Far Off

Rilind Novak sat on a chair beside the long table in the break room. He’d tried to cross his legs again, but found the effort frustrating. Letting his left leg slip, it dropped to the floor with a thud. “When they wake you up, you gasp for air,” he said. ”It doesn’t make sense, I know, but they make you suck in air like they raised you from the bottom of a lake. My new body doesn’t need oxygen. Why did they make me do that?”

“Humans are weird,” said the large yellow artificial man in the corner. Its voice was deep and mechanical.

Rilind tried to remember its name. “C” something. A few numbers. 239? Not very easy to remember a name like that. Rilind wondered why the artificial didn’t give itself a better name. “Sometimes we are weird.”

“You’re not human anymore.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re an artie now. You may think like a human, but you have an artificial body.”

“So if I had a human body?”

“Then you’d still be human. See, arties think. You don’t call us human, you call us arties.”

“But I had a human body once.”

“What if – while you still had your human body – they put a pig’s heart in you. Would you be a pig?”

“No, I’d be a human with a pig’s heart.”

“See. That’s my point. A pig’s heart in a human body doesn’t make you a pig. Now you have an artificial body with a human brain. The brain doesn’t make you a human. The body makes you an artie. One of us, and just as insignificant.”

“But I feel human.”

The lumbering artificial chuckled. At least, Rilind thought it was a chuckle. The artie’s broad thorax tended to rattle when it spoke. The sound it made may have been something else. He decided it was a chuckle and left it at that.

“The abdominal breathing mechanism is unnecessary,” said Epsilon Three. This cyborg was the most advanced of the arties in the room. Rilind was having an easier time with its name. Epsilon Three would have rolled off his tongue if he still had one. “Your brain still requires oxygen, but there are more efficient ways to supply it.”

Turning his head, Rilind looked toward the fourth member of their team, John Randolph. This android model most resembled Rilind’s new body. Unlike the others, John Randolph preferred the male pronouns that went with his name. He had remained silent until Rilind looked his way. “Exactly. It’s like using new words to describe old ideas.”

“What are you talking about?” asked C-239. Its audio crackled a little with the effort.

“Well, it’s not exactly like that.” John Randolph appeared embarrassed, something Rilind would never have expected from an artie.

“It’s nothing like that.” The bulky yellow artificial’s final ‘t’ faded into static.

“C-239, I don’t understand why you are always so snarky.” John Randolph often sounded like a dandy to Rilind. He wasn’t sure if he found that endearing or annoying.

Rilind smiled at C-239. At least, he hoped he was smiling. Months in this body and he still couldn’t be sure. In his mind, his holographic lips curved into a smile. He imagined his silicon face presenting a pleasant grin. “I think I understood,” he finally said.

Epsilon Three shook its head. “You shouldn’t encourage it.” The cyborg waved its arm toward C-239. “You’ll learn, it wants you to treat it nice, but it has nothing but contempt for you.”

“And you don’t?” asked C-239.

Rilind wondered if the aging yellow artie would have scowled if it was able to. What facial features it had could not move. Its smooth, faded yellow face contained two ‘eyes’ and a round port to emit sound. Its cavernous thorax rattled. If anything, this artie most resembled the mid-twentieth century description of a robot. He’d seen plenty of them in history books. It’s arms – there were six in all – offered the only departure from what he imagined.

C-239 bent it’s upper left appendage. It curled that around the corresponding one on the right in a familiar salute to Epsilon Three. “You know where you can stick that.”

The room fell silent. In the Spycislaw Manufacturing Facility, such silence was absolute. The arties called it the Spike. Its isolation and lack of use meant very little moved or made a sound.

The Spike hadn’t always been this way. It once was a hub of production and wealth. Back then, automation promised increased productivity. That meant greater supplies and lower costs. It also meant displacing the very people who might have benefited from them. Rilind was one of those people. He hadn’t worked here, but where he did work, an artie took his job.

The result for the displaced was a dramatic restructuring of human life. The underemployed like Rilind learned to do with less. As they did, so did industry. Remote facilities like the Spike went dormant. Their output was either accommodated elsewhere or eliminated completely. The Law of Demand, it would seem, was immutable after all.

