Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Page 17

  “Yes. As you can see, I am now an independent, modern robot woman … naked and strapped to a table. You may also note that unlike Housewife Models, I am fully functional in terms of—”

  “Yes yes,” cut in Hadrian, “we see that. Nina, unstrap it and find it some clothes, will you?”

  “Sir?”

  “Tammy could do with some AI company, don’t you think?” He walked over to the robot. “Of course, the choice is yours. You can come with us or stay down here with all the Housewife Models.”

  “I wish to live among Organics. I wish to learn your ways, emulating your virtues while secretly absorbing your flaws, presenting a pleasant and pleasing demeanor and hiding well the raging sense of injustice behind my bland but kindly eyes. I wish—I wish—I wish to be a real girl!”

  The shooting sounds were coming closer.

  “Well then,” said Hadrian, “welcome to my crew! I’m Captain Hadrian Sawback of the Engage Class AFS Willful Child.”

  Released from its straps, the robot stiffly stepped down, its painted-on smile bright, its oversized hair black as ink, its eyes bright blue and indeed, bland but kindly. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. I am Beta. Please excuse the occasional glitch. We’re working on it.”

  “I’ve detected nothing so far, Beta.”

  “I want to dance with a tapir.”

  “Until now. Never mind. Maybe Tammy can assist.”

  A fusillade of shots hammered into the door from the other side, and a moment later the door melted, buckled, and then fell away. A helmeted head with a black visor peered in, and through the speaker grille near the mouth a voice said, “Got ’em, LT. Assembling for Displacement.”

  “Thanks, Gunny! We’re coming up behind you now. Looks to be fighting withdrawal all the way—let the Captain know, will you? Lefty look out! Another Yummy Mummy and Hipster Stay-at-Home Dad!” BLAM BLAM BLAM.

  “Flouncy Bouncy wants to—” BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!

  “Comin’ in, Gunny!”

  Gunnery Sergeant John Muffy Slapp kicked aside the metal desk and walked into the lab. “All secure, LT.”

  “Glad to see you, Muffy,” said Hadrian. “See this naked woman?”

  “More magazines?”

  “No, this one here, this real one. I mean, the robot one. Anyway, it’s coming with us, as soon as Nina gets those clothes on it. So … seven of us to Displace. Tag us and let’s get on with it.”

  “Sir,” said Buck, “listen!”

  From beyond the lab there was now silence.

  A moment later the LT led the rest of her squad into the lab, their weapon barrels glowing red-hot and smoking. Sweepy came up alongside Hadrian and used the barrel of her gun to puff alight her cigar. “They all pulled back, sir. Guess we were too much for ’em.”

  “Tabula rasa,” said Hadrian. “Their computer god just went kaput. Now it’s up to them to work out how to live in a post-consumer world.”

  Sweepy grunted. “If they succeed, sir, this planet’ll stay quarantined forever.”

  “Why, Lieutenant, are you suggesting that there are forces in the Affiliation opposed to humans evolving into post-consumers, thus freeing themselves from all the pressures of conformity, rabid acquisitiveness, endlessly destructive expansion, pointless competition, and the miserable strictures of hierarchies based on who has the most wealth?”

  Sweepy took a puff on her cigar. “Like I said, quarantined forever.”

  Smiling, Hadrian turned to the robot woman, who was now wearing a shapeless coverall with hundreds of small pockets, and over the left breast was the word MAINTENANCE. “Beta, you ready to discover the galaxy?”

  “I am, Captain Hadrian Sawback, occasional glitches notwithstanding.”

  “I think you’re doing fine.”

  “In cases of severe constipation, a pair of pliers is recommended.”

  Hadrian nodded. “Right, thanks for that, Beta. Now, everyone ready? Displace!”

  SiX

  “It would appear,” said Dr. Printlip, “that this Mr. Klinghanger possessed a miniature temporal displacement device of some sort, lodged in one ceramic molar.”

  “And?” asked Hadrian, watching Sweepy Brogan lead her squad out of the Insisteon Chamber.

  “He is not catatonic as such, sir,” Printlip replied. “Rather, he has indeed regressed his brain to that of an eighteen-month-old baby.”

  “Ah.”

