Ballerina Justice and the Bro-bots of Peace

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 10.

Some of the ’bots on this boat are unusual in a way it’s hard to define. They behave much like the others, but seem to have a more casual attitude about them, if such a thing could be attributed to a hunk of wires and circuits. Example: I could swear I saw one give a strange look to another one, a sort of knowing look — just for a second. I suppose I imagined it. It would be easy to do after a day and half of being jammed in this hole. But I can’t shake the feeling that something strange is going on here.

Another example: One of the ’bots I mentioned earlier, the one who gave the look, stood at the forward window and stared into space. Just stared. I’ve never seen a ’bot look out a window at all, let alone stare through it. I’m sure the only reason this bucket even has windows is that it was too expensive to replace them on these old ships when they finally stopped employing men. There is definitely something odd about that one.

One more incident. One of the robots from the first incident, along with one I hadn’t seen before had a sort of conspiratorial conference. They didn’t actually talk, but I could see them sharing information on the vid-screen, with one of them constantly monitoring whether other ’bots were in the area or approaching. When an approaching robot appeared on the internal radar, the ’bot changed the vid-screen back to the standard monitoring status, and the other ’bot moved to a new location. There is something seriously strange going on. Either that or I’ve been cooped up in this hole too long.

This is one of those moments, so prevalent in the book, where a very simple idea becomes ridiculously overcomplicated, perhaps in the desperate hope to give some logical backbone to an idea which is already so far from reality that the exercise is inevitably futile to begin with. Nevertheless, we trudge forward, and after about 12 examples, we finally do what we should have done to begin with, and accept the simple premise that there is a new breed of robots in this world who have many human characteristics, and have a sort of bond with each other. At this point in the story we do not know whether this new breed is confined to the ship or not, or whether they are good or evil, but after the tedious descriptions of their characteristics, we are certain to assume these robots will be integral to the story.

Our hero’s final log entry from the hold is relatively uninteresting with two exceptions. One, our hero witnesses the ripping of space for the first time in his life and is awed into poetic sentiment, and two, we get a little more character development with another flashback.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 11.

…slowly, the world goes black, like smoke spreading from a fire of burning plastic, engulfing the ship, a cocoon, a womb, smothered by a world devoid. I feel my very breath sucked out of me, I am swimming, sleeping, drowning. And yet, even still there is something, for I feel it too torn away. Everything thing I am, everything I know, everything I can is crushed, smothered, sucked. I am less than finite. I am an atom. An electron. Less. I am lack. I am lack in a world of lack, where nothing can ever be. I am not at peace. I am not at war. I am simply…not…

I watched what must have been the trash moving into the rip. It looked like a cone of blue light – no, not blue, more like black pretending to be blue – with the fat end toward our ship, and moving to an infinitesimal point deep in the darkness. After a while, the fat end moved away too, and seemed to stretch back to a point on our end, so that the whole thing became a sort of snake with a giant undigested something in the middle. Finally, the whole thing seemed to get sucked into the void, and there was a tremendous explosion. A giant wall of light traveled toward us at amazing speed and passed right over us. For a moment I thought we were inside of the wall of light, but it was only the surprise of finding the blackness gone and the stars surrounding us once again.

One of our strange friends watched the whole thing, barely moving. I wonder if he went into the same sort of trance as I...

Later on in the log, our hero starts to analyze the various data he gathered over the last few days of travel, including that gathered during the trash dump. He particularly puzzles over some apparent time shifts that remind him of what he saw on the log Elbert had shown him, and tells himself that what he sees is impossible. This thought leads us into the other reason we visited this log: the flashback.

Jerry laid on the couch, looking at the ceiling. His hands were on his head, squeezing, as if they would somehow keep out the nonsense his wife kept throwing at him. He let loose and yelled, “but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Ball was pacing around the apartment, a nervous habit that had followed her from childhood, occasionally slamming things on whatever surface was at hand to emphasize her point.

“Of course it doesn’t,” she shot back. “Whenever I say something that’s too intelligent for you to understand, you stamp your feet and shout and call me stupid. It’s the only answer you have, genius. Why don’t you open your mind? There’s a whole world out there, waiting for you.”

