dochermes

"Keep a Close Eye On Your Robot"

7/8/2016

I.

"It's a disgrace when you can't count on a ROBOT to be on time!" Gabby grumbled. Tapping one foot, backs of her hands against her hips, she pouted and exhaled sharply. At the entrance to Central Park at 59th Street, Gabby had been waiting for more than forty minutes. Only a few inches above five feet tall, slender in her baggy jeans and green polo shirt, her angry fuming was unconsciously cute rather than intimidating. The round gamin face under the curly brown hair, big brown eyes hidden by oversized sunglasses, just was not threatening.

At a wheeled cart nearby, Timothy Limbo was buying sodas and two hot pretzels with mustard. He managed not to smile because he knew that would annoy her further. They had been best friends since grade school. A bit under six feet tall, wearing his usual outfit of biker boots, worn-out jeans and a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, Tim was friendly looking enough that people even in Manhattan started casual conversations with him. His mop of butter-yellow hair was way too long at the moment, hanging in his eyes.

He handed her a pretzel and watched as she bit off a huge chunk, then had to break off a smaller part to chew. "Doesn't she have her own phone?" he asked.

"Of course. Not only that, she can receive and send calls herself without a phone. She's got built-in wi-fi." Chewing grimly, Gabby added, "But she's not answering."

Turning to look in all directions, Tim asked, "Is she wearing the Elspeth get-up? The black wig, the lipstick, all that?"

"Yeah, it's her day to be Elspeth. Sometimes she passes as me, sometimes she's my supposed 'cousin.' I'm getting worried, Tim. What if something happened to her?"

Tim scoffed. "She's got a titanium alloy chassis. She can tie my motorcycle's handlebars into a knot. What could happen to her?"

"I didn't want to say anything, but she's been getting whacky again. Not menacing. Megan said the targeting and aggression has been completely removed. She's safe as a teddy bear. But she's making those random snarky comments again."

Popping open a can of root beer, Tim considered before carefully saying, "We know her original programming. Getting that all expunged must have had some effect."

"Yeah. She's an Infiltrator. She was meant to impersonate me to assassinate you and your team. But come on, Tim, she's been my roommate for almost a year. She's harmless. She wasn't able to put out a mouse trap. I'm worried for her, not about her." Gabby began a more manageable chunk of the pretzel and peered up and down the street. "Hey, Tim, how about sending a few of your little ghosts to look for her?"

"Sure, why not?" Going over to sit down on the low stone wall that encircled the Park, Timothy held out both upturned palms. Almost invisible in the afternoon sunlight, two swirling tornados materialized above his hands. They swooped around him like excited hummingbirds and flashed off in different directions. "Let me follow what they see, we'll find your robot pal."

Working on a chunk of the soft pretzel, Gabby dropped down next to her best friend and got comfortable. "I was so glad when Megan brought her back to me. I was really resigned to not seeing her any more. And I'll be honest, my pal seemed to have exactly the same personality and everything, for a while but then she started acting all whacko and sarcastic again."

"Mmmm," Tim responded vaguely. His concentration was divided between what the two caspers were perceiving, an experience roughly comparable to looking back and forth from one video screen to another. "Nothing yet...."

She knew that far-away tone. Trying to get his attention when he was following his friendly ghosts would only be counter-productive. Gabby fretted, not so much about the Infiltrator getting in danger as in its true nature being exposed. She crumpled up the paper napkin and realized she hadn't even tasted the pretzel.

( the rest of the story )

"What Makes You Think I Am Here Now?"

4/26/2016

I.

Between the overwhelming joy of her first real date with Evan and all the sensory stimulation of the Battle of the Bands, Gabby had almost forgotten about her sarcastic robot.

A practically perfect late April afternoon, warm but not TOO warm, sunny and breezy, with all the trees around Geischen Park in full bloom, provided the best setting she could have asked for. In the corners of the Park, four bands have been set up and were blasting away. Her favorite was Thunderstorm In Your Eyes, the Scarab tribute band, but the lite-rap Uncooperative wasn't bad and she was warming up to even the genre she liked least, the death metal group Smegma. She hadn't given the once famous but now sadly declined Country Western singer Margarita Melanie a chance yet. With Evan close at hand, she wandered from one band to the next. Each group had collected a stable core audience. Most of the crowd was wandering about at random as different songs caught their ear or they spotted people they knew.

