I've had this story in my head for a while now, so to jump start it and get it going I'm challenging myself to post a new "day" every Saturday until it's done - Serial Style. This is an attempt to write something "real" for my wife and I'm just playing with the dialog heavy style. Of course feedback is most welcome and enjoy.
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You
By Andy Brim
Monday
This story
starts, as all good stories do, on a Monday; the lazy kind where the sun is
bright first thing in the morning, the air is fresh and crisp, and the robot
walking down the street shines brightly from his Sunday bath.
What? Right,
you don’t know about T1N yet. Well, traveling at about the pace of the old gray
hairs that drove cautiously down the main drag on their way to their weekly
church meeting/hair appointment/luncheon was a 5’ 6” white and chrome robot…
wait, automaton, because robot is Czech for… never mind you’ll hear about it
later. In fact I shouldn’t be introducing T1N first when the first person you
should meet is just pulling up now to 213 BC Ave.
The black
delivery van with a red strip on the sides stopped at the curb and Marcus
Jefferson strode out of the side door of the idling EPS truck. He carried a
small box up the walkway to the white door of a Mr. A. Swift. He knocked on the
door and then whistled loudly to himself as he waited.
A gray
sphere came forward out of the door frame from about where the key hole should
have been. A visor on the sphere rolled up to revel a lens and the strange
device pitched from side to side and then moved up and down, seemingly taking
the delivery man’s measure.
Out of the
sphere came some jibberish and it extended outward until it was inches from
Jefferson’s face.
“Leave the
package on the door step,” came a human voice through the sphere.
“I’m afraid
I need you to sign for it.”
“Its fine,
you can just leave it there.”
“Nuh uh.
This package has been certified by the Express Post Service, EPS for short, and
as part of our guarantee to you…” Jefferson looked at the package, “a Mr. A.
Swift, that your package is delivered to the correct address it is our policy
that the package be signed for.”
The sphere
stood silent for a moment. “The other drivers just leave my packages on the
door step.”
“Well those
drives obviously don’t take as much pride in their work as I do. They might
also not be under review by their supervisor and as such not feel the
overwhelming weight to meet EPS’ exacting policies. Of course if you want me to
be fired, I’ll just leave the package on the doorstep and be on my way back to
the unemployment line. It was a good job while it lasted.”
“You’re not
going to get fired for leaving it on the doorstep.”
“Mr. Harpta,
my supervisor, has made it quite clear that my employment is contingent on
every certified package being signed for by an adult. He was very specific about
the adult part too.”
The sphere
grew silent again. Jefferson made to put
the package down, his brow knitted with worry. “Wait. I’ll sign for it, just a minute.”
The sphere
retreated with a snap and the sound of several locks being worked came through
the door. A man in gray sweat pants, a UW tee shirt, and Chewbacca slippers
opened the door.
“You’re Mr.
A. Swift,” Jefferson asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Sign here,”
the man pointed to the dotted line on his clip board but offered no pen.
“You have a
pen?”
“Silly me, I
must have left it in my truck. I’ll just go and get it.” He started to turn
back.
“No, no,
I’ll just get one.” Swift went back into the dark house to find a pen and then
came back to find no one waiting for him.
“Uh… hello?”
“This was so
worth twenty bucks!” Jefferson’s voice came from inside the house.
“Excuse me!”
Swift rushed
through his own home looking for the wayward delivery man, finding him in what
was technically the living room, but more resembled a movie theater. Jefferson,
mouth agape, took in the 90’ LED TV, 7.2 surround sound, blue velvet curtains
blocking the sunlight, plush carpeting, and twin blue microfiber easy chairs
situated perfectly for optimal viewing pleasure. A tear rolled down the man’s
cheek.
“Please get
out of my house.”
“The guys
back at the shop will never believe this… is that an NES… and a Super
Nintendo?!”
“Yes. Now
please leave.”
“Tell me you
have Contra?”
“Of course.”
“Awesome!”
Just then a pole
with eight long arms on a treaded base and a trash can on three wheels rolled
into the room – the trash can carried a tray of popcorn and soda.
“Ito. Gronk.
Not now!” The trash can said gronk
and then turned around, while the spider bot continued until it reached the
remote resting on the coffee table, a pincer at the end of the arm picked up
the remote.
“Ito, no!”
“You have
robots?”
“They’re not
robots.”
“They look
like it to me.”
“They’re
automatons. The term robot is derived from the Czech word… where are you
going?”
Jefferson
had turned to follow Gronk back into what looked like the kitchen. “I’m getting
a soda from your robo-butler. Want one?”
“Aren’t you
supposed to be delivering packages?”
“I’ve got
all day. Besides, there are more robots.” Indeed Jefferson had walked through
the kitchen into the den at the front of the house where steel shelves housed
organized bins of every imaginable electronic part and a handful of compact
robots about as large as small dogs.
“I will call
the police if you don’t leave.”
“What do
these ones do,” Jefferson asked, picking up the robot closest to him, it was
flat and round, made of a matte black plastic, with four legs coming out of the
bottom.
“Please
don’t touch that. It’s a goalie drone.”
“Goalie
drone? Cool. And those ones?” Jefferson pointed to a pair of robots shaped like
a traffic cone but wrapped in a wire mesh.
