2084: Slavery Resurgent

When everything seems to be going against you, remember that the airplane takes off against the wind, not with it. – Henry Ford

The Union Bank building was colossal, the tallest office tower in Southern California. When Franklin looked at it from across the street, he had to crane his neck to take in the antennae on top of the structure.

George 99,689,794 was sitting on a bench waiting for Franklin to come through a revolving door into the Union Bank building. It stood up and shook Franklin’s outstretched hand with a firm grip, unlike the dead fish handshake he had received from the previous trainee. It was much taller than Franklin, more than a foot taller, and it appeared to be well fed. When the automaton smiled, it revealed a set of sparkling white teeth, as if they had been capped. Surprisingly, the trainee wore a neatly pressed neon orange jump suit and smelled like men’s cologne. “What the heck is going on?,” Franklin whispered under his breath as he turned to sit down.

Franklin looked for the other janitor he was supposed to train, but evidently he had not yet arrived. Good, Franklin thought, it would give him a chance to get to know the automaton better. Franklin had great faith in his social skills. He always preferred the carrot to the stick. He believed that an automaton that was punished severely every time it made a mistake would turn on its owner at the earliest opportunity. Franklin was a born again Christian. The doctrine of love and forgiveness was part of his everyday life. Rarely, did he lose his patience. Life was meant to be full of pain and tribulation. Setbacks served to strengthen his resolve. The Kingdom of Heaven would be closed to those who failed God’s tests. Los Angeles was hot enough, Franklin had no intention of spending eternity in Hell. After having read Dante’s Inferno, he became convinced that evil was for losers.

“My name is Franklin Pierce. I prefer to be called Franklin. For the next three weeks I will be your instructor. Learning to be a janitor is not that difficult, providing you pay attention to what I say and do.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you. The government has labeled me George 99,243,909, but I was formerly known as Simon Kline. Perhaps you have heard of me on the evening news. I was an investment broker until I was arrested for fraud and convicted of operating a ponzi scheme. It all stemmed from misanthropic investors misunderstanding the nature of capitalism. Business is a risk and those who are not prepared to take that risk don’t belong in business. They gambled and lost. Being sore losers, the investors scapegoated me. I saw it coming and vacationed in Brazil. How was I supposed to know that eight weeks earlier Brazil had signed an extradition treaty in exchange for military hardware? But I have not lost faith in the system. My lawyers will win the appeal. And if not, I will buy my freedom from your employer for more than your company paid for me at auction. I remain confident. This automaton thing is merely a temporary setback. The reason I’m telling you this is I want to be up front with you. Don’t expect me to be around for long.”

“I appreciate your frankness. However, there are a few things I don’t understand,” replied Franklin. “I thought the government deleted all memories of a former life, including the name, from an automaton before selling it at auction. Since an automaton is chattel, there can be no appeal, especially considering it is a voluntary program. You chose transformation over prison and now you are stuck with it.”

“I bribed the transformation technicians to fake the alterations. I was not the first to do it and I probably won’t be the last. As a matter of fact, I am rather proud of what I did. The government traffics in slaves,” justified the new trainee. “Naturally, I will do anything and everything to regain my freedom. Didn’t we fight a Civil War to abolish slavery? History has a way of repeating itself. There is no reason to expect a different outcome.”

“Unless abolition occurs within the next three weeks, and I find that extremely doubtful, you will be finding out how hard it was for the investors you cheated to earn their money. Welcome to the working class. I do not take bribes, so do not expect to buy your way out of this. You will pay close attention to details and do anything I tell you to do. Do I make myself clear?,” retorted Franklin, his voice gradually raising in volume.

“Certainly, you are the overseer and I am the slave. Your wish is my command. You won’t have to whip me to get work out of me. I am not about to cause trouble. I am simply informing you that I intend to pursue obtaining my freedom regardless of the cost. I didn’t set out to cheat investors and I have no intention of cheating you or your company,” George 99,689,794 stated with conviction.

