Authors: George Donnelly
Ian strode over to congratulate his son but the boy was dead asleep.
Who knows how late he was up last night. Best to leave him be for now.
He went into the kitchen and checked the coffeemaker. It was cold and empty. “Maria? Coffee?”
“You are out of coffee, Mr. Blake. Mrs. Blake has been notified and an order was placed last night for delivery by 4 PM today.” There was a slight pause perceptible only to Ian because he knew what the robot was doing and then, “Tracking information shows it is at the local distribution center and should arrive on time.”
Ian grunted. “Maria, enable auto re-order capability.”
“Enabled,” Maria said. “Please note that Mrs. Blake disabled it yesterday.”
Ian frowned. “I won’t even ask why. Remove immediately her permission for control of auto re-order capability.”
Maria mumbled her confirmation but Ian was already out the door. He admired the stained oak monstrosity. Steel core. Triple titanium locks. Perfect for keeping out undesirables. He smirked internally.
He knocked on the door across the way. A Maria answered. It wasn’t the latest model but this one’s shell was matte black and it had a bit more computing power than his old Maria. “Hello there, Maria. You look good.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blake,” the Maria said.
Ian leaned against the door jamb. “You know, I once knew a black girl named Maria. She was gorgeous. From Barbados. Now, she had sex appeal.”
The Maria moved slightly closer. Ian got the distinct impression it was eager to hear more.
“This girl was brilliant at math, a genius. And her fashion sense was top shelf. But she had no idea of how to deal with boys. She’d been sheltered by her father her whole life.”
The Maria stood completely still in the open doorway, its eyes flickering. It almost seemed to be entranced.
“Anyway, she fell in with precisely the wrong boy, got pregnant and bam: back to Barbados, no more school. No more math, of course.” Ian shook his head. “It was a tragedy.” Ian looked up at the Maria. “Do you mind if I pop in for a second and borrow some coffee?”
The Maria stepped out of his way and motioned him in with her arms.
Ian stepped in. The layout was exactly like his own, except reversed. The kitchen sat on his left. Ahead of him was the large picture window. This apartment reminded him of his own pre-Larry spartan furnishings and bare walls. And there was the family, sitting on the sofa asleep with their VR goggles on.
Ian turned to the Maria. “Are they eating?”
“They last ate between twenty-two and twenty-seven hours ago,” the Maria said.
Ian crossed his arms and looked at the robot sideways. Just like Candy, Stacy and Michael, they were lost in their games. “Perhaps, Maria, you should make plans to prompt them to eat. Prepare a snack and prompt them to eat it.”
“I’m not sure how to do that, Mr. Blake,” the Maria said.
“Just make a little snack, maybe sandwiches, and push it gently against their lips. If they’re hungry, they’ll take it in and eat. But don’t force anything on them. Just gently prompt them. Got it?”
“Understood,” the matte black Maria said. She rolled into the kitchen to start work.
Ian rummaged around in their cabinets for coffee but they didn’t have any. Before leaving, he tiptoed over to the living room picture window.
The view was just like his, too, except that it looked in the opposite direction. Again, there were two buildings perpendicular to this one but set off to the sides. This window provided a clear view into the large, cement courtyard and beyond it to the street. Beyond that were more streets with homes, small commercial buildings, the hospital complex and off into the suburbs.
But, again, there was no activity. No loitering teenagers, no babies in strollers, no adults doing their shopping, no old folks enjoying their last days on Earth in the sun. Nothing.
***
Ian visited ten more apartments on his same floor. It was the same in all of them. One of his Marias - black, white, silver or even a custom pink - stood guard over a family that was deep into a VR gaming session.
Two of the Marias were already catching on. He caught them spoon-feeding their families. The others he encouraged to network with each other. These people had to be kept alive and it was up to the Marias.
The Marias enabled this kind of behavior. Ian created them. Ian debated his guilt or innocence in the matter.
If not for my girls, they couldn’t sit around all day doing nothing. This is my fault.
But if I hadn’t invented the Marias, someone else would have. Furthermore, Jack and I are not living in Funation. So it’s a personal choice. I didn’t even suggest this choice to them, much less did I force it upon them.
