Brobots Page 3

  He put his hand on a boot. It was steel-capped and covered with suede. The man was quite large. He’d clearly been working on the site. So why was he sleeping in the trash? Was it some kind of prank gone wrong? Was he drunk? Worse, was he injured? Even dead?

  Holy fuck! The penny dropped. ‘Dartonia’s that firm.’

  Jared had read a news article about two months ago. The item had explained how Dartonia were coming to town to do some construction work, and that they had skirted controversy in the US back about seven years ago for being the first construction firm to replace all of their human workers (below management tiers) with ‘Sentients’. Being a reference back to news from almost a decade ago this had hardly been the talk of town. A new building was going up the size of a whole block as part of the south side expansion scheme. So what. Use of Sentients was hardly news today.

  So here he was, looking across at the first construction Sentient that he’d ever seen up close. Sure there were other kinds of robot in daily life. Receptionists resembling angle poise lamps with tablet faces. Self driving pod cars. Even the occasional android doing menial jobs like selling items in booths made to look like old-fashioned corner shops. But those were only android in as much as they had a human shaped head, neck, torso, arms and hands. After that all reference to humanity trailed off abysmally in order to avoid a hike through the uncanny valley. These construction workers were a whole different matter. They looked human. They had personalities. They were self-aware: some said for real – unlike the sort of self-aware you got from a home AI or computer.

  Why the company behind these amazing machines had playfully decided to call them (and itself) “Brobotics” probably had something to do with the fact that, after deliberation, it had decided to knock out males rather than females, and to do so for the purposes of heavy grunt: low paid physical work. If these Brobotics could prove themselves in one human sphere of work, then perhaps humanity would be prepared to part with a few other job types down the line; and construction work was perfect. It was largely solitary – out of sight, out of mind. Or rather, it was hiding in plain sight. It was also civilian, so there was no danger of becoming embroiled in debates about soldiers and warfare although there had been rumors there.

  It was a foolish thought; a stupid thought. But Jared couldn’t put it out of his mind. This dude was clearly broken; otherwise why would he have been disposed? But how bad was the damage? Could Jared fix him? Fixing the guy up would certainly be an amazing home geek project for the dark few months leading to Christmas.

  But then reason kicked in. Come on, Jared. If you’re honest here, you’re thinking with your wiener. Fix this dude up and you’ll have a baffled construction worker standing in your living room and neither of you will know what to do about it; least of all you. You’ll have no ownership papers, no access to upgrades, no access to support, and these guys are not built to be pets. What kind of a life can you give him even if you can bring him back from zero land?

  Reason, of course, could not win out. Jared was immensely curious, a little (okay, a lot) geeky, loved to code, and to put it plainly just couldn’t leave this stunningly handsome broken machine behind in an oversized trashcan. Wiener and geekery were winning out over sanity.

  Licking his lips, Jared gingerly reached out once more and put a hand on Byron’s right boot. He looked up Byron’s body. Details. The insanely dusty cargo pants with ripped side pockets. The un-tucked white shirt. He’d get dirt and dust all over his clothing and probably round the house dragging his treasure trove through; but who cares?

  He moved around to the side of the skip and reached out to Byron’s face. He gently tilted Byron’s head so that he could see it in the floodlight. He wasn’t just handsome. He was adorable. He had a polished-looking button nose and big dark eyes peeking out from a chubby face. It would be puppy fat, but he somehow looked older than ‘twenties’. Kind of Jared’s age: mid- to late thirties. He had something of a gentle look about him too. The craftsmanship was amazing.

  Yet Jared didn’t feel like he was looking at a corpse; or a statue or mannequin - just a guy who was somehow stuck in time. Was that why they freaked us out? Time was no object for them, unlike us. Well, no object until something went wrong. Even then they could cheat death by never really living.

  Jared looked at his wristband. ‘Shit.’ It was getting on for 8pm already. Then, ‘Oh finally! A signal!’ – the GPS had come back. He buzzed for a pod.

  ‘Now all I gotta do, RT, is figure out how to get this dude outta the skip and into the taxi home. Easy as pie, right?!’ RT just panted and tried to jump up a few times into the skip, which until now Jared had prevented successfully.

  Switching on the small flashlight on his band, Jared could see that there was a discarded piece of rope in the skip. It even appeared to be wrapped around the Sentient’s chest. A few tugs would pull it out from under him. Making a decisive move, Jared freed the rope and took it back to the low-back edge of the skip. Tying it carefully around Byron’s ankles, Jared started to pull. RT, of course, thought it was a game and started jumping up to try to grab the rope between her teeth, but after a few futile attempts she gave up and just stood there in her tethered state watching the action. It didn’t help that some of the other skipped items were rough and sharp. Jared worried that he’d be causing more damage simply from moving the dude. But leave him there and he’d be crushed and spat out into landfill, so perhaps there was nothing to lose.

  By the time Jared had managed to pull Byron until only his upper body was still inside the skip he was beginning to worry that the pod would arrive before he was ready to get Byron inside. Glancing around to the main road he couldn’t see any taxi’s coming, so he dropped the rope and looked back at the machine-man. This was going to be a challenge; the guy was probably the same height as Jared but in this light, he looked twice as wide.

