Automatic Chapter 2: Self Pondering, an i, robot fanfic

Ngoc Chau does not own I, Robot

Cool, this is my first Misc fanfic. I really wish they had made a section for I, Robot. I guess I got addicted to this after watching the video and seeing Sonny. He's just so lovable and I wish I had my own NS-5. If you get what I mean (nudge, nudge. wink, wink)

But I can still write a fanfic about what someone else would do with their own NS-5. Or should I mention, NS-6? Yeah, new version, new story. This is completely OC with new characters and new plotlines. Spooner, Calvin and Sonny might make an appearance though.

However this story is about a little girl named Scarlett and a humanoid robot named Caleb.

The year is 2049.

The NS-5 robots are completely obsolete, stored away in storage, some are asleep, some still wait for the light to come through the darkness.

The new director of USRMM is now Peter Bogert, the second in command after Susan Calvin to USRMM.

Susan Calvin is still the top robopsychologist, some still consider her more robotic than human nowadays.

Del Spooner, dating an Italien photographer and now a renowned homicide detective in Chicago.

Sonny lives as part of society in secret, often disguising himself as a human and staying out of crowded areas. Though he is often seen with Dr Calvin, he's currently living with Del Spooner.

That is enough about them.
On to the real story.

This chapter's song is;

"Paint It Black"
by
The Rolling Stones

http: // www . youtube .com/watch?v=MYRajKfZYb0

Chapter piece;

Every step was farther away, behind it was closer. The feeling was close to describing that the future was lost to her, unknown to what path she would move on, the past would always be with her, haunting her.
Could she ever move forward?
Could she ever escape the olden days?
She laughed to herself as she came up.
What was the point of wondering?
What was the reason for it? In this life, there were never reasons, only fate. You do this, that happens after. Simple as that. You're born, you live, you die, and you're forgotten.

Scarlett headed into a room and opened the door. Inside was a room with shelves on all sides with books to the ceilings. She pulled on from one of the bookshelves randomly and sat on the lounge sofa, flipping through the book until a certain word or phrase appeared and caught her interest.
Books, studying, sleeping, what more was there to do? What else could she do when she was alone in the world? No one liked her, no one could understand her. She was too intense, she was too serious, she was too different.

What was the point of life?
What was the point of her own existance?
Why was she even alive if she did nothing?
Why?
How?
What was the reason for it all?

So many questions to ask, nobody she could possibly have to answer.

Her one birthday wish for the year; 'I wish to have someone to understand.'

Year 2043

Chicago

Spin...

The mechanical fan spun round and round, round and round till Scarlett James grew dizzy from staring at it too long. She laid in bed, her fiery red hair twisting around on her white plush pillow. Her bright emerald eyes blinking once... twice... then closing, darkness surrounded her then. Bullets of sweat rolled off her brow, disappearing into the morning air off her albino skin. Her bent arms were right next to her head, she turned to her right arm. It tapped and rolled palm up against some invisable board. She sighed once more. Her legs twisted more and more into the white comforter and she closed her eyes, trying to think. Another gulp of spit struggled to make it's way down her hoarse throat.

That morning at 8, she roused up with a fierce scream. As usual, a robot unit came to her door, without entering, knocking, "Miss! Miss, are you well?"

She answered quickly and breathlessly, "Yes."

The door had opened up to reveal a narrow face with a long nose, wide eyes, and a straight mouth, it was a new TN-12. The almost, but not completely human-like android had a plastic face that resembled a human's but he could easily be distinguished as robot more than the intentionned humanoid robots. His limbs that were covered with wires and tubes made it look like he had some muscle definition, but in the eyes of the anti-robot supporters, it made him look like a zombie. His pale plastic face changed several expressions, as though he wasn't exactly sure of what could be protrayed for a distraught contortion.
He asked in the same worried voice from before. "Are you sure? I heard you scream again this morning."

She waved the android away, "I'm honestly just fine, Tony. Just... what time is it right now?"

