The Robot Chronicles Read online

  “Hungry,” a voice whispers, choked and thin, and Alice turns to see a shape in a rocking chair.

  She looks at the shelves, and sees an open can of syrupy peaches. Alice sniffs them. They smell sweet, a little cloying, but unspoiled.

  “Peaches?” she asks.

  The rocking chair person nods, and the chair creaks.

  Alice finds a bent spoon on a lower shelf and picks it up, shaking a beetle off of the handle first. She carries the spoon and the peaches to the chair, and kneels down.

  “Here,” she says, scooping up a spongy slice of saturated peach. “Eat.”

  She feeds the shadowy person. The first few bites go down, but then something plops into the dirt. Alice looks down and sees a chewed hunk of orange peach lying there, spotted with grime and bits of blood and dirt. She looks up at the person in the chair, who shrugs, still in shadow, and croaks, “Sorry.”

  Alice looks down and sees a gaping, chewed-apart hole in the person’s gut, and as she stares in horror, the second hunk of peach slides out of a rotten pucker and tumbles into the dirt, too.

  “I loved you,” whispers the shadowy person. “I wish I’d been up there with you instead of not.”

  Alice recoils, and wakes up, and says, “Eve!”

  *

  —six of us. My name is Roger. My wife is here. We——bleeding.

  Alice says, “They’re all dying. You could hear it too, couldn’t you?”

  I have a sweater. He will not feel a thing.

  Eve says, “It is not an inappropriate conclusion.”

  “I wanted to save them when I heard them,” Alice says. “But I can’t do that, can I?”

  “You are not equipped to save anybody,” Eve says. “If you returned to Earth, you would not survive the fallout. You don’t have adequate supplies or protection.”

  “Right,” Alice says.

  My toes are breaking up. I think it’s gangrene. But it might be radiation. Hell of a thing, ain’t it?

  “I’m the last woman,” Alice says. “They’re all going to die.”

  “There may be survivors yet,” Eve says. “There are many shelters and safe zones, even in such terrible scenarios.”

  “But it won’t ever be the same. They’ll have to stay underground for fifty years, they won’t be able to farm or hunt. It’ll be a miracle if they survive, or ever come out.”

  Eve does not disagree.

  “Play it again,” Alice says.

  “Which message?”

  “The important one. Don’t read it. I want to hear it.”

  *

  It sounds like enormous metal gears, turning and cranking and lumbering. Now and then there is a grating sound, as though a piece of metal has fallen in between the teeth and is being gnawed and shredded.

  “It is not something that ears alone can parse,” Eve apologizes.

  “It’s—” Alice pauses. “Sort of beautiful.”

  Eve is quiet.

  “Will you read it to me again? The words?”

  Eve says, “Of course.”

  Greetings and peace.

  In the vastness of space, all life is family.

  Good fortune to you.

  May we meet in peace someday.

  Eve falls silent.

  “It’s like the most beautiful poem ever written,” Alice says.

  She and Eve are quiet for a time, and then Alice says, “I can’t imagine why you would let me do this,” and she tells Eve her plan.

  Eve listens, and says, “Do you wish me to calculate the probability of success?”

  “No,” Alice says.

  “Very well,” Eve says. “I will help you.”

  *

  Alice sits in the cockpit of the excursion ship. It

  “Twenty-four years was a prison sentence,” she says.

  Eve says, “It was not likely you would live even that long.”

  “You told me I had adequate stores for twenty-four years!”

  “Humans are fragile,” Eve says. “There are emotional factors that I cannot compute accurately. You likely would have succumbed to a human condition that I cannot project with any certainty.”

  “What condition are you talking about?”

  “Loneliness,” Eve says.

  “Eve,” Alice says, pulling the heavy restraining straps over her shoulders and jamming the buckle home. “Everybody on Earth is dead.”

  “Not yet,” Eve interrupts.

  “Dead,” Alice repeats. “Or close to it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Everyone is dead or almost dead, and I’m healthy and well-fed and going crazy on a metal dirigible a million miles above a dead world.”

  “Two hundred thirty-four miles,” Eve corrects.

  “Two hundred thirty-four miles,” Alice says. “And we’ve just received confirmation that we aren’t alone. I might be the last woman, but I’m not the last living thing.”

  “There are other life forms alive on Earth,” Eve says.

  “You’re a buzzkill,” Alice says. “This is my one giant leap for mankind moment. Are you recording it?”

  “I record everything,” Eve says. “Although on this transport vessel my storage capacity will exhaust itself in a shorter amount of time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Sixty years, approximately.”

  Alice considers this.

  Greetings and peace.

  “Are you certain you do not wish me to calculate the probability of your survival?” Eve asks again.

  “You’ve already done it, haven’t you?” Alice says.

  “I have.”

  “Fine. What are my odds?”

  Eve says, “One in—“

  “Wait, wait, no, no, don’t—I don’t want to know,” Alice says loudly. “I don’t want to know. Okay?”

  Eve says, “Very well.”

  In the vastness of space, all life is family.

