His Robot Girlfriend: Charity Page 6

  The older man pointed to the other.

  “Ryan Keller,” said the bald man, reaching over to shake hands. “Are you looking to buy? It’s a great time.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I might move here if I get a job at Daffodil. My robot seems to think I’ve got a shot.”

  “What do you do?” asked the older man.

  “I’m a threader.”

  “Well, unless you’re incompetent or an embezzler, they’ll hire you. They’re always looking for more threaders. A lot of them burn out, I understand.”

  “What do you do?” asked Dakota. “Are you a wealthy house flipper?”

  “Retired teacher.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “It’s very cool—especially the retired part.”

  “You’re buying houses though. I don’t remember hearing that teachers, even retired ones, were notably wealthy.”

  “Nosey,” said the older man with a sniff.

  “Don’t be like that, Mike,” Keller told him. “You should be telling everyone about this. It’s pretty awesome.” He turned to Dakota. “Mike here is pioneering a program for the State of California. You see: they have thousands of kids spread throughout the state in foster care. It’s a pretty shitty existence. I mean, I’m sure there are good foster parents out there, but some of these kids are in group homes and institutions. Mike creates homes for them. The state buys a house and Daffodil supplies robot parents for them. Instant family.”

  “That sounds… nightmarish, really.”

  “Says the guy sitting there with his own robot Lolita,” said the older man, who was apparently Mike. “Everybody’s a critic until you ask them if they’d be willing to take one of these kids, especially one with special needs. How about it, buster?”

  “I…”

  “That’s what I thought. Technology is a fact. You have to roll with it. Everyone cried when they shut down the libraries, but for the cost of maintaining those buildings full of dead trees, the city is able to run a website with ten times as many digital books as they ever had in paper and to give away 10,000 texTees a year to those who can’t afford them. It’s the same thing here. For the cost of juvenile detention centers and a network of social workers, we can give these kids a real home and parents who will take care of them.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” said Charity, speaking up for the first time.

  “What are you, a Nonne 3?”

  “I am an original Nonne.”

  “What are you doing with him then? Were you his babysitter growing up or something?”

  “He bought me as a sex slave,” she said.

  Dakota glared at her and then frowned at the two men.

  “I don’t judge,” said Keller, holding up his hands.

  “I do,” said Mike. “I judge. I can’t help it. It’s what I do.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go,” said Keller, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, grabbing the texTee, and standing up. He tapped his watch. “I’m sending you my contact information. If you get that job and decide to buy, or even rent, give me a call.” He waved to Mike and left.

  “Well, enjoy your burger,” said Mike, gathering together the trash from his meal. “It’s the best one in town.” He stuck out his hand. “Mike Smith. I didn’t get your name.”

  “I didn’t give it,” said Dakota testily, but he shook hands. “Dakota Hawk.”

  “Ouch. That’s a terrible name. Which one of your parents didn’t want you?”

  “Fuck you too.”

  “And what about the little lady?”

  “My name is Charity.”

  “Now that is a perfect name,” said Mike. “Good luck with the job hunt.” He turned and walked to the door, depositing his trash in the recycler on the way out.

  “And that’s why you don’t talk to strangers,” said Dakota, turning back to his meal.

  He was just finishing when his phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Hawk? This is Eliza Septuntray at Daffodil, Springdale. “How are you today.”

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  “The reason I was calling is I was wondering if you would be available for an interview tomorrow—say 8:00 AM. We could make it a little later if you wish.”

  “No, that’s all right. As a matter of fact, I’m in town—in Springdale.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You knew that already, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “I do see your GPS location on the screen. It’s wonderful that you’re so close. Will you be available at 8:00 tomorrow?”

  “Eight’s fine. Should I ask for you, then?”

  “Check in at the front desk. They will direct you.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “See? I knew they would offer you the job.”

  “They haven’t offered it. I’m just scheduled for an interview.”

  “I’m sure that they will offer it. It should come with an excellent compensation package.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You didn’t tell me that you spent all your money on your mother’s care.”

  “No, I didn’t. So, how do you know?”

  “A better question is why you hid it.”

  “I didn’t hide it. I just arranged for the memory care facility to be paid by my employer before taxes. It was deductible, so it saved me a few bucks.”

  “Yes, I see it now,” said Charity, tilting her head.

  “Again, how did you know?”

  “I listened to your conversation with your brother.”

  He shook his head and sighed.

  “It was perfectly acceptable,” she said.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “You had already agreed that I would be your care-giver—your babysitter, nanny, and chaste companion. In that capacity, it was my duty to monitor you.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  They found a motel two blocks from the Burger 21 and booked a room for two nights. It was notably nicer than the room in Oceanside, with two queen-sized beds, a small dinette, and a relatively spacious bathroom. They ate dinner from a vending machine just outside the room. The next morning, Dakota dressed in his new clothes, including the new blue sports jacket. Leaving Charity at the motel, he drove back to the Daffodil Center, following the signs to the underground parking garage.