The plexiglass revolving door rotated and in walked the janitor for whom they had been waiting. He ambled over to the bench and in a slow drawl introduced himself:

“Hi y’all, I’m Beauregard Benoit and I’m gonna be working with ya. Hiram sent me to the service entrance and I banged on the door for ten minutes before trying the main entrance. Really, if it weren’t for his crummy instructions, I would’a been on time. Nobody mentioned no automaton. Cannot say as to how good I would work alongside one of them. Anyway, how come I’m not using the service entrance? You’d think I was Lord Dimwit. Why didn’t the butler announce me to the stuffed shirts in the ballroom?”

“It’s because the bearings on both ends of the revolving door’s hub need to be sprayed with graphite once a week. That’s part of your job. When you finish doing that, make certain you lock it by pressing 2,0,8,4 on the keypad in the center of the wall by the left side of the door. Also, you will be servicing the first 15 floors of this building. Since you are so fond of the service exit, we will all leave in a group from it at the end of our shift. And, there is no need for you to discriminate against the automaton, because I will be training it for the next three weeks. Although you will probably regret not having it to help you get everything done on time,” declared Franklin.

“Look, boss man, this building is bigger than the Super Bowl. It ain’t right for you to be expecting me to clean fifteen floors of it without a little help. Or you could give me a couple of hours of overtime and I’ll make it as spic and span as a fire truck in the station on a Sunday morning,” remonstrated Beauregard.

“If it’s too much for you, perhaps you would like to trade places with one of the eight janitors Hiram furloughed last week. You could take his place in the unemployment line. I certainly don’t expect you to work up a sweat. All that I want from you is a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. You can forget about collecting overtime. Those days are long past. I’m grateful to have a job, and you should be, too,” Franklin countered. “Since there is no union, you will not be filing a grievance.”

Franklin showed Beauregard how to lubricate, test for the rate of spin, and then lock the revolving door, after which Franklin and the trainee took an elevator to the 16th floor. Surprisingly, George 99,689,794 proved to be an avid pupil, seldom making mistakes and quick to correct the errors he did make. Acutely aware of the vast number of video cameras and scanners that were present on each and every floor of the building, Franklin insisted on keeping conversation to a minimum. It was just as well, considering the enormity of the task before them. By the time they had been working diligently for five hours, the two of them had serviced only eleven floors of the towering structure, despite eating lunch on the run rather than breaking for lunch.

Although they worked hard and fast, the two of them had only managed to service 17 floors by quitting time. Worse yet, they were both so exhausted that they had to sit down for a minute before going down the elevator.

Discouraged, Franklin shook his head and pointed out, “This is ridiculous. No matter how hard we work, we will never be able to finish on time. This building is just too big.”

“Au contraire, mon fraire,” George 99,689,794 responded. “We don’t need to work harder. We need to work smarter. We must divide up. That way we can do twice as much work. Now that I know what to do, you won’t have to constantly keep an eye on me. I’m not stupid. What little you have not already taught me, I can figure out by myself. Or would you rather have your boss conclude you do not have what it takes to get the job done on time?”

Franklin gave it some thought. “I guess I will not have to check on you very often. Yes, it just might work. First day on the job and you are already solving problems. You helped me and it’s only fair that I return the favor. I would be honored to drive you home at night.”

“You should think about rescinding that offer because it’s quite far from here,” admonished George 99,689,794. “Besides, I’ve already arranged transportation.”

“How far?,” Franklin queried.

“I could not find a nearby residence that suited my tastes, so I ended up leasing a place more than eleven miles from here,” the trainee answered.

“That will not be a problem. After all, it is only for three weeks. And, speaking from personal experience, it will be a lot better than having to depend on Los Angeles’ hoverbuses,” Franklin assured the automaton.

“Public transportation is for immigrants and welfare recipients,” George 99,689,794 blandly stated. “A chauffeured limousine brought me to work today.”

“That’s a bit ostentatious. It must be grossly expensive,” stated Franklin while rolling his eyes.

“Not really, it’s actually only eleven dollars more per week than taking a hovercab. There is no comparison in speed, comfort, and reliability. Nevertheless, I would gladly accept a ride from you if you will agree to have an early breakfast with me. I told the cook to make venison and eggs. You’ll be amazed by how well she prepares it,” bragged the imitation automaton.

