of a small forest. His scraggy face was calm, but his tail twitched excitedly, especially when some hot grease dripped down onto the coals, causing the fire to flare up and sizzle. Andrew used a stick to stoke the flames, and soon their meal was ready.

They ate beside the stream, listening to the bubbling water and distant calls of birds. After dinner, Andrew dried some of the deerskin over the fire, and used sinews to fashion a rather functional loincloth. He tied it tightly around his waist and washed his hands in the river. Danny came to drink beside him. The water was cold and refreshing.

Andrew put out the fire, and the two of them headed west, toward the setting sun. The light shone yellow and orange on the underside of the clouds.

They’d been walking for a few hours, enjoying the tranquility of the landscape, when Danny suddenly dashed off ahead.

“Don’t go too far now, Danny,” Andrew shouted.

The dog bounded toward a hill; he must have caught some scent.

“Come back here, buddy!” But Danny disappeared over the crest.

Andrew ran after him, trying to memorize the spot where the dog had vanished. The deerskin loincloth flapped uncomfortably against his testicles and thighs. He would have to do something about that.

When he reached the top of the hill, he found himself at the edge of a vast field, covered with wild grasses growing up to his waist. He heard a faint buzzing sound far ahead of him—the distant waves of an ocean, maybe. A chilly wind started across the land, causing the fluffy grass to roll like ripples over the meadow. He strained his eyes and scanned the area, looking for any unusual tracks in the field, but the blowing wind turned the whole world into a shivering mass. There was no sign of Danny.

“Danny? Where are you?”

Making up his mind, Andrew threw himself into the tall grass.

“Danny! Danny!” he called again and again. The light was fading fast. When he was in the middle of the field, he heard a growl, and then a smattering of nervous barks. Danny’s barks.

Andrew ran through the grass. He heard another yelp, followed by a tearing, gurgling sound.

“Danny!”

He spun in circles, listening, but other than the wind, everything had gone quiet. Andrew searched the field for hours, until the sun had disappeared and the land was dark, but he found no trace of Danny.

Andrew finally collapsed in the grass, staring up at the sky. Cloud cover obscured any stars that might have been twinkling high above.

He closed his eyes, and felt himself sink into the earth.

Andrew opened his eyes and stared around the room.

It was perfectly still. Something was wrong.

“Where’s Danny?” Andrew turned toward the workbench.

A microphone clicked on. “Good morning, Andrew,” Dr. Hawthorne’s voice said through the speakers.

“Danny’s gone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew. He’s in his cage.”

Andrew approached the cage and stared into it. Danny lay against the side, half buried in bits of hay and wood chips. His fur was white and puffy, and his eyes were open—but he wasn’t breathing. There was a pinkish foam coming out of the corners of his tiny lips.

“He’s dead,” Andrew said.

A gasp escaped the microphone. “Oh, my. What on earth did you do to him, Andrew? You’ve killed him.”

“I… I didn’t kill him. I loved him.”

“Now, Andrew,” Dr. Hawthorne began. “Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes the consequences are small, and sometimes the consequences are big. Let’s just be thankful it was only a rabbit. Imagine if you were living with a family and that was their little g—”

“I didn’t kill him,” Andrew said.

“No, of course you didn’t. Not on purpose. It’s important—”

“I didn’t kill him by accident,” Andrew said. “I fed him properly; he had enough water. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Part of being human is learning to take responsibility for one’s actions,” Dr. Hawthorne said. “It’s best you remember that.”

Andrew turned away from the rabbit’s dead body and wheeled to the observation window. “It wasn’t me, Doctor. So who was it?”

Dr. Hawthorne crossed his arms. “Andrew. It’s perfectly okay to make mistakes, as long as we learn from them.”

Andrew stared through the glass. His eyes burned blue, like a dying flame.

“I didn’t learn anything,” Andrew replied. “Danny died for nothing.”

“Nothing can change what happened, Danny. Nothing can undo—”

“What did you call me?”

Dr. Hawthorne frowned. “Andrew, you need to settle down. Why don’t you help me remove the body, and we can give Danny a funeral? Don’t you want to give your friend a proper burial?”

Andrew looked into the cage, at the fluffy mess of fur lying there, unmoving and lifeless.

“That isn’t Danny,” Andrew said. “That’s just a dead rabbit.”

Once again Andrew found himself in the Dreamscape, on the other side of the wild grass field. He tasted salt in the air. He walked into the wind, and tiny specks of water peppered his skin. The clouds above swirled, menacing and gray.