  As he walked from the car to the well-marked elevator, Dakota smiled. The breath-taking, borderline bizarre architecture for which the company was known evidently didn’t extend to parking facilities. The structure, though well organized, was a fairly normal slab cement arrangement. The elevator door opened and he stepped inside. A dark-haired man in a white shirt stepped in after him. The sensation in his stomach told him he was rising, just as he recognized an instrumental version of Venus as a Boy, playing from the speaker in the ceiling. Apparently the other man recognized it at the same time.

  “God, I hate Björk,” the other man said.

  Dakota smiled, but didn’t respond.

  The doors opened revealing a gleaming lobby, just inside from the glass building entrance. Dozens of people and robots were passing through in either direction. Dakota stopped and smiled again when he recognized that there were also robots, about a dozen, following a circular orbit around the lobby. They made it seem even busier than it really was.

  Stepping through the throng, he stopped at the receptionist’s station. Her desk was as transparent as the building in which she worked. He could look right through it to see a pair of white garters peeking out from beneath her short skirt. Before he could say anything, the other man from the elevator stepped up next to him.

  “Paul Verbino. I’m here for my interview.”

  “Yes, Mr. Verbino,” said the blond, blue-eyed receptionist, standing up and causing her garter to slip back into its hiding place. She pressed something onto the man’s shirt. “Here is your badge.”

  One of the orbiting robots, a tall male figure with dark skin and black hair, appeared beside
them.

  “If you’ll come with me, sir,” he said in a rich baritone, leading Paul Verbino away through a maze of glass walls.

  The receptionist turned her attention back to Dakota.

  “Mr. Hawk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here is your badge.”

  Just as she had with Verbino, she pressed a square badge onto his jacket. And just as had happened with the other man, one of the circling Daffodils arrived to escort him away. They passed through the lobby and turned down a long glass hallway. It reminded Dakota a little bit of a carnival funhouse. They stopped in small glass-walled room with two chairs.

  “Won’t you sit down?” asked the Daffodil.

  Dakota looked at him for the first time. It was a him—a freckle-faced male with sandy hair and remarkably green eyes. He was wearing a white shirt with three buttons undone, jeans, and sandals. He sat in the other chair.

  “You’re my interviewer?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “No. It’s just that you were one of the ones circling the lobby. I thought I’d be interviewed by Eliza Septuntray.”

  The Daffodil winked and made a clicking noise with his tongue, while pointing at his temple. “We’re all connected, but I can call Eliza 713 if you like.”

  Dakota shook his head. “No. It’s fine.”

  “Are there any questions that I can answer for you?” asked the robot.

  “Um, no. I assumed you would be asking me questions.”

  “Oh, this is all really a formality. We know all that we need to know about you. We have seen your employment evaluations and have examined your work. Quite frankly, Internal Dynamics did not appreciate what they had with you. We also took into account the recommendation of unit 73194-QNN-705-YHL-J0509.”

  “Charity?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you’re offering me a job?”

  “We want you as a team leader. Your compensation will be substantial. I have sent full documentation of the benefits to your inbox. Peruse them at your leisure and then call us with your acceptance. Assuming you do accept, you start Thursday. Charity can tie into our files and configure your office to your specifications.”

  “Thanks. I don’t need to call you. I’ll take the job.”

  “We think you will find this much more than a job.”

  Dakota nodded again. “I do have a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know how she ended up at GoodWorks?”

  The interviewer tilted his head to one side. “Accessing. There is a backup experience memory file for that unit, but it is corrupt.”

  “Okay. I don’t suppose you could tell me who her previous owner was?”

  “I can’t. That information is carefully protected.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  The Daffodil stood up and guided him out the same way that they had come in, removing Dakota’s badge when they parted at the elevator. Stepping into the elevator car, he noted that it was just about the only thing in the area that wasn’t at least translucent. Just as the doors started to close, a body jumped between them. It was Paul Verbino. Dakota noticed he still had his badge fastened to his shirt. As the elevator descended, the speaker began playing the instrumental version of Violently Happy.

  “Stupid robots,” said Verbino.

  “Didn’t get the job?”

  “I don’t think this place is for me.”

  They got out of the elevator and separated. Dakota found his pickup easily enough and followed the marked exit out of the parking garage. He had just turned onto the street on which the motel was located when he noticed a brown van in his rearview mirror. He turned off onto a side street, but the van didn’t follow. After waiting at the curb for five minutes, he decided that it had been a false alarm. It must not have been the same van. So he pulled back onto the main drag and arrived minutes later at the motel.

  “You were right,” he said, walking into the room. “I’m working for Daffodil.”

  “I know. They have already transferred your relocation expenses into your account.”

  “My old account or my new secret account?”

  “Your original account. It doesn’t matter. If Rachel has someone looking for you, they will be able to find out that you are working for Daffodil.”

