In honor of the day coming, oct 21, 2015 - the date that marty McFly drove his time machine-DeLorean to in the movie Back to the Future II: Here is a tale set in the not-too-distant future. Enjoy.
* * * * *
Jack felt trapped, impotent. Given
his age and situation, this might have seemed normal, or as normal as
can be. But normal to Jack was living with a small army of
household helpers, assisted by his Attendant, a nearly adult-sized
robot. Attendant passed on messages, took his dictation, helped plan
his day, performed internet searches and so on. Att also watched
over the smaller 'bots who cleaned house, washed windows, cooked
food, etc.
Ever since his last medical
procedures had put him on disability, 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, had
died in a fiery crash on I-80 the other day. It reminded him 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, random.
“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, still wirelessly networking 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.
“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, downlinking 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 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 floorbots 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 an Uber 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. And
eventually he decides that 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 ever!
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. Still waiting,
listening on all channels. All it hears is silence.
- end
