Robots through the Ages, page 39
And here now, he understood this place, Firstfall, that had been long hidden. Where the shaping of Lasthome began so long ago when the first of the silver army arrived and started their work for the ships swollen with life that followed after in the dark.
He felt it beneath the waves, buried and lost and . . . guarded. He felt the kin-serpents that prowled the deeps, large and hungry for straying vessels. He felt the ebb and flow of the aether-tamps and the storms they raised. He felt a city of light stirring to life. And felt its roots. Roots that stretched across the world, into the world, and far away beyond it.
I can feel the moon.
Tovin felt the warmth of the rod in his hand and forced his eyes open. The metal man was back to kneeling now, still facing north, and there in the waters Tovin saw light dancing and growing as something massive beneath the waters expanded and rose.
Ana stood to his left and Captain Rami to his right. Behind them, his flock approached.
He blinked and brought home the kin-serpents.
Tovin smiled and the clouds took on the blue-green tint of a rising moon as the rain stopped abruptly. Still, the moonlight was weak compared to the golden light of the city that awaited them below.
Isaak’s voice was closer now. Oh my.
Now, it took Tovin no effort to force his words into the stone. What is it, Isaak?
We can see it on our horizon. We are closer than we realized. It is . . . The metal man’s words faded into awe.
“It is the City of Firstfall,” Tovin declared and he knew as he said it that it was also his new home.
“Your life has changed a great deal in a very short amount of time,” Isaak said as they walked through the Firstfall library’s groves of knowledge the next day.
Tovin looked down at the staff in his hand and the dark ring upon his finger then looked up at his new friend. “It really has.” He watched as the uniformed men and women of the New Espiran Expeditionary Force moved among the trees of knowledge, blue stones in their hands as curious fingers tested the gemstones that dangled there. “I would have never imagined this.”
Isaak’s arrival in a metal sea-serpent they called Behemoth—flanked by two airships—had been rather anticlimactic after the resurrection of the lost city. And the city itself had warned Tovin of their approach. He’d met them there on the shore just a day ago and already, his head spun at what he’d learned.
Two others materialized in the library—a man and a woman clothed in silver light. They smiled at Isaak, shimmering like ghosts in the grove.
“This is the Homefinder Lord Nebios Whym—a child of the Younger God Whym and brother to P’Andro, though it is complicated. And this is Lady Winteria, formerly Queen of the Marshfolk,” Isaak said. “Now leading the colony on the moon in the Firsthome Temple. You’ll remember her from the dream.”
“Our libraries are joined in the aether,” Whym said. “We will be able to at least meet and communicate here.”
Tovin nodded. In the two days since he’d taken the rod, everything about his life had changed. And that faith—as flawed as it had been—was ultimately what served them and sustained them. Not the objects of said faith. But he could see why it was easy to consider his immediate forebears Younger Gods and the ones who shaped this world and its single moon—and countless others like it—Elder Gods.
Home sown in darkness by a people who carried darkness inside of them everywhere they went alongside their light.
He shook his thoughts away and remembered his manners. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This has all been a lot to take in.”
The woman’s smile held understanding. “I’ve said those words a great deal these last five years or so.” She reached over and took her companion’s hand. “It is a lot. But we have lots of time.”
Lord Whym inclined his head. “And lots of help.”
Tovin looked beyond the grove to the avenues and lighted domes of something unseen upon this world in millennia. More and more New Espirans had been arriving throughout the morning through the translation pool he’d activated with the brush of a thumb along the administrator’s rod he held. He’d been largely inseparable from Isaak since his arrival and along the way, he’d pieced together enough to know that only a few settlers had made it through the Seaway and onto the moon. And that there was an entire people—these New Espirans who came with Isaak—hidden in a creche at the center of the earth who would soon need a new home of their own.
Tovin expected many of them would choose Firstfall. Along with representatives from the Ninefold Forest Library of the Named Lands.
Despite the weight of wonder he already felt, he knew there would be more to come. And also so much to learn. From so many people . . . some wrapped in light, some wrapped in metal.
Sometimes, Tovin realized, home is already beneath your feet and you just don’t see it. Sometimes seeds fly far and sometimes they simply fall to the ground. They don’t decide themselves.
He found himself wondering what Ana would want to do and some part of him hoped maybe she would want to stay with him and learn everything they could about their city and their heritage. They could spend their mornings and evenings in the shade of the library.
Tovin brought his attention back to the conversation. Isaak had been speaking and once again, he realized he’d missed every word. He opened his mouth to apologize, and the others chuckled.
Isaak placed a hand upon his shoulder and Tovin felt the warmth of it. “I’ve also watched the world change a good deal and at times have even been a tool in its forced change. And I have learned that the truest hearts and dreams are in the direction of healing this world.”
