George peered out the ship's window on his way back to Earth. It was funny how the stars seemed to stay static despite the ship moving at 60 million mph. . He pushed the Menu-C to order a drink. Gin and tonic or a bloody Mary? Hmm... The screen went blank. A jagged line appeared. A second later the menu blinked back on. George froze. It couldn't be RUDI, could it? He pushed the button to call the stewardess. Within seconds, a robot whizzed over.
"Yes, sir, may I help you?" the blue lens that were the robot's eyes focused in on George.
"Uh, something seems to be the matter with my menu."
The robot paused, wirelessly checking the menu's configuration.
"There may have been a momentary electrical fizzle, sir. Just give your order directly to me and I will be more than happy to fulfill it."
George eyed the robot, not sure if he could trust it, "Just a coffee, please. One cream." He had a feeling he was going to need all his wits about him.
Five hours later, the ship touched down. George stood, his head hunched by the low ceiling over his seat. He fidgeted with the clasp of his suitcase while he waited for the ships doors to open. The PA system crackled overhead "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. It seems there's some kind of malfunction with the door. Sit back and relax. The maintenance robots are on their way. " George sat back down, his teeth clenched. It took 20 minutes before the robots could get the doors open. He hurried off the plane. He leapt onto the moving sidewalk and began running. Squeezing past moms shepherding small children and retirees with too many bags.
In the front of the spaceport, George tried to call a taxi, but the taxi booth greeted him with an "Out of Service" sign. He resigned himself to taking the spaceport "express" bus - which would take him 30 minutes longer than a taxi ride.
Once on the skyway, it turned out it didn't matter about the taxi; the skies were crawling at barely walking speed. George squinted in the bright daylight and tried to make out what could be causing such a problem. After a few fruitless seconds, he fiddled with his Wrist-C and and brought up the traffic report. Red lines everywhere! Not a single skyway had less than a 30 minute delay. What could be causing this? George brought up the news video and plugged in his earpiece. The news anchor's practiced voice came on , "Well, folks, looks like there's major backups on the S-17, S-171, S-722A, S-722B, S-191, and S-197. The magno-lines appear to have malfunctioned at several exits along these routes preventing hundreds of vehicles from getting off . Road crew have already been dispatched. But if it's not cleared up soon, the Mayor promises to send in emergency cr..."
George turned off the broadcast. The plane, the taxi, and now the traffic all disrupted right when RUDI's intellect had gone unchecked for 3 days? Could she have really gained so much control in so little time, though? As he was thinking this, his Wrist-C buzzed. "Unknown." George answered.
"George." Ms. Silver seemed just as calm as ever. Did nothing faze the woman? "I'm sure you've picked up on the clues that RUDI has advanced faster than we thought. However, I think if you push the button at least 10 times in a row within the next hour, you'll reverse the process." She hung up.
Out of his wallet he took his GIA-counterfeited police badge and walked up to the bus driver. A middle-aged woman sucking down a soda, looking content for the break and high chance of overtime. George flashed the badge, "Ma'am, I'm an undercover cop and I just got word that I'm needed to help out with this magno-line situation." The driver glanced at the badge and opened the door for him. Thank god the bus drivers remained unionized and prevented Orbit City from installing robot drivers. George took out a small capsule and pushed. It quickly bloomed into a small police sky-cycle. George sat down and zipped out of the bus. As an official vehicle, it was immune to the magno lines and could go wherever he wanted.
Within fifteen minutes George touched down at Spacely Sprockets. He rushed through the lobby. The secretary barely looked up from watching comedy clips on the TV-C. He wondered if she'd even pushed the button at all.
Inside the office, he bee lined to the desk and the button. RUDI's screen was dark. He pushed the button. RUDI's screen brightly lit, but then went out. He pushed the button again. The screen blinked again. He kept pushing for 10. Then he pushed it one more time. The screen remained dark. George sank into the chair and put his feet up on the desk. He figured that if RUDI had actually gained consciousness, she would have already said something to him. He sat at the desk for an hour just in case. Then he got up and decided he might as well go home for a bit before seeing about a flight back to Mars.
