Pink Slip Prophet (7 page)

Behind him, the whirs and squeaks of the robot meant that it was still working.
If it’s doing something, then that’s something.
He took a deep breath and gathered his strength. “I’m working on the robot. You told me I should do this, you know. I’m following my dream. And I’m not just doing it—”

“Shut up! It’s a lie. You hate me, I know it. You don’t love me, that’s why you left.”

Choose your words carefully, Ian.
“This is between your mother and I. This has nothing to do with you. If anything, this is my fault. It has nothing to do with you.”

Jack was silent.

“I love you, Jack. Please come on back.” Ian waited. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” came the reply.

“Don’t you want to see how the ro— Maria did?” Silence was his only response. “Please?”

“Alright!” Jack trudged out from the kitchen and stopped in front of his dad. “Why are you on the floor? You don’t look so good, Dad.”

“Fine, sure, just help me up.”

“You want something to eat? Larry went shopping and bought too much food. You can even take some with you.”

The thought of living off of Larry’s largesse both shamed and intrigued him. Ian wanted to pay his own way, make it on his own steam. But Larry owed him. Larry stole from him. He stole credit for saving the baby. He took his job from him, his pride, his wife and maybe even Jack. The realization sunk in. He could lose Jack. His intestines twisted tighter. He shook his head. “Maybe later.”

Back in Jack’s room, they surveyed Maria’s handiwork. Maria sat in the corner, shrunken to her at-rest size with arms and legs retracted, awaiting new orders.

“She sort of got it right… in her own way,” Jack said.

The pillow was at the top of the bed. It was squarely in the middle of the unpretentious, child-sized bed. The sheet and blanket were presumably done right as well, since the surface of the bed was flat. But the fitted sheet, it wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t on the bottom, where it was supposed to be. It was pulled tight over the top of the bed. The pillow and the rest lay snugly shrink-wrapped underneath it. Ian tapped the bed. “Tight as a drum! Not too shabby, Maria!”

Jack laughed. “Dad! It’s not right!”

“She’s still learning. I think she did alright. Could have been worse, you know,” Ian said.

Jack put his hands on his hips and frowned.

“Maria, clean the living room.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. With the new couch—”

Ian silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“She can clean my room.”

Maria beeped a melodic acknowledgment signal and walked to the living room. Her steps were slow and deliberate but almost human-like. She wobbled a little.

Jack moved to follow the robot. Ian stopped him. “Wait, let’s talk.”

Jack pushed against him. “We shouldn’t leave her alone in there.”

“Don’t you trust—” A loud crash and tinkling of little pieces of glass mixed with the gurgle of water interrupted Ian.

They ran for the living room. The coffee table was bare. The flowers lay strewn on the floor in between that leather couch and the table.

“It’s okay,” Ian said. “She’ll clean that up.”

The front door opened. Larry and Candy walked in, their arms filled with expensive shopping bags. Some were purple with white cursive writing, others displayed rotating images of well-built men and women doing expensive things. Candy was magnificent. Her blond hair was done up in large curls that hung all around her face. Her cheeks sparkled, her eyes were bright and her chest seemed a tad bigger. Larry looked younger and his paunch had grown.

Ian could only stare.

Larry pinched her butt and she squealed before either of them noticed Ian.

“Son, who is this?” Larry asked.

Ian’s mouth hung open.
Where did they get all the money for this?

“It’s Ian,” Candy whispered. She took the bags and set them down on the kitchen counter.

“Ian?” Larry asked. “What happened to you?”

Ian shrugged.

“Come look at yourself in the mirror, man.” Larry guided him to the bathroom, first door to the left in the hallway to the bedrooms. He flipped on a light.

The man that stared back at Ian was unfamiliar, even scary. His brown hair hung almost to his shoulders. It was pasty, oily and hung in rigidly straight lines. His face was brown with dark splotches. He ran his hand over his beard. It was scraggly and hung below his chin. His hand came away greasy. His face was thinner.

“You need to pull yourself together, Ian,” Larry said. “This has gone too far.”

Candy screamed. “No, no, no!” Glass tinkled. “Jack!”

Ian pushed past Larry to the living room. “Don’t blame him, that was my fault. How come you’ve never made hot chocolate for him?”