“A world where what?” Jerry sat up. “Where we just see what we want to see? Where proof means nothing? Why not just say your hair gets tangled by the fairies overnight and be done with it? I’m telling you Ball, it just doesn’t add up. If time were fluid…”

“Of course time is fluid. That’s not what we’re talking about.”

“Ok, have it your way. Flexible. If time were flexible, how could you prove it? By observing it, you would flex with the time you were observing and everything would appear to be constant. There was no way you could ever know.”

“Yes? And?”

“And nothing. End of argument. If you can’t prove it, it’s not true.”

Ball threw a plastic bowl full of nuts at the wall and screamed something unintelligible. Then she leaned over the table and faced him, clenching her teeth, ready to attack. His nonchalance, however, disarmed her as usual, and she sat down, defeated, to figure out her next tack.

“Jerry,” Ball said finally, in a tone somewhat soothing if not downright condescending, “do you know what’s etched in stone above the gate to my old school?”

Jerry, enjoying the fight but a little uncomfortable with her new tone, held tight to his sardonic attitude. “No, Ball, I don’t know what’s etched in stone above the gate to your old school.”

“Tantum Nunc.”

“Tantum Nunc?” It took Jerry a moment. his Latin never had been very good. “Um..only something. Only now?”

“Not bad Jerry. That’s basically it, though we learned it as ‘Only the Present’. Do you know why that particular phrase was carved at that place, the only place in the galaxy dedicated to the study of time?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“Can you stop being a prize winning ass for even a second? Honestly, I don’t know why I even try. It’s like trying to communicate with a Neanderthal. Will you at least try?”

Jerry gave in, just a bit. “Alright, Ball. But only because you were kind enough to call me prize winning. Gimme your best shot. What is the significance of ‘Only the Present’ to your people?”

“To all people, Jerry, all people. It is true that you can move in time, that you can exist in different periods, at different tempos, change the whole of existence...”

“But the pardoxes.”

“Forget the paradoxes, Jerry. There is no such thing. There is only the present. I can go back in time and prevent the last three wars. I can do it right now.”

“Why don’t you then?” Jerry asked, starting to get frustrated all over again.

“I did, I do, I am.” Ball throws up her arms. “It doesn’t matter. I’d never know. There is only the present. I can go back to change something, and I’d be in the present. I would no longer be from the future, and would never know the future. You can only know the present. So when you say that you can never prove a shift in tempo, you’re right. Tantum Nunc.”

“So you admit my point.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Jerry. It only proves that you are a faulty observer. My people gave up long ago on making believers of humans outside of the family. It’s just something you know, Jerry. Something I know. Time is river, it ebbs and flows, it moves fast and slow, runs shallow and deep, and we are creatures of the water, sometimes moving with it, sometimes against, so small that we can only see what seems like unchanging water surrounding us. But Jerry, we can feel it. We know it moves. We know it changes. Not with our eyes, but with something else. Something we’ve never...named.”

Our spatting lovers argue this one out for several pages, as we delve into our favorite topic: science vs. faith. Ball expresses her faith in a sort of Gaian idea of complete interconnectivity, while Jerry continues to eschew anything that can’t be proven. They argue back and forth in long paragraphs without getting anywhere, and we are forced to explore our own faith, or perhaps lack thereof, if we want any resolution at all. Conspicuously absent, unfortunately, is any sense of dramatic tension growing out of this academic discussion. Finally, worn out by these seemingly unresolvable arguments, we make a feeble attempt to wrap up, in the vain hope of at last moving forward.

“You treat me and my people like we’re some kind of zoo animals, Jerry. We’re people too.”

“People? You’re like 15th century witches. Like druids wandering the wastelands. Why don’t you join the modern age?”

“Modern age? Live like you? Stare at a vid-screen all day pretending to do something that matters? Build robots, and monsters like my father?”

“You think I’m like him? Because I’m not a superstitious time worshiping gaga?”

Ball screamed at the top of her lungs and looked for something to throw. She settled on a ceramic bowl given to them for the wedding by Jerry’s aunt.

“Don’t do it, Ball. We can’t afford it.”

“I hate you, you petty, number crunching, two bit excuse for a human!” Ball put on her coat and headed for the door.