Tovin nodded. He could see this was true, and he could see that he played a part in it. Had already and still would. All by the happenstance of where his people had fallen like seeds and a homeward dream out of nowhere. He did not need to know exactly the form the future might take to know that it would be beyond his wildest imaginings.
It ended up Tovin the Far-Seer did not need to see very far at all. His path, radiant and bright as heaven, lay ready beneath his waiting feet.
The last of our originals is a touching story continuing Shoemaker’s moving series about robots who serve as human companions. A direct sequel to his award-nominated short story “Today I Am Paul,” as well as the incredible novel expanded from it, Today I Am Carey, this one packs a punch and a lot of heart . . . —BTS
TODAY I KNOW
MARTIN L. SHOEMAKER
To Allie Doss & Sara Prideaux
Today I stand in front of the Parker house, trying to think of another option; I see none within the limits of my programming. I must act.
I am in my neutral form as I approach: a nondescript android with simple facial features, not emulating any person. Veronica knows me in this shape, so I will not surprise her.
I step up to the door and push the buzzer. The door screen lights up with an animated orangutan. “Can I help you?” the computer asks.
“I am Carey Owens. I would like to speak with Veronica Parker.”
The orangutan picks its teeth with one long finger. Finally it says, “Ms. Parker will be here shortly.”
I pass the first hurdle. She will talk to me.
The heavy oak-finish door opens, and Veronica stands before me. She is a slim teen, taller than Millie by twelve centimeters. She wears a sloppy blue sweatshirt and knee-length white pants. She looks calm, at ease, and I almost change my mind.
Veronica says, “Hello, Carey. Millie’s not here.”
“I know.”
“She left with Brian and May.” I sense her patience fraying.
“I know.”
She pulls a phone from her pocket and looks at it. “She might be home by now.”
“I know.”
I sense a shift: a touch of fear, something she is afraid to confront. “Carey . . . Why are you here?”
“I know.”
Her face flushes red, a sharp contrast against her yellow curls. “I don’t know what you mean. I . . .”
I step forward, and she takes a step away. Not out of fear, but she does not want to be close. “I know what you are going through, Veronica. What you contemplate.”
She backs two more steps, covering her mouth with her hands. “It’s true what they say.”
“I do not know who they are, nor what they say.”
“Kids at school.” Her eyes grow larger. “They say you can read minds.”
I shake my head, a gesture I hope she finds comforting. Human. “No, I cannot read minds. Surely Millie has discussed this.”
“No. She tells us you’re her friend. If we ask more than that, she changes the subject. She acts like you’re . . .”
“A person?” If I were human, this would be a place to smile. “She is a sentimental young woman. I am her friend, and she is mine.” I stare into Veronica’s face. “And she is yours, and what you consider would hurt her deeply.”
“So you’re here to . . . protect Millie?”
Again I shake my head. “I am here to protect you. I do not want you to hurt yourself. To—” Seldom do I have difficulty expressing my thoughts. I do not have the human urge to hesitate before uncomfortable statements. But never before have I had to say that a human wants to kill herself.
“Stop that!” Her eyes grow bright before she turns away. “You do read minds!”
“No, I read feelings. I have a finely tuned empathy network to understand what patients feel. Lately you are overwhelmingly sad, as I have never experienced before. I do not know your life, I cannot understand the reasons why, but I feel it is breaking you. So I built a profile of you.”
She glances back. “What’s a profile?”
“When someone enters my life, I create a mental image of them. The more important they are to my family, the more complex this image becomes. It is my understanding of you. Internally, I can ‘talk’ to it. Learn from it.”
“Learn what?”
“About what you think and feel, and how you live.”
“And you have a profile of me?”
“A very rich profile, built on every interaction I have seen between you and Millie, as well as what she says about you when we are alone. You are important to Millie, and she is important to me, so it is important to me to understand you.”
Veronica steps into a carpeted, paneled living room full of books and screens. I follow as she sits on a synthetic leather couch. “I’m not important to Millie.”
“You are one of her most important friends.”
“No, I’m not.” She leans forward on the couch, head resting on her hands. “I’m nobody special.”
I crouch down so my eyes are at her level. “Veronica, you already know that I have read your feelings.” She looks up at me and nods. “I know you that well after having a couple weeks with you over the years you have known Millie.”
“OK . . .”
“I have known Millie since she was four years old. My creator says the two of us have grown up together. I like Millie, and I know her better than any human I have ever met. So when I tell you Millie likes you, it is the truth.”
She pulls her hands away from her face. “You wouldn’t lie?”
“I am incapable of lying. The most I can do is stay silent when the truth would violate my programming. Millie is your friend, and losing you would hurt her.”
“I . . . can’t believe it.” Suddenly she leans away from me. “Have you told her?”
“I have not.”
“Who have you told? My parents?”
I can squat in this position all day, but looming there adds to Veronica’s anxiety. I settle into an easy chair. “I remain silent when my programming requires it. I am a medical care android, and there are strict rules for medical and psychological consultation. What I learn from you, I may not reveal to anyone without your permission or an order from a court.”