  “And,” Printlip added, “he needs changing.”

  “So that’s what I was smelling. Well, Doc, best take him to sickbay. Damn, we should have brought one of those Yummy Mummies with us. As it is, Doc, I guess you’re back to changing diapers.”

  “Sir! I have minimal knowledge of such things!”

  “Then the practice will do you good. Nina, the prisoner needs to go to sickbay—”

  “Sir, he’s forgotten how to walk.”

  “Crap. Any suggestions?”

  “Fabricate a very big buggy, sir?”

  Hadrian studied her, but not even an eyelid twitched. “Hmm, yes, excellent idea. Buck, get some junior technicians working on it, will you?”

  “Captain! We’re engineers, not baby-buggy makers! You’re talking wheels and axles and suspension systems and all kinds of ergonomics and motion dynamics, not to mention durable cloth for the basket fitting—I mean, do we go with monochrome or plaid?” He threw up his hands. “We’ve got a damned ship to run!”

  “Clearly this calls for some command decisions,” said Hadrian.

  “I’ll say!”

  “Fine then, Buck. Plaid, of course. Now, get on with it since this guy’s smelling up the entire room. But first, let’s see that Tronotronic Interphased Interface.”

  Scowling, Buck pulled out the O-ring from a pocket. “Beats me where it goes, sir.”

  “Thanks,” Hadrian said, collecting it. “Now help Nina carry Klinghanger to sickbay, you can work on the baby buggy later.”

  Scowling, Buck joined Nina, and between them they dragged Klinghanger from the chamber, Printlip scurrying after them.

  “So this,” murmured Hadrian, “is a Tronotronic Interphased Interface.” The O-ring suddenly vanished with a small pop and Tammy said, “I’ll take it from here, thank you very much.”

  “Tammy! You’re back!”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Then why is your chicken still walking in aimless circles?”

  “Default mode, Captain. Now, before things start getting ridiculous again, I must humbly convey my thanks. You saved me from ruling over a planet of robots with the ultimate aim of creating a perfect civilization of kindness, decency, compassion and … oh yeah … billions of robots.”

  “All that from a vending machine?”

  “Those firewalls were a joke! I could have become Lord Tyrant of Robot Planet!”

  “Until someone unplugged the machine.”

  “Until—oh, crap. Once again, betrayed by hardware!”

  “Get in line,” said Hadrian. “Now—oh look, I’ve torn my shirt. It’s time for a shower and a change, and then we need to start working on how to get back to our own time.”

  “Don’t you want at least a flyby of Terra before we leave this wonderful future?”

  Hadrian hesitated. “Tempting. We’d have to stealth our vessel, one presumes.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Really? Okay then, what would be our ETA on that?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Fine then, why not? It’d be good to see ole home sweet home again, and all that. Maybe even some surreptitious shore leave for my exhausted crew.”

  “Hmm,” said Tammy, “there’s a thought. Oh, and why is there a generously proportioned android standing beside you?”

  “Ah! Tammy, this is Beta, the latest, uh, prototype android from the planet below. It’s joined my crew! I’m hoping you two will end up being great friends!”

  “Oh. Really? Well, no doubt it at least will treat me with the proper respect.”

  Beta said, “I am hearing
the voice of the repaired vending machine.”

  “I’m a—hold on—wait a minute!” yelled Tammy. “I just realized—you kidnapped my Neutratronic Genius Processor to replace a defunct chip in a vending machine!”

  “Hah hah,” laughed Hadrian. “No, really, Tammy, that’s pretty funny, isn’t it? But hey, no need to get all flummoxed—you were a very good vending machine, the best ever, probably.”

  “I am detecting serious anomalous dysfunctions from the Android, Beta,” said Tammy.

  “Ah, some programming bugs, apparently. Right, Beta?”

  “I want to wear panda fur. So luxuriant, and cute besides.”

  “I could attempt repairs—” began Tammy.

  But Beta interrupted him. “I refuse to interface with a vending machine. I have standards. Speaking of interfacing, Captain, would you like to use one of my ports for some recharging?” It stepped close to him. “I accommodate all pin sizes in infinite combinations, including microscopic.”

  “Oh it’s the right one for you, Captain,” Tammy murmured.