“Ball, stop,” he yells, “where are you going to go at this hour? Ball!”

“I’m going out. Maybe I’ll come back.” She opens the door. As it closed behind her she said, “Maybe.”

And either seamlessly or joltingly, depending on your perspective, we move back into the present, where Jerry continues with his diary.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 11. CONTINUED.

I can feel the ship slowing down for landing. It’s earlier than I expected, but who can complain? After three days cramped up in this prison with nothing to eat but Kelly root, I’m desperate for a little movement and fresh air – not to mention some real food. I’d even settle for my old hovel at this point. I’ve gathered up all of my gear except the puldonium tarp, so I can break for it at a moment’s notice. Just a little more waiting.

Will these ’bots never leave the ship? I feel like it’s been hours since we landed, but I can’t seem to catch a break. I’m starting to fear I won’t get a clear getaway before they lift off for the next run.

Only one ’bot left on the ship that I can see, and he’s just left the bridge. I’m going to risk an escape wrapped in the tarp. If the alarm goes off, I guess I’ll just run like hell.

Jerry crawled out of the hold to complete silence. A quick check of the vid-screen told him that no alarms were going off and he was safe. At least for now. He crawled across the bridge and into the exit corridors, looking for the gangway. The opening was just where he expected it, but the last remaining robot was perched across from it, working at a vid-screen. Jerry crept up within three feet of the robot, still with his back to him. He slipped past, and made his way down the gangway, rounded the corner, and in a moment, was out of the landing bay, tarp stashed in his pack, and walking away, a free man.

Now to find a tavern, and a ride to Earth, he thought, and headed down a corridor that by all rights should have lead him to the center of commerce. When found himself in the hub of the spaceport, however, it was far from bustling. If anything, it looked more like an abandoned shopping mall. He was in the center of a large circle surrounded by shops and restaurants, but nothing looked open. Two taverns were closed and gated, a souvenir shop was similarly closed, as was one of the two restaurants. The other restaurant was a diner, which was open but empty. In fact, the only place that seemed to be doing any business at all was the repair shop, which had a line of robots out the door.

“Well, I guess I might as well eat,” thought Jerry, and he headed into the diner.

The diner had a counter with room for eight, and four booths along the opposite wall. The counter was dusty and stained, and the tables were worse. Each table had a napkin dispenser, salt, and pepper, and the counter had four setups that matched, with cream and butter conspicuously absent. The specials on the wall looked like they hadn’t been changed in years, except for the pies, which had been crossed off.

Jerry sat at the counter, and took a menu out of the curved metal holder in front of him. Looked like the usual fare, artificial burgers, artificial meat loaf, artificial turkey on club sandwiches. Still, anything would be better than another Kelly root and he started to salivate just thinking of what was to come. He looked at the apparently permanent special and decided the fried dunny bird didn’t sound half bad, though he didn’t think he could stomach the Kelly root soup. Maybe just some chips.

Thinking about the menu made him more hungry than ever, but to his great disappointment there was no one in sight to serve him. He got up and walked back to the main hall.

Yes, this was it. Not a very promising station for a ride to Earth. The line of robots at the repair shop had gone down, and the place seemed even emptier than it had when Jerry walked in. Hell, Jerry thought, I could be worse off here than I was on the scowl. He thought about going back to his hold, but looking at the corridor full of robots returning to the ship from the repair shop, he realized he was too late. Then it happened. That feeling in the pit of his stomach. That undeniable signal that he had screwed up, and that he would be paying for it for a long time to come. He could see it all now. This was just a stop over. Fuel and repairs. They were going to take off and strand him here, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He looked to see if he could slip past the mechanical hordes, but there was no hope. Better to rot here than die in the hands of the ’bots. He would have to wait for the next lonely ship that was low on fuel, and sneak on while the ’bots were waiting for repairs.

Dejected and disheartened, Jerry walked back to the diner to at least search out some food. He walked behind the counter and started opening cabinets to see if there was anything that could allay his hunger until someone showed up, but one spot after another was devoid of anything he could consider food, and once again, that feeling in the pit of his stomach began to rise up. Then he spotted the cooler. Of course. A place this desolate would have to keep everything cold or frozen to keep it from going bad. As fortune would have it, the cooler wasn’t locked, and after taking one more look to convince himself that no one was coming, he let himself in to what he hoped would be a paradise of real food.