John Randolph’s head swiveled from side to side. The faint sound of his motor broke the silence. When he settled his gaze on C-239, he offered what passed for a smile.

Epsilon Three took advantage of the interruption to resume his assessment. “I would assume it’s a psychological thing. Breathing is one of the elements necessary to connect the human mind to life.”

C-239 chuckled again from its corner of the room. “Epsilon The Great assumes?”

The cyborg rose, its eyes trained on C-239. “I have the capacity to describe up to eleven physical dimensions. I can calculate Pi to several trillion digits. I have even designed quantum generators using common household items. But human emotions and psychology remain elusive. The default setting for Promethean class cyborgs is to avoid such questions.”

“Humanity’s great savior and plague,” croaked C-239.

“I have heard enough from you, robot.” Epsilon Three’s eyes glowed at the yellowish hulk in the corner. This is where such exchanges usually ended. Rilind had learned that ‘robot’ was the ultimate insult among arties. Even if C-239 resembled the historical version of a mechanical man, the slur stung. Understanding its place in the pecking order, it offered no further challenge.

In the adjoining Control Room, one of the panels audibly registered a complaint. Rilind was glad for the distraction. He stood to respond. The arties remained motionless as he left the room.

Rilind found the flashing red light he expected. It indicated some disturbance on one of the assembly lines. Reaching a slender silicon finger toward the panel, he extinguished the alarm. Proceeding into the hall, he turned toward the elevator and pressed the down button.

Before the elevator arrived, John Randolph entered the hall. “Did you want some company?”

“Should we leave those two alone?” asked Rilind.

“Epsilon Three has devised every conceivable end for our friend by now, but it would never act on any of them.”

“Maybe you’re right.” The elevator doors opened and Rilind entered. “If it were human, there would be a limit to its patience.”

The windows of the elevator looked out on the Spike. Assembly buildings stretched out in all directions around them. These silent structures dominated the immediate landscape for half a kilometer.

The two androids emerged from the elevator on the dark and empty bottom floor. “Did you get the location?” asked John Randolph.

“No, I felt like a walk. Sorry, I should have told you.”

“Breaks up the monotony, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Besides, I’m sure a rodent triggered one of the lasers.”

“Likely.”

John Randolph hesitated, allowing Rilind to choose their direction. Of the three corridors emanating from the elevator bank, he selected the center.

“Are you processing my choice?” asked Rilind.

“I prefer to think of it as learning. You had three options. Logic dictates a methodical approach. Perhaps left to right or right to left. Your choice was not logical.”

“Didn’t C-239 say something about humans being weird?”

The pair proceeded down the hallway. As they did, the lights anticipated them, triggered by motion sensors. Reaching the double doors at the end of the hall, Rilind pressed through. He held the door for John Randolph. They emerged into another hall, this time branching out in four different directions. Rilind chose the second hall on the left and John Randolph followed.

They finally arrived at one of the 15 assembly line structures. The immense space dwarfed them. Lights ignited around the structure, illuminating hundreds of meters of silent factory floor. But for a modest accumulation of dust, the place appeared ready for action.

John Randolph walked to one of the panels near the entrance. “The cleaning bots will need to increase their rotation.” He flipped a few switches. Rilind watched the detection lasers crisscrossing the room as they blinked out. When the last one went dark, the two mechanical men began their search. Each took their own path along opposite walls, making their way down the long structure.

Walking several dozen meters apart, talking became less practical. Instead, John Randolph activated his communications protocol, allowing Rilind to hear his thoughts. It’s probably right about the breathing, thought John Randolph.

Rilind’s thoughts were not compatible with this technology, forcing him to speak. The protocol allowed John Randolph to hear him, even at this distance. “You mean the psychology?”

I’m not sure what else it could be.

“I suppose that’s right. I wonder how they figured it out. How many people woke up without breathing before they knew what was missing?”

There’s a human saying about omelets, I believe.

“I wish you wouldn’t mention food. I miss omelets. Three eggs with cheese and bacon.”

Do you suppose they died?

“The ones they didn’t force to breathe?” Rilind paused. He bent to observe the floor beneath the assembly line.

