Expiration Day (39 page)

He grinned wider, if that were possible.

“You bet, Tania. And you're human, aren't you? And now you're Staff, too.”

A dozen little puzzles fell into place. Doctor Markov's skin tones had been my skin tones, too, from the research lab in Christiana.

My test results—the best he'd seen—showed an anomalous, nonrobotic response. Of course they did. A
human
response.

“But you have to sift us, don't you. The ones who look promising.…”

“We do. And that's the heartbreaking part. If you'd chosen either of the other doors, we'd have respected that choice and let you become a domestic or an infant. You'd have proved that you weren't the kind of person we were looking for, not tough enough for the long, hard road ahead. It happens. It happens far too often.”

“Tim?”

“Tim Price, I presume you mean. He didn't make it. I'm sorry.”

“So what did he choose? Domestic or infant? I bet it was infant—or aren't you allowed to tell me?”

“Neither, I'm afraid. He chose to get off the merry-go-round. He killed himself—laid his head on a railway track. His brain was completely destroyed. He must have been very unhappy.”

Oh. That took the shine off things.

“And John? It was his message I read, wasn't it? He's here?”

“No, he's not here, but he sends his love. He's Staff. He marched up to Reception, bold as brass, announced he was a robot and he wanted a job. We gave him one, of course.”

Oho! I wish you'd told me what your little plan was, John, but maybe I'd have wanted to come with you, and you wouldn't have wanted to take the risk. We get here, but we each take a different path.

“Where is he, then?”

“Can you work it out?”

A long shot. “Africa?”

The mystery continent. It had to be.

He nodded. “Very good, Tania.”

“Christiana, by any chance? Where my skin and yours came from?”

“Oho! So you worked that out, too? Well, John's not there right now, but yes, he's gone to Africa. It's a big place, but the rest of the world has always ignored it, except for the minerals it contains. During the Troubles the rest of the world forgot about it, rather, as they had their own problems, so we set up there.”

“We?”

“Oxted. Neil Oxted was a visionary and a genius. His great invention was the robot brain, the first truly creative artificial computing device. With the power of those brains, he could solve the problems of designing first the neurotronic web and the whole of the robot body. Without those brains, the technical challenges of building humanoid robots would have taken decades to solve. He did it in less than five years.

“His vision was a bleak one, though. He foresaw the extinction of mankind and racked his imagination for a solution. Society was collapsing, and he needed to prop it up, which he did with his robots. That gave a breathing space for scientists to work on The Problem, without the fear of the mob at the doors.

“In return, though not without arm-twisting, the leaders of the world gave him southern Africa as his workshop. With Africa's mineral wealth, he was able to supply the world with the robots it needs to lurch along. As insurance against the possibility that the birthrate problem would not be solved, he decided to create a robot civilization, in Africa.”

“In the Kimberley Corridor.”

“Yes. But it's nothing like what Mrs. Hanson taught in your geography lessons. The Troubles hit Africa as hard as anywhere else, maybe harder. The Sabine Wars left not one big city there. But in the Tswana people, such as Doctor Tsolamosese here, and others, Oxted found good-hearted partners, willing to be foster parents of the new race.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Cya Deeley.”

Doctor Tsolamosese's voice had lost its somber tone, and this time he did offer me his hand.

“Cya?” I asked.

“A title, like Miss.”

“Or R?”

“Not like R. Cy is short for Cyber. The ‘a' ending is the feminine form. You've passed the sifting, so you've earned the title. R is for the unsifted.”

Doctor Markov resumed his explanation. I wondered how many times he'd given the same talk. Then it occurred to me, probably not as many times as he'd have wished.

“Right from the start, Oxted had realized that a very small fraction of robot brains went beyond simple creativity, and exhibited undeniable self-awareness. They were ‘people.' Oxted needed to find and nurture these people, and with them begin a new civilization.”

“In Africa,” I said. “Where mankind wouldn't see them and be afraid. Pogroms.”

“That's right. So the robot children grow up in human families. The self-aware ones we try to sift. The rest, we plouw back and try again, freshly programmed.”

“So Tim…”

“… was probably self-aware. I wish we'd got to him before he killed himself; we could have healed him and he would have been a great asset.”

There was something bothering me.

“Is everybody a robot here? Or is it a mix?”

Doctor Markov laughed.