"8:14 am of Saturday the 14th of October."

"Thank you, now please go and come back in about an hour or so."

The TN unit nodded it's expressionless head and closed the door as it stepped out. She slumped back into bed, her head making a soft 'poof' sound as it hit.

She had just woken up from another of a series of strange dreams.
It was always the same.
She would be standing on top of a railing, watching down on everyone. The roads would be busy with cars, robots, and people. But the crowd would be isolated away from a perdu circle. She would see 2 people on their stomachs in the center, lying with arms outspread like eagles on the pavement, crimson liquid encircling their forms. The scene resembled something that she saw from a documentary of tribal rituals somewhere in the jungles of south America.
Then as she felt something push her off the railing into the center of the crime scene, sometimes it would just be falling from being imbalanced or dizziness, something else would grab her and pull her back up on to stable ground, safe from danger.
Before she could turn around to see who would pull her back from falling, she would wake up.

No matter how hard she tried to remember, no matter how hard she tried to think, she could never will the dream back to finish or continue it.
She finally got up, the comforter around her ruffling as she moved. Her bare feet hung over the edge of the high laced bed.
She slowly lowered herself to not make any creaking noises. She hated noises, no matter what it was or who made them.

The air was nice in the room, cool but not too cool, warm but not too warm. The rooms suddenly seemed so white. So pure, so different from when it did at night when the shadows danced in dimness. With the curtains open, sunlight poured itself in like water, fresh lukewarm water that just cleansed everything away. The ceiling was high, the fan still spinning slowly on it and she looked up then down. Scarlett wondered when the room had become so clean, she was sure it was messed with thrown clothing everywhere, homework and sheets just yesterday. But she was also sure that no robots had come in. Another sigh escaped her. Before she was paranoid and weird, oh God, please don't tell her that she was going crazy now.
Her mind felt so dysfunctional, like it was going to break and shatter.

She breathed outloud as her steps moved gracefully over the cold hardwood floors to the vanity mirror.

She sat at the padded cushion seat, her long sleepwear gracing down like a silk curtain. She looked at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She loved to stare at the mirror, the strange vine-like patterns that twisted and braided upon itself. Everything that was so microscopic and fine was caught in every small detail, etched forever in wood. The large mirror was huge, framing her reflection. Another metaphor for the day, the vines resembled a jail bar that she couldn't escape. Her own reflection was trapped within.

Looking through the mirror after a few minutes, she could easily admit that she was attractive.
Her hair represented her name; scarlet. The whole waterfall of red hair was so bright, but still maintained a natural look in it, unlike the manufactured appearnce of her father's secretaries and friends. Her green eyes closed with a breath and opened once more. After putting the heavy brush down, she grabbed from a drawer next to her leg a thin black ribbon. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder as her hands went under her hair with the ribbon. She tied it back neatly, though there were a few locks and strands hanging out, with the black ribbon clearly noticable.

From the same drawer, she picked up a wrinkled silk handkerchief. Next to the mirror was a small pump bottle. Right to the nozzle of the pump bottle, she squirted a little of the cool fragrant cream into the handkerchief and rubbed it on her face and jawline. She breathed in the engineered smell of coconuts, mangos, and tangerines.
The smell was sweet, not too overbearing, but it stung at her nostrils. When the moisterizer made her skin itch after a while, she felt it was finally time to stop.

She carelessly dropped the handkerchief into the same drawer and closed it with her ankle. As she looked back up into the mirror with alert eyes. The edges of her lips quivered a bit, only to drop back down. Though she looked sad and it greatly downplayed her looks, she openly admitted to herself that she wasn't that bad looking.

To her, it was as though she had traveled back into time.
The red hair that was pulled back into so much of a casual ponytail, the green eyes that were more illuminated, the pale skin that had more of a softer look and rose on her cheeks, her naturally slender neck that had a frilly collar climbing up it.
She looked just like her mother.