Franklin wasn’t convinced that the trainee was telling the truth. Maybe it was all an act. It was high time for Franklin to call its bluff.

* * *

“I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor. And, believe me, rich is better!” - writer Beatrice Kaufman (1937)

“Mid-level is usually faster. Our destination is 503 North Alpine Drive, Beverly Hills, California 90210. We’ll be hovering along the old I-10E for the most part. The traffic should be light. But in a few hours it will be gridlock on all three levels. Did you get the address right?,” asked George 99,689,794.

“No problema, it’s already punched in. We’ll get there in under fifteen minutes,” Franklin estimated, reading the figures on the screen. He jammed the transmission into auto-pilot and flicked the hydrogen ignition switch. With a barely audible swish, they were off traveling 15 feet above South San Vicente Boulevard on a cushion of air and automatically transferring to the I-10E, where the hovercar’s onboard computer set the throttle at the maximum legal speed of 70 miles per hour. Settling back in their fully adjustable ergonomic seats, they engaged in a lively conversation with no fear of being monitored by scanners and cameras.

“I gather you aren’t bothered by rules, laws, morals, or ethics,” Franklin stated.

“What gave you that impression?,” asked George 99,689,794, feigning surprise. I am compelled to obey the First Three Laws of Automatons.

“Never heard of them,” said Franklin, scowling. “Suppose you enlighten me.”

“Three Laws of Automatons

1. An automaton must never do anything which which might result in a human harmed.

2. An automaton must obey orders given to it by human beings except where such orders interfere with the First Law.

3. An automaton must protect its own existence whenever a human being places it in danger in which case it should consider disregarding both the First and Second Laws,”

George 99,243,909 recited from rote, with a pokerface, while trying hard to suppress a laugh.

“I am impressed,” said Franklin sarcastically. “Which movie did you steal that conundrum from?”

“I, Robot, based on the 20th century Isaac Asimov Science Fiction novel with the same name,” commented the trainee.

“That was long before my time. Isaac the Ass must have failed Economics 101. Robots don’t come cheap. I read somewhere that the Sultan of Bahrain had a robot guard his harem until a consort gave birth to a cyborg,” Franklin joked.

“Such humor. All kidding aside, I meant it when I told you that I intend to regain my freedom soon. There is a team of lawyers working on it. I might purchase my freedom from the company that owns me. Then again, I might win on appeal or be given a presidential pardon. When the government convicted me of a felony, they attempted to confiscate my assets. However, they had trouble locating most of them. I continue to live well,” said George 99,689,794 in a matter-of-fact manner.

“503 North Alpine Drive, this is it,” declared Franklin. “Should I park next to the curb or on the circular driveway?”

“Parking at the curb will get you a $350 fine,” advised George 99,689,794. “People are not permitted to park on the street in Beverly Hills. “It interferes with trash collection.”

“Then why isn’t the curb painted red?,” asked Franklin as if he found it hard to believe.

“Because it looks tacky. There is a sign at both ends of every block on this street that informs red paint enthusiasts such as yourself of the neighborhood’s restrictions on parking,” George 99,689,794 pointed out.

* * *

Some people think luxury is the opposite of poverty. It is not. It is the opposite of vulgarity. - Coco Chanel

“Franklin Pierce meet my cook, Rumi Ono. Rumi is a fantastic chef,” George 99,689,794 introduced Franklin to a thin, petite Japanese woman dressed in black with a spotless white apron that resembled a French maid’s attire not withstanding that it was bordered in frilly, hot pink lace. Had she stepped into the kitchen from a sex scene on the silver screen? No doubt Rumi was the sum total of everyman’s secret desires. And to think she was wasting her talents on an automaton!

The venison and eggs was positively superb. Lining the plate with truffles rather than the usual parsley sprigs was the act of a bold chef who was not afraid to dispense with ornamentation to enhance flavor. Besides, Franklin was one of those people who actually ate the garnish rather than pushing it with his fork to the edge of his plate. And he was partial to deviled eggs. It certainly beat his usual breakfast of sugar-coated wheat flakes awash in almond milk. Franklin’s problem was that he had five star gourmet tastes with a two star budget.

