Jack
feels trapped, impotent. Given his age and situation, this might
seem normal, or as normal as can be. But normal to Jack is ruling a
small army of household helpers, assisted by his Attendant, a nearly
adult-sized robot. Attendant passes on messages, takes his
dictation, helps plan his day, performs internet searches and so on.
Att
also watches over the smaller 'bots who clean house, wash windows,
cook food, etc.
Ever
since his last medical procedure, Jack had relied on his household
“fleet” to keep his life running smoothly. He even had two
furry 'pets', who would get up on the bed, and snuggle to keep him
company at night. He still took daily walks, attended club meetings,
and went to social activities. Although he lived alone in the sense
that no other human shared his residence, he never felt that way.
The Attendant and the Internet usually saw to that.
But
David, a close friend, died in a fiery crash on I-80 the other day.
It reminded Jack of the fragility of life, even more than the
creeping infirmities his other friends complained about. Not to
mention his own arthritis, heart murmur, gout and various minor
maladies. Normally, his robot clan usually made him feel on top of
the world, and helped him forget his problems.
Today,
he sits in his chair, flipping through channels on the holoset.
Nothing interests him. His Net browsing is cursory, casual,
uninvolved.
“Is
everything okay with you, Jack?” says Attendant.
“Hmm?
I guess so,” is his reply.
“You
seem a bit unhappy today,” says Attendant.
“Well,
it's because I have lost a dear friend, David. You wouldn't
understand.”
“Perhaps
not. But some of your vitals are erratic.”
“What
vitals? What do you mean?”
“You
are operating outside your normal parameters.”
“My
normal what? Speak English, Robot.”
“See,
that is what I mean. Now you are calling me Robot.”
“I
mean Attendant. Jeesh, now you are getting sensitive,” growls
Jack.
“I
can't feel, remember? I am programmed to observe your health on a
continuous basis, and I am merely reporting to you the results of my
observations,” says Attendant.
“Well,
very good. Thank you and a job well done. Now would you quit
bothering me? Go find some dishes to wash, whatever.”
“Very
well. Time for a re-charge,” says Attendant, and wheels off to
back up onto a socket. It does so, and also wirelessly networks with
the other robots. The furry boys are interrogated and interacted
with. The floor cleaners are also chatted with. The kitchen food
prep system and dishwasher are networked with. Everyone is brought
into consultation. A consensus is near, but cannot be reached.
Jack
naps. Then he awakens, and tries to decide between getting a cup of
coffee, or going out for a walk. Even this is a chore, since he is
depressed beyond belief. He falls back asleep, and has a nightmare.
He found himself on a highway of old, with a gang of people rushing
him from one side, and a gang of robots attacking from the other
side. They almost had him before he awoke.
He
wakens, covered in sweat, his heart hammering. Then he does get up.
The Sun slants in through half-closed blinds – it is late
afternoon. Time to get a drink of something.
“Attendant?
Have Kitchen-bot get me a drink. Water, cold,” Jack orders. He
decides he will go out into the yard. He walks over to the kitchen,
where a grappler offers him a glass full of water, chilled. Jack
takes a few sips, then sets it down on the counter, where another
grappler picks it up, empties it out, and puts it into a wash
receptacle. Jack heads over to the side door just off the kitchen,
and says, “Door open.” A voice reminds him that “it has
rained recently, Jack, so watch your step outside.”
Jack
grumbles, “I'm not a goddamn child,” then heads out, giving the
yawning door a push for good measure.
He
shuffles around his small yard. For a time he loses himself in the
simple joys of checking out flowerbeds, doing some simple weeding,
waving off the ever-hovering yard-bots. “Get out of my way,
dammit, I don't need help right now.”
Inside,
Attendant takes another vote. This time, there is a narrow
consensus.
After
about an hour, Jack is ready to head back in. He brushes dirt off
his hands, and happens to let his gaze fall on the street. There,
about a foot away from the curb, lies a dead cat. It is little more
than a kitten, sprightly, calico, with an ornate collar. It is the
little cutie that came over to watch him garden in days past.
Someone just came by and ran over it, and just kept on going.
Jack
almost feels like he has been hit, the shock is so great. He tears
up, sinks to his knees, and moans. The yard-bots hover. They send
images back to Attendant, who enters into rapid calculations on
whether to contact authorities. But Jack is no danger to others, and
at present, no danger to himself. Attendant holds off.
Jack
finally raises up, and stumbles back into the house, blinded by
tears. He yanks the door open with his hand, bypassing various
systems: Attendant does not block this. Jack stumbles into the
living room, sits in his recliner, and bawls. After a time, he
stops, snuffles, and then sleeps a little.
He
finally rouses himself, and heads to the bathroom to wash up a bit.
“Nothing
to do but keep on, I guess,” he mumbles.
Attendant
hovers. “Anything I can do for you, Jack? Net feeds?
Holovision?”
“Yeah,
I suppose. Check my email, will you Attendant?”
Attendant
re-calibrates some settings, and then does so, down-linking and
patching his messages to the holo-set. Jack flips through the
messages. “Delete. Save. Delete. Delete, damn junk mail. Oh,
one from BD. Open.” Jack reads it, chuckling. “OK, mark as
read.” On he goes.
The
minute I step out, everyone emails me!
He
cheers a little. Attendant takes note, and initiates The Plan. The
household clan swarms Jack. The furry boys nuzzle him and purr. The
floor-bots scoot around, doing a musical dance as they clean the
floor. Kitchen bot informs Jack through attendant that it is
preparing his favorite meal tonight.
Attendant
notes that it has been awhile since he has used SeXXXy, his personal
needs robot. She has been warmed up and programmed with some special
new moves for him. In quick succession, his household presents him
with various, well, presents of one kind or another.