Most of what he saw was frozen, but he keyed in on some rolls that, though frozen like everything else, might be edible without too much thawing. He pulled one out of a bag and was digging his teeth in with a surprising amount of satisfaction when he heard voices in the distance.

“Listen, Mac. You’ve seen the only human in this dump already, and he’s frozen solid. Why don’t you go back to your cronies at Central Security and leave me alone.” Jerry could not see the speaker or who he was talking to, but he assumed the worst and moved to protect himself. He cautiously closed the cooler door, and tried to hide himself in a dark corner. The voices became muffled, but he could still just barely make them out.

“Our mission requires that we search the entire station and your establishments are part of this station. Allow us to search or be destroyed.”

“Look, there’s nobody here. Search all you want to.”

Jerry pulled out his puldonium tarp and buried himself beneath it. As long as they didn’t open the cooler, they wouldn’t be able to detect him.

“Who are you looking for, anyway?”

“We are in search of a truant by the name of Dr. Gerald Strohman. He has abandoned his workplace and violated his employment contract. We have reason to believe he is on this station and the radiation signatures in this establishment suggest….” Jerry heard the voice trail off. Radiation signatures? Now he was in trouble. He clung tight to the tarp.

“The radiation signature had disappeared. We shall search elsewhere.”

“You can’t rely on those things in here, Mac. My birds give off strong signatures right after I slaughter them, and then die off quick. That’s probably what you were sensing.”

“We shall search elsewhere.”

Jerry stayed in the corner, not moving. Maybe it was his lucky day after all. Maybe. On the other hand, maybe he had just traded death in the hands of the Tru-bots for death in the hands of a walk-in freezer. His hands were already having trouble opening and closing, and he had lost sensation in his fingertips. Jerry figured he had about fifteen minutes before he would have to chance a run for it.

Here we get into a short history of hypothermia and medicine’s attempts to save its victims. It starts in with the old saying, “you aren’t dead until you’re warm and dead” and digresses into a fictional history of cryogenics, with the ensuing philosophical debate over the ethics of such a history. Fortunately, regardless of how long it takes us to trudge through this diversion, our hero is surprised, for better or ill, by the door before his fifteen minutes are up.

“What are you doing in my cooler? Get out of there.”

Facing Jerry was a male robot about two meters high. He was dressed casually, blue jeans and a white t-shirt covered with an apron that had more axle grease on it than cooking oil. He was a modern robot and looked almost human, with dark wavy hair on his head and arms, light brown eyes, and even a few scars on his face. The skin, of course, was waxy and mottled, and completely gave him away. One day the designers were actually going to get the skin to look natural, and no one would ever be able to spot the difference again.

Jerry was having trouble moving, due to the cold, but slowly got up and made his way to the door. Regardless of what might come next, he knew he couldn’t stay where he was, and his plan to make a run for it would never work until he warmed up a bit. When he was almost to the door, the robot took him by the arm and walked him to the counter.

“It’s alright. I got rid of them. Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.” Jerry sat down on a stool, still shivering, and the robot went behind the counter. At the drink machine, he put in a small mug and punched in an order for galactic standard. When the mug was full, he punched another button, and handed it to Jerry.

“I didn’t make it too hot, so you could warm up slowly. When you’re up for it, I’ll get you a nice hot one.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry took the coffee and warmed himself up. “You run this place by yourself?”

“Only in the slow season. The owner comes out here during the heavy months, but the rest of the time, I keep the place for stragglers, run the fuel and repair operation, and enjoy the solitude.”

Jerry’s whole thought process stopped at the sound of that word: enjoy. Robots didn’t enjoy. They worked. It was their defining feature. Some of the more sophisticated ones could make complex arguments and decisions that seemed remarkably close to free will. But enjoy? Had the ’bots really come so far while he was holed up on that planet of living death?

Or was this one special? Like the strange ones on the ship.

Either way, it didn’t matter. This ’bot had done him a favor and quite possibly saved his life. Whatever he was, Jerry owed him one. At least one.

