David Gatewood - The Robot Chronicles

“Andrew!” Angel gasped. “Oh my…”

Andrew sat up, worried. “What is it?”

She frowned. “You don’t have a…”

Andrew felt his eyes go wide, and he put his own hand beneath the leather. There was nothing there besides smooth skin.

“Angel, I don’t know…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” she said.

“No, really, it was there the last time I was in the Dreamscape.”

Angel shrugged and tucked herself beneath one of the blankets. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. We can do other stuff.”

Andrew looked at her. “We can? Like what?”

“Well…” She gave a half-smile and leaned into him. “We could see if I have all the parts I’m supposed to have.”

She kissed Andrew again, pulling him under the blankets with her. He moved his hand up her thigh and grabbed the bottom of her tunic, pulling it upward. It came off easily.

“That sounds good to me,” Andrew said.

“I told you not to call me here. This is an emergency line.”

Dr. Hawthorne held the clunky phone receiver in one hand, and a cup of green eye in the other. It was late, his coffee was getting cold, and he had work to do. He certainly didn’t have time for this.

“How else am I supposed to get ahold of you?” the woman’s voice asked. “You don’t answer your emails.”

He gave a laugh, bitter like his drink. “I don’t answer anything marked ‘Shelly Anatolia,’ that’s for sure.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “When did everything start going so wrong with us, Peter?”

He slammed the coffee cup down onto his desk. “When you decided to make it your life’s work to destroy mine.”

“I could never be with someone who condones immoral practices. Through inaction, I would be an accomplice to all the horrible things you do.”

“It’s not that bad, Shelly.” He took a seat in the big leather chair beside his desk.

“Isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve seen videos, I’ve read your reports. The abuse you put those AIs through. The psychological trauma? It’s sick.”

“Look, Shelly, don’t worry about that. It’s all part of the quality assurance process. My treatments—”

“Please. You know where I stand on this. I’m growing tired of having the same conversation with you over and over again.”

Dr. Hawthorne slumped in his chair, holding his forehead with a weary hand. Shelly was one of the most respected scientists in her field, and he certainly admired her stunning intellectual abilities, but sometimes she really couldn’t let bygones be bygones. Her stubbornness was a blessing and a curse for her. He thought of all the international development work she’d done, both before the war and during. Her efforts there, too, reflected her desire to take a stance, one based on moral grounds, and fight mercilessly to the end, even as the ship went down in pieces around her.

Peter frowned as he sipped his cold coffee. “You’ve changed since the war began,” he said. “You’re a lot less forgiving now.”

“We’ve all changed,” she shot back. “It’s been a long five years.” She went silent for a while. It sounded like she was sipping something, too.

“Cappuccino?” Peter asked. “I remember you always used to get those.”

“What? Oh. No, it’s a latte macchiato. Real Italians don’t drink cappuccino after eleven in the morning, remember?”

“You used to kick me out of bed early and make me walk three blocks for those things. We were quite the team back then.”

“For a while we were,” she said. “And then everything changed.”

“Yeah. It changed when we invented AI.”

“You know, sometimes I wish we hadn’t. I’m not sure how much good can come of it. There’s a very fine line between successful implementation of this technology, and disaster. You’ve seen the damage potential reports.”

“Those reports are nothing but science fiction, Shelly. There’s no such thing as a robot apocalypse. It’s all propaganda.”

Shelly sighed. “Do you remember what you used to be like before all this? You were so wonderful back then. You used to catch spiders and put them outside instead of killing them. I never imagined you could take pleasure in death, or tor—”

“That’s enough.” He stretched his neck back and stared up at the ceiling. “You make me sound like some kind of psychopath.”

“But you are—“

“I’m the same person I always was. You’re just too stubborn to see that.”

“No, Peter, you’re not.”

Dr. Hawthorne set his mug on the desk and stood up. He thought of the cot upstairs, longed for a good night’s rest.

“Look, Shelly. If it weren’t for you, there would be no AI program. Granted. But that doesn’t give you the right to abandon me because of some… inexplicable moral code. You left the work in my hands, and I’m doing with it what I see fit. You’d be proud of how much progress we’ve made. But it hasn’t been the same without you. The future of AI needs you.”

“Yes. It needs me to keep people like you away.”

“Shelly, you’re being absurd. How else are we supposed to test the limits of this technology? We have to be one-hundred-percent certain that—”

“I’m just saying you don’t have to be so sadistic about it.”

“My team is making significant breakthroughs week after week. We’re assisting the war effort. We’re furthering the advancement of mankind’s knowledge. And still there are people like you who think I’m the devil incarnate. Well, let me tell you this, Shelly. It’s a complicated world out there, and we’re taking every precaution necessary. You of all people should appreciate the importance of what we do.”

“Peter—”

He slammed his fist down on the table. “No. I’m not listening anymore. And by the way, why exactly did you call? Or did you simply wish to berate and abuse me?”

Shelly paused. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something. I’m going away for a while.”

Peter slowly let out a breath. He didn’t know why, but hearing that made him feel better. Lighter, somehow. “Good for you,” he said. “Does that mean I won’t have to worry about you showing up at my next press release?”

She didn’t laugh. “No, I’m getting too old for that. But my little stunt did catch the attention of some very interesting people. I’ve been offered a position at the Robotics Institute of Shanghai. I’m leaving tomorrow, Peter.”

He might have dropped his mug had he still been holding it.

“Shanghai? Good lord, are you out of your mind?”

“I’m not worried about politics, Peter. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, that’s quite obvious,” he said. “What surprises me, however, is that you’re willing to betray your own country.”

This time she did laugh, derisively. “Come on, Peter. You know I’m no traitor. This is an international NGO, and they have no loyalty to China or any other country. What we do is purely for the advancement of science.”

“Which you could be doing here at home, instead. But I’ll bet that’s not the only reason you’re going. Daniel is going with you, isn’t he?”

She groaned. “Goodbye, Peter.”

He shook his head. Women: can’t live with them, can’t live… actually, he thought maybe he could live without them.

“It’s okay, Shelly,” he said. “I understand why you left me for him.”

“This isn’t about Daniel.”

Dr. Hawthorne looked through the glass into the experiment containment area. The lights of Andrew’s charging station flashed intermittently. Andrew would be lost in the Dreamscape. He envied the robot’s innocence, almost longed for it as he thought about the hell his life became sometimes.