“So you can’t tell anyone?”
“Not if you do not want me to.”
I see her eyes narrow. “So you told me what you feel, and you can’t tell anyone else. So you’re here to stop me? Overpower me so I can’t do it?”
“No, Veronica.” It is not entirely true that I cannot deceive. I am not here to stop her, but know that I would if I saw her take action. My programming would compel it. But my empathy net tells me that would be as emotionally damaging as betraying her confidence.
She pulls her legs up on the couch. “So you’re not here to tell on me, and you’re not here to stop me. Why are you here?”
“To listen.”
“To what?”
“To whatever you want to say. Whatever you need to say, whatever drives you. There is a flaw in my training, and I want to correct it.”
“A flaw?”
“Yes. I have never been trained to understand a person who wants to end their life, so I do not know how I can help you. But I know how to listen. If that will help, that is good. If that will not help, if you still feel the urge for self-destruction, maybe I will learn.”
“No, you can’t do that!”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to learn to . . . hate yourself so much you want to end it.”
“I do not think my programming would allow that.” But I wonder. When I emulate a person, sometimes their reactions override mine, and I act perfectly as they would. But I should not say that and make her worry for me when she’s finally pushing back, taking a stand.
“Then I don’t understand. What would you learn?”
“How to help you, if I can. If you choose not to be helped, maybe I will help someone else.”
She crosses her arms. “You’re a strange robot, Carey.”
“I am a strange android,” I reply.
“Huh. What’s the difference?”
I remember one of Dr. Zinta’s lessons. I activate my emulation net, and I become Dr. Zinta in voice, mannerism, and appearance. Veronica’s eyes grow wide as I say, “It’s more than just semantics. A robot is designed for a limited set of programmed operations. An android is a human-shaped device with the flexibility of a human to perform many tasks. Because of its human shape, it can interact more freely with humans, who will perceive it as more than just a glorified vacuum cleaner.”
Veronica’s mouth drops open. Finally she says, “How did you do that?”
“It is what I am designed to do: care for patients with dementia and memory loss. Emulation allows me to take the appearance and behavior of their relatives if that will comfort them.”
“But that woman—”
“Dr. Zinta Jansons, my creator.”
“I don’t know her. Why did you become her?”
“Sometimes it is easier for me to understand something by emulating someone who understands it.”
“Could you emulate Millie?”
I pause. It is an uncomfortable subject. “I can, but Millie is a special individual. I am charged with her care, keeping her secrets and sharing her life. It seems wrong to pretend to be her when I am supposed to be her companion.”
“But then . . . could you be me?”
I lean forward in the chair. “I can, but some find it troubling when I emulate them.”
“Like I’m not troubled already . . .”
“I do not wish to make things worse.”
“You have my permission. I can take it.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “I . . . order you to emulate me.”
I rise from the chair and shift my emulation network to Veronica. My artificial hair follicles retract to Veronica’s shorter curls and lighten to match her shade. My color cells flood with lighter pigment, and my torso extenders stretch, bringing me to the proper height. I adjust my plastic flesh to give myself her face and her approximate body shape, and I assume her pose. My outer covering becomes a color to match her sweatshirt and pants.
No one who looked closely would believe I was Veronica. My emulation does not allow perfect duplication, but voice and mannerisms make up for many physical discrepancies.
“Hello, Veronica,” I say.
She shakes her head. “That’s not me. That’s . . .”
“What is wrong?”
“You look so ordinary. And I look so . . . gangly. Geeky.”
“I assure you,” I say in her own voice, “this is how you appear to me. And to Millie.”
“But I’m . . .” She stands up. “I’m so plain. I’m . . . nothing.”
I shake my head. “You are not nothing.”
“But I am! Everyone says so.”
“Everyone? Millie has never said so. None of Millie’s friends have said so when I could hear them.”
“It’s what . . . It’s . . .”
Suddenly she flees the room, and I hear running footsteps on the stairs.
I follow her, reverting back to my neutral appearance in hopes that will calm her. I follow the stifled sobs into a small bedroom. The blue carpet within matches the curtains and the bedspread, upon which Veronica lays face down, buried in a pillow.
“I am sorry. I did not want to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” she says, barely audible through the pillow.
“I am a failure.”
At that she turns one eye out. “A failure?”
“I am supposed to help you, not upset you.”
She turns her face back into the pillow. “You didn’t upset me. They did.”
“They?”
She pulls her head from the pillow and sits cross-legged on the bed. “Them. My parents. And . . . Harriet.”
“Who is Harriet?”
Veronica bites her lip. “My sister. The pretty one. The smart one. The one who’s going places, going to medical school.”
“You do not like your sister?”
“I . . . She’s my sister. I love her!” She looks out the window. “But sometimes, she’s just . . .”