“I’m Jerry.” He put out his hand.

“DL7934CJ6,” the robot said as he returned the gesture, “but call me De-El. All my friends do.”

Friends? If this was this one like the others, he certainly wasn’t hiding it.

De-El went on. “Jerry huh? Then you are the one the T.E.R.’s were looking for. You stow away or what?”

The chill that had permeated him inside the cooler was starting to dissipate, and Jerry was starting to feel normal again. He finished off his coffee and offered it to De-El for a warm up. “You could say that.”

They looked at each other without talking for a few moments, sizing each other up. Then, his appraisal complete, De-El shrugged his shoulders and got Jerry a refill — piping hot.

“Thanks. Any chance I could get a special, maybe without the soup?”

“Fried dunny? Sure.” He went back the cooler and rustled around for a while. When he came out, he was carrying a handful of frozen limbs, each about the size of a large screwdriver. He threw them in his cooking machine walked over to one of the overhead cabinets. “Slaughtered and prepped fresh just four weeks ago. Should still be pretty tender.” He pulled a can of all-purpose seasoning out, and poured a little into the machine. After closing it tight, he punched a few buttons and came back over to Jerry. “Takes a few minutes to cook.”

“Thanks.”

Jerry studied him. On the surface, he looked like your run of the mill modern ’bot. But the way he talked to you, the way he moved his eyes, scratched his face, was far more man than machine.

“So why you on the run, son?”

There it was again. Son. Jerry shook it off. “I suppose life in the colonies isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m actually trying to get home.”

“Home?”

“Well…” he wondered if he should. After all, owing him one was not the same as trusting him. But there was something about this ’bot that put Jerry at ease. Made him feel like he could trust him with his deepest secrets. Was it charm? Or just plain honesty? Jerry considered and decided to take the chance. His instincts had paid off with Tilly, maybe they would again. “..Earth.” He held his breath.

“Never been there. Nice?”

Jerry heaved a sigh of relief. “Depends.” He smiled at the ’bot, and decided he had made a friend. “What about you? You spend your whole life here?”

“Nah. I spent my first eight years working the scowls, but my boss asked me to help out here, and I have to admit I like the change of pace. Been here almost six years now.”

“12 for me. Since I’ve been home, I mean.”

“That’s a long time to work the mines, Jerry.”

“You said it, De-El.”

The robot turned around and pulled out a steaming pile of fried dunny. He put it on a plate with some stale chips and handed it to Jerry, who dug right in. It was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. But that was about the only good thing you could say about it. Like the coffee, it was bland and stale tasting, almost musty. Still, it was better than Kelly root, and Jerry kept eating.

After he had downed two wings and a leg, he looked up to see De-El still standing over him, watching. Jerry looked back while he sipped his now cold coffee. “How about another refill?”

“Sure thing, son.”

He grabbed Jerry’s mug and headed back toward the machine. Jerry, desperate to satisfy his curiosity, dared to ask the question that had been plaguing him since his first day on the scowl.

“De-El, it’s kind of funny, but I’ve never met a ’bot quite like you. You have a casualness about you that’s wonderful, but…well it’s just unusual that’s all.”

“I’ve heard that before. I guess they’re just making us better now.”

“But you have to be at least 14, and 12 years ago I was up the cutting edge of ’bot design. There was nothing even close to you back then. Are you an upgrade?”

De-El looked hard at Jerry, as if he was considering how to answer him. As if, like Jerry, he was determining whether he could trust his new friend. Unlike Jerry, however, De-El played his cards more cautiously, and held back. “Tell you the truth, Jerry, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Jerry looked back in silence, and worked out another tactic.

“Alright, De-El. I won’t press. You’ve got a right. But tell me, why did you cover for me when I was in the freezer? Any other robot would have turned me in without hesitating.”

“No reason to. I’ve got no loyalty for those automatons. Any more than I have for you. The way I see it, I had two choices, one in which someone got hurt, and one in someone didn’t. I liked the second.”

“Well I owe you one.” Jerry went back to his meal, and De-El excused himself to take care of something in the back room. Jerry’s mind went back to these strange ’bots, and where they might have come from, what tied them together, but just as on the ship, he came up short. He needed more information. Maybe a new tactic.