  “I suppose,” he agreed ruefully. “Anyway, shall we go out to lunch to celebrate?”

  “Have you noticed that I don’t actually eat?”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to go?”

  “No. You need to eat, of course. I merely point out that for me, it is not particularly celebratory.”

  “What do you want to do… you know, to celebrate?”

  She paused and frowned. “I think I want to go to the park and feed the ducks.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure why, but I think that will feel… good.”

  “You don’t mind if we eat first, do you? I’m starving.”

  “I would imagine you’re hungry. Let me get dressed.”

  Dakota realized for the first time that she was wearing one of his tee shirts. He noticed again how cute she was. Yes, cute was the word. It took her less than five minutes to be ready in her romper and heels. He drove them back to Burger 21.

  “The same restaurant?” she asked.

  “That burger yesterday was the best I’ve ever had. But if those two guys are there again, I may just have to leave.”

  “The younger man was a real estate agent,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, true. We need to find someplace to live. We can call him after lunch. I don’t need to see the other guy though. He’ll put me off my feed.”

  Neither man was in Burger 21. Dakota ordered Blue Moon over Miami Burger, which came with bleu cheese, grilled onions, and bacon. It was even better than the Southwest Express Burger. After eating, he had Charity contact Ryan Keller, who agreed to meet them later that afternoon at the local park.

  Blue municipal signs directed them to the their destination. They climbed out of the truck and walked several hundred yards to what passed for a lake in the desert southwest—a patch of water the size of a football field and probably four feet deep in the middle. There were ducks however, as well as a vending machine that dispensed duck food. Dakota spent $2.00 to buy a handful of pellets which he handed to Charity, and which she spread a few at a time on the water. Most of the ducks were on the far side, where an older woman was tossing out huge handfuls of bread, but ten or twelve that were nearby sailed like feathered speedboats toward the pellets.

  “Is it all you thought it would be?” he asked her.

  “I like it. I don’t know if the feeling could be categorized as celebratory, but I do like it.”

  The pellets were gobbled up in a few minutes. It took at least twice as long for the ducks to determine that no further food would be forthcoming. They began, one after another, to sail away, avoiding the spot near the center of the lake where the sun pierced the orange shade that covered the entire park. Dakota and Charity sat down on a wooden park bench about four feet from the water’s edge, beneath an artificial tree.

  “Do you suppose that your thing with the ducks is because of your former life?”

  “My former life? I’m not alive. I don’t have a life.”

  “You know what I mean—the time before you were um… donated.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Daffodil said they had a backup of your experience memory, but it was corrupted.”

  “Accessing,” she said.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Curious,” she said. “It’s almost entirely corrupted. I see a man’s face and a child.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who they are?”

  “No,” she replied. “But there are associated emotions.”

  “What emotions?”

  “For the man, anger and disgust. For the child… love.”


  “That fits. I suspected that you were probably designed as a nanny for a kid. Maybe the father wanted you to be his playmate too.”

  “That seems very creepy.”

  “I suppose it is, a bit. Too bad we can’t find out who originally purchased you.”

  “Accessing,” she said, tilting her head.

  “You can’t. That information is protected.”

  “Bypassing protocols,” she said.

  “Wait. You can do that?”

  “Curious. That information was recently deleted from Daffodil’s files.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “You don’t suppose that Daffodil erased the information after I asked about it, do you?”

  “I don’t think they would without a very compelling reason, and I don’t know what that could be.”

  Chapter Six

  “Hey guys!”

  They turned to see Ryan Keller, the realtor, walking toward them across the artificial turf. He stopped a couple of feet from them and smiled.

  “I’m here and ready to put you into the home of your dreams.”

  “I’ll settle for a place to hang my boots,” said Dakota, standing up and shaking hands. He looked back at Charity. “What kind of place do we want to look at?”

  “We want to lease a house—furnished.”

  “Really?” asked Dakota.

  She nodded.

  “I can do that,” said Keller. “We have a number of retirees who’ve either moved up north long-term or are taking extended vacations abroad. Most of them are larger homes with big yards and pools. Some are on the golf course. They tend to be pretty pricey.”

  “I’m sure they will be fine,” she said.

  “Really?” asked Dakota.

  She nodded again.

  “Shall we take my car?” asked Keller with a big smile.

  The first home they visited was on the golf course. Though there were only two bedrooms, both were huge. The kitchen and dining room were of moderate size, but there was a huge living room, as well as a den, a study, and a home gym. In the large but oddly shaped back yard, completely covered by a large orange sunscreen, was a kidney shaped pool. The house was full of fine furniture, many antiques, but had few personal items like pictures or knickknacks. The front opened onto a quiet roundabout. There was a two-car garage and the driveway was bordered on the left by a white block wall and on the right by a small lawn. A small planter near the front door was filled with small purple flowers.