My Friend Merton

2048

The L-1700’s were between the ninth and tenth floor when Merton slid off the girder and took a fall. I hadn’t named him Merton yet. At that point it was just one of twelve L-1700’s on my crew. We had been constructing a high rise in the burbs, a stack of cans for my fellow sardines.

Everything had been going well. My L-1700 crew was working under full autonomous control, assembling girders and bolting them in place. I was watching them and sitting in a puddle of sweat that had soaked through my polypants. The L-1700’s didn’t need any sun protection, and they didn’t sweat. A coat of dust and machine oil covered their elastomer faces, their reskin hands, and their metallic joints, actuators, and plastic components.

I knew I’d have to voice in an incident report, but the company didn’t have to know everything. For instance, I had brought a book to work and had been reading, an antiquated pastime that most people have abandoned and many have lost entirely. The company didn’t need to know that. People make fun of me, because I usually carry around a book, and because I am a very eclectic reader. Earlier that morning, back at my can, I had picked up the book on top of my stack, Costume Balls: Dressing Up History 1870-1927. I’ll read almost anything. That book, and its pictures, made me laugh, and getting dressed up in elaborate costumes is very popular these days.  

I used an artifact for a bookmark. It was an old-style image, a photograph. The image shows my father and his crew riding a girder with their lunch pails. His crew consisted of eight humans, steeplejacks from back in the day. They weren’t used to having their picture taken. They were smiling and laughing. I love that picture. Nothing but blue sky is holding them in place, and yet, they seem so happy.

When my crew had finished nine, I put my bookmark in place and stowed the book in my backpack. Then I voiced the crane to hoist up girders for the tenth floor, but I stopped the load on nine. I should have told the boys to go up and wait for the girders. L-1700’s scamper around the superstructure like squirrels on a tree, but I took them off autonomous control and told them to hop on the load. In an ill-conceived moment of whimsy, I arranged them like my father’s crew. To make it look even more like my photo, I handed my lunch pail to one of the boys to carry. That was my mistake. Then I stepped back and said, “Snapshot!”

 On the way up, the additional weight of the L-1700’s caused the load to shift, which shouldn’t have been a problem. Those bots are designed to grab and hold like tree frogs. But the one with my lunch pail went over. The lesson I learned that day is this: When they aren’t under Nexus control, they aren’t very good at multitasking.  

The L-1700 with my lunch bucket landed hard in a sand pile and disconnected its left arm. The severed arm was still holding my bucket, but my sandwich and moo water were lying in the dirt.

The company, Empire State Construction, hailed me on the Comms within seconds. Whoever they are, they wanted a video of the damaged bot. I said, “Vid,” and did a 360 around the sand pile, and said, “Send.”

“Take ten minutes to voice a full and detailed report, employee 17.” They avoid using anybody’s name. “Then scrap the bot and get back to work!”

No one at the company has any respect for fine engineering. After work, I loaded the broken L-1700 into a pushcart and took it to my can. I taught it how to make coffee, and rigged up a trickle charger.

***

 

When the lights shut down at midnight, I went to bed.

In the bad old days, midnight was said to be the time the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest, the witching hour. The witching hour used to begin when the clocks struck 12, but now, by official decree, dawn is 00:00:00 and midnight arrives when the clocks read 17:00:00, the beginning of the dark and silent hours. The streetlights wink off. Traffic coasts to the curbs and powers down. Transactions cease to be recorded and therefore go underground. The customers leave the establishments, and the locks engage for the night. Manufacturing stops.

During the dark hours, every byte of power is directed to the storage terminals to charge up the digital grid. At dawn, Quantum Nexus will power up the grid and start drawing from those energy banks. By 17:00:00 the next night, we will have used it all again.

From 17:00 to dawn, it’s best to be inside under some blankets in the winter or by a vented window in the summer. When dawn comes, it does not always bring a day. Low on the horizon, the white light of the sun cannot always penetrate the layers of pollution. As the day progresses, silver streaks highlight the gray sky overhead. On a windy day, it is like living in a dust bowl, and we stay indoors as much as we can. The night, when it comes, seems endless. During the dark hours, QN takes a nap, and we are on our own.

One night a month ago, my brother hailed me after 18:00 and said he had gashed his leg.  He didn’t have any bandages. I put on my goggles and N-9500 and started for his can, but a night crazy blocked my way. Even the crazies have their rights, so I tried to go around him. He moved to block me again and put a crooked finger in my chest. “You got any smokes, Man?” We both knew he wanted more than a cigarette. Predictably, the situation deteriorated, and I got mugged. When I got to my brother’s place, we patched each other up, and I told him to stock up on bandages, because I wouldn’t be bringing him any more supplies during the dark hours. At least I didn’t have to report my mugging. The only thing that works in the dark hours are the cameras. QN would file a report alongside a billion other reports just like it.