“Barricade
drones. Listen, if you’re here to rob me just take what you want, I’ll even get
you a box if that’s what you want.”
“Rob you?”
Jefferson looked pained. “Do I look the type to rob you?”
“I don’t
know you… so, yes.”
“Marcus
Demarcus Jefferson, at your service.” Jefferson offered his hand and then
seemed to remember the package he’d brought in with him. “Here’s your package
by the way.”
“Thanks.”
Swift took it and put it on Gronk’s now empty tray. Gronk.
“So, this is
embarrassing, but the other drivers bet me twenty bucks that I couldn’t get in
here and see what it is that you do… in here. What is it that you do in here?”
“I’m a
computer programmer.”
“Who makes
robots?”
“Automatons.
Why would the others drivers want to know what’s in my house?”
“Well, Dave
thinks you’re a terrorist, Kato’s convinced you work for the government, like super,
secret NSA, CIA type government, and Celeste is pretty sure you lure children
into your oven with cookies.”
A tray
popped out of Gronk’s middle, where a half dozen cookies rested. Gronk.
“Put those
away.” Gronk retracted the cookie tray.
A beep from
the room across the hall sparked Jefferson’s interests and away he went with
Swift in tow.
“I make an
extra ten from each if I learn what the A stands for.” The next room was a
small bedroom that had been converted into an office. Across one wall was an
array of monitors, each displaying different things: video feeds, streams of
code, or blank desktops. Keyboards, mice, and other computer peripheries
cluttered the desk space and posters for TRON, Transformers the Movie, the
Rocketeer, and a velvet Elvis decorated the other walls.
“Whoa.”
Jefferson took a moment to take it all in and then eyed Swift suspiciously.
“You’re not like one of those Black Cloud hackers are you?”
“What? No.
I’m a contract programmer who specializes in debugging and optimization. I do
it all remotely, never have to leave the house.” There came the beep again. “I
really need you to leave now.” Swift’s eyes were on the screen on the bottom
right, the one displaying a color video feed.
“Is that
from inside the Lectronics Shoppe?”
“Maybe.”
“How are you
today Tin Man,” asked a young woman’s voice over a pair of computer speakers.
On the screen was a woman in her late twenties, brown hair and green eyes that
hinted at a mischievous spark.
Swift went
over to the desk and typed in a short command, then gave Jefferson the sign to
stay quiet.
“Hi, Gwen.
You were right about the tolerances on those resistors; they popped as soon as
I powered the circuits up.”
“Hope you didn't fry anything.”
“Nothing I
can’t pick up at your store. T1N’s got the list with him if you've got a
minute.”
“For my best
customer, I’d be happy to help. Plus I get to throw in an ‘I was right’.”
Swift
laughed and smiled dopily at the screen, watching Gwen take the note and then
go to the parts wall to find all the bits and pieces.
“So when are
you going to be coming in for this stuff yourself,” Gwen asked while she sought
out another item on the list.
“It’s easier
if T1N goes in for me, I’ve been swamped with work.”
“Excuses,
excuses. Looks like we’re out of the capacitors you’re looking for, but I
should have more next week. Need them sooner?”
“No, next
week’s fine. Thanks, Gwen.”
“No problem,
I’ll call when they come in.” She smiled at the camera as she handed a bag to
whatever was in the store with her. “You have a nice day Tin Man.”
“Thanks, you
too Gwen.”
“Well I’ve
never.” Jefferson shook his head and surveyed the room again with eyes full of
wonder. “You get packages delivered, what, every day?”
“I guess
so.”
“I’m sure
you’re able to order all sorts of things too.”
“Maybe.”
“And yet you
take the time to send one of your robots…”
“Automatons.”
“…down to
your local, neighborhood electronics shop. Now, one might wonder why that is.”
“They have
an excellent inventory on hand.”
“Oh I know
all about the ‘inventory’.” Jefferson made quotation marks with his hands when
he said inventory. “Some of the finest ‘inventory’ in the county I’ve heard
said. But why you sending the robot down there instead of putting your own
hands on the ‘inventory’?”
“This
conversations is making me feel very awkward.”
“Well it
should! I know about unrequited love, man. It gnaws at you, tenderizes your
brain, gets your palms all sweaty, and the like until you do something about
it. You see her as you go down the road, sitting in her unmarked car, scanning
every car that passes… hoping she sees you… hoping you pulls you over again for
speeding… not too much of course, you don’t want to seem needy.”
“Are we
talking about me or you?”
“I’m talking
about us! Letting life pass us by, while the women we love never know how we
really feel about them.”
“Gwen is just
a friend.”
“Just a
friend? Ito, slap that fool.” Ito raised two of its hands.
“Ito, no.”
Very slowly the robot lowered its hands.
“We’ll talk
more about this tomorrow, o.k. my man?” Jefferson threw out a fist; it hung
awkwardly waiting for Swift to bump it. “O.k.” said Jefferson as he lowered his
hand.
Jefferson
went to the door that had remained ajar the whole time.
“Albro.”
Jefferson turned back with a puzzled look. “The A stands for Albro, Albro
Swift.”
“Please to meet you Albro Swift, EPS thanks you
for your patronage.”