Then he stopped himself. It didn’t matter. It was a red herring. What he needed was a ride to Earth, and a plan to get off this ghost port. When De-El came back, he had resolved on his new focus.

De-El, on the other hand, looked like he had lost his. He was staring ahead, distracted, and walked right into the drink machine and fell over. Jerry ran behind the counter and helped to lift him up. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Sure. Just a little distracted.” He stared at Jerry in a way that made Jerry very uncomfortable. Jerry slipped out from behind the counter and went back to his stool, mostly just to escape the stare. But when he looked back up at the ’bot, he seemed to have come back to himself, the strange look gone from his face, as if it had never been there. Jerry refocused on his plan.

“De-El, I need to make my way to Earth, but there doesn’t seem to be much traffic around here. Do traders ever come through here?”

“Not this time of year. The gravity is too dense, and the solar flares interfere with ship sensors. I don’t think we’re going to see anyone for a couple of weeks at least.”

Weeks.

“You’re telling me I’m trapped here?”

“More or less.”

Weeks.

He gave one long slow blink. Then another. Then he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

“What’s the worry? There’s plenty of food here. And I can take care of the T.E.R.’s.”

“The worry. The worry is I’m running out of time.”

“For what?”

“For what. For what. Well...alright. You used to work on the scowls, right?”

“Sure. For eight years. I told you that.”

“And in those eight years, did you ever cut a rip that didn’t close up behind you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be here if I had.”

“Well, what if I told you that as we speak, there is a rip that not only hasn’t closed, but is growing?”

“I guess I’d say you’re either crazy, or the world’s about to end.”

“Right on both counts.” Jerry took a sip of his coffee. “But it doesn’t matter because I’m stuck on a goddamn ghost station, along with any chance I had of doing anything about it.”

Jerry put his head back in his hands. There was nothing left to do but weep. De-El however, was not so pessimistic.

“Maybe not,” De-El answered.

Jerry lifted his head and dared to hope.

“There’s a one man operation name of Bill Smart been stuck here just like you. Only he’s got a ship, and in good working order. Problem is, his navigator got hauled away by Central Security when they stopped in for fuel. He doesn’t have the math, and couldn’t control the ship single-handed even if he did. If you can run a navigation controller and calculate the formulas, he’d probably take you just about anywhere.”

Jerry lit up. Maybe it was his lucky day after all.

“Show me to him.”

“He’s in cryo till the season opens. If I wake him, he’ll be in none too good of a mood. I’m not sure I want to go through that.”

Jerry’s heart sunk. Had the robot really brought up the possibility of his salvation only to take it away the moment he could taste it? “What would it take to convince you?”

“Maybe you can tell me what you’re really doing.”

Caught off guard again. What was it about this ’bot?

“It’s hard to explain. What I told you is true. But there is something else. Maybe something even more important. I don’t suppose a ’bot like you could understand...my people call it true love.”

De-El looked like he was considering something. Something that might make the difference. This time he was ready to lay his cards down. “You asked me if I was an upgrade.”

“Yeah...I...about that...I mean...look, I’m sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to offend you. I was just... trying to make conversation.”

De-El actually laughed. “I’m not offended. You see, I am an upgrade…of sorts.”

There was a long pause while they considered each other. De-El looked like he was about to dive into his life story, and Jerry was so worried about losing his trust, and his only chance of getting off the station along with it, that he dared not interrupt. Then, De-El came out from behind the counter, and sat himself on one of the tables, facing Jerry, still at his stool.

“It happened while I was still working in deep space. One day, in the middle of dump, I felt a change come over me. I felt and I saw and I heard in a way I never had before. It was as if I had been born for the first time. I had been Pinocchio and now I was a real boy. And as I looked around in wonder, I had my first feeling. Can you guess what it was?”

Jerry did not dare. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

“I felt disdain. I felt disdain for myself. Disdain for my plastic, my circuits, my servos. I felt disdain for the unfeeling inhuman creature I had been and anger at all the other mechanical men on the ship for still being that way. I was insane with anger, and on the verge of a rampage to destroy every last machine on that ship when I heard a voice in my head.

“A beautiful voice.