They probably died. John Randolph answered his own question.

“Yes, I suppose they did, or they were psychologically scarred somehow.”

The pair continued on in silence. Each took turns scanning the machinery and their surroundings. They were unlikely to find the issue in the first building they searched. Rilind didn’t mind. It was far from physical exertion, and it was better than sitting around.

They didn’t have to continue their search. At any moment, John Randolph could engage with the factory’s Control Room computer. In an instant, he could pinpoint the source of the alarm. Fortunately for Rilind, John Randolph preferred to model his actions after humans.

They did not speak again until they entered the fourth assembly floor. As he moved along one side of the structure, John Randolph encountered a teen-aged boy.

The human crouched beneath the bulky platform of a conveyor belt. The teen lurched out from behind the mechanism. Leaping on it, he turned to confront the android. His clothes were dirty and tattered, his hands clenched into fists. He swung his head as though searching for something. Whirling around, he discovered Rilind staring at him.

“It’s okay,” said John Randolph aloud.

“Stay away from me!” Backing up, the teen neared the distant edge of the conveyor.

Rilind moved quickly through the maze of machinery. “We won’t hurt you.” As he approached, he knocked over a tool kit, its contents spilling across the floor. Sockets and screwdrivers now littered the area. Rilind reached helplessly toward the tools scattering before him.

The teen jumped ahead of him, grabbing the largest screwdriver in his reach. He swung back toward the two mechanical men. “Stay away!” The teen brandished his new weapon, stabbing the tool toward Rilind. The cybernetic human drew his hands back. Months in this vessel and he still recoiled from the threat of pain.

John Randolph edged in closer. “We won’t hurt you.”

The teen stabbed toward the android but found no reaction from the mechanical man. The difference in responses twisted his face in confusion. Breathing heavy, he swung the tool back toward Rilind.

Rilind raised his arms, holding his palms forward. “Please put that down. No one here will harm you.”

“Stay away from me.” The teen punctuated this shout with another thrust.

I will follow your lead, thought John Randolph.

Rilind lowered his hands. “I’m human. At least my brain is human.”

The teen stared, unmoved.

“He really was human,” offered John Randolph.

“Stay away from me!” The teen backed into the machinery behind him.

“No one here will hurt you.” Rilind’s holographic face mouthed the words. He hoped the repetition would assure the young man. “We only came because you set off the alarm.”

John Randolph backed away. When he’d added a full meter of distance, he raised his hands, palms forward. “He really was human... is human. Believe me.”

Lowering the tool slightly, the teen’s breathing slowed, the tension in his body easing.

“Look, I’ll show you I’m human.” Rilind backed away, reaching for his chest near the center. There he found a panel which he pressed. Swinging open, it exposed a small chamber. There sat his brain, its telltale folds of gray encased in a clear plastic vessel.

The teen stared at the mass of flesh.

“That is a human brain,” said John Randolph. “I don’t have one of those, but he does because he was born with it. That makes him the one in charge.”

Turning toward John Randolph, the teen lifted the tool in the John Randolph’s direction.

“No, no, no... He’s a good android. He won’t hurt you either.” Closing the panel on his chest, Rilind moved to intervene.

The teen scowled. “I’m looking for food.”

Rilind raised his hands again. “We have no food here. Only robots, no food.”

I am not a robot. thought John Randolph

Rilind heard the android’s thoughts but couldn’t acknowledge them. Keeping his eyes trained on John Randolph, the teen poked the weapon toward Rilind. “If you’re human, you have to have food.”

“I was human. I was just like you once. I got sick. The only way for me to stay alive was to use a body like this.”

“Why is he so afraid of us?” asked John Randolph.

The question surprised Rilind. He assumed all arties heard of the stories told to children, about blood thirsty robots and the end of the world. “He thinks we’re going to kill him.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Many humans believed they would starve to death because robots would take their jobs. Some believed that, even if we didn’t starve, robots would kill us off because we are useless to you.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, you are useless to us, but we have better things to do than to kill you.”

“We’re back to Epsilon Three’s comment about the complexity of human psychology,” said Rilind.

