A Storied Man

(To read Part 1, please click here)

Keith stretched a dripping wet arm over the shower door and grabbed his towel off the hook. “Showers, towels. I’m so prehistoric.” Few things aggravated him more than doing without the expensive conveniences he worked so hard to make available.

He wondered if Shelley had to take showers. Surely with her salary she couldn’t afford anything else. As the image of her undressed body grew clearer in his mind, he wrapped the towel around his waist and tried to think about something else. “Don’t get carried away. If you’re going to date a girl like Shelley, you have to learn a little self-control.”

To take his mind off his condition, he carefully leaned in and inspected his face in the mirror. A lingering pimple sat atop his left eyebrow. He cursed it and scanned his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. Nothing more to see. He hadn’t completely outgrown acne, but it had stopped defining his countenance.

After shaving he used his towel again and threw it down. Seconds later a tiny fetcher bot emerged from a small hinged porthole in the bathroom door. Its six metal feet clicked on the tiles as it scampered to grab the towel. As it rushed back out its porthole, the bulky towel got stuck. The bot tugged at it noisily a few times, then came back in the bathroom and started trying to shove it through.

“Stop fetch,” Keith said.

The bot fell limp on the tiles.

Keith leaned down and folded the towel into a tight square.

“Resume fetch,” he said.

The fetcher bot stood, grabbed the towel and went through the porthole without any trouble. The muffled sucking sound of a laundry tube followed.

The little metallic beast was one of the few luxuries Keith owned, and only because he had built it from parts left over at work. Basic fetcher bots didn’t require much artificial intelligence or precise movement to keep the floors clear. Although he worked on much more advanced technology at the office, he dared sneak home only the obsolete components. Nobody would ever notice they were missing.

Consequently, he often called his, “The dumbest fetcher bot on or off Earth.”

He imagined what it would be like if Shelley ever came to his place and had to use the restroom. Would she find it perfectly normal or perfectly awful to use soap and water to clean her hands?

“Came to my place? Right. If I could only be so lucky,” he said.

He brushed his teeth and got dressed, then headed out the door to the restaurant where he’d agreed to meet Shelley.

The street was awash in drab. The buildings were painted gray, per city ordinance, with only the ad displays in color. Local officials, many also local business owners, were convinced this would help focus attention on the displays. Boost revenue, boost sales, boost the city. They said it was a win-win arrangement.

Keith ducked to avoid a low-flying talking ad bot. He’d never heard of anyone being hit, but he couldn’t stop instinct. “Feet feeling tired? Get a pair of Segue shoes today,” the bot suggested. It eased along just above the pedestrians’ heads, repeating its message in three languages.

Although he didn’t know the languages, Keith could repeat the phrases verbatim. The bot was one he had helped program, and more and more companies were ordering them. Once the purchase and programming costs of a bot were out of the way, the operation was inexpensive. During rush hours ad bots seemed like hordes of locusts.

There were some aspects of cheap energy that he didn’t like.

Shelley sat at a table on the restaurant’s patio. A wrought iron fence separated the area from the adjoining sidewalk. She waved and called out, “Hey!”

She looked so much more beautiful than at work that he instantly felt the urge to turn around and leave. She had seen him, so he waved back, then entered the front and quickly made his way out the patio door.

“You were early,” he said as he sat down.

“I get bored just sitting at home when my daughter’s not there, so I like to get out and people-watch,” she said.

“I do, too.”

Keith pulled up his chair.

And made the mistake of lifting its casters off the ground.

A shrill alarm sounded, turning heads. “Oh, crap!” he set the chair back down. The alarm stopped. “Damn anti-theft’s built into everything these days.”

They both grinned warmly and looked down at their menus.

A server bot came to the table. “Welcome to the Cotton Patch. What would you like, Sugar?”

“No, thanks. I don’t need any sugar right now.” Shelley said.

“Um, it wasn’t asking that,” Todd said. “‘Sugar’ was a term of endearment in the American South. The words are programmed right, but not the inflection.”

“Why do they keep trying to make them sound more human? I don’t need smalltalk from a bot.” She looked up at Keith. “Oh, sorry. I guess that would kind of put you out of a job, wouldn’t it?”

“Not really. I work for the marketing department. I don’t program service bots.”

The server bot set down a basket of wheat rolls and cornbread. “Oh, God. Real butter. Please don’t stop me,” Shelley said.

“You don’t really need it, but permission granted,” Keith said.

He grabbed a wheat roll while Shelley slathered butter on a piece of cornbread. “Diced jalapeño right inside there,” she said.

Keith watched a homeless man on the sidewalk just outside the fence. “Get away from me, evil doer!” the man shouted at the ad bot trying to sell shoes. The bot dipped to avoid the man’s fist, then increased its altitude to avoid further attack. Keith smiled proudly at seeing its maneuverability — his coding skills put into action.

“Segue shoes will boost your ‘tude!” the bot added as it moved on to the next victim.

“What did that bot just say?” Shelley asked.

“Please, don’t remind me,” Keith said. “For the speech I just go by the script I’m given.”

“Tell me, Mr. Roboto, just what can you make those little things do?”

“Anything I want. Well, anything the company tells me to.”

“No, you said, ‘Anything I want.’ You can’t squirm out of it now.”

“It’s not as big a deal as it sounds. I just program them to use a combination of magnetic fields and thrusters. Plus gyroscopes.”

“I bet you have your own bot at home at your beckon call. Oh, that was a hot bite,” Shelley said as she reached for her glass of water.

“Well…” he grinned sheepishly. “Really it’s just an annoying fetcher bot. Kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Don’t be so modest. You can make things happen.”

(to be continued)

This entry was posted on Monday, August 13th, 2007 at 11:37 pm and is filed under Drama, Sci-Fi. You may follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, and/or leave a comment below.