Chapter Two: Recovery
Doan and the two children – Melissa, who he had learned was nine, and Jeremy, who was thirteen – hobbled slowly down the dirty streets of the Bronx. The sight of a repiloid – even a crippled one – was enough to deter any muggers that were lurking in the shadows.
Despite decades of cleaning up the Bronx, it remained a sore spot for every mayor of the Big Apple, despite the fact that the crime rate had been declining, if slowly, and the unemployment and homeless rates were also declining, just as slowly. The Bronx had, in recent times, become a sort of home for those who were seeking temporary housing and work, and had seen the likes of all kinds of people.
It had, in fact become the true "melting pot" of the city, housing people of every ethnicity – even some repiloids had found homes in the region.
Doan was not a member of that class, however; although he didn't remember it, he had been sent there to help with work in the newly revived Works Progress Administration. All he remembered was being beat-up trying to stop another repiloid from killing a human.
As Doan continued to try and piece together his memory, Melissa was busy talking his synthetic ear off as Jeremy walked ahead a bit to go and buy a hot chocolate. Doan was only half paying attention; he was keeping an eye on her brother, who had wandered into the street. He didn't see – Oh, no!
Doan shot forward, and Melissa stopped talking suddenly-
The cab driver hit his breaks, the black rubber slipping on the cold pavement-
Jeremy turned in time to see the cab and the terrified driver-
Doan reached the boy and grabbed him, knocking the wind out of him-
Melissa screamed a warning to the two in the street, too late-
The cab swerved, and Doan continued without loosing step-
It was all over in an instant. The cab came to a stop not three meters past from where Jeremy had been walking, who was busy recovering from the shock of having the wind knocked out of him. Melissa was being talked to by a police-employed repiloid in green armor, as his human counterparts were pulling the cab driver out of his car.
"What – what happened?" wheezed the boy. He looked up at the dirty figure of Doan, who sat near him clutching his own leg.
"You were nearly killed by the cab," he said in a ragged voice, "but I managed to get you to safety." Jeremy looked at Doan, and then the cab, and back to the repiloid. He started to talk, but was cut off by the repiloid in green armor.
"Holy hell, kid! Are you okay? And you -" he looked at Doan "- you just saved that kids life!" Doan looked at the other repiloid. His armor was green, and resembled police SWAT armor. Indeed, he had a bronze badge magnetically attached to his chest-plate. His face was worn, and, much to both the surprise of Doan and Jeremy, had whiskers at the end of his chin.
"Hey, can you hear me? You're a friggin' hero!" The thick New York accent was lost on the chrome repiloid; his little maneuver had cost him some energy, and he was feeling weak. "Hey… aw, no –" The last thing Doan saw before he blacked out was the other repiloid yelling into his com-unit as Melissa was tugging at his arm.
"Unngh…"
Doan groaned as his optics whirred to life, and two figures came into a sort of blurry focus. One he recognized – the repiloid cop from before – but the other figure, a human, he did not –
"Where…" he began, as he tried to rise. The human pushed him back down, gently, speaking quietly.
"Easy, now. You've taken quite a beating, Doan." Doan's optics focused in on the man's face. It was relatively young; loose dark-brown hair hung limp from a thin face, which held a mixed expression of pride and concern. The repiloid from before came back into view, and turned to the man.
"What kind of damage did he take?" The man turned and regarded the green repiloid with a grave look. "Well," he began, "if you had gotten him to me ten minutes later, he wouldn't be here now." The cop rocked back on his heels a bit and set his jaw, not wishing to think about the severe mortality of the situation. He turned to say something to the man, but was interrupted by a sharp knock. All three turned to the door, as it opened just enough for Melissa to stick her head in.
"Uh, dad?" she started quietly, "is Mr. Doan going to be okay?" The man walked over to the door and opened it, guiding his daughter to the table on which Doan lay, still unmoving save for his head. "See for your self!" he said, triumphantly.
Melissa looked at Doan, and smiled warmly when she saw that he was well. She turned to her father, and smiled at him as well.
"You fixed him dad!" Her father grinned happily, and, in his best western drawl, replied "Aw, shucks maim, t'wert nuthin'." Melissa smiled and hugged her father. The green repiloid rolled his eyes, and coughed loudly.
"As much as I hate to interrupt this –" he paused for a moment, then "Incredibly sappy situation, I have to get back to my duties. I am so far behind on my paperwork, it's not even funny." Melissa's father turned to him with a grin. "Okay, okay. Melissa, go and tell mom that Wycost is going to leave, okay?" Melissa nodded, and walked off. Doan watched her go, and began to think. Wycost… so his name is Wycost… what a strange name…
"Well Doc, thanks for fixing Mister Hero here. Too bad we don't have more humans like him around." The man laughed. "I know just what you mean. Come on, I'll show you out. Ah! I'd nearly forgotten. Doan?" The chrome repiloid turned slightly and faced the man.
"If you feel up to it later, I can introduce you to everyone. For now, there's a cot in the corner," he pointed to a small, dusty blue cot "and you should probably rest. I don't have all the facilities to fix you all up by myself, so your body's going to have to help me along." Doan nodded, and as "Doc" helped Wycost to the door, Doan slowly made his way to the cot, and fell into stasis instantly.