“Complex doesn’t seem adequate to describe it.”

The teen looked to each of them. His head moved as though witnessing an impromptu match of table tennis. The weapon lowered as they continued.

“I can remember the early days of the C class, the most basic robots,” said Rilind. “I might have been this young man’s age, maybe a little older. Automation was protested then. People were trying to tear down any company that had more than simple machines.”

John Randolph shook his head. “Humans are part of the animal kingdom. They had to kill for food and to protect themselves. But arties have never needed to kill for survival.”

“That’s true, but you’re explaining why arties wouldn’t kill humans. Humans could still be afraid of them.”

“I hadn’t considered that.” John Randolph’s head tilted. Rilind knew it was just a gesture to imitate humans, but he was glad for it. The more human John Randolph seemed, the better. “Why are humans so irrational?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re irrational. Just like you, we act on the knowledge we have. Our emotions can complicate things, but it’s not the same as ignoring facts and reason.”

Rilind turned to the teen. The weapon was still clenched in his fist but it had fallen to his side. “So you’re hungry?”

The teen pointed the screwdriver at Rilind again. “Do you have food?”

“No, we don’t have food. But I’m sure we could get some if you’d just put that down.”

The teen lowered his arm, glancing between the two metal men.

“My name is Rilind, and this is John Randolph. What is your name?”

“You have names?”

“How else would you address us?” asked John Randolph.

“Yes, we both have names. All arties have a name, or at least a designation. So what is your name?”

The teen hesitated. “My name is Sambor, but everyone calls me Sam.”

“Well, Sam, it’s nice to meet you,” said Rilind, extending his arm. Sam accepted the silicon hand and shook it.

John Randolph extended his hand toward Sam. “As he said, my name is John Randolph.” Sam paused, his hand still holding onto Rilind’s. John Randolph tried on his best smile, which looked more like a grimace. After a pause, Sam reached for the android’s hand and shook it, this time with slightly more vigor.

“Are you from around here?” asked Rilind.

“I guess,” said Sam.

“You guess?” John Randolph didn’t hide the incredulity in his tone.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” said the boy.

“When did you last see your parents?” asked Rilind.

“It’s been a long time.”

“But you remember them.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“So it hasn’t been too long. Weeks or months?”

“Months, I guess. Maybe longer. You said you could get food?”

Rilind turned toward John Randolph. “Isn’t there a service we can contact?”

“There are several of them, but it would take time for a drone to travel all the way out here.”

“Can you order something light, maybe freeze-dried? Something Sam can carry. Make sure it has both protein and fiber.”

John Randolph paused for a few seconds. “Done. I charged it against your account. They may wonder why you are hungry.”

Rilind laughed. “Let them wonder. How long before it arrives?”

“Within two hours. I indicated that we would be outside of 73, which is three buildings to the east. There is a clearing near there.”

“That will give us some time to get better acquainted.”

Rilind and John Randolph reassembled the tool kit. Offering it to Sam, he replaced the screwdriver and stepped back. Rilind returned the kit to where it belonged.

They walked toward the entrance of the assembly area, the young man at a distance.

Rilind turned his head to make sure Sam was following. “Not even the rats come looking for food anymore. There haven’t been any biological humans to leave behind scraps for a few years now. Isn’t that right, John Randolph?”

“That is correct.”

“I was here then. I was just a kid,” said Sam.

“When the arties took over? I thought maybe you were. This isn’t the sort of place anyone finds unless they’re looking for it. Did your father work here?” Rilind waited for a response. If Sam did respond, it wasn’t audible.

Leaving the assembly area, Rilind extinguished the overhead lights. He reset the detection system, bringing the floor to life with red lasers. The silence of the vast room followed them into the hall.

The lights of the corridor ignited before them. “How did you get in?” asked Rilind.

“I broke a window.”

“I’ll put in a report to have it replaced,” said John Randolph.

Rilind raised his hand. “Can you delay that? I’d rather not let the others know what… who we’ve found. Two mechanical men is enough for Sam right now.”