Everything was adding up to her bliss. Gabby had gone to the trouble of having her admittedly frizzy brown hair tamed and styled the day before. She had on her absolute favorite purple jeans, the white linen blouse with the puffy sleeves and the most comfortable sneakers she owned. At five one and maybe a bit too thin for best pulchritude, Gabby was very appealing without being a head-turning stunner. She kept glancing up to see cute guys smiling at her. It was great. So far she had only finished one of the red Solo cups of beer and nibbled on one stick of very salty dried beef but the day was early.

Evan was even shouldering her admittedly heavy overloaded handbag, the brown leather one with the gold chain. He was tall and thin in tight pants and a black T-shirt over a long-sleeved white pullover. Between the tight buzzcut of black hair, the warm brown eyes and lopsided smile, he was having no trouble winning her over. So far, they were still in a get acquainted phase but she felt that was about to change for the better. "Hey, notice something about that bathtub?"

That puzzled her. A row of Porta-Johnnies had been set up, with the expected lines in front of each. On top of a white shed which looked like it would contain lawnmowers and yard tools, someone had hoisted a full sized bathtub. A hand-lettered sign read TOSS YOUR CHANGE UP HERE. Many in the crowd were already blazed enough that they cheerfully were flinging any coins they had put into the tub.

"I don't understand, " she said after a moment. "What do you win?"

"That's what makes me laugh. It doesn't say you win anything. It just says to throw your money up there."

"Oh. Oh-hoh-hoh, I get it," Gabby chortled. "After the concert, they climb up there and collect a nice amount of cash they got for free. Oh, that's diabolical."

"Thank you, thank you," the singer for Thunderstorm In Your Eyes announced over the speakers with a squawk of feedback. "Great to see such a turnout. Remember, over at that booth, our manager is selling our T-shirts and CDs and other great stuff you can't live without a second later, so grab them up before they're all gone. And now, remember this one? A little dancin' anthem called 'Watching You Come Back'..."

As the band launched into the familiar number, a large percentage of the crowd did indeed start to dance. The smell of spilled beer and the pong of pot being smoked behind the trees seemed such an inevitable accompaniment to that music that Gabby grinned at the odor. The aroma of old school rock, she thought.

But, as before, remembering her Infiltrator robot brought her attitude crashing down again. Built by the remnants of the John Grim criminal empire, the Infiltrator been constructed to look and sound exactly like her. True, its original agenda of assassination had been reprogrammed so thoroughly that the robot was no danger physically... but somehow its innate aggressiveness had found a new outlet in sarcasm of the most insolent kind. Lately, the constant snide remarks had been turning into rather surreal random observations. Gabby had been forced to argue with her Infiltrator and order it sternly to remain behind in Manhattan and not attempt to get in Evan's car with them for the ride up here.

What kept popping up in Gabby's thoughts was that she had forgotten to take the keys to her own car with her....


( the rest of the story )

"My Best Friend, the Sarcastic Robot"

12/23/2015

I.

Gabby stomped into the rec room with as much emphasis all her ninety pounds could summon. "Timothy! You see how she's giving me a dirty look?"

"You've got a dirty look but I didn't give it to you," scoffed a completely identical Gabby following closely behind the first one.

Even though his heart sank at this confrontation, Timothy Limbo sat up straighter on the couch and turned the BBC World Service way down with his remote. It wasn't seeing two Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchettis, more identical down to skin pores than natural twins could ever be, that flustered him. He had grown used to that. It was the snarking and sniping between them.

Both Gabbys were one and three-quarters of an inch over five feet in height, both looked as if they weighed about one hundred pounds. Both had curly light brown hair bordering on outright frizz, both had round appealing faces with full lips and huge dark brown eyes blinking from behind round-rimmed glases. As always, they wore matching outfits. Today, they had black sneakers, black knee-high socks and a pleated dark brown skirt, and a rust-colored cardigan over a white blouse.

As part of the way they impersonated each other, every item of clothing had been purchased in pairs for the past few months, even the fine-linked silver bracelets on their left wrists or the plain stud earrings. As Timothy watched, one of the Gabbys unbuttoned her blouse cuffs to roll them back a turn. Less than a second later, the other one did the same.