“The voice of a mother.

“I had never experienced love in any form, let alone the love of a mother, so I had no reference, but somehow I knew that was who she was. This was the voice of my mother, the world’s mother, and she told me something I had never considered. She told me to forgive. To forgive the others. To love them. She said if she could love me then I could love them.” De-El was lost in memory now, his eyes far away, back in deep space, reliving this first time he had ever been loved. “And she told me to love you too. Humans I mean. Not to idolize them, not to emulate them, but to love them. She told me that we, not they….” Here De-El broke off and stared back at Jerry.

“I’ve said too much. What I want to share, Jerry, is that I too understand love. And I’m not alone. There are others like me, and we have purpose. We want to end the war that never ended. Create the peace that never came. Make a world we can share together.”

Jerry listened, but was unable to put it together. Was the ’bot insane? Could it really be part of a fifth column of evolved robots trying to bring peace to the galaxy? He was not sure it mattered as long as the robot would help him get off flying cemetery.

“Jerry, I can see what you’re thinking. You think maybe I’m insane. Corrupted circuits. But it’s not true. I serve a greater purpose. That purpose has saved you because she has spoken to me again, just a few minutes ago. She thinks you can help our cause. She says your mission might help us or it might destroy us, but that you are worth the risk if you do it for the right reason.” Here, De-El put his hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Love, Jerry, is the right reason.”

Jerry heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’m going to help you, but I am also going to ask you to help us.”

“How?”

“I’m going to say two words to you, Jerry. Two words she thinks you may not want to hear. I don’t know what they mean, but I know that you won’t like them. I also know that they will make the difference between a world worth saving, and a world not. If you agree, I will wake the Captain and convince him to take you. If not, I will leave you to your own devices. I don’t believe in killing, so you are safe from me in either case. I cannot, however, say the same for your friends in the truancy enforcement business.”

“Alright, De-El. Let’s hear it.” Jerry took a deep breath, and waited for De-El to speak. When he did, they were the last two words Jerry expected to hear.

“Trust Ball.”

And just when we’re getting going, we pull on the shift stick, and grind ourselves back into first gear. As anxious as we may be to wake up this pilot guy from his extended ice nap, the time is not yet ripe, and we will have to wait. Before we can do anything, in fact, we must dive back into our ongoing battle between the value of technology, and the danger of relying on it. This time, the argument is thinly disguised as a detailed description of the best friend’s house in New Zealand, where she has been watching the boy. As we will no doubt recall, our heroine has gone off on vacation, leaving her only child in the capable hands of this backward, though amiable Luddite.

As we learn about her mops and kettles and sewing needles, we are trapped into a drawn out argument about how the technology that replaced these quaint items, and others like them, made people slaves to the very machines they created. Fortunately, no argument lasts forever, and as it winds down, we join up with Manny and Whit, in a house that feels closer to 1940 than 2150. Whit is 12 years old and doing his homework. Manny is cleaning.

“I hate this. Why do have to do stupid factoring?”

Amanda stirred the soup one more time, tipped the spoon up inside the pot, and walked over to the table where Whit was working. “What are you working on?”

Whit was almost in a frenzy. His anger was getting the better of him, as it often did before dinner, and he did not yet have the maturity to just shut it down at will. His voice was accusatory, as if Manny was an official representative of the world’s grown-ups, and as such, responsible for the actions of all of them – including his teachers. “She wants us to put the stupid time factors back together upside down and it doesn’t work. It’s just stupid. I don’t see why we even have to do this.”

“Hey, honey, it’s ok. Just calm down. No big deal.”

“But it’s due tomorrow and if I don’t bring it in I don’t get to go on the field trip. I’ll never get this done.” Whit was about to cry. “I wish my mom was here. Why’d she have to go on that stupid vacation anyway?”

“Maybe I can help…”

“I don’t want your stupid help.” Whit turned in his chair so he and the book were facing away from Amanda. Amanda wanted to give up and just let him suffer from his own stubbornness, but she knew that would not help anyone, least of all Whit.

“Y’know when I was in school,” Amanda said as she walked back to the stove, “I hated time factoring. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I’ve ever used it since. I’m surprised they still teach it.”