Candy stepped back, a look of disgust on her face.

The robot beeped and made for the kitchen.

“Jack, you are not to let him in again!” Candy yelled. She turned to Ian. “I thought you would be gone by now. I want you out and take that thing with you!”

“It’s the robot I’ve been working on. It’s not too bad.”

“Is that what broke my vase. Do you know how much that thing cost?” Candy asked.

The stove clicked on and the whoosh of burning gas reached them.

“What the hell is that thing doing?” Candy asked.

Ian smiled. “Your job.”

She frowned at him.

Maria beeped in a fast, triple pattern - beep, beep, beep - over and over again.

Ian ran to the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets. “Where do you keep the hot chocolate?”

Candy ran after him.

Small boxes of pre-packaged food items hit the counter and floor. Tiny candies spilled out. Candy grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled him toward the door. Ian crashed into Maria and some boiling water spilled out onto the matte black metal stovetop.

“Get your hands out of my cabinets!” Candy yelled.

“I just want the hot chocolate. It’s for Jack.”

“Dad,” Jack said from the living room, “I don’t want hot chocolate. Just forget it!”

“No, son,” he started. He struggled to free his hand from Candy’s grasp. He opened another cabinet and a glass jar of lollypops fell out and landed square on Maria’s head.

A light smoke wafted up from Maria’s neck. The water was at a rolling boil now.

“Your robot is smoking,” Candy said.

“Ah ha! Hot chocolate.” He set the box of hot chocolate packets down next to the stove and used his bony behind to nudge Candy out of the way. He got her back to the doorway and they watched.

Maria extended her legs, opened a cabinet and pulled out a white mug with a faded Mickey Mouse on it. She expertly ripped open the paper packet.

Jack appeared behind Ian. “Dad, I don’t want the hot chocolate! Just stop fighting, please.”

Ian held Candy against him, her back to his front. She stopped struggling. He remembered how much he enjoyed being with her, and how much she used to enjoy being with him. He rubbed himself against her.
I can fix all of this. With this robot. It’s going to be worth a lot of money.

Maria poured the boiling water expertly into the mug. The steam mixed with the increasing volume of smoke emanating from her neck and now her big, round abdomen as well. The smell of burning plastic reached their noses.

“You should really get it out of here,” Candy whispered.

It righted the pot, not spilling a drop of the remaining boiling water and set it back on the stove. It pulled a teaspoon out of a drawer next to the stove, mixed the water and chocolate powder in a perfect circular motion and beeped once.

Ian smiled and let go of Candy. “See, worked perfectly!” He grabbed the steaming cup of hot chocolate and set it on the breakfast bar.

Jack smiled and approached. He reached a hand out to grab the mug.

Ian felt heat at his back. Candy screamed. He turned. Fire burst from Maria’s chest and the plastic casing melted behind it. Ian froze.

The machine fully extended its arms and legs. It beeped in rapid succession, a shrill cry for aid. Its center section rotated, its arms outstretched. They hit Ian square in the gut and knocked him down.

One hand glanced off of the hot chocolate and sent it flying into the living room. The other smacked the kitchen sink faucet. Water erupted from it into an arced shower that fell precisely into the growing hole in Maria’s chest.

Larry ran out into the hallway. The water shower reduced, then dissipated. Maria was a dead wreck. She didn’t move. The lights in her eyes had flickered out. A small pool of water sloshed around in her electronic insides.

Ian surveyed the scene. Dead robot. Waterlogged kitchen. At least no one had gotten hurt. He turned around and there was Candy. Her fancy curly hairdo was gone. Her hair was soaked. It hung down the sides of her head in straight lines.

“You idiot!” She screamed, “You ruined our house!”

“Well, it’s my house, too,” Ian said.

Larry appeared in the doorway. He shook his head. “Does your robot clean up its own messes?”

Jack cried. Ian turned to look. Larry ran to him and grabbed the boy’s hand.

“Goddamnit!” Larry whispered. “His hand,” he said to Candy.

Ian ran over and grabbed the boy’s hand but Jack pushed him away. He caught a glimpse of crimson, melted skin on the right palm.

“It’s your damned hot chocolate!” Candy screamed. “You burned him with it!”