  “The extra oxygen stores will help,” Alice says to herself. “Extra food. Medical supplies. Eve, did you bring books?”

  “I did not know you had an interest any longer,” Eve says.

  “Shit. Eve, did you? It’s going to be a long trip.”

  “I have four thousand volumes,” Eve says.

  Alice smiles. “Okay. I’m nervous, can you tell?”

  “Your heart rate is higher than usual, but still within reasonable limits.”

  Good fortune to you.

  “The odds are pretty long, aren’t they?” Alice asks.

  She detaches the excursion craft from the Argus, and it descends gently. She watches the docking collar recede.

  “It depends on how you define ‘pretty,’” Eve answers.

  Alice accelerates, and the craft darts into the spreading black. The Argus falls quickly into the small craft’s wake.

  “We should name her,” Alice says. “This little ship.”

  Eve says, “Might I suggest a name?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Perhaps you might christen it the Santa Maria,” Eve says. “There is some historical significance.”

  Alice thinks about this. “No,” she says, finally. “Let’s call it Tess.”

  May we meet in peace someday.

  The Tess carries Alice and Eve deep into the darkness.

  Eve says, “You have considerably less than twenty-four years now.”

  Alice says, “Maybe they’ll meet us halfway. Do you think?”

  A Word from Jason Gurley

  I’ve always wondered what the apocalypse might look like in a snow globe. That’s what The Caretaker is, in a way: the end of the world, seen from afar. Alice can watch in horror as it plays out, but she can’t affect it, can’t stop it, can’t undo it. She’s detached from her fellow humans, left to endlessly circle a ruined planet, alone, only her artificial companion for company.

  The Caretaker began a few years ago as a script for a short comic. I worked with an artist, the very talented Tony D’Amato, who brought Alice to life. It wa
s a spare-time project, one we never managed to cross the finish line with. This year, while I was on a short story kick, the idea came back, and I couldn’t resist taking it for a spin once more. It’s a lovely little curiosity, I think, a story that almost begs to keep telling itself.

  I can’t tell you if that will ever happen, or what might happen next to Alice and Eve. I kind of like it that way. The world may have ended, but Alice is on the cusp of a beginning.

  If you enjoyed the story, I hope you’ll check out my other work at jasongurley.com.

  Humanity

  by Samuel Peralta

  “A story tells what happens” – Steven Spielberg

  'I heard a woman screaming' recounts witness of Interstate 94 pileup

  Fatal crash involved up to 25 vehicles near Port Huron

  WBS News Posted: Feb 06, 10:27 PM EST Last Updated: Feb 07, 6:00 AM EST

  One person has been declared dead following a multi-vehicle crash close to Port Huron. The accident took place around 9:30 p.m. Friday in the westbound lanes of I-94 just past I-69.

  A collision between a passenger vehicle and a semi-truck in the westbound lanes touched off a chain reaction of other collisions, said Sgt. Don Wilson of the St. Clair County Sheriff's Office.

  Heavy snow and icy weather conditions contributed to the incident.

  Traffic was being directed onto westbound I-69, then off at Wadhams Road in order to reconnect with I-94, while officials continued their investigation into the pileup.

  On the dashboard, the time flashed 9:22.

  “Wish I’d topped up the fluids before we left.” Aaron Yudovich flicked at the windshield fluid switch, but nothing happened. Outside, the wipers scratched at the sleet crystallizing on the glass. They made a grating sound as they traced a useless arc across the windshield, back and forth.

  “Just let it drive, Aaron,” Judith said, across from him. “It’ll be fine.”

  The musical had run a bit late, and afterwards there were the obligatory chats with the Weymans and the Otanis, whom they’d run into at intermission.

  By the time their spinner had emerged from the theater’s underground parking lot—at least they hadn’t needed to bring winter coats—the snow was falling much faster than when they’d started out.

  “Still,” Aaron said, loosening his tie. “Wish I could see outside.”

  The wind shook out the snow in sullen gusts. With temperatures at thirty below, they’d have frozen outside in under ten minutes. Thank goodness for the automated control and all-wheel drive—this wasn’t weather anyone would choose to venture out in, otherwise.

  Judith peered in the mirror. “Sweetie, keep your gloves on,” she said. “And for heaven’s sake, stop fiddling with your belt.”

  “But Mom,” whined the girl in the back. “It’s twisted, it’s too tight.”

  Judith sighed. Her daughter had been extremely well behaved at the event. Done up in a ruffled pink party dress and white elbow gloves, her hair tied back in a short ponytail—and, oh! for the first time allowed a touch of makeup—she’d been an angel. Bright-eyed, she’d listened attentively, mouthing the words of the songs she already knew, squealing and clapping at just the right moments.

  Judith and her husband had seen Wicked before; this was Sarah’s first time. It had been an amazing night out, and they were looking forward to seeing Buratino in two weeks. But it was late, the snow was a little worrying, and Judith herself was so, so sleepy.

  “Sarah Rebecca, please put down that belt.”

  The little girl screwed up her face, but let go of the clasp, and dropped the gloves on the seat.

  Outside, the snow fell.