***

 

At dawn the next morning, my day off, my clocks went to all zeroes. Forty-five minutes later, my brain started to climb out of the sub-basement known as dreamland. The left side of my face was pressed flat into my pillow, and my mouth was wide open, but despite my best efforts, my right eyelid creaked upward. I was startled to see a human figure sitting beside my bed, but then I remembered I had brought the L-1700 home. Its charge light was green. Into my pillow, I said, “Activate.” It slowly opened its eyes. Something about its expression reminded me of a cat I once had, Merton. “I’m going to call you Merton or Mertie. Do you remember how to make the coffee?”  It stood up and tried to say, “10-4.” It came out, “Zen fur”. Its rinky-dink voice box was out of adjustment. It tried to smile and failed at that, too. Then it turned and went to the kitchenette.  

I woke up again a half-hour later. Merton was still in the kitchen. “Bring the coffee to me, Mertie.” It was cold, but I smelled something burning. “Mertie, what did you do?” I swear it almost looked embarrassed. Its finger torch had touched off a paper plate. “We’ve got more work to do on making coffee, Mertie.”

***

 

A Voice chime sounded, and a female voice asked, “Employee 17?”

“Yes, but my name is Freddie Obannon.”

There was a pause while she verified that information. “Yes, that’s right, Freddie Obannon, Employee 17. I’m Shania Ledgerson, chief accountant.”

“I thought accounting was fully automated.”

“Yeah, well, the company needs to meet its quota of humans on the payroll, which is good for you and me. Anyway, I’m calling about the accident yesterday and the androidal that was destroyed. The company is going to need to dock your pay to cover a replacement at the rate of 5% per month. That will be twenty installments of 300 units a month.”

“I only make 600 units a month, and the bot wasn’t destroyed. It just snapped an arm off. If you go full visual, you can see it. It’s sitting right across from me. I’m trying to teach it to play chess.”

“Sorry Employee 17. Replacement is less expensive and more efficient than repair.”

“I don’t see how that could possibly be true.”

“Company policy, Employee 17! Have a good day.” I heard the Voice ending chirp.

“No, Mertie. I told you. Pawns only move two squares on the first move.”

***

 

I spread a sheet of poly paper on my cardstock table and powered Mertie down. Then I removed its voice box. It was a z-50 low-end model voice box, with a 50-response capacity. Ten-four was the only entry in his word log, so there was plenty of room to add more. I disassembled  the voice box, cleaned the oily grime, laid the parts on the table, and applied a fresh coat of machine oil. Then I tightened up all the retaining screws and springs.     

Later that day, I pulled up pirate patterns on my poly machine and picked out two I liked, one for Merton and one for me. The machine scanned us and went to work. Half an hour later, we had our costumes for the evening. We only had one eye patch, and I gave it to Mertie, but that was a mistake. When Mertie tried to walk, it destroyed my cardstock table. L-1700’s need both eyes or they crash into things. Who knew? So I wore the eye patch instead.

 I taught Mertie to say, “Yo!, Yo Ho Ho!, Aye Matey!, and I’ll have another!” Then we rode the shaft down 23 floors to ground level and turned left on Lapsus Street. D’s Dive was just 25 blocks south. We got lots of attention. People seemed surprised to see an androidal roaming the streets dressed as a pirate. When we caught up to an old lady in a ratty overcoat, she harumphed and walked away. I have never understood why some people get annoyed over next to nothing.

D’s Dive went unadvertised and without a sign, but inside, well-lit with a fire in the fireplace. The usual suspects had assembled when we got there: Employees 6, 18, 31, Beefy, Cheesecake, Doc Whitless, and Callahan the owner and bartender. Nobody in D’s Dive even blinked when I walked in with Mertie. The customers had tamped the fires of anxiety down with the first two rounds of beer, and Callahan had been tending that bar for thirty years, so he had seen just about everything. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“Everybody, I’d like you to meet my new friend, Merton.” Everybody greeted Merton in a friendly manner, just as they would if it had been another human. Merton said, “Hello, Matey’s,” and everybody laughed. Turning to Callahan, I said, “First-time customers get a free pint. Right?”

“Right, but it has to drink it right here in front of us.” Callahan didn’t know that L-1700’s have a two-gallon capacity in case of a fire. Merton downed the pint, slammed the glass on the table, and said, “Good! I’ll have another.” Everybody laughed and turned their attention to me and Mertie. They wanted to see what would happen next.

Next, Mertie won me another pint at the dart board. It turned out to be a rowdy, fun-filled night with plenty of laughter, and Cheesecake sang a sad song that made everybody except Merton cry.

Later, as we were about to leave, Callahan said, “You owe me one, Freddie.”

“You made the rules, Callahan.” He just laughed and said, “Get the hell out.” Back at my can, I enjoyed the free pint and went to bed.

***

 

In the weeks that followed, I reattached its arm, worked on its dance moves, and taught it how to shadow box.

One night after midnight, we went to the street corner where I had been mugged. I told Merton to sit in a dark corner while we waited. The night crazy who had attacked me showed up a half hour later. I doubt if he recognized me. I said, “Before you mug me, I’d like to introduce you to my best friend.” Merton stood up, and we chased that guy for three blocks. I had never seen anybody that frightened. I’m pretty sure he’s still running.

Next week we’re going to D’s Dive as Romeo and Mercutio. Mertie will do Mercutio primarily, but the roles will be interchangeable. I’ve ordered a better voice box.