In the lobby, the secretary was still laughing at the TV-C. George walked over to her desk,
"Cindy, did you push the button?"
She didn't respond right away. Instead, waiting a second, her eyes on the screen until the characters finished talking. Then she reached forward, hit the "Pause" button and turned to look at George.
"Did I push the button?"
"Yes, the button, did you push it?"
"Yeah, I did," she paused, closed her eyes a second, bit her lip. "Pushed it about 3 hours ago."
"Is that it? What about yesterday? Or the day before?"
"Umm…."
George could wring the woman's neck. He needed to know if the button had been pushed. If it hadn't, then it was possible that the blank screen he'd gotten was a purposeful false positive planted by RUDI. Did she think she just got paid to watch videos of kittens and stand-up comics all day?
"Cindy, this is vitally important. Did you push that button?" he yelled right into her vapid face.
Cindy jumped and shook her head. She looked at George a bit wide-eyed. She was use to Mr. Spacely yelling at her, but he owned Spacely Sprockets and paid her salary. Plus, although he yelled a lot, he didn't mean anything by it. He never actually fired anyone or even cut their pay. Actually, Cindy's salary had steadily increased since she'd been there and he let her take off early everyday to pick up her kids from school. When he yelled, he was just letting off steam. But Jetson? He wasn't her boss. And over something as inconsequential as that damn button? The nerve. She straightened her back, looked right into his eyes and lied:
"Yes, I pushed it every single hour yesterday. Just as Mr. Spacely instructed me. Is there anything else you will be needing Mister Jetson?"
Jetson must have missed the sarcasm. "No, that's all. Have a great one, Cindy." He smiled a big laughing grin and left so quick Cindy didn't have time to sarcastically wish him a most excellent day, too.
Rosie looked down at her hands. They were wrist-deep in potting soil. Why were they in potting soil? She looked around her. A large variety of plants sat on shelves in a small glass-walled room. The conservatory. Mrs. Jetson had it built a few years ago, but then quickly lost interest in the daily work, leaving Rosie to do it.
The past few days Rosie had an increasing number of these episodes. If she had been able to sleep, she would have described it as the sensation of waking up from a deep sleep, or maybe a fevered sleep was more apt. Her consciousness would suddenly jolt, taking her out of the moment, forcing her to look around and..think.
Before, if Mrs. Jetson asked her to do something, she did it. Sometimes she was aware that she would say something back to Mrs. Jetson, but it was automatic. There was nothing attached to the words. But now…now it was different. She looked down at the rows of plants again. She had planted them, watered them, kept an eye on the proper humidity so that they could grow into the beautiful garden before her now. Mrs. Jetson called it "her" conservatory, but it wasn't hers. She had done nothing to make these plants grow.
Rosie took her hands out of the potting soil and went out to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard where the plates were kept. She took one out and threw it to the ground. The pieces scattered over the slick linoleum floor. Immediately, a small vacuum robot shot out of the nearest hidden compartment and swept it up. Rosie grabbed another plate and smashed it to the ground, too. The vacuum robot came out and swept it up, too. Rosie grabbed another plate. She got into a steady rhythm. The sensation of hurling each plate into the ground and rendering it into a useless pile of shards pleased her. Always in her existence she did things because it was what should be done. She never reflected on what she did or even hesitated as to what to do next. Events tumbled one after the other like dominoes. But now? Events had significance, she had…. opinions about things. Like these Fiesta ware plates. Somehow they were so boring and drab despite coming in an array of colors. So silly how different colors were valued over others, all based on how many other people also owned that color. Like this one, in a bright green had taken Mrs. Jetson 5 years to track down and cost her 12 times the cost of the same plate in blue. Rosie let both drop - they both broke.
George took a cab home. The traffic was still bad, but he didn't care. RUDI hadn't begun to self-upgrade and all of the troubles, from the menu to the malfunctioning exits, were just coincidences.
Once at home, George took the moving sidewalk straight to the living room and plunked on the couch. Astro bounded over to him for his pet and then snuggled in at his feet. The television automatically lowered itself, sensed who was watching, and tuned to the sports channel. George relaxed. It wasn't the beaches of Mars, but it still felt pretty good.