  In an improvised maneuver resembling the messiest fireman’s lift anyone has probably ever completed, Jared managed to get Byron’s body out of the skip and onto the gravel ground below without dropping it, or pulling a muscle. Byron was too heavy to carry to the entrance and out to the curbside, so Jared’s only choice was to use the rope again and (much as he regretted causing more possible damage), pull Byron by the feet out to the road - which thankfully wasn’t far.

  His wristband buzzed letting him know that his pod had arrived just as a pair of lights turned out of a corner and headed down towards him all silent and calm. With the pod waiting expectantly at the curb, Jared opened the back passenger door and used all his strength to lift Byron inside. It didn’t matter what Byron’s position was, and whatever Jared did, it wasn’t going to be elegant. All that mattered was that Byron was in. And so was RT, all by herself, which saved one job at least.

  Taking the front passenger seat, Jared jabbed a button for privacy so that the windows mirrored-out. He then pressed ‘home’ on his wristband app and the electric pod started whirring into action. Now he had about 15 wonderful, bizarre, and short minutes to resume his composure and figure out how he was going to get the sentient into his house without raising too much suspicion or curiosity from passing neighbors or side walkers.

  Reaching his house, Jared opened his front door first. Next he opened the passenger door to let RT run out and in, which was no problem at all. Then he looked up and down the street. Thankfully nobody was walking around. Alma’s lights were on. Shit. The curtains had twitched. But most people had either gone out for the evening already, or were winding down inside or in their back yards after an evening meal, or similar. His only hope was to try the fireman’s lift again. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to take the rope along with him.

  He used the rope to pull Byron into an upright sitting position. Taking an arm he was then able to pull Byron’s torso until its weight was dependent on his back. Next (only just) he could pull Byron up and out of the car. A few horrendously painful minutes later he was up the steps, onto the porch. He and Byron collapsed in a heap in
the doorway. Jared was just lying there with this thing half on top of him. He was out of breath and with the door still open he was in a compromised position. Anyone could have seen. Alma’s curtains could be twitching. But he didn’t care. He was in. Just one more minute, and then he would move again.

  Jared’s next problem was lifting Byron’s stubborn legs out the way enough to shut the door. The legs alone were heavy. By now all of Jared’s strength had been used up, so the legs presented the same challenge Byron’s whole body weight had only moments before. But the work was done, the door was closed, the lights were on and he’d made it back home. RT wanted dinner and was clambering over two torsos to get to Jared’s face for a pleading lick. But Jared couldn’t move. He’d need a good five minutes before getting up and fixing RT her (by now very late) food.

  With RT fed, walked, happy and parked in a favorite spot on the lounge floor, Jared could finally return to the hallway where he had a collapsed broken man spread out. What have I done? Jared asked himself. This is too strange. And what exactly am I going to do even if I can get him working? You’ve finally lost your sanity, Jared Thomas.

  He imagined Jason or Yana retorting, “you could always make a hat stand.” But that hardly helped. For now, he’d just have to take advantage of a polished wooden floor and pull Byron by the boots into the lounge and over to the dining area. That would be all for tonight. He could think about the rest tomorrow. His clothes stank, he needed a shower and also to cook. That would probably be enough to deal with before it was time to turn in for the night.

  --

  Tuesday morning. Jared’s discarded wristband started making a bird-song alarm soundtrack 40 minutes earlier than usual. He’d set an early alarm last thing at night to allow extra time to muse over his find before work. He started shuffling in the bed, pressing his head further into a pillow and snuffling into the duvet a little more. Then he started to come round. The dream he was having – about being in a bar with Yana and some construction workers – trailed off.

  ‘Alarm off’, he instructed to the band. Up time already, he thought. Then, Tuesday. He started thinking about moving, but didn’t want to. And then he remembered the reason his body ached like he’d run a marathon.

  Wanting to make the most of his time before work he quickly decided to do everything else first: shower, shave, dress into weekend clothes, have breakfast, take RT for a short walk – before attending to the broken man in his lounge and dressing once more for work. With all that done, and RT happily eating her breakfast, Jared took himself through the living room and into the dining space.

  The first thing to do was clear the dining table. Jared couldn’t do much to fix the guy with him flopped on the floor. More quickly than ever he removed papers, a laptop, mugs, coasters, mats, a vase, and pulled the chairs out of the way. Next came the real challenge; hoisting a load much heavier than him up to the top of the table. He’d managed a fireman’s lift the night before. Perhaps he could manage one of those again? Checking that he was out of sight from front window passers-by (his dining area and living space were open plan, and the house had a bay window at front; thankfully part-concealed by trees between his house and the sidewalk) he decided that a few ungracious moves ought to do the job. With Byron led on his back, Jared first put him into a recovery position. Then he led down in a matching position so that Byron’s arms were over his shoulders. He then pulled on one arm as he rolled over; eventually bringing Byron with him so that the man was led face down on Jared’s back. There were mixed feelings about this. Satisfaction. Awkwardness. Panic due to the fact that it was now proving hard to breathe. Somewhere he’d learned that it’s easier to push away with your arms than it is to pull towards. Keeping Byron’s arms over his shoulders he started to push himself up off the floor. Once on his knees the next challenge was to try to stand just long enough to reverse load Byron’s hefty girth onto the table in a sitting position. Much to his relief and surprise it worked.