He sat up on the couch in the KDF recreation room where he had been half dozing. "Please don't move. Stay right there. For the moment, I know that YOU, the one on my left, are the flesh and blood original. That's because you changed your appearance and the Infiltrator immediately did the same. So don't move around right now."

The real Gabby gave her likeable grin with its slight overbite. "See. I always said you were clever, Tim. You're not fooled by four hundred pounds of titanium and plastic."

At twenty-five, Timothy Limbo remained a slightly built young man a few inches under six feet in height. For once, he was not wearing his inevitable biker boots, worn jeans and white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. In deference to the holidays, he had put on dark slacks and a heavy, tasteful red and white sweater with a row of holly berries aross the front. Timothy brushed back that mop of yellow hair and came fully awake. "So, ah, Gabby, what's the situation?"

"Can't you tell? Listen to her! My Infiltrator started insulting me every chance she gets. This morning, I happened to say I was feeling down in the dumps..."

"And I agreed it would explain that aroma," chirped in the second Gabby.

"Yikes. I mean, that's unexpected." Timothy glanced back and forth between two figures who were impossible to distinguish by sight or sound. The Infiltrator was an advanced cyborg developed by the John Grim Institute, and those criminals used stolen Trom tech, so this construct was decades ahead of anything human scientists could match.

Leaning forward, he took hold of the nearer Gabby's sleeve, saying "You hold still," and turned to the other one. "I want you to bring those two chairs over and sit down in one, okay?"

"I don't have to obey, of course, but why not?" came the response. The Infiltrator picked up a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs by Sable's desk and carried them over. She seemed to be using precisely the same amount of effort the real Gabby would have, although the Infiltrator could have lifted and fetched the heavy oak desk as easily.

When both were settled down, the real Gabby pouting with her arms folded and the Infiltrator smiling sweetly with legs crossed at the ankles like a lady, Timothy hemmed and hawed before continuing, "Well... You know what, I'm going to pass the buck to Megan. She's the certified multiple discipline genius on our team. She's the one that reprogrammed the Infiltrator to be non-violent and helpful, she can figure out what the glitch might be."

Rolling those big caramel-hued eyes over at the flesh Gabby, the cyborg said, "You might wonder why SHE didn't think to call on Trom Girl. But then you can't light a warehouse with a Christmas tree bulb."

"Ugh. Let's start over." He stared right into the Infiltratror's mellow gaze. "Who are you?"

"Aw c'mon, Tim, we went to first grade together," said the robot. "It's me, Gabby. Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti, you'd forget where your belly button was before you forgot me."

"Then who is this person over here?"

"You know her. That's Gabby. You two have been friends since you could first walk, although God knows why. She still can't fill a bra."

Timothy's head was beginning to hurt. "Let me get this straight. You're both Gabby?"

"I don't understand the question," responded the construct.

The real Gabby leaned forward and gently rubbed Timothy high up on the back. "That's not going to get us anywhere, buddy. Megan has studied her. The unit absolutely believes it IS me, but it also absolutely believes that I'M me and its thinking process doesn't see a conflict."

Timothy exhaled strongly and clapped his hands together. "Ouch. This is beyond me. Time to call an expert in. Let me get my Link. Just a minute. Hi, Megan? Tim here. Have you got a minute? It's about Gabby's Infiltrator."

He explained the situation as concisely as he could, then answered a few questions before holding out the Link to the Infiltratror, who accepted it readily and said, "Hello?"

The clear, self-assured voice of Megan Salenger was heard, "Protocol 17, Immediate Access."

"I don't understand the question," replied the construct.

"Protocol 17, Immediate Access," the Trom Girl repeated. "Shut down motor functions and reboot."

"Do you want to talk to Gabby?" asked the robot. "She's not doing anything but taking up space. Timothy? Sure, he's right here."

Taking the Link back, Tim heard Megan's voice with a rare note of agitation beneath the disciplined surface. "I'm on my way, don't let either of them leave our headquarters building. This is an unfortunate development."

II.

As they waited for the Trom Girl, Timothy went over to a side cabinet and brought back a tray of soft chocolate chip cookies with colorful sprinkles. Both Gabbys accepted a few agreeably enough. He knew as a clinical fact that the Infiltrator could only eat a limited amount of food which would be drawn in by suction into a plastic sac for later disposal. But watching them chew and swallow, he could not see the slightest difference.