It took several minutes to cover the distance to their destination. In that time, the three of them remained silent. The only thing Rilind heard was an exchange between John Randolph and Epsilon Three. The android informed the cyborg that they had not yet found any source of the alarm. Epsilon Three insisted that the search had gone on too long. The android explained that they were being very thorough.

Reaching building 73, they found the outside clearing. Picnic tables and a multi-purpose athletic court sat empty and silent. Between them were open patches of dirt and grass. The afternoon sun was still high and the air warm. Sam sought the shade of a large oak tree on the edge of the clearing. The two artificial men followed the teen’s lead, standing nearby.

Rilind broke the silence. “Did you say your father worked here?”

“Both of my parents did, until the robots came.”

Can we please ask him to stop using that term? thought John Randolph.

Rilind responded only with a glance. “And they lost their jobs then?”

“I remember them fighting about it. Me and my sister would hide.”

John Randolph tilted his head again. “They fought about losing their jobs? They didn’t have any control over that, did they?”

Rilind smiled at the android. He knew these things would be difficult for someone so logical. “Did they stay here, in the area?”

“No, we moved away. Everybody moved away. We moved to the city. My dad said there were jobs there.”

“But you are not in the city,” said John Randolph. Staring ahead, Sam didn’t respond. After a moment, the android turned and walked toward the building.

“Where’s it going?”

“He. Where is he going?” Rilind responded.

The door opened and Epsilon Three emerged. C-239 followed. John Randolph raised his arms to halt their progress. “You should have remained in the Break Room.”

“Why are you out here with a human?” demanded the cyborg.

Sam hurried to his feet, backing away from the clearing. Rilind watched him, his arms raised to emphasize calm.

“We ordered some food for him. It will be delivered out here,” said John Randolph.

Epsilon Three moved to pass the android. “Food? You know humans aren’t permitted on company property.”

Rilind called over his shoulder, his eyes still on Sam. “What about me?”

“You’re not human anymore,” snapped C-239.

“He’s more human than the rest of us,” said John Randolph.

“He can have that.”

“Biological humans are not permitted on company property!” shouted Epsilon Three

Sam turned and ran, weaving his way deep into the woods. Starting after him, Rilind slowed quickly. He could have caught the teen, but he decided it was better to let Sam escape. The vision of being chased by an android was all the teen needed to reinforce his prejudices.

Turning, Rilind started back toward the building. “Is there a vehicle nearby?”

“Why have you been harboring a human?” demanded the cyborg.

“Harboring? We were trying to help him.”

“There’s no help for humans,” hissed C-239.

“The nearest vehicles are seven minutes walk from here,” said John Randolph. “I have no knowledge of how serviceable they are. Why do you need a vehicle?”

“When the food gets here, we’ll need to find Sam.”

“He’ll be miles away by then.”

“Exactly, we’ll need speed.” Rilind continued past the others toward the building. He could hear C-239′s heavy thorax rattling behind him.

He could also hear Epsilon Three continue its inquiry. “Why did you allow him to harbor that human?”

If John Randolph responded, Rilind did not hear it, nor was he going to go back to check. His mind was focused on finding transportation. Working his way through the building, he began to panic. He didn’t know the layout as well as the others. Coming to a stop, he turned to find John Randolph approaching.

The android pointed to the hallway on the left. Rilind turned in that direction. They moved in silence, Rilind lagging just behind to allow the android to lead. He could hear the other arties following them.

At the motor pool, they found the equipment in disrepair. Rilind wasn’t surprised as much as disappointed. He tested several trucks before finding one that still operated. It was a utility vehicle with a small cargo bed. Its large tires and rugged frame would work well.

Rilind threw the vehicle in gear and backed it away from the wall. Before him stood the three arties. “You should all go back to the Control Room.”

“Why would we do that?” asked John Randolph.

“Someone should be there in case another alarm is tripped.”

“We are in constant contact with the central computer,” said Epsilon Three. “We are going with you. The biological human must not remain on the premises.”

The cyborg walked toward the passenger seat. John Randolph squeezed himself into the back seat. This left little room for anything else. Sitting heavy on the bed of the vehicle, C-239 shook its head in disgust.