Ian rested his head on his desk in the icy sub-basement. He sighed. “This is a tough decision,” he said, “but I think it’s the right one.”

He raised his head, a relieved smile on his face, and looked into the camera at the top of his screen. “It’s ready!” Ian stood up and did an awkward, frenetic jig then sat back down and pumped his fists. “Yes!”

Contented sighs came through his earbuds and he looked at the video feed in the top right corner of his screen. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Ian said. “Not in a million years.”

“We’re a team, a great team, all of us,” said the foremost of the faces - black faces - with a strange, clipped accent.

“I’m uploading the last video, right now.” Ian clicked a few buttons and moved his open hand around in the air in front of him, palm facing out. The on-screen mouse moved in sync with his hand. He twirled his index finger, punched some fingers forward in a complex motion and nodded. It was done.

“We see it!” said the on-screen face. Joyous yells of pride and satisfaction echoed across the connection.

“You guys are my secret weapon,” Ian mumbled.
What a stroke of brilliance. Efficient, hungry and they work cheap, really cheap.
Ian watched as prototype Marias of various generations navigated the open, gargantuan work area of his Somalian programming team distributing glasses of champagne.

“Mr. Blake,” said Qasim, their team leader, “how did you do this?”

Ian laughed. “I smuggled it into that shipment of parts for the latest Maria. My gift to you, duty-free.” Ian noticed many of the glasses being ignored on the video feed. “Don’t you—”

“Mr. Blake, sir,” Qasim said after a pause to look around the room, “we thank you for your gesture but Somalia is a Muslim country. Alcohol is strictly forbidden.”

Oh no. I’ve heard about this.

“And the authorities monitor all video communications—”

The feed disconnected. “Oh my God,” Ian whispered.
Did I just get my programmers raided?
His mind raced to images of Muslim countries and beheadings. He sat in silence and beat himself up over what he had done.

Behind him, the latest Maria delivered a snack of fresh Granny Smith apple slices perfectly smeared with organic peanut butter to Jack, who lay in a hammock playing a game on his screen.

“Put the pillow under your head, Master Jack,” his Maria said. “You will be more comfortable that way.”

Ian turned around to watch the two interact. Pride in his achievement surged and did battle with his regret over the champagne.

Jack adjusted the pillow so it was under his neck and head. “Thanks Maria,” he mumbled. He picked an apple slice off the white tray, which now sat on his chest and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Good?” Ian asked.

Jack set his screen aside. “Are you done?” he asked through a full mouth. He swallowed. “Can I tell you something?”

Ian nodded.

“This Maria is really good, Dad. She learned how to make the apple slices just the way I taught her and she never forgets anything I tell her, unlike Mom.”

Ian contemplated his creation. She was taller and fuller now compared to that pathetic first model. He’d built failsafes into her. And her outsides were slimmer but cushioned. She almost looked like a real woman.

“She even sounds like Mom,” said Jack. “She’s like Mom 2.0.” Jack laughed and slammed another apple slice into his mouth.

“Master Jack, I have a new game recommendation for you,” Maria said.

“Alright!” Jack turned to his dad. “She’s really great at picking out games I like. You should teach her to pick movies, too.”

That’s certainly doable. As long as the Somalis survive
. He winced.

Jack set his screen down. He sat up and looked at his dad. “How’s your…?” He indicated Ian’s stomach.

Ian nodded. “Healing.”

“Was it worth it?” Jack gave him a probing, uncertain look, as if he at once felt sorry for his father but genuinely wanted to know if the sacrifice had justified itself.

Ian nodded. “Without that money, I was stuck: no more raw materials, no quantum chips and definitely not the programmers.” Ian mentally crossed his fingers that he would still have that team. Maybe the lost feed was just a glitch. It was Somalia after all.

Jack nodded.

“But I don’t want you doing anything crazy like that.”

“Why not?” Jack asked without taking his eyes off his screen.

“I could have died! What if my other one fails? What if you need one?”

“God gave us two kidneys, Dad. Maybe he meant for us to sell one, you know, when things are rough,” Jack said.

Ian laughed and shook his head.
The thoughts this guy comes up with.
He couldn’t decide whether to congratulate the kid for his creativity or rebuke him for such an insane idea.