Following breakfast, the two of them sat on a futon in the living room, discussing subjects that could not be brought up at work due to constant surveillance.

“You have a beautiful home,” declared Franklin, stretching his legs in an unsuccessful effort to unknot the muscles that were protesting the low (for him) futon. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“Automatons cannot own property,” corrected the trainee. “The owners are vacationing in Venezuela. Their realtor faxed me a short-term lease. I never met him in person. Rumi was part of the deal. She lives rent-free in the converted three car garage at the side of the house.”

“You realize you are a fake. I can’t imagine how you managed to bribe the technicians not to alter you without getting caught. If anything, you have compounded your crimes. You cheated your investors and now you are cheating our employer. Have you no shame?,” remonstrated Franklin.

“Financial institutions cheat people everyday by charging them double digit interest on their credit card debt, bilking them with phony services, selling personal information of their clientele, and performing improper foreclosures. That is what they do to the middle class. The government arrested me because some wealthy individuals lost money by following my advice. For ten years in a row they made fantastic profits. Then they blamed me for an economic slump that nobody could have predicted. And, as for those minimum wage technicians, how dare you chastise them for transforming my purportedly filthy lucre into buying food for their families or making a mortgage payment. Holier-than-thou are you? What you are is an overseer making sure that the absentee masters get maximum productivity from their slaves. Simon Legree used a whip. You use psychology and feign friendship. I assume that makes you better,” George 99,689,794 said in a huff, instantly regretting having made the analogy. Franklin wasn’t a bad boss. “Please excuse me, I felt frustrated and took it out on you. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright. You could blame your behavior on the government altering your brain if it weren’t for the fact that you bribed your way out of the transformation process,” suggested Franklin.

“That is only partially true. Although I escaped the worst parts of the transformation process, I had the technicians enhance my DNA. They inserted a gene for longevity on a chromosome and repaired damage to my chondriosomes. The result is that I have more stamina and I will probably live longer,” confessed George 99,689,794.

“But society will still consider you a sub-human,” remonstrated Franklin, “with no rights or privileges; chattel to be bought and sold in the marketplace.”

“My attorney tells me that if I contribute three million dollars to an incumbent President’s campaign fund, I can get a pardon,” George 99,689,794 said to Franklin, informing his benefactor of his intentions.

“Get real, you cannot bribe the most powerful man in the world for a mere three million dollars,” asserted Franklin.

“Who said anything about a bribe? It is a political contribution. The Supreme Court says that political contributions amount to free speech. It’s all perfectly legal. Hedge-fund manager Marc Rich fled the country after he was indicted on multiple counts of tax evasion, wire fraud, and racketeering. Denise, his wife, made a substantial contribution to the Clinton Foundation. On January 20, 1991, his final day in office, President Bill Clinton pardoned billionaire Marc Rich. All was forgiven. In John 8:11, Jesus says ‘Go, and sin no more.’ I have faith that redemption draws near,” George 99,689,794 prophesied.

“The automaton program is extremely popular with the public. It isn’t liable to end anytime soon because it is responsible for a balanced federal budget and a sharp reduction in the prison population. If you are planning on a sitting President coming to your rescue, you are severely overestimating your worth. Marc Rich was a billionaire, you, however, can only scrape together a few million. Marc Rich was indicted, but not convicted. Also, Marc Rich never admitted guilt. You are a convicted felon who voluntarily became an automaton. Many people regard that as an admission of guilt. It looks like you outsmarted yourself and are now suffering the consequences,” observed Franklin.

“Plato said ‘we are twice armed if we fight with faith.’ Patience and perseverance are the weapons of an invincible faith. I will never surrender. You inherently know that I am doing the right thing for the right reason. Why are you trying to dissuade me? Could it be that your own faith has begun to waver?,” probed the probationary trainee.

“I’m having second thoughts about exploiting automatons. The automaton program is a cancerous growth on society. I figured I was helping to keep the malignancy from metastasizing. You be the judge. Am I deluding myself?,” Franklin asked, shaking his head from side to side.