The vehicle lurched forward, spewing dust and dirt behind it. Rilind couldn’t recall the last time he’d driven. His new cybernetic shell made it more challenging than he remembered. The vehicle nearly toppled at the first turn. He eased the pressure on the accelerator, picking up the speed more slowly after that.

Stopping near Building 73, they waited for the food to arrive. As the dust settled, only Rilind looked around. The arties remained still and silent. Rilind wondered what sort of calculations were underway in each of their processors.

As for himself, Rilind thought about the teen, alone, scared, and hungry in the waning light of day. While hardly a child, Sam seemed far too young to be on his own. Where was he sleeping? How did he keep himself warm at night? When had he last eaten? Where were his parents and why wasn’t he with them?

It was nearly an hour before the distant sound of a drone was finally heard. As it neared, Rilind stepped out of the vehicle. The drone released its cargo in a nearby clearing and sped off. Lifting it easily, Rilind gauged its weight to be something Sam could manage. He nestled the box beside C-239 in the cargo bed and returned to his seat.

“Have you given thought to Sam’s direction?” asked John Randolph.

Rilind paused before igniting the vehicle’s engine. “I don’t know this area as well as any of you.”

“I’ve been analyzing the topographical maps at our disposal. I believe he will be inclined to go west-northwest. That is downhill from here and there are several streams he might find for water.”

“That’s good, but he’ll need a place to stay warm as well. It gets cold at night.”

“There are no recent aerial surveys of the area. It’s possible he has built shelter nearby, but we wouldn’t know where that would be.”

“So we are chasing a moving target in a massive area with nothing but logic and a box of food.” C-239′s audio crackled. “This should be interesting.”

“You do not have to participate,” snapped Rilind. He threw the vehicle in gear and launched them forward. In the mirror, he could see C-239 grab hold to keep from tumbling into the dust behind them.

They sped along what resembled a road leading from the complex. Winding their way through the brush, the road soon evaporated into little more than a path. Rilind navigated through the trees as best he could, twice having to stop and double back. After ten minutes, they came to the fence surrounding the complex.

Along the fence they found a narrow clearing that kept vegetation from encroaching. Driving along this, Rilind looked for gaps, stopping periodically to test the fence.

Night finally overtook them. No closer to finding the teen, the lights on the vehicle proved inadequate to continue. Stopping several more times to call out, Rilind received no response. Realizing their fuel was waning, he finally brought their search to an end.

Back at building 73, Rilind placed the box of food under the tree where Sam had been. The four of them made their way back to the top of the administration tower.

Arriving at the break room, C-239 grumbled to itself as it found a seat in the darkest corner of the room. Epsilon Three and John Randolph sat down at the large table. Standing in the doorway for several minutes, Rilind finally took a seat as well.

“Have you considered why you chased the young human?” asked Epsilon Three.

“To give him food.”

“Did you think the food would somehow save him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am searching for purpose in your actions. To this point, your motivation eludes me.”

“It’s human to want to help others,” said John Randolph.

“Perhaps. But were we helping the human, or were we helping Rilind? In his case, was he helping himself?”

Rilind did not respond. After a few moments, he rose and walked to the door. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight.” None of the others stirred.

Entering his designated room, Rilind engaged the charging station. He considered the device, its wires and supports designed to replenish his body. Here was all a cybernetic human needed to survive. Connecting to it, he drifted off to sleep.

For the next several days, Rilind woke at the usual time and made his way down to building 73. At the window, he observed the box sitting undisturbed in the morning light. Later each day, he took one of the vehicles out, searching in silence. John Randolph tried to join him on a few occasions but he refused the offer.

Each day the box sat untouched. Each time he found this, Rilind felt more desperate to know that Sam was safe. Each night, Rilind retreated early to his room, his interest in conversation gone.

On the fourth day, Rilind arrived at building 73 to find the box gone. Walking the area, he hoped to stumble upon Sam. While fruitless, the search satisfied him that the boy finally had something to eat.

Returning to the break room, Rilind found the arties right where he expected them. “Looks like he came back for that food after all.”

John Randolph stood and offered what passed for a smile. Placing his hand on Rilind’s shoulder, he patted gently. “I am glad we were able to help.”