  Removing himself now from Byron’s arms he turned round, still holding the man, to gently ease his back and head onto the table. Once that was done, he could easily lift Byron’s legs, swivel the body, and get him into place lengthways along the table.

  Taking a moment to catch his breath he noticed a trail of dust and dirt where he’d pulled Byron in from the front door last night. That would need cleaning up before work. He didn’t want Alma coming in to check on RT and getting suspicious about intruders or something. Thinking of which, he didn’t want Alma coming into the dining room and seeing a man on his table either. Had she seen him arrive last night?

  With exactly 20 minutes to spare before needing to leave for work, Jared ran up stairs to the spare room to gather as many decorating sheets and rags as he could find. He’d have to throw these on top of Byron as a makeshift hiding for today.

  With all that done, the floor cleaned, work clothes on and a little anxiety rising about how obvious the tabletop man still looked, all Jared had time for now was a quick check on the Internet for “brobotics”.

  He knew that he wouldn’t be able to access any company support without a warranty, but he wondered if he could find out anything helpful. It appeared that his first step would have to be to locate a serial and model number imprinted on the bridge of Byron’s right foot. From there he could then check for news, comments, complaints, announcements; anything to help him work out the first steps in getting the man-machine operational again. Reluctantly putting his tablet computer down on the kitchen table, he grabbed his workbag and headed out for the office.

  Alex

  By 10am Alex was on his fourth Americano coffee. They had a machine in the cabin office that posed both a perk and a menace to Alex. Shaun was busy with financial reporting all day, leaving Alex a bit freer to think ahead on the project and look back over snags already showing.

  One of those snags, something affecting the project dependencies already, was the loss of a Sentient worker for the third time in nine months. The more he thought about this, the more it irked him. In fact, it was starting to get in the way of all his other concerns so he cleared his head, disciplined himself to recall his hierarchy of priorities, compared this loss against other snags and risks he knew about and asked himself how serious this really was for the deadline and the budget. Yeah, he said to himself rubbing his face. Top of the list.

  Alex sipped a lukewarm coffee whilst waiting for someone to answer at Construcsapli – a sub-company of Brobotics from which Dartonia had purchased the units.

  ‘Construc. Good morning, this is Alissa speaking. How may I help?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Good morning. This is Alex. I’m a project manager from Dartonia Construction company.’

  ‘Hi Alex. How are you today?’ Alex held the phone away from his ear and grimaced at the pleasantries.

  ‘Well, we’re one of your bigger customers in case you don’t know and I got a problem. Yesterday I had a unit conk out.’

  ‘Did you say conk out?’

  ‘Yeah. Kaput. Dud. Battery zonked.’

  ‘Oh I see.’

  ‘And that’s not my only problem. This is the third job since January that this has happened. You warranty these things for two years. We pay good money. But a few months past their warranty and these units starting to drop like flies. I think that’s your problem not mine.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about your problems, Alex. If you’ll just bear with me I’ll bring up your account and take a look.’

  Alex waited whilst musac in his earpiece insulted his eardrum. Alissa clicked back on. ‘I can see that you purchased 390 extra units two years ago. Existing customer discount. You say you’ve had problems with three units out of warranty?’

  ‘Yes. The batteries stop holding charge and they drop dead on the spot; usually mid-activity, y’know, just like people need on a hazardous construction site.’

  ‘You know that all our units have replaceable batteries?’

  ‘No, they don’t.’

  ‘Ah. So, you�
��ve disposed of the faulty units already – is that right?’

  ‘I have. Replaced the first two, in fact.’

  ‘Well, then there’s little we can do. Had you held on to the units I could have explained how to access the battery alcove and swap out the old battery for a new one.’

  ‘You’re not getting the point. I know they’re replaceable, but they cost almost as much as a whole new unit so no; they don’t have replaceable batteries.’

  ‘I can see where you’re coming from Alex. But there’s not much I can do. If you’ve disposed of the units and you’re not purchasing replacement batteries for the ones that need them then I’m unable to advise further.’

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m calling I guess. I figured you’d say that, so I’ve already decided to file a complaint; and if that doesn’t work I’m taking my story to the press. In one week.’

  ‘I understand. But Alex, I really don’t see how going to the press will help your case. We’re a listening company…’ (Alex snorted) ‘…And besides, use of the units in construction courted controversy in the press last time a story was run about them in relation to your company’s use.’

  Alex balked at this and was quick with an easy-to-think-of comeback. ‘That sounds like a threat to me; and need I remind you that the controversy was all yours. The papers weren’t fussed about which construction company had started using your god darned Brobotics; only that Brobotics had formed Construcsapli to launch its human-looking models to market and didn’t sound like it knew what it was doing.’

  (Alissa paused to think protocol and take back control of the conversation.) ‘Our calls are recorded. Would you like this call to serve as a record of your complaint?’