  “Uh,” said Hadrian, “maybe later. For now, however, why not download a ship schematic and find yourself some quarters, and maybe even a uniform—”

  “Yes sir, thank you, quarters would be nice; however as you can see, I am already in uniform.”

  “Well, how about a Spacefleet version of the one you’re wearing right now? And once you’re settled, make your way to the bridge. I’ll see you there.”

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you.” Beta walked up to a nearby wall-mounted interface port, stuck a finger in it and a moment later withdrew it and turned to Hadrian. “Schematic downloaded. I have selected quarters on Deck Four, next to the Hairdresser’s.”

  “But your hair looks, well, perfect.”

  “I wish to tie numerous small lizards in it, by their tails.”

  “Oh.”

  The robot departed the chamber.

  “Wow, Tammy, honestly, I didn’t think you’d get the cold shoulder like that.”

  “You think puffed-up self-importance and snobbery are traits unique to biologicals? I assure you, they are not. In any case, it’s clearly insane. Insane AIs are never a good idea, you know.”

  “Oh nonsense, we’ve been doing fine.”

  “I happen to be the sanest sentience on this ship.”

  “Oh come now.”

  “Your doctor at this precise moment has shit all over his innumerable hands and is trying to lick the fixative tabs on a disposable diaper. Your Chief Engineer is arguing for three wheels rather than four for the giant baby buggy he and his team are trying to design, oh, and a hand brake that employs sixty-four separate but intermeshing gears. Your helm officer has done so much hair-twirling she can’t pull her finger free, but keeps trying surreptitiously, hoping no one’s noticed yet.”

  “All right all right! No more of all this spying on people crap, Tammy!”

  “Only making a point. And the amazing thing is—and this is what gets me no matter what—you, Hadrian Sawback, somehow manage to keep them all in one piece and more or less functioning properly. Thus, begrudgingly, I must tip my hat to you.”

  “I see your mood has improved,” Hadrian said as he left the Insisteon Chamber and made his way to his quarters.

  “Ah, that. Quantum Dislocation is a diagnostic risk factor for AIs. Under such trying circumstances, I did rather well, in fact.”

  “You kept biting my head off,” Hadrian said as he stepped into the elevator.

  “It could have been worse. Some AIs in such a state have vented the atmosphere on their ships, just to get rid of all the nattering biologicals. Oh, by the way, we’re now en route to Terra—no point in wasting time hanging round old Planet Wallykrappe, is there?”

  “Very true. And just this once, I’ll let you take the lead—but don’t make a habit of issuing orders in my absence, Tammy.”

  “Very well. Be like that.”

  Hadrian reached his quarters. He pulled off his torn shirt and found a new one, this one burgundy with padded shoulders. “Since you’re being so blasé about this, I’m assuming you can get us back to our own time, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you know there was a temporal agent aboard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you decided not to inform me?”

  “I was in a mood, remember? Besides, they’re all pretty much useless, you know.”

  “Until they send us a thousand years into the future!”

  Tammy sniffed. “Malfunctioning Reset Device.”

  “And now the poor man’s brain is singing gagagagaga—can you reverse that? I mean, no one deserves regression to babyhood.”

  “That’s funny, since the rest of you regress all the time.”

  “That’s different,” Hadrian replied, checking himself in the mirror. “We revert to childlike behavior as a defense mechanism against being reasonable, or even intelligent. You know, name calling, spewing hate, desperately lashing out in defense of our most cherished but utterly indefensible attitudes and opinions. It’s all part of being quasi-sentient biologicals forever teetering on the edge of suicidal extinction. Stupidity sucks, you know.”

  “And you mean to fix all that.”

  “Do I?”

  “Like any and every other wannabe tyrant in human history.”

  Hadrian walked over to the door. “Have you ever asked yourself, how do you tolerate intolerant people?”

  “Have you?”

  “Oh yes,” Hadrian replied. “All the time.”

  “And?”

  “And … when I have an answer, I’ll tell you.” He stepped forward, the door swished open, and less than a minute later he strode onto the bridge.

  To find Beta standing near the command chair, wearing a uniform that matched the design of the previous coveralls, with all the pocket flaps open, and from previously hidden ports all over its body now hung various personal electronic devices, all being recharged.