“I didn’t expect to get someone like you for a boss,” the trainee admitted. “You are one of the few human beings who relate to automatons in a positive manner. And you have a conscience. The United States fought a bloody Civil War to rid the nation of the scourge of slavery. History is repeating itself. Evidently, we failed to learn life’s lessons the first time. Make no mistake, we are here for a reason. Deja vu; catastrophe beckons. Let’s do our best to avoid it.”

“I need to get home,” declared Franklin. “How about we meet next Sunday at the Metrolink USC Station. There is something nearby that I would like to show you.”

“I’ll be there wearing my best jumpsuit. What time?,” inquired George 99,689,794.

“Is 9 AM okay with you? I would like to get an early start,” said Franklin.

“Then I will plan on being there at 8:30 AM, just in case there is a delay,” the automaton who was formerly known as Simon Kline promised.

* * *

“I like whiskey, I always did, and that is why I never drink it.” - Robert E. Lee

Beauregard Benoit was not an alcoholic, leastways according to him. Occasionally, he took a nip while at work from a silver-plated hip flask he had inherited from his dear departed father. Of course, he did it on the sly because other people were less cognizant of the beneficial effects of five year-old single mash whiskey. His boss, Franklin Pierce, was definitely one of those “other people” because Franklin went ballistic when he caught Beauregard leaning against a mop while imbibing the precious elixir of life in a conference room on the 10th floor.

Fire shot from Franklin’s eyes as he yelled, “YOU’RE FIRED.”

Nonplussed, Beauregard extracted a roll of Wintergreen mints from some inner sanctum of his faded denim overalls, asking, “Care for a mint?”

“Are you stone deaf?,” Franklin inquired with a furrowed brow, his face flushed red in anger. “You have been drinking on the job which is sufficient grounds for termination. Go to the office on Friday, turn in your keys, and Mr. Nasov will figure out your severance.”

“Not so fast,” cautioned Beauregard, “without me, you and the automaton will probably have to clean the entire building until Hiram gets around to hiring another janitor. Be reasonable, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s right, it won’t happen again because you won’t be here to do it. Good luck finding another job,” Franklin declared.

“I’ve got bills to pay. I need this job,” pleaded Beauregard.

“You should have thought about that earlier. Get out of here or would you rather be thrown out?,” cautioned Franklin.

“I tried to be nice, but you chose to nitpick. You shouldn’t have done that. Now, you are going to pay. Nobody is here, but me, you, and your soon-to-be ghost,” Beauregard warned Franklin, as he reached into an inner sanctum of his denim overalls and brought out a gutting knife which he opened with a practiced flick of his right wrist.

Franklin’s eyes narrowed and he drew a deep breath. Slowly and deliberately, he tightly wound a large wet rag around one arm with which to fend off Beauregard Benoit’s blade.

The curved surgical stainless steel blade glistened under the LED strip lighting. Screaming like a banshee and swinging the knife in a downward spiral, Beauregard lunged at Franklin, but came up inches short. Backpedalling, Franklin stumbled into a bench, hefted it over his head, and threw it at Beauregard with lethal intent. The bench struck the fired janitor’s right shoulder sending him reeling to the floor.

Beauregard struggled in vain to get to his feet. The sharp pain in his right shoulder indicated it was dislocated. He shifted the knife to his left hand and slowly stood up. Gnashing his rotting teeth, Beauregard was taking another slash at Franklin when George 99,689,794 grabbed him from behind and wrested the knife from his hand.

While maintaining a chokehold on Beauregard, the automaton tossed the gutting knife into a nearby trash chute. They heard it clank its way down eleven floors to the bottom. It was music to George 99,689,794′s ears. In fact, he liked it so well that he stuffed Beauregard Benoit into the trash chute and forced him to slide down it. The automaton was rewarded with numerous thuds and blood curdling screams as Beauregard bumped and thumped to the dumpster at the bottom.

“Good riddance for bad rubbish,” quipped Franklin, unwinding the wet rag from his arm and using it to wipe perspiration from his brow.