The next morning, he awoke to the sound of pots and pans being moved, and plates being scrubbed. He slowly swiveled to a sitting position on the cot, and held his head in his hand. The pain was gone – he was infinitely thankful for that – and the dings and scratches in his armor had been repaired, with hardly any hint of previous wear and tear.
Doan rose and went to a nearby window, gazing down at the streets below. The movement of the weekday had come, and busy people of all kinds were shuffling to and fro, some hailing taxis, most walking just as generations of New Yorkers had done for decades upon decades. He was lost in thought as the man from the day before walked in.
"Ah! Feeling better?" Doan turned and nodded at the thin man. "Yes, thank you." The man shook his head and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Heck, it was no trouble, especially after you saved my son." He laughed again. "Heh – I think he has much more respect for repiloids now that one saved his life." Doan managed a small grin. The man slapped his head and groaned. "AH! I forgot to introduce myself – my name is William Scott. Or, if you want to be formal, Doctor William Scott, PHD." Doan's eyebrows went up, suprised that such a well learnt man was in the Bronx.
"What did you get your doctorate in?" he asked with curiosity. The man grinned. "Robotic Theory and Practical Applications," he explained. "My professor was Dr. A. Strider – the first in two decades to get the same doctorate that I have; I'm the second." Doan nodded; he hadn't realized that there were college and university degrees in robotics. He also didn't know that the university that Scott had attended was the North American University for Robotics, founded decades ago by the famed "Father of Modern Robotics," Dr. Thomas Xavier Light.
"It's funny," continued Scott, "He was constantly referring to himself as the something-or-other of science… started with a B…" He trailed off, lost in reminiscent thought for a moment. "Ah well. In any case, are you hungry?" Doan considered this for a moment.
"My reactor is operating fine." Scott gave him an incredulous look. "You could have just said 'No.'" He grinned again. "That's okay; come on, I'll introduce you to my wife and give you the grand tour." He started out the door, and Doan followed, interested to learn about the people who had saved him.
The apartment was small – Melissa and Jeremy shared a room – but it was warm, and well kept. Doan found it odd that humans had so many items to keep with them that were not necessary. He mentioned such to Scott, who replied, "Ah, but they are necessary, my friend." Doan looked puzzled.
"Why is that?" Scott thought for a moment, unsure of how to explain the concept to the still-young repiloid. "Well," he began, "they just are. They help us to be… comfortable with our surroundings, I guess." Doan frowned, still confused. Scott just chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll understand someday. Come on, I'll introduce you to Amy."
Doan followed Scott to the kitchen, where his wife was busy starting the dish washer. She looked up and smiled warmly at the two of them, standing together in the small doorway. She was short, Doan noticed, but not overly so. Her light frame was topped by a kind face and simple, straight brown hair, which was kept back by a small hair tie.
"Hello! It's good to see you're feeling better, ah…" She trailed off, unsure of his name. Doan filled it the empty space of hanging air with his name. "Ah! That's it – Doan. Well, I hope Will here didn't give you a hard time?" Doan shook his head. "Well, that's good." She turned completely around and looked Doan directly in the eye. "I'd… I'd also like to thank you for saving Jeremy's life. I don't know what we'd do without him." The silver repiloid just nodded, "It was no trouble, maim."
"Uhmm… there is something else we need to discuss," Scott cut in, glancing at Doan. "Well, there is the matter of… well… that is to say… payment." Doan just nodded, indifferent to the man's awkward request. He opened a small "pocket" in his right fore-arm, and pulled out some cash. "This is all I have," he said. "It's not much, but I hope It's enough." Scott took the money, checked it over, and nodded. "Sure, this is fine. It's just that, well, it's a bit odd, having someone pay you for saving their life." Doan's eyes lowered a bit, still feeling… incomplete.
"Well, I'm very grateful," he started, "and I'd like to pay you back for really helping me." Will and Amy considered for a moment, then, Amy picked up with an idea. "Will," she asked, "do remember that old book my father gave to us awhile back?" Will considered for a moment, and nodded. "Do you remember the first story in the book?" Will thought again, and his eyes lit up. "You mean – you can't be serious…"
Amy gave her husband her best look of determination, to which the man relented. "Okay, I suppose. Doan?" Doan looked up from his feet. "How would you like to stay with us?" Doan hesitated. "Well…" Amy cut in to reassure the repiloid. "We'll pay you, but only after you've worked off the debt you feel you owe us." Doan thought again, and nodded. "Okay. It's hard to find work out there anyway, so… sure. I suppose that's fine." Will clapped his hands and grinned.
"Okay then, it's settled! You can stay with us, and help-out with… uh… well, whatever needs doing. And when you feel you're repaid us, you can stay and be paid, if you'd like." Doan nodded, and they walked off to the living room to watch some TV.
The book that Amy Scott and Will Scott had been thinking of was Isaac Asimov's famous book. I, Robot, and the short story held within, "Robbie the Robot."