Even with her neutral face, she looked more and more like her mother than anyone could ever have thought of. Her mother was a happy woman before, but she was seen only with a look of dismay on her face after.
Scarlett undid her hair as she remembered how sad her mother's life was, how it ended, how it had come to that.

She stood up, gracefully with such ease and poise, it wasn't human. She walked to the wardrobe and immediately pulled out a black ensemble. With her fiery red hair, black always made her feel and look better.
She donned a suit of black capris and a silver top with a double breasted black blazer. Instead of the usual heels the girls of 16 wore, she chose comfortable flats that could be used as running shoes and even walk in water.

She walked back to the vanity mirror and looked at herself once more. She remembered her mother once telling her when she was 8 and had lost her 2 front teeth that she should smile no matter what. It always made her look prettier.
But what if she didn't want to look prettier?
What if she was content with no boys liking her while her other classmates had boys trailing after them?
What if she couldn't smile no matter how much she practiced?
What if... she couldn't really find anyting to smile about, to be so happy about?

There was a knock on the door. She turned around staright on her heels and answered in an expressionless voice, "Yes."
The door opened to show a robot, faceless with only round optic eyes and a small square to represent a mouth. It's thin limbs looked so small conpared to it's head as it was positioned right next to it's head.
"Yes, John?" she asked as the robot stood in the doorway.

"It's time for you to have breakfast as I tidy up in here, Miss."
Miss. That's what all the robots in the house called her; Miss. It was like they didn't know her... that she was simply an object in the house as well from something unknown but they were still sure to be careful with her.

"Thank you, John." She headed for the door with even steps, her head held up high and her eyes blank, staring ahead. As she passed the robot, their views met. In it's eyes, she saw her own vacant expression that was so close to a robot's gaze.
She twisted her head to look away from the robot.

Just as she headed for the spiral of stairs down, the robot called out from the doorway, cheerily, "Oh, happy 16th birthday, Miss."

Her head twisted around as her hand grabbed onto the mahogany stairwell, "Thank you, John."

As she walked down the stairs, she couldn't help but ponder some more.
Think, that was all she could do in that house.
In a house where there was rarely anybody, only robots who never truly understood her, only saying what they thought she wanted them to say,
where her father was rarely home,
where his lover came only to eat and sleep,
where her mother no longer was,
who was there to actually talk to?
Nobody, so she was left with only thinking.

As she turned a corner down the stairs around the crystal chandalir, she thought about how similar robots were to people. They were both so fake. When the robot units spoke to her, there was expression, but was the expression truly there?
They could sound happy or curious or stern, but could they feel what they portrayed? No, they were just robots, programmed to act. It was such a novel thought to think about. It was the same as laughing without smiling.... But robots were understandable.
Humans, people, mortal, homo sapians, they were the most complex. They were 2 faced, without thinking about the outcomes or anthing else. They were impulisive and irrational. There were never any explainations in what they did. People, all people, were essentially bad.
She had once heard someone ask, "Are all people basically good?" Her father who was watching for only a split second, laughed, "Of course, all people are good! If we weren't, there would be wars and murderers running everywhere! There's only good people. The question he should be asking is "Are all people basically stupid?" Isn't that right?"

People were essentially bad. There were still wars, there were still murders, there were still a lot of badness everywhere. They only pretended because they wanted to appear good, but they were all bad. They acted good to get what they wanted, to go on by, to just feel good about themselves and believe that they haven't done anything wrong. But... they were worse than what they hoped for.
Idiots, stupid sinners who never cared and who never really loved. That's what people were like.

Robots had no reason to act like that, they just masquerade because they were programmed to, because they were made to. Humans were born like that, they were so imperfect for no reason. She stepped off the last step into the dining room. She hoped to at least see her father down there reading a newspaper in front of his face with a cup of coffeee in his hand and one of the robot units serving him his breakfast.
No, he wasn't downstairs, but the robot was.

"Good morning, Miss. How are you this morning?" the robot asked with an empty smile in his voice.