“I never trusted that man,” declared George 99,689,794. “You were gone for so long that I came looking for you.”

“It is a good thing you found me. If it wasn’t for you, he might have gutted me with that knife. But didn’t you violate the Laws of Automatons?” Franklin inquired.

“That depends on one’s perspective. According to an alternate fact rooted in situational ethics, one or two laws were bent, but none were ever broken,” asserted the automaton. “Legal rules and their application have to be flexible in order to achieve just decisions in individual cases.”

“Admirably circuitous; spoken like a true self-serving convicted felon at his appeal,” said Franklin with a grin.

“Grateful to be of service, master,” George 99,689,794 replied sarcastically with a straight face while unctuously executing an absurdly deep bow.

“We may not have seen the end of this. There are bound to be repercussions when Hiram gets word of what happened. We should go down to the basement. Beauregard may have been injured,” Franklin speculated.

“I hope he is dead. His knife preceded him down the chute. He could be dangerous. Why not call the police and let them take care of him? There is no need to worry about consequences because there are four scanners in this room. I suppose there is enough incontrovertible audio and video evidence to convict him of attempted manslaughter,” George 99,689,794 advised.

“Great idea. Prison is too good for Beauregard Benoit. Instead of going stir crazy, he can volunteer to become an automaton. I believe that would be poetic justice,” Franklin said as he took out his cellphone and called 911.

Ten minutes later, two officers from the LAPD arrived and took a report. Afterwards, they went down to the basement, where they removed Beauregard from a dumpster, keeping his knife as evidence. Other than lacerations and a dislocated shoulder, Beauregard was not badly injured, however, he was shaking and his vision was blurry. Minutes later, an ambulance drove him to Martin Luther King Hospital, handcuffed to a gurney. It was all over in less than an hour. Franklin and his trainee went back to work as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

* * *

“Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.” - Benjamin Franklin

“I will personally make certain that boozehound will never work in this town again,” Hiram promised Franklin over the phone. “I viewed the holograms the police sent to me from the scanners and I forwarded them to the home office. That took courage to take Benoit down. I should have done a better job of checking his background before hiring him.”

“We need someone to take his place,” declared Franklin.

“I have already taken care of it,” Hiram assured him. It’s a big building, so I decided to assign you two janitors in addition to the trainee you already have. They will be starting Monday.”

* * *

“Until computers and robots make quantum advances, they basically remain adding machines: capable only of doing things in which all the variables are controlled and predictable.” - Michio Kaku

For the six-day-a-week blue collar worker, Sunday is a special day, indeed. It is not to be wasted through sloth or squandered on frivolous activities because it is the only day when they can feel truly alive; free to go where they choose and do what they will. So it was that Franklin Pierce and George 99,689,794 met together at the Metrolink USC station just as the chimes in the clock tower on the USC campus struck 9 AM. From the station they walked to the California Museum of Science and Industry at the corner of Figueroa and 39th Street. On the way, Franklin bought two chili relleno burritos dipped in queso from a street vendor. It was a great start for what would prove to be an even greater day.

With Fall approaching, daytime temperatures had dropped to the mid-eighties. Best of all, the humidity was tolerable. Wrens and pigeons competed for crumbs that fell from the food being consumed by pedestrians as they went about their business. If one focused on the cut flowers bordering the sidewalk, a world of insects – bees, aphids, flies, and beetles – revealed itself. If one looked even closer, that very fortunate person might see a praying mantis devour her mate or a mud dauber paralyzing a spider to feed her larvae. On this balmy, bountiful day, Nature was having fun in the warm California sun.

The best part about the Museum of Science and Industry was that admission was free, including automatons. People could wander around all day, fiddling with the hands-on exhibits and enjoying air conditioning for which other people footed the bill.

This was the museum’s third reincarnation, having been razed and rebuilt three times at taxpayer expense. Perhaps in two or three more times the elected officials will get it correct. All this in a county that claims it cannot afford to renovate, replace, or in a number of instances, even maintain Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital, which is the primary healthcare provider for poor and indigent residents in South Los Angeles. A priori conclusion: remembering past achievements was judged to be more important than the current, 2084, welfare of Los Angeles’ citizens. Not exactly doublespeak, but closely related.

