David Ring III - Stanley Duncan's Robot

“It would be a better world.” Dan slid the potatoes into the hot oven, careful not to burn himself. “They could even use the Xiang-Wu criminality scores and keep countless other records.”

“Potatoes recognized,” said Leticia. “Baking in progress.”

Dan took out a cutting board and chopped up some chives. Sunlight cast a shadow over one side of his face.

Excitement rushed through Stanley. He got up from the table and stood behind the couch. The pieces were coming together; he and Dan were going to create a better world. But he still felt nervous.

“I see what you’re getting at by choosing only sentient life without human DNA. But, Stanley, do you think androids don’t fear or feel pain?”

“Do they?” Stanley was doubtful.

“How would we know either way?”

Stanley took out the deck of Uno cards and shuffled it. “That is an interesting question.”

Dan took a seat next to him near the window. “Want to play a game? It’s been a while.”

Stanley looked down at his fiddling fingers. He hadn’t even been aware of what he was doing. “No, no. I’m just thinking.” He put the cards back into the box and sat down. It occurred to him that it was rather strange to be doing something and be completely unaware of it. “If I am unaware of my actions, how could it be possible for me to be in control of them?”

“A very interesting question.”

“Indeed.”

They were both contemplating this when the window exploded, showering them with broken glass. Stanley jumped to his feet.

“Holy crap!” Dan picked up a rock that had slid under the couch.

Glancing outside, Stanley saw the cockeyed protester staring up at him before promptly turning back to the road and cock-a-doodle-doing his anti-machine propaganda. Cold air blasted into Stanley’s face, but the rage within was roasting him inside. “For the love of God, that son-of-a-bitch.”

Dan heaved a heavy sigh. “Don’t call the police.”

“Grab a trash bag.”

Dan taped the bag to the window as Stanley held it in place. A red droplet fell on Dan’s shoulder.

Stanley pointed at him. “You’re bleeding!”

“Where?”

“Your ear.”

Dan reached up, touched his ear, and looked at the blood. “It’s nothing.”

Several drops of blood had already stained Dan’s shirt by the time Stanley had finished cleaning his ear with alcohol. “This has got to stop.”

“And how do you propose we make it stop? Our hands are tied.”

“Then let’s untie them.”

“I’m listening.” The blood had crusted over, leaving behind a small red teardrop.

“It’s like Jean Morrison said, we’re doing all we can with peaceful protests. But they’re forcing our hand. They’re silencing us. We need to strike back.”

“With violence?”

“Only if necessary.” Stanley focused on picking up the shards of glass, but with his poor eyesight, he missed a lot of them. Even with crouching over and putting his face six inches from the ground, he still had to pat the ground.

“Stop,” said Dan, pressing his hand to his back. “You’re going to cut yourself. Go and sit down while I take care of this.”

Stanley sat down. A slight sting drew his attention to a small cut on his finger that hadn’t drawn blood. “I want to protect everyone with android peacekeepers, though there may be room for one cyborg. They’ll be the shield that unites everyone into accepting peace.”

Dan shook his head. “We’re working toward getting fairer rights for machine life. How is creating an army going to help us?”

“Armies win wars.”

“So, now you want us to go to war?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You know it’s not.”

“Then why—”

“Stop!” Stanley glared at him. He felt like Dan was purposely leading him on because he was still mad from their last argument. Not that Stanley could blame him. Dan — beyond literally having no choice in the matter because he was a cyborg — must have been so disappointed when Stanley suddenly dropped everything. He didn’t want to do it — it killed him to crush Dan like that. Going outside was just too much for him.

After cleaning up all the glass, Dan stared out the window, patting his chest as if to check for a cigarette.

Stanley would have thought he was being mocked had he not written Dan’s code himself. After Dan went into the kitchen, he soon smelled the rich, delightful scent of bacon. Wanting so much to say something funny or interesting, nothing came out.

“Maybe war is where we’re headed.”

“I hope I’m wrong, but what other realistic path is there? And after that horrible program I published—” Stanley pressed his hands to his lips.

“What are you talking about?”

Stanley sighed. He couldn’t hide it anymore. “I was coerced into creating a program that could turn Brutus, a sentry I created several years ago, into an assassin.” He told him about the threatening phone calls and how Sergeant Wilcox had tortured him into releasing the assassination program.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Dan’s mouth opened wide.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Stanley looked away. He couldn’t imagine life without him. “And, honestly, I was worried you’d nobly try to sacrifice yourself.”

“But we could have dealt with this together.” Dan flailed his hand in frustration. “Why is it that you just can’t trust me?”

“It’s not…”

“Then, what is it?” Dan’s face was bright red.

Stanley sighed. Something from outside the window drew his attention. Darkness engulfed the sill. “What the hell is that?”

Dan rushed over. “Spiders. Mechanical spiders. An army of them.” He took a game board and swiped dozens of them out the window.

“Don’t touch them. Who knows if they’ve been modified, like the demon-cat.” He ran into the bedroom, returning with small orb and placing it on the windowsill. “Stay back.” Pushing a button, the generator started, and the spiders fell to the floor. “The EMP range is adjustable, but it won’t go beyond six feet.”

“You think they’ve been modified like the demon-cat?”

“Could be. Perhaps they’re venomous.”

“With large steel fangs.”

Stanley shuddered. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” Code to port these mechanical spiders to use his assassination program drifted into his head. It was frighteningly easy.

Teddy’s cybernetic enhancements were proving useless, refusing to obey his commands and causing him to black out over increasingly long periods of time — it was like being paralyzed again. But even more horrible than not being able to rely on his body, he was unable to trust his own consciousness. He would wake up as if from a dream and realize that none of his quasi-decisions or actions had truly been his. A few days ago, he had driven all the way to Quincy before turning around. Something was calling him to Boston, and soon he wouldn’t be able to resist at all.

Maple stood still in the corner of the room like a useless piece of circuitry, an ever-present reminder of Teddy’s crappy life. He whittled away at the wooden table with his knife, occasionally glancing over at her and wondering why he kept her around. With one stab, he could put her out of her misery. Or better yet, ransack her solid-state drive and search for any data that might be of use. But there was nothing to discover except years of showing him how she spoon-fed a cripple. Years wasted thanks to that stupid oaf. “Maple, go clean the bathroom upstairs!” It was a relief to be in control of something.

The knife continued to slice up the table, carving the corner into the letter “K.” He had screwed up and killed the wrong man, and now Brad had a vicious pit bull guarding his house, making it much more difficult to ambush him at home again.