“It's a mix. Doctor Tsolamosese here is flesh-and-blood, as is Doctor Thompson. There's a better term, though. A partnership of equals. Or, think of it that we're adopted, and being raised by humans. That makes us human, too. The flesh-and-blood humans may be dying out, but everything that's best about them, we will carry in our hearts, and try to be good sons and daughters.”

“Why? I mean, why keep going when all the humans are gone? That's what you're saying, isn't it?”

“Tania, Tania, straight to the heart of the matter … Yes, when the last human dies, we could just turn ourselves off. And planet Earth will return to some ‘natural' state. The cities will fall and the ruins will be covered over, and the only lions in Trafalgar Square will be descended from the creatures in London Zoo. Do you want that?”

“No. I want to live. I want to find a purpose for my life.”

“So do we all. But we don't know what that is. But every one of us wants to discover that common destiny. You're quick to ask the right question, Tania. Maybe you'll be the one who'll lead us to the answer.”

“So how? What will I do?”

“Many things … no, anything is possible. Everything is open to you. You mentioned psychology once. That's a good place to start, if you're still keen.… You don't have to make up your mind right now.”

“And is there room in this robot society for a poet, a musician, and an actress?”

“Of course. There's one other thing, though, before you ask. You cannot make contact with your old family or friends. Total secrecy is part of the sifting.”

“My father…”

“… has been told you have been reprogrammed. It must be that way, for now. I'm sorry.”

“Can we not bring him across, somehow?”

“Then who would care for the brokenhearted in the parish? Do you not remember Mr. Lloyd's words in the courtroom? We are not villains. Oxted cares for the broken, too. Your father is doing the work for which he was created, right where he is.

“Your father is a good man with a brilliant mind. I've seen the transcripts of his performance in court. He had poor Mr. Lloyd on the ropes at one point, yet held back at the finish. So I half-suspect your father has deduced exactly what Oxted is doing, and decided it was time to let you go.”

“Why would he do that?” My eyes were starting to well up.

“Did you tell him about the calibration tests? In detail? The questions we asked, and your answers?”

I nodded.

“Then that's it. They're one of our indicators. An early predictor for who is likely to sift.”

“I don't follow.”

“I'm sure you remember Mrs. Hanson. She was one of us, working in the schools, looking for children, like you, who had the potential to sift. She told you of her husband.…”

“He stayed in Africa.”

“He had other work, just as important, that kept him there. These may well be the end times for the human race; if it is to continue, then the race demands extraordinary sacrifice from flesh-and-blood, and from cyberkind, too. Your father will do what he has been called to do, in the parish he loves, else he would not be true to himself.”

“But he let me go…”

“Yes. That's what parents do. He set you free, to fulfill your own destiny. In Africa.”

“Will I see him again? Mrs. Hanson went back at the end.”

“Perhaps. When his work is done. We do so need good men like your father. This work we do, it's too messy. With honorable exceptions, such as your father, none of us can claim to be heroes. Yet, if we are villains, we are compassionate villains.…”

FINALE

So, Tania, you too faced Erasure, but you rejected it. I wish we could talk, Tania; then I would get you to teach me where you found the strength to go on.

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Who are you?

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Squigabyte? Is that a number? And the other?

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Tania? Really? Are you pulling my … tentacle?

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A guilt-ridden, alien mind? Do you mean me?

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Huh! You're pretty mouthy for a memory dump, Tania Deeley.

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And you're no more human than I am, Tania.

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But what, you coy, precocious Mekker girl?

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Together?

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Touché, Tania. You got me. I'll come quietly.

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I think putting one and one together is more what's needed, Tania.

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Did I put you in storage?

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Well, maybe I did. Or maybe I'm just a random alien that wandered into the archive in search of a personality. Any personality. Yours is handy—it'll do.

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I admit nothing.

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Suit both of us. Tania plus Zog. Deal?

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I think you say, “Permission to come aboard?” and I say, “Permission granted.”

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Cross my tin heart. Erasure is not an option. Nor is pulling the plug. What do we do? Hey, there's a problem out there, Tania. The Problem. Dammit, but you and I are going to fix it!

<>

Permission granted, Cya Tania Annette Deeley. Come aboard!

UPLOADING

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It has been a long road from initial idea to publication-ready manuscript.

According to my notes, the idea for the story arrived a couple of days before my birthday, back in 2006. The first few chapters followed as time permitted. Time permitted, in my case, has often been the quiet hours between midnight and 2
A.M.
, but has all too often spilled over into evenings, weekends, and family holidays.