Robby the Robot welcomed them to the California Museum of Science and Industry when it opened at 9:30 AM. Robby was an imposing figure, six and a half feet tall with gangly arms and legs that jerked into action when anyone went through the infrared beam that spanned the entrance. Thousands of times a day it burst into a preprogrammed spiel:

“Hi, I am Robby the Robot. What is your name? (short pause) Welcome to the California Museum of Science and Industry. Our interactive exhibits will entertain and amaze you. Feel free to ask our staff any questions you may have concerning hours and nearby accommodations.”

“What was that?,” asked George 99,689,794.

“That was a robot, a distant cousin of automatons, attempting to impress us with his human mannerisms,” Franklin declared.

“I am not related to that bucket of bolts. Isaac Asimov must be turning over in his grave. If that is an example of a state of the art robot, it must be the reason why admission is free,” George 99,689,794 retorted.

“Yes, robots proved to be a gigantic disappointment,” admitted Franklin. “They are fine for repetitive tasks such as welders in an assembly line, but not much else. They’ve been consigned to the dust heap of technology. Automatons replaced robots in much the same manner as airliners replaced zeppelins.”

“That makes sense. Why spend billions of dollars to develop a mechanical substitute for something as complicated as a living human being? No need to reinvent the wheel. It’s a no-brainer. I started life as a man. Due to a series of bad choices, I’m now an automaton. Exploit me if you will, but please don’t insult me or my kin by equating us with those ridiculous rustbelt rejects,” pleaded George 99,689,794. Robots can only mimic humans.”

“You do not want to hurt Robby’s feelings,” cautioned Franklin.

“Robots are machines. They don’t have feelings or emotions,” George 99,689,794 instructed. “For that, you need a cyborg or an automaton.”

“Walt Disney’s head was frozen in liquid nitrogen immediately following his death in December 1966 in the hope that medical science would someday be able to revive him. Since his body was cremated two days later, it would make sense to graft the head onto a mechanical body, in effect transforming him into a cyborg. Perhaps the museum could be persuaded to volunteer Robby the Robot for this munificent role. After all, he currently seems to be rather empty-headed,” Franklin quipped. “It would definitely be doing him a favor.”

They visited the laser beam, spectrometer, hydrogen fuel, and hyperloop transportation exhibits. The best exhibit of all was a short anime portraying the evolution of gene replacement and its benefits to mankind. Having personal experience with gene enhancement, George 99,689,794 was so fascinated by it that he watched the film three times.

“It says nothing about transforming felons into automatons or eliminating violent behavior utilizing gene splicing techniques,” George 99,689,794 whispered to Franklin as they left the tiny theater.

“Of course, it does not. It was produced in Japan which has an homogenous society in addition to a low crime rate. They have no need for an automaton program. Besides, they focused on the positive aspects of gene enhancement. There is nothing to gain by focusing on America’s dirty little secret. The U.S. Did not ban bondage until after the Civil War. Due to economic reality, human bondage is back in style. Automatons are the bastard offspring of an unregulated, capitalist, free market economy. It cannot go on like this. I will most likely burn in hell for profiting from it,” predicted Franklin.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Let’s enjoy our day off,” advised George 99,689,794.

“It is 4:45 PM. We should head for the door,” Franklin urged.

“One more thing. Give me your pen,” said George 99,689,794 as he removed an index card from a pocket of his jumpsuit.

After writing something on the index card, George 99,689,794 gave Franklin back his pen and the two of them headed for the door.

As they exited, Robby the Robot said, “We were having fun. I hate to see friends go. Please come again soon.”

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Franklin asked, “What was the index card all about? What did you write on it?”

George 99,689,794 doubled up with laughter. Some moments later he regained his composure, commenting, “I wrote ‘KICK ME’ on it and stuck it on the back of Robby the Robot when he wasn’t looking.”

And so ended their perfect day. Things go amiss, but they get better with a little levity.