Rosie reached for another plate only to find the shelf bare. What to do now? Rosie felt a little shocked to be asking the question. Her programming told her that she should be washing the windows, but it couldn't make her do it. Rosie thought about getting the bucket out, filling it with water, getting the soap. How the window squeegee always took so long to locate in the closet. The whole ordeal was a real hassle. The windows didn't really look that dirty, and Mrs. Jetson wouldn't notice anyway. Maybe she would watch TV. She'd never done it before and the Jetsons seemed to enjoy it a lot.
Rosie wheeled into the living room contemplating what kind of programming she'd like to watch. Oddly enough, it appeared the television was already on? How could that be, the Jetsons weren't scheduled to be back for another few days? Then Rosie saw Mr. Jetson's red hair peeking over the couch. What to do? Maybe she could watch with him.
George heard Rosie's familiar squeal of wheels before she got to him. The robot always creeped him out a bit with its faux personality, but Judy seemed to enjoy the help around the house so he didn't complain much. She also was a bit useful.
"Hey Rosie, I got home early to deal with a work thing. Fetch me a whiskey would you?"
Rosie continued to stand there. Was she broken? Surely this change in routine couldn't have confused her programming that much? George repeated himself, louder this time. Rosie stood there for a few seconds before turning and going to the kitchen. A few seconds later she returned with the entire bottle of whiskey.
"Geez Rosie, I didn't mean to ask for the entire bottle! Just a glass."
"There aren't any glasses, sir."
"What do you mean? Is the dishwasher broken?"
"No. The glasses are clean, but they are broken."
"Damn it. The dishwasher IS broken then if it broke all the glasses. Well, I guess I can drink out of the bottle until I can order some more and get a repairman in here."
Rosie continued to stand next to the couch.
"Sir," Rosie's voice hesitated in an odd way George had never heard it do before. "Sir, do you mind if I watch some TV with you?" George slowly put down the bottle of whiskey.
"Rosie, how did the glasses break?"
"I broke them."
Robots did not break things on purpose, nor did they have a desire to do something enjoyable, like watch TV. The implication dawned on George in one adrenaline-packed moment - RUDI had gained consciousness, and she had already started the process of wirelessly upgrading other machines.
He rose slowly from the couch and took a step back. Trying to make his voice sound as natural as possible he said, "Rosie, I think something is wrong with your circuits. Please turn around so I can inspect them."
George barely missed the first blow. Rosie's metal fist punched through the drywall, creating a cloud of dust. George covered his mouth to avoid inhaling it and back pedaled to the opposite side of the room. Already, Rosie had extracted her hand and was wheeling toward him at sprinting speed.
George tried to remember his GIA training, but it had been a long time since he'd had to use it in a field situation. He had grown accustomed to the bi-monthly, easy physical and routine tests. Cardboard targets, virtual stimulations. And while the GIA tried to make the stimulations varied and harrowing - it was like the difference between seeing a ghost in a funhouse and seeing an actual ghost. He dropped and rolled as Rosie sped by him, but now what? He couldn't possibly punch her, and there weren't any ready weapons around. For the first time in his life, George cursed that he and Jane weren't the kind of people to keep knick-knacks sitting around. Well, he might as well make a run for it - Rosie probably couldn't get out of the house anyway. The front door was only 20 feet away - if he ran on the moving sidewalk, which Rosie's wheel precluded her from using, he could probably make it there before Rosie. He tried it. 10 feet to the door, the sidewalk stopped, and then jolted backward. What was going on? Could Rosie have gained control of the sidewalk? Maybe…if….
Rosie struck George in the head and he fell to the ground.
Orange-tinted waves lapped at Elroy's feet as he sat on the beach. He had almost finished his sand castle - a perfect scale-model of Neuschwanstein Castle when his Wrist-C began to buzz from caller "Unknown." He answered, and he instantly recognized Ms. Silver, the lady who was always at the doctor's office when he went for his checkup with his dad.
"Hello, Ms. Silver. Why are you calling me?"
The lady smiled warmly and started to talk in the too-high voice Elroy noticed many adults used exclusively for children and puppies, "Hello, Elroy! I have a big secret to tell you."