  ‘The semi slammed into the vehicle’

  An eyewitness, Alan Mathison, was driving his truck on his way home from work when he saw the first vehicles collide ahead of him.

  "Snow’s coming down fast, it’s pretty bad. First thing I notice was this semi in front of me drifting out of his lane, right into the path of this red spinner. Then the cab slipped, and the trailer swung to the side, slammed into the vehicle.”

  “A couple of spinners tried to avoid him, started flying out of control on my left and running into the median, into each other, and into the first vehicle,” said Mathison.

  “I’m braking, trying to slow down, move into the other lane. Then I get hit from the side."

  The next thing he knew, he was in the ditch. “When I stopped, I just flung open the door and started moving away. There were still vehicles spinning off the ridge, and I wanted to get away from it all.”

  But when he got out of his truck, something else caught his attention.

  “I heard a woman screaming, like nothing I’ve ever heard. I don’t want to hear anything like that ever again. I ran towards the red spinner, and just beyond it, there she was,” said Mathison.

  “She had this small body on her lap and she was screaming, trying to put on these little gloves, and screaming.”

  When Mathison opened the door, the cold hit him with a shudder of wind, a cold that slashed right through the down of his padded jacket to the bone.

  The ground and ice cut him as he slipped down from the truck, as he tried to make his way toward the wailing. Cold. It was cold with a capital ‘C’, and the thought came that he should be getting back in his truck—but the thought was stronger that someone out there needed help, and he had to get to them.

  He reached the spinner first, a tangled wreckage of red and grey and steel lying in the jagged underbrush. Through the shattered window on the front-left side, Mathison could see the body of a man flung forward in his seat, in a suit and no overcoat, buckled in.

  The body was still bleeding from the head, and he looked like he'd taken at least one very hard hit, maybe more. Crushed and pinned in his twisted Coke can of a vehicle. It was clear that even the robot controls on the spinner hadn’t been able to react fast enough to the multiple collisions.

  When Mathison checked the man, his heart sank, even though he’d already known what he’d find. The man was dead.

  From the opposite side door, a furrow in the snow traced where that passenger had unstrapped herself from her seat and made her way fifteen feet from the wreckage.

  A handbag and two high-heeled evening shoes, strewn about four feet apart, marked the snow with three splotches of matching turquoise.

  The woman was at the end of the path, holding what looked like the body of a young girl—ten, maybe eleven years old, a rag doll spun out into the cold.

  “Sarah!” she was crying. “Oh, Sarah!”

  Suddenly she saw Mathison’s figure in the drift, and she called out. “Help me, please, help me!”

  He hurried toward the two, knelt down beside them. He saw that the woman was already shivering badly, although all her attention was on the girl she cradled, limp in her arms.

  He started taking off his jacket, meaning to cover them both and lead them to the warmth of his truck—then stopped and caught his breath.

  There, on the palm of the little girl’s outstretched hand, pale and ungloved, was branded a single letter:

  ‘R’.

  Up to 25 vehicles involved in pileup

  Reports from Transport Service drones at the scene confirmed that the accident was consistent with a series of collisions involving up to 25 vehicles.

  The weather and road conditions had been very poor, making it a challenging drive around the state, even for robotically controlled spinners, keeping the authorities busy responding to a number of accidents.

  ‘R.’

  The letter—mandated by law and branded just so, on the palm—told Mathison everything he or anyone else was supposed to know about her.

  It communicated the message that—in the crucible of life and humanity, in the triage forced upon them by the night and the wind and the temperature now ranging at thirty degrees below—she didn’t matter.

  She wouldn’t count, alive or dead, in any case, it told him. Only the man in the car would be worth men
tioning in any reports. After all, what did they say, the three principles? That she wasn’t a human being; that she was property; that she was subservient?

  She was wreckage, much like the vehicle she’d been flung from.

  It didn’t matter that blood flowed through its veins, that it had a heart that could beat like a human heart, that it shivered as if the cold could freeze that heart. It didn’t matter that it could mimic laughter, weep at a broken doll, or sing, or—

  Suddenly, the little girl’s eyes opened, and she called out, “Mommy.”

  Startled, Mathison flung his coat on the woman, and pulled her away from the girl.

  “Sarah!” she screamed, and broke away briefly; but before she could reach the body again, Mathison scooped the woman off her feet and hauled her away. The snow was falling faster now, his undershirt was wet and stiff, and he knew he needed to reach the truck quickly.

  All the way the woman fought him, like a drowning swimmer blindly fighting a lifeguard, flailing and scratching at him.

  When he finally got to the truck, he flung the woman in, locked the doors, and turned on the ignition. He adjusted half of the vent to her, half to him. Slowly, warmth began to seep in, the feeling starting to return to the parts of him that had become numb.

  Beside him, the woman screamed and sobbed, banging at her door.

  Severe weather conditions hamper rescue

  Weather conditions also hampered the rescue team, which had to treat several cases of hypothermia, some severe.

  Sgt. Wilson urged people caught in accidents in cold weather to remain in their vehicles, keep the motor running to keep warm, and wait for security services or paramedics to arrive.