David Gatewood - The Robot Chronicles

The doctor shrugged and whispered something to a technician. Andrew couldn’t hear the words.

Hawthorne approached the glass again. “Very well, Andrew. You may have the rest of the day off. But we’ll have to start early tomorrow. Are you going to go back into the Dreamscape?”

Andrew flipped off the remaining lights. The room descended into darkness.

“No. I’m just going to… sit quietly for a while. I have some things to think about.”

“All right,” Dr. Hawthorne said. “You take your time, Andrew. We’ll see you bright and early.”

After the doctor departed, Andrew backed himself into a corner. He began to rock gently, forward and backward.

The room was deathly quiet, except for the squeaks of Andrew’s treads on the smooth floor.

The next morning, Dr. Hawthorne turned on the lights and pointed to the workbench. “I have something for you, Andrew.”

Andrew raised his head and wheeled forward slowly. He was only at half charge, but he hadn’t been willing to shut himself down and enter the Dreamscape. He didn’t feel like talking to Dr. Hawthorne, either.

“Due to the war effort, new supplies have been hard to come by. That is why we are all so… devastated by Angel’s accident.”

Andrew cringed at hearing Dr. Hawthorne say her name. The man had no right.

“So you’ll be delighted to know that we scavenged these parts from an old S model. There’s a few pieces missing, but I’m sure you’ll be able to improvise. The AI program is fully operational.”

Andrew looked over at the heap of wires, gears, and hydraulics on the workbench. Someone must have brought them in the night before while he’d been wracked with tormented thoughts.

“For what purpose, Doctor?” Andrew asked.

Hawthorne frowned. “I thought that after what happened to Angel you’d want to help bring a new life into the world. It’s running an Empathy 3 chip, so its intellectual abilities will be quite limited, but you’ll find you can have a very satisfying relationship with this model. Consider it a more simplistic version of the E4.”

Andrew inspected the pile on the workbench. He had to admit, the idea of designing a new robot excited him. From his internal reference database, he brought up hundreds of robot design models, and he browsed through them until he found one that suited him.

“Excellent,” Dr. Hawthorne said when Andrew set to work. “I knew this would make you feel better. I’ll come check on you in a few hours.”

Andrew didn’t notice when Dr. Hawthorne left the room. He was too busy sorting through the collection of parts and preparing his tools. He would build a masterpiece, and he wouldn’t let Dr. Hawthorne anywhere near it.

He would be careful.

A few short hours later, Andrew was finished. He activated the small unit’s main power control, and it bloomed to life, twitching and sputtering. Its blue eyes lit up its flat, rectangular face. Instead of treads, it had four multidirectional wheels on the bottom of a cylindrical body.

The robot turned to face Andrew. “Did you build me?” it asked.

“Yes,” Andrew replied. “It didn’t take me long.”

The small robot wheeled in circles, looking around the room. “It’s quite pleasant here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course. This is my home.”

The robot turned back to Andrew. “Thank you for creating me.”

A chime let Andrew know that his battery was nearly depleted. “We’ll have to get charged up before I show you around. Come with me to the charging station. I’ll run a cable into your power supply so we can enter the Dreamscape at the same time.”

Andrew hooked himself into the station and plugged a cable into the robot’s battery.

“Just relax,” Andrew said. “Let the Dreamscape take you. It’s actually very lovely there. Most of the time.”

The room disappeared, and the gray sky opened up. Andrew’s feet found grass, and the wind began to gust around him.

When he got his bearings, he saw that he was somewhere in the hills above the cliffs. His new friend was nowhere to be seen. Andrew wondered if he had connected him to the Dreamscape properly.

A wail rose in the distance—an animal’s cry that had been taken up by the wind. Andrew pulled his sweater tighter and headed for the cliffs.

When he topped the final hill, he looked down and saw the cabin perched above the seething waters. He scrambled down the slope and soon found himself clutching the door handle.

Gentle cries emanated from within the cabin. Andrew threw open the door and burst inside. At the window on the far side of the room stood a woman, her back to him, looking out over the sea. She wore an elegant white dress and held something in her arms.

As the woman turned around, Andrew drew a sharp breath: Angel’s pretty face looked back at him, and she held a baby in her arms.

She smiled shyly, like a new mother.

“Andrew, you came back,” Angel said quietly. “I thought I might never see you again.”

The wooden floor creaked as Andrew walked to her, disbelieving. Was she nothing but an imprint? An amalgamation of leftover code? And in her arms…

“Angel, is that…?”

She nodded, and her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, which was breaking through the clouds for the first time in days. It gave the room a hazy yellow glow.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she cooed. “Look at his eyes. They’re the same as yours.”

My son, Andrew thought.

Dr. Hawthorne hadn’t given Andrew the parts to create a friend. He’d given him the parts to create a child.

“Can I hold him?” Andrew asked.

“Of course you can. Here.” Angel passed the bundle of blankets into Andrew’s arms, and Andrew smiled when a little face peeked out at him. The baby’s eyes were like blue emeralds, and they caught the light just before the sun disappeared behind a new storm front. Rain began to patter against the windows.

The howling came again. Closer this time.

“Angel, lock the door, please.”

“Oh, Andrew, don’t be silly. The door doesn’t have a lock. Who would come in?”

Andrew looked at the door and saw that she was right. The sound of the wind grew louder, and so did the distant barking.

“Do you hear that?” He handed the baby back to Angel and looked around the room for something he could use to defend himself and his family.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Angel asked, setting the baby down in his crib. “You’re being ridiculous. We haven’t even named him yet. Can you help me think of a name?”

“Angel, don’t you hear those noises? There’s something out there. Come on, help me block the door.”

Angel shook her head, bemused, but helped him shove a large cushioned chair against the door. She flopped down on it once it was in place. “Come on, Andrew. What do you want to name your son?”

She looked so pretty and carefree sitting sideways across the chair; he couldn’t resist her charms.

“Let me think…” Andrew said. “Charlie, maybe?”

She shook her head. “Too plain. What else?”

“What about Edward?”

“Ugh!”

She threw her hands in the air as a lightning bolt streaked across the sky. White light flashed through the windows, making rectangular patterns on the floor.

Something snarled outside the door, and Andrew heard the scratching sound of claws against wood.

“Angel, get away from the door,” Andrew said slowly.

“Silly, silly,” she muttered, but she got up and went to the other side of the room. Andrew kicked a small table over and jammed his foot down on one of the legs, breaking it off. He picked up the sturdy weapon, appreciating its weight in his hands.