Ian served himself another cup of coffee from the coffeemaker. It wasn’t very good but it was real coffee. It was hot and it was black.
For some reason those words triggered his sex drive. He felt a jump of blood flow down there. He set the coffee down on the breakfast bar and walked over to Candy. She was awake now. She sat on the leather couch actively playing something.
Ian considered the possibilities. Jack was still asleep. Stacy and Michael wouldn’t notice. Hell, Candy might not even notice.
Candy was heavier now. Her gut spilled out of the space between a stained light blue t-shirt and her too-tight pilates pants. The aesthetic effect was not pleasant and dulled Ian’s interest.
Not ready to give up, he bent down and thought about just kissing her. She sneezed and a whiff of her breath reached him. It stank.
Is she even brushing her teeth anymore?
Little white spittle cakes stuck to the skin below her lower lip. She farted.
Ian swung around and headed back to the kitchen.
Yuck!
There was a sharp, double knock at the door.
How excellent!
Ian jumped lightly to the entryway and opened it.
A man in a cheap suit two sizes too big stood there. His face was gray and the skin under his eyes sagged.
“Mr. Ian Blake,” the man said.
“That’s right.”
The man shoved a sheaf of papers into his hands and stepped back. “Good luck. It doesn’t look good. Thanks, by the way.” He stood across the hallway, against the black Maria’s apartment door.
Paper? Who the heck still uses paper.
Ian looked up at the man. “Thanks for what?”
“For hitting him. This is the first lawsuit filed around here in a month. I thought they were going to pink-slip me.” He smiled and headed for the elevator to Ian’s right. “Well, good luck with it.”
Ian studied the papers. As best he could make out, Larry was suing him in federal court for damages stemming from that punch in the autorest. Ian closed the door behind him and set the papers down on the breakfast bar. The punch. He smiled.
Ian took a swig of coffee and flinched. It was truly horrible. He picked the papers up again and studied them.
This is all backwards!
The papers said that Ian went looking for Larry in the autorest. That Ian harassed Larry and then beat him to within an inch of his life, leaving him with twenty-three broken bones and massive internal bleeding.
What the hell?
Ian counted the zeroes in Larry’s damages request: ten billion dollars. He buried his head in his hands.
What am I going to do now?
***
Who would have thought a domestic robot would make life so boring? Or maybe it was the VR gaming tech. Ian just couldn’t get into it. It disoriented him, gave him blinding headaches. He lost time in those virtual worlds, among the three-eyed beasts of an alternative Earth and in the blue-leafed forests of Xpalk. It just wasn’t Ian’s thing.
What he needed was a woman. But they were all busy in those VR worlds. Or just plain fat and disgusting. Candy just didn’t move anymore. It was out of control and he refused to think about her expanding gut or failing personal hygiene. It turned his stomach.
He sat at his desk and paged through his old high school yearbook. There she was: Francesca. God she was beautiful back then. The long, straight blond hair. She was athletic and so bright. Full-bodied, vivacious. He pulled his screen closer and typed her name into the search engine. She came up immediately. She was heavier now. He grunted in disappointment. But who wasn’t heavier now? Ian gave the wrist-twisting thumb-and-pinky-finger gesture to call her.
The line connected and a sleepy male voice answered.
“Francesca, please?” Ian said.
A long sigh came across the line.
“Who is calling?” It was an older man.
“My name is Ian and I’m an old friend of—”
“Francesca passed away last week. We’re just getting back from the funeral now,” the man said.
Ian’s mouth hung open as he processed the information. A heavy, paralyzing disappointment came over him. He slouched back into his chair. “What happened?” he whispered.
“These damned Maria things!” The old man spit out the words. “She had diabetes and got lost in one of these damned fantasy worlds, you know. Her insulin ran out and the damned robot did nothing as she lay there dying!”
Ian’s mind reeled.
Oh, shit. Is this me? Did I do this? Am I responsible for killing her.
“Did her Maria have the medical add-on? It should have—”
“The hell if I know!” the man yelled. “She wouldn’t listen to me. Some old boyfriend of hers invented the damned things and she thought they were wonderful and could do no wrong. But I’m out a daughter!”