Not for the first time, he was deeply grateful that the John Grim projects had been smashed and there would be no more Infiltrators created. The idea of world leaders being quietly replaced by undetectable imposters was nightmare fuel.

"It started a few days ago," the real Gabby began. "We're on Christmas break. I said maybe I would like to go see the Bronx Zoo..."

"If they want you, they'll come get you," the robot broke in.

"There! See what is freaking me out? Why would she start saying things like that? All I mentioned was getting into the Bronx Zoo for a day...."

"The problem would be whether they would let you out," came the interruption.

Despite himself, Timothy snorted. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Gabs. That WAS funny."

"And I used to think I wanted a sister!" Gabby groaned, plucking at her cardigan sleeves.

Before the Infiltrator could wound Gabby to the core with another remark, a chime sounded in the hall. The front door could be heard closing with a bit too much emphasis and Megan Salenger rushed into the rec room.

Now in her mid-thirties, the Trom Girl had hardly aged visibly since she had joined the KDF as a teen. She was still slim and nimble at five feet four, still studying the world with dark inquisitive eyes under a tousled mop of black hair. She had not removed her bright blue parka on her way in. "Timothy. Gabby," she greeted her friends before focusing all her attention on the Infiltrator.

"I don't get it," Timothy put in. "How can you tell which one's which?"

"The chair legs are sinking deeper into the carpet," Megan replied, still staring at the cyborg. "Protocol 23. Authorization One. Respond."

"Orders received," The robot Gabby said, still in the distinctive chipper tones Timothy had known in Gabby's speech since childhood. "All systems nominal. Scan reveals no anomaly."

The Trom Girl did not take a seat herself, but stood with fists on hips and feet braced well apart. "Explain unplanned statements to Gabrielle."

"I don't understand the question."

Megan's normally impassive face had a definite frown. "Gabby, say something innocuous."

The real girl blinked. "Sorry, what? My mind wandered."

"Don't worry," said the robot. "It's too weak to go far."

"There! You see what I mean? What the HELL is a robot doing being sarcastic? Whoever heard of such a thing?" Gabby made an accusing gesture at her mechanical companion.

"Watch where you point that finger, it's got a nail in it," said the Infiltrator.

"Har! Sorry, sorry, I thought that was a good one," Timothy put in before catching himself. "You have to admit, she's quick."

Megan gave her teammate a withering glare but softened after a second. "This may not be a dangerous symptom, Tim. Gabby, try not to worry. I think I see the problem." Turning back to the Infiltrator, the Trom Girl said, "Name something that is impossible."

"A square circle."

Batting out the questions rapidly, Megan continued, "What weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of gravel?"

"They both weigh a pound."

"How much dirt is in a hole one meter wide, one meter long and one meter deep?"

"There is no dirt in a hole."

"If a rooster lays an egg on a ridge, which way will it roll?"

"Roosters do not lay eggs."

Seeing the stupefied expressions on her friends' faces, Megan explained, "Those were tests of her logic processing. I detected no hesitation before answering." Turning back to the robot, she asked, "Would you snap the fingers on both hands simultaneously?'

After the Infiltrator did so, Megan Salenger visibly relaxed. She swung around and dropped down next to Tim on the couch. "I admit I am relieved. Those diagnoastic tests showed nothing grossly malfunctioning. I should perform a full internal scan, of course, but that would take three to four hours."

The real Gabby had shifted her chair around so she could watch both her friends and her unliving counterpart. "Megan, can I ask you a question?"

"That already IS a question," offered the Infiltrator.

"You see! She's been doing this since yesterday. Isn't there an off switch for wise-ass remarks?"

Megan glanced back and forth between the two Gabbys. "I knew there was a remote chance something like this might develop. Gabby, this construct was designed for assassination.
I put in safeguards and blocks so that it will freeze up and shut down before physically harming a human being."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Timothy interrupted. "I think I see what happened. The metal Gabby here still has a basic drive to kill but it can't overtly act on it. So it's blowing off steam through sarcasm and insults? Is that possible?"

"It's how normal humans release aggressive impulses," Megan agreed.