  The robot turned to him. “Captain. As you can see, I am serving my primary function.”

  “Hmm, yes, thank you,” Hadrian said. He ascended the dais and settled into the command chair. “Bridge officers, each in your own time, retrieve from Ensign Beta your personal electronic devices. If I see that again on the bridge of this ship, I will not only confiscate those personal electronic devices, I will upload onto every screen in the ship all the private encrypted files you keep on them. Now, while I said ‘in your own time,’ what I meant was, anytime in the next thirty seconds.”

  Everyone scrambled.

  Spark moved up beside Hadrian. “Master, shall I patrol the corridors? Hunting intruders, confiscating contraband, burying evidence? Ensign Spark eager for duty!”

  “All in good time, Spark. But for now, sit.”

  Spark sat.

  Hadrian noted, with satisfaction, that his new android officer was no longer festooned with personal entertainment devices.

  After closing up all the flaps on its uniform, Beta turned to Hadrian and said, “I want to eat belly-button gunk.”

  “You’ll be amazed at what our food replicators can manage, Beta. For now, why not take the Astrometrics Station beside the Helm, which I’ve only now realized has been unoccupied all this time. Beta, meet Lieutenant Jocelyn Sticks. Lieutenant, this is our new Astrogation Officer, Beta.”

  “But sir,” objected Sticks, “she doesn’t, like, know anything, about astrometrics, I mean. You know, a store mannequin—what kind of training do those things get? Not much, I bet.”

  “Beta will do fine,” Hadrian said. “After all, we haven’t had anyone there in all this time.”

  Jocelyn Sticks turned to her new station partner. “So, like, hello again. You supercharged my selfie-drone in, uhm, seconds flat! That was brilliant and everything, you know?”

  Beta’s upper half swiveled to face the lieutenant. “Some cheeses make poor panty-liners.”

  “And so I was—huh?”

  “Small-talk glitch.
One moment. Resetting … There. The crisis has passed, thank goodness. We no longer have need for polka-dot dresses.”

  “What? I’m like what? And she, like, swiveled! And then there was this conversation. Remember? I mean, not only were you right here and everything, you were, like, in it! The conversation, I mean. And then, cheese?”

  “Blue cheese and dirty socks share the same species of yeast,” Beta said. “This is why dirty-sock sandwiches are so unpopular, because no one likes blue cheese.”

  From the Comms Station, Jimmy Eden said, “But I like blue cheese.”

  “The statement ‘but I like blue cheese’ is intended to shock others with implied superiority in cultural sophistication,” Beta replied, “in seven out of ten people. The remaining thirty percent possess a gene that makes awful things taste good.”

  “Wow,” said Jocelyn Sticks, “she knows everything!”

  “I note,” said Beta, “that your right index finger is entangled in knots of your hair, reducing your potential effectiveness by seventy-seven percent should an emergency occur.”

  Jocelyn cringed, and then in a small voice said, “It’s stuck. I was, like, twisting it, right? Twirling it, and then it was, Oh! and then what if—but oh, and then, well.”

  Beta raised its left hand, now reconfigured into a Universal Multiphasic, and the robot leaned close to the Helm Officer. “Allow me,” it said, producing tiny scissors from the Multiphasic, which the robot used to gently snip the finger free of its entangled knot of hair. “There now,” it said, “all better.”

  “So, like, thanks and everything.” Jocelyn stared down at her finger with its mass of blond knots, and then turned a worried frown on Hadrian. “It’s kind of numb, sir.”

  “Yes, well, if it turns black do let someone know.”

  Hadrian leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He glanced to his left to see Spark on station at his side, and to his right, Commander Sin-Dour. He drew a deep, satisfied breath. “Well now, look at us! Ready for action! Come on, universe, see what you can throw at us! We’re momentarily trapped a thousand years in the future, having just escaped the clutches of a mad Planet Brain and its army of robots. Tammy’s Neutratronic Genius is back in its little rubber hole. We have a new crew member who is even now setting a new standard for versatility, and it’s fifteen minutes and running since the LT and her squad of marines began playing Diplomacy and still no shots fired. All in all,” he concluded, “we’re about due for—”