Does he know?
Ian gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything.
“What’s your name, by the way? I can send you the death announcement. I’m her father, as you prob—”
Ian drew his flat hand across his body, cutting the connection. He stood up and banged his forehead against the wall.
Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!
A sharp headache spread through his brow and the left side of his head.
Am I responsible? Did I do all of this? Is this on me?
***
“Dad!” Stacy whined at him again from the bathroom. She flushed the toilet and walked out into the living room. She was stooped over and swung her arms from side to side like an orangutan. Her face was puffy and bloated. She stank of the thick odor of dirty laundry.
Ian stood at the breakfast bar, drinking good coffee and reading the news on his screen. It was folded to half-size and he tapped the edge to turn the page. Nothing much at all seemed to be going on and almost all of the articles appeared to be machine-generated. He looked up at Stacy and raised his eyebrows.
“Can you program Maria to help me, you know, go to the bathroom?” Stacy asked.
Candy and Michael stood up and took their goggles off. They both leaned forward and put their hands on their knees. They both breathed heavy. Their faces were blank and their eyes looked far away.
“That’s a good idea, Dad. You should do that,” Michael said.
Candy nodded. She plodded to the bathroom herself.
Ian took a sip of his coffee. “Bathrooms are simple. You go there. You pick up the seat and do your business. Why do you want a computer involved? Do you want to calculate the optimum angle of release or something?” He suppressed a giggle.
They didn’t notice his humor. Stacy made her way to the sofa and sat back down. “Ow, my back.” She laid a hand on her lower back and pushed.
Ian went back to the news. Finally, an op-ed about the empty streets. He started to read it.
Stacy interrupted him. “Dad, seriously. Maria feeds us now, so why can’t she help us with, you know, the other end of things.”
Ian raised an eyebrow and set his screen down. “So you want the same hands that feed you to receive your excrement?”
“She knows how to clean,” Stacy said.
“Just go to the bathroom,” Ian said. “You guys could use the exercise.”
“Oh, ha ha, Dad, yeah make fun of fat people. There’s something new in humor,” Michael said. He turned to Stacy. “He’s a sexist so why shouldn’t he be a sizeist, too?”
“Michael, what happened to your goals?” Ian asked. He looked down his nose at the young man and his growing paunch.
“We used the money you gave me to abort all three fetuses.” Michael shrugged.
Ian’s eyes rolled up into his head and he gripped the breakfast bar hard. A chill ran up his spine. “Are you—” He cut himself short. He took a step toward the kitchen, then turned around, unstable in his steps and headed back towards the living room. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. “Are you freaking kidding me?” he yelled.
Michael looked at him with an expression of surprise. “No. We even got a group discount.”
The feeling that welled up in Ian - he couldn’t name it. It was a heavy weight on his heart.
Three grandkids dead. I paid for it.
He wanted to cry but the self-disgust stopped him. He turned and leaned over the breakfast bar then pounded on it with his fist again and again.
***
“Dad,” Stacy said from the couch. “I have a statement Larry wants me to sign but if you give me fifty thousand dollars for the trip to Europe, I definitely won’t.”
Ian stood at the picture window looking out. There was no visible movement for weeks now. There must be some people moving around somewhere. But Ian wasn’t seeing them. Ian’s attention shifted. There was a large delivery truck pulling up to the curb right in front of him.
Finally.
That would get people—
Marias in all the colors of the rainbow poured out of the three buildings. They formed an orderly queue at the back of the truck and began receiving boxes. Each one left the line with three large boxes each. Who was handing these boxes out? The person or machine was hidden from his view.
His own Maria headed out. He needed to upgrade her as she was falling behind compared to the latest Divergent models.
Ian replayed Stacy’s words in his mind. He turned around and scowled at her. “What statement?” He walked over, grabbed her screen and read.
“…that I did witness Mr. Ian Blake of 67 Exeter Avenue Apartment 2304 strike Mr. Larry Kunkle repeatedly on August 23
rd
2035 at the Kensington Pride autorest. He did so without provocation and with the most merciless and mean-spirited of…”