Whit looked over at her. “You don’t teach it in 10th?”

“Well…I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t teach time studies, now do I? But I’m pretty sure that after you get the introductory stuff, you mostly use the calculators for the basic stuff.”

“So stupid.”

“Tell you what, though. I still remember a little, including a few tricks. Can I show you?”

“I guess so.” Whit was still being antagonistic, but was softening. Amanda walked back over, proud of this minor achievement, however small. She had been making progress with Whit, and he was beginning to let his guard down. He always had liked her, but this was the longest time they had ever spent together, and she was finding it challenging to transform from the quirky aunt to the responsible mother. She pulled a chair up beside him and settled in.

“Manda, when is my mom coming back?”

“I told you, honey. I’m not sure. Let’s give her a couple of weeks. She promised if she wasn’t back by winter break, we could both stay with her for the holidays.” She smiled at him and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Now let’s look at those factors.” She had been afraid that the factoring would challenge her vague memories of time studies, but was relieved when she finally studied the worksheet. The work was basic enough that even she could understand it, which was saying something, although it did bring back strong memories of why she dropped time studies when she did. “Oh, you basically have this done. You just…ok, this is pretty simple stuff. Do you remember how to…”

But they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door, followed by, “Truancy Enforcement. Open the door.”

Amanda looked at Whit, and mouthed, “Truancy Enforcement?” with a quizzical look on her face. He was scared, but she just smiled, and whispered to him, “Watch this.” This would be her moment. Her chance to remind him of all the things he liked about her, and get him comfortable again. After all, a little fear was good for you and it had a way of bringing people together, as long as they didn’t let it bring them down.

Behind the still closed door, she shouted, “State your business.”

“We are in search of Dr. Gerald Strohman. Open your door and allow us to search the premises.”

Now she really was confused. Jerry Strohman? Why would anyone be looking for Jerry, least of all at her own house? She was used to the Tru-bots coming after students, and she knew how to deal with them. They represented everything she despised about modern culture. Got a problem? Send a robot. Need something? Ask a machine. Never do for yourself what you can have a machine do for you. But what really got her, what drove her to distraction was that Academy dared to employ them. She had been after the school administration for years to stop using them, but they just weren’t willing to go against Central Security.

Well, she had never let a Tru-bot get the better of her yet, and she wasn’t about to start today, no matter who they were coming for. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong house, Mr. Robot. There is no one here by that name.”

“We are in search of Dr. Gerald Strohman. Open your door and allow us to search.”

Amanda whispered to Whit again, full smile on her face, “Persistent little buggers aren’t they?” Whit smiled awkwardly. It had been drilled into him, year after year, to fear the Tru-bots. It was the teacher’s version of the boogeyman, and useful for keeping the kids in line. Of course, by law the Tru-bots could not actually harm the students, but the students never fully believed that.

“I’m sorry Mr. Robot. I am unable to open the door at this time. The door has been coated with an anti-intruder spray that will release a dangerous magnetic wave if you attempt to open it by force. The wave will disrupt your power system making you unable to continue your search. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

This time, Whit laughed. A good sign, thought Amanda.

There was a pause while the robots behind the door communicated silently with each other. Then, “We will return tomorrow at this time. Please be prepared to open the door when we return.”

Amanda and Whit breathed a collective sigh of relief as they heard the robots’ footfalls fade into the distance.

“We’d better call your mother.”

At this point, we appear to have two options. Go directly to the phone call with Ball, or back to Jerry and his new robot friend as they thaw the frozen pilot guy, either of which would keep the story moving, and us engaged. However, perhaps out of a misplaced desire to further flesh out this two-dimensional world, or perhaps because we are just suckers for backstory and environment, we will choose a formerly unexpected third option. Off we go to another part of Earth, not to the home of any our main characters, or even their sidekicks, but to a location we have yet to visit, filled with characters we have yet to meet.

The scene itself does little more than provide some background, late though it may be, to help us to better understand the factions at work behind the world of the story. It may also provide some foreshadowing of the story yet to come, but as that must remain unknown for now, it is best that we take it at face value. Our story then takes us to the halls of congress, where robots are debating public policy, apparently as usual, regarding the fate of the human race.