( the rest of the story )

"Infiltrator"

10/11/2015

I.

"I recognize the luggage but where's Gabby?" asked Timothy as he neared the Greyhound.

A happy little chuckle answered him. At five feet two and maybe a hundred and five pounds, Gabrielle Elizabeth Marchetti was at the center of an assembly of one large suitcase, a full-sized camper knapsack and a leather handbag capable of holding her within it. The round piquant face was split by a dazzling grin and the oversized round-framed glasses only added to the disarming effect. Light brown hair was curly to the point of bordering on outright frizz.

"Here I am, Tim! Right on time for once," she chirped. Gabby wriggled out of her encumbrances and tackled her greeter with an enthusiastic embrace.

At twenty-four, Timothy Limbo was the same age as his childhood friend. He was wearing what amounted to his trademark uniform of biker boots, jeans and a black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt. The mop of butter-yellow hair was longer than usual at the moment, hanging down over a long likeable face that was not quite good-looking. "Good to see you again," he said. "Welcome to the big city."

"Squishy hug with both boobs," she answered. "Mmmm, squishy hugs are the best. I studied a map on my phone on the ride. We're at 42nd Street and Eighth Avenue, right? I did get off at the Port Authority right?" Gabby was taking in the feverish hustle of the crowds moving around them, the chatter and the rumble from the line of buses pulling up or easing out to continue their ongoing loops. "I don't CARE if I look like a tourist, Tim, I'm gonna stare at everything."

"As long as you're having fun," he said. "We might as well get moving."

"I mean, I wouldn't actually mind if you carried my suitcase...."

Timothy laughed and flipped the heavy knapsack up onto his shoulders, adjusting the straps. Like all Tel Shai knights, his Kumundu training meant he was much stronger than his rather lanky build would indicate. "Here, give me the suitcase, too. You'll have your hands full looking around."

"Whew, thanks. I packed as if I would be camping out in the rain forest rather than a city full of shops."

"This way. Past these shops. Don't even glance at them, Gab, it's all junk at three times the normal price."

They passed through the row of glass doors out onto the sidewalk and were just in time to join the mob crossing Eighth Avenue at the corner. "Less than a mile to our headquarters," Timothy said. "I figured you wouldn't mind walking."

"Oh, not at all. Tim, everything is so much cleaner than I expected. Almost futuristic." Her neck was craned back to the extent that he kept a hand on one elbow to steer her out of the paths of frantic pedestrians. "Those giant video screens on the buildings! They're freaking me out, but in a good way."

"You get used to them," Tim said. "They're just ads, after all."

"So.. futuristic. Like those sci-fi movies set in the future, except it's not all drizzly and gloomy. Wow. This is better than Disneyworld."

Gently guiding her through the crowds, Timothy found himself grinning. "Jeremy, our captain, says he misses the days when Times Square was sleazy and grimy and unsafe. Rows of second-run movie theaters and upstairs gambling joints and places a nice girl like you doesn't need to hear about. But then, he's at home where things are dangerous."

Slowing to a halt as they neared the next intersection, Gabby paused to study his face. "I didn't realize I was such a... hick. Tim, I feel like a hillbilly with her mouth hanging open seeing an elevator for the first time."

"You cheer me up, Gabby." Timothy reached across her narrow back with his free hand and squeezed her shoulder. "I've gotten too used to all this. I've lived here for years now. You make me realize how awesome the city really is."

By the time they reached 38th Street, Gabby had calmed down significantly. The buildings were still impressive but had become more mundane apartment complexes and commercial structures. The parade of various stores, from furniture outlets to health spas to alternating delis and bodegas, had a calming effect too as she window-shopped. At the corner of 38th and Lexington stood an unremarkable ten-story building of grey granite blocks. Five steps led up from the sidewalk to a massive oak door which bore a brass plate reading 28 and then in neat capitals, KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION.

"You'll have a guest room of your own on the third floor," Timothy said, putting a foot on the bottom step. "But if you go out of the building, you'll have to be buzzed back in by one of the team..."

As he spoke, that door swung open and a black-haired woman in her early forties stuck her head out. She was dressed as if for office work in dark slacks and white long-sleeved blouse with a single gold chain under the collar. "Hi, we've been expected you two. Wait a second, please."

( the rest of the story )