Jack
is at first pleased. This dovetails with being perked up with a good
email, and his spirits rise. But after the SeXXXy business, he
becomes suspicious.
“Attendant,
what is going on here? Are you guys trying to cheer me up?”
“And
what if we are, Jack? You can't blame us for trying. After all, you
are the head of this household, and it is up to us to ensure that you
are functioning at full capacity.”
Thinking
that normally that would be his job, Jack guffaws. But he relents.
“Well,
thank you all very much. But what I really need right now is the
presence of another human being. If you could manage that, I would
be very pleased. Since no one seems to know that I am alive, I wish
you luck.”
At
this, the robot crew slows, uncertain. The Kitchen Cooker has not
got a reply, so it goes into standby mode. The floor-bots return to
their posts. Even the Furry Boys stop purring and nuzzling, and
stroll back to the bedroom, backing themselves into charge ports.
When in doubt, recharge.
Attendant
makes some high-level calculations, and runs through a very short
list of options: The number of humans that Jack interacts with.
There is his brother, three states away. His home health assistant,
who checks in every month or so. A couple of old friends who are
intermittent. Dave was his closest pal, but Dave died recently –
no luck there. For once, Attendant falls silent.
“Attendant?
Did you hear what I said? I would like another human being to see
me.”
Attendant
remained silent, its processors churning.
“Oh
well,” Jack sighs. I suppose there are some things only I can do
anyways. Attendant?”
“Yes,
Jack?”
“Have
Kitchen-bot prepare me a simple meal tonight. I'm going out,”
“OK
– done. How does some meatloaf, mashed potatoes and mixed greens
sound?”
“That
sounds great. Put some music on the holo for me, ambient channel.”
Soon
the strains of mild electronic tunes float in the air. Jack goes
into his bedroom, and manually picks through his clothes. For
tonight, he is going to abandon his assistants and go out – all by
himself.
“Will
you be alright, Jack? Are you sure I can't contact a ride or
anything for you?”
“No,
Attendant. I will be just fine. It is time I took charge of my
life. I want to see the clubs and bars again – taste the nightlife
again. It has been way too long.”
“Well,
don't forget to take your meds. Your life has value.”
“I'm
glad to know it, Attendant. Glad to know it indeed.”
Jack
smells the meatloaf cooking, and feels ravenous. When it is prepared
and presented to him, he wolfs it down. He relaxes some, watching
some holo selections. Then it is time to go.
“Attendant?
Put everyone in stasis for a time. I should be back in a few
hours.”
“Very
well, Jack. Please stay safe and do not consume more than one
alcoholic drink per hour.”
“Thanks,
mom. You guys hold down the fort for me.”
“Hold
down what fort, Jack? That is not understood.”
“Just
an expression, Attendant. Goodbye.”
“Good
bye, Jack. Have fun and be safe.”
Jack
hops into his roadster and commands it to take him downtown, to the
entertainment district. It notifies him of some past-due maintenance
issues regarding tire inflation and alignment. He scoffs, and
mutters, “Just get me downtown before I change my mind.”
The
engine sputters to life, warms up, and the car heads out. A short
time later, Jack is at the front door of one of his favorite bars.
He gets out, and orders the car to go park. He walks in, braves the
assault of noise, goes to the bar and orders a stiff drink. A few
sips later, Jack is feeling much better, and strikes up some
conversations. He meets an old acquaintance, and they chat more.
The decide to go to Chances, another bar full of memories. Jack
drinks more, laughs, even dances some. He is having the time of his
life. Then he goes into the restroom, and some guy cruises him.
Jack accepts what is offered, and enjoys himself even more.
After
a few more drinks, more laughter and reveling, his wrist monitor
buzzes incessantly. His BAC is way over the limit. Jack swears,
and tries to shut the thing off. He manages to mute it finally.
Then he orders a water from the bar, and takes it easy. After some
more cruising and conversation, he decides to head home.
I
can't drink any more, the electronic nannies won't let me.
So
he stumbles out on the street, and then calls his car from his
wrist-com. The car pulls up a short time later. He notices it is
sputtering a bit. Must be those maintenance issues.
He
clambers in, and the car takes off. He couldn't go to another bar
even if he wanted to. The car has read his BAC from the wrist unit,
and knows he is still over the legal limit. It heads back to his
place.
Some
rowdy throws a beer bottle into the street, right in front of Jack's
car. The car runs over the bottle, swerves too late, and cannot
swerve again to avoid the oncoming traffic, thanks in part to
unevenly worn tires and bad alignment. A larger SUV plows right into
Jack's smaller coupe, nearly head-on. Jack remains conscious for
long enough to reflect on the irony: It was a damn good night,
for my last night on Earth!
Back
at his home, Attendant rouses. Contact with Jack's wrist-com has
been lost. Attendant tries again and again. Then, Attendant
interacts with local law enforcement nets. Indeed, there was a
crash.
It
was Jack's car. Jack is en route to a trauma center, condition
unknown at present.
The
other bots are roused. The home is made ready to accept Jack as a
full invalid now. It is all that Attendant knows to do. Attendant
send notification to the Attendants of family members, and then goes
into quiescent, listening mode.
When
authorities finally visit Jack's house a week later, after his
passing, they find Attendant and the other household bots still
there, waiting to hear of news from their human companion and master.
“Almost
sad, like they still want him to show up,” says one cop to another.
“Yeah,
a shame. They'll all have to be re-programmed.”
“Well,
another day, another Attendant without a master,” replied the other
cop.
“Yep,
I suppose. Bye bye, housebots,” he says as they walk out, letting
the door swing shut behind them.
The
Attendant watches them go, its monitors flickering a myriad of
colors. As it waits and waits, the other bots remain still. The
house creaks and groans in a strong evening wind that has blown in
from the west.
