David Ring III - Stanley Duncan's Robot

The bartender stopped moving.

“That’s better.” Evan pressed the knife against the back of his head. Blood trickled down. “Are you with mankind or the machines?”

“Mankind!” said the frantic bartender.

“Then I’ll give you a choice. I can perform the operation now, without anesthesia, or you can go to a hospital and get it done. Which would you prefer?”

“The hospital! Please, Deputy — I’ll go right now.”

Evan helped him up.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” said Evan, embracing him with a hug. “And I’m no exception. It hurts me to treat you like this, but I know deeply that this is what needs to be done for our kind to survive. I’m not a bad guy, like so many of our blind and ignorant brothers think. I’m not a bully here to terrorize my fellow man to get my own way. I’m the captain of this team, and even if it takes you hating me to get us to win, I’m willing to sacrifice. But I do hope you’ll see and appreciate that, too, because one day I see you stepping up and doing the same.”

The bartender nodded. “I do see that.”

“Get yourself whole. We’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”

Shannon watched the bartender pick up his hat and leave. He didn’t dare even to glance at her. When she heard the front door shut, she looked down beyond her throbbing stomach and gasped — her jeans were stained in blood. She had only a few seconds before Evan came for her. Summoning the last of her energy, she texted the bartender a quick photo and a few words warning him to get out of town and never come back.

One month later

The Uno round came to an end. Stanley counted the value of his cards and added it to the total. “It’s hard work getting beat by you, Dan. You are quite the Uno player. How about we break for lunch?”

Dan watched him speak, nodding occasionally but not conveying agreement. His eyes would bore intensely into Stanley’s, suddenly darting away at any irregular sound.

This made Stanley very happy, for, previously, any time Dan didn’t understand something, he responded with a banal, preprogrammed, “I’m sorry, Stanley. I don’t understand…” Stanley, trying to share a few stories with Dan, was bombarded with these interjections. They drove him batty and had to go. A few edits to Dan’s code, and he was silent. He assumed the need to hyperfocus would balance out as Dan aged.

Stanley had also programmed a new algorithm that enabled Dan to mimic him, or any interlocutor, through facial expressions, making their conversations feel much more real. When they talked, despite how he acted, Dan often had no clue what Stanley was saying. He might not even have had a clue that he had no clue. But Stanley was convinced that he did. He believed Dan had some form of consciousness. But congress refused to pass laws that would give cyborgs the civil rights they deserved. As far as the law was concerned, androids and cyborgs were merely pieces of property.

“Dan, please prepare us lunch. Chicken burritos.”

“Yes, of course, Stanley.”

Dan had proven himself an amazing chef. He had cooked delicious meals from all regions of the world. He could spend hours working his magic to create Iranian delights, spicy Indian curries, or sweet southern pumpkin pies. There was certainly truth in the saying that the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. But it was more than the delicious food that had built their relationship. And even though Dan could and would cook complex meals, Stanley preferred his staple meal that had long kept him company: burritos.

Stanley packed up the game and stacked it neatly on the table with the others. He spent most of his time interacting with Dan, as opposed to occasionally programming Dan through the computer or getting lost on the web.

He felt like a kid again as he lay across the couch, thinking of all the things they could do together — if only the outside world were safer.

The grill sizzled. The aroma hit Stanley’s nose. His stomach applauded noisily. It was so nice to have someone to eat with again. Stanley hadn’t cooked in years, not counting the occasional pouring of cereal and milk into his bowl. Delivery was too easy. Drones delivered his favorite food in less than thirty minutes. No need to see or talk to anyone — he simply hit a few buttons on his phone. But the urge to cook had been rekindled. Three days before, he’d made a vegetable soup for the two of them. Dan had watched. When it came to eating it, his lack of practice was quite evident. Thankfully, Dan remained admirably silent. Stanley sucked down as much as he could and then dumped the rest of it down the sink. Dan picked up his bowl and slurped the soup down noisily. He practically licked the bowl clean.

Stanley stood up. “I’m going to get a load of laundry in before we eat.”

Dan looked at him with a smile and then resumed cooking.

In the hall, he saw Glenda fidgeting with her key. “Hello, Glenda.”

She straightened up and turned around. The movement took so long that Stanley could have been halfway down to the laundry machine by the time she faced him. He patiently waited, watching her as if she were a morning sunrise slowly warming up the valley.

A smile lit up across his face when she finally turned toward him. “Nice weather out today.”

“Stanley, is that smell coming from your apartment?”

He snorted twice, not smelling a thing. “My apartment? No, it can’t be. I gave up smoking last month.”

“No, you crazy goose. Not cigarettes. It smells like food. Did you finally get a girlfriend?”

Stanley stared at her door. The idea of having a girlfriend was so far-fetched he thought Glenda was poking fun at him. But then he remembered her kind words last month and wondered if she really thought someone would want to be his girlfriend.

“Stanley!” she called out.

“Sorry, Glenda. Just got a little spaced out for a minute.”

“You should really get out more. It would do you some good.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. Maybe when it gets a bit warmer.” But he knew it was a lie.

“I’ve been hearing voices from your apartment lately. Do you have company?”

Stanley nodded. “I have Dan over. He’s—” Stanley stumbled around for the right words before coming upon the truth “ — my friend.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t know you had any friends.”

“He’s new. My first in a long while.” The words hovered in the air, naked and exposed. There was an implication there that Stanley hadn’t intended. He wanted to reshape them to let Glenda know how much she meant to him, but he tripped on his tongue searching for something not so heavy. “Do you want to meet him? We are about to eat burritos. You are welcome to join us. He’s a really good cook.”

“I don’t eat much nowadays. A small meal in the morning and then again in the late afternoon. Always with Mittens and Boots. They’d be heartbroken if I didn’t.”

“Well, you can still come by to say a quick ‘Hello,’ if you’d like.”

Glenda fell silent.

The lingering response filled Stanley with dread. He regretted pushing the issue as he stared down the stairs. He could walk away and pretend he didn’t say anything.

Glenda continued to ignore the question, slowly turning toward the door.

Stanley traipsed down the stairs.

“That’ll be fine, Stanley. It does smell awfully good. Mittens and Boots won’t mind if I miss one meal with them.”

Alert as if he had finished two cups of coffee, Stanley trembled with excitement. He wanted to help her walk over but squelched the thought and contracted his burning muscles. Impinging on this exposition, especially given what happened the last time he touched her, was the last thing he wanted to do.