"I'm just fine, Archie. Thank you very much for asking."

Archie, RG-4, set a plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes with a blueberry happy face in front of her. She sat down at her chair, right on the edge, and adjusted her back straighter. Archie zipped back and forth, setting down the utensils for her and pouring her a glass of orange juice. She picked up the glass and took a sip, "Archie, do you know where he is?"

She didn't even need to say who specifically, she had asked that question so many times that all the robots had learned who she meant by that; her own father. "I'm sorry, Miss. I don't know where Sir is this morning. He wasn't in his room or any of the guest rooms when we did our rounds. So I suppose that he's at her house."
The robots also learned that Scarlett didn't like hearing her name, her father's lover's name. She was glad that the robots were more caring, more understanding than people. Someone would've just said their names, thus causing her another day of grief.

She nodded and resumed to eat her breakfast. One of the robot units came up behind her with a small tray. On the small tray was a little cake, about 3-4 inches in diameter. The cake was a chocolate cake with dark stencils around it and a mound of whipped cream with a strawberry on top. Next to the blood-red strawberry was a wafer circle that had flowery cursive on with dark syrup that spelled out 'Happy 16th Birthday, Miss!'
She smiled and turned to the robot unit who lowered it in front of her with care and whistled out the tune of happy birthday. "Thank you, John." she said, but to a different JN unit.

The robot replied in a chippy tone, "You're welcome, Miss! Do you have any plans for today?"

She shook her head, "I think I'm just going to stay in the house and study."

The robot hesitated a bit before speaking, "Okay, Miss. Have a nice time today." It exited the room.
She picked up her fork and dug it into the cake. She brought a small piece to her lips. It was soft and moist. Sweet, but not too sweet that it would make you think of the cavities and calories after. It was cold too, bringing the heat down in her head and fire in her belly. She ate as she could feel tears welling up.
Scarlett started choking on the cake while eating it, wanting to keep the divine pastry down. But she coughed it up a bit into a napkin she covered with her mouth quickly. She set the fork down and brought her hands to her eyes.

The taste of the cake was still in her mouth, having her feel a little bit better that she was alive to eat it, but at the same time, she felt miserable. Her mother was gone, her father didn't even bother to tell her "Happy birthday" himself, and she was completely alone. How was it that she had no one?
In a world that was so full of people, it proved difficult to find anyone to share anything with. She looked all around the house, no one but her. No one but the robots. In truth, she was surrounded by nothing but metal and wires.
What could be more pathetic than that?
The flavour of sweet chocolate and the bitter feeling of being forsaken mixed together with her salty tears. This was the pure essence of meloncholy at it's most highest form. A gentle metal hand rested on her shoulder as she wiped away her tears.
"Miss, are you alright?"

She nodded her head as she swallowed her tears, "Thank you, John. I'm just fine."

The robot nodded and walked away.

Was she really fine? Of course not. Robots were good and loyal. But they were so cold and mechanical. They may have had the visual aspect of looking close to human; 2 legs, 2 arms, a body, a head.... But they didn't know how to feel. They couldn't comprehend the idea of feelings and emotions. If she were to say that she didn't wasn't alright, they would have called in a doctor to look at her for bruises and the such.
The first rule of robotics; A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow him to come to harm.

Yes, a robot couldn't let a human being be hurt, but all the old models knew about were physical hurt and physical danger, there was never any mention from saving a person from a crushed ego or a broken heart. The irony of the situation was that bodily scars could heal and someday disappear, while emotional scars were the hardest to care for and may not even leave a person. She sat up and walked back upstairs, calling below without even looking, "Thank you for the birthday cake, I appreciate it."

What was the point of life?
What was the point of her own existance?
Why was she even alive if she did nothing?
Why?
How?
What was the reason for it all?

So many questions to ask, nobody she could possibly have to answer.

Her one birthday wish for the year; 'I wish to have someone to understand.'

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