This is a short story I wrote in 2019. It was published in Andromeda Spaceways magazine. As of this posting, it's in the top 100 in the Launchpad Prose Competition. It also won the Screencraft Cinematic Short Story Contest in 2020.
The
Caregiver
Father dies first. Mother is too weak to bury him. The
drugs don’t suppress the allergen anymore. Her lungs are calcifying. Every day
her breath gets a little shorter. If she takes the gulp of air her body screams
for, her chest cavity will crack like burnt paper. She would welcome the
release from the slow panic of asphyxia. But she has to hold on for the baby’s
sake. So that’s what she does.
They were the first couple to get pregnant. The others
were months behind and the allergen finished the women before they came to full
term. Mother and father assumed the baby wouldn’t last. They braced for the
cruelty of just barely outliving their child. But two months went by, then
three. Then they faced a worse cruelty. This atmosphere is not alien to the
child. Instead of suffocating, she will starve.
Unless,
father had said. There’s a chance.
The colony’s artificial intelligence. All but the most essential med lab
equipment. Everything was committed to the effort. Father validated motor
functions and logic pathways the day before he died. Only mother remains to
teach a robot how to be a parent. She hasn’t nearly enough time. How do you
upload instinct? What is the command prompt for motherhood?
Just
love her. Her voice is barely more than sand racing across the
outer habitat wall in the windy season.
The robot cannot feel love. Please specify directives.
Mother closes her eyes. Her lung will break open if
she sobs. Emulate human behaviors and
acts associated with love.
Define parameters.
Keep
her safe from physical harm. Don’t let her out of your sight unless it’s
essential. Promote her emotional well-being. Don’t lie to her.
There is so much more to say, but she is exhausted.
She needs rest before she can continue.
She dies in her sleep, the baby in her arms. Cambria
would have been the fourth colony beyond Earth. It collapses in just 27 months.
People across the universe watch the tragedy unfold from the isolation of their
worlds. Adrift on their little lifeboat orbs, all they can send now are
thoughts and prayers. Anything of substance is constrained by physics and
economics. Tian has yet to reach industrial maturity. Columbia is closer by a
few lightyears. Earth has the most robust fleet. No matter how or where from,
it will be 12 years before the child feels another human’s touch.
The baby cries. Her caregiver cradles her for the
first time. A synthetic surrogate, it is the new Pieta for the interstellar
age. The baby falls back asleep. The robot buries the mother and childproofs
the habitat.
The baby frequently cries through the night, though it
wants for nothing. For six months the robot keeps uninterrupted vigil. Its arms
hold her small body without feeling bone-deep weariness. It sterilizes bottles
and washes diapers without desperate bouts of insecurity or loneliness. It
listens to hours of wailing without the unspeakable secret regret that creeps
into every mother’s mind. It cradles and feeds and hums lullabies without any
sense of joy or affection.
The baby rejects another bottle. The formula is
precious and must be preserved. The robot returns it to the warmer. The bottle
will not fit. The robot twists it one way and another. The baby cries more
frantically. The robot focuses on the task even as the child begins to writhe
in its arm. Finally, the bottle seats in the warmer. The robot wipes a tear.
The baby grabs the finger and sucks on it. The robot turns on a hot plate,
changes arms, puts its other hand on the hot surface. The baby no longer cries.
For the next six months, the robot continues to hold the baby this way,
alternating arms and warming its hands to feel more human-like. The baby stops
crying. The scent of heated alloys becomes soothing to her. She eats and sleeps
better.
The baby has its first birthday.
The robot maintains the vigil through teething,
earaches, and colds. It downloads and implements all the best practices to
teach motor functions and early cognition. The child exceeds all developmental
standards at the eighteen-month milestone. The robot receives a message from Earth.
A rescue ship has departed. Because the planetary environment is lethal to
humans, special precautions will be emplaced during retrieval. The robot is
given new directives and parameters. Priority one: Care for the child. Priority
two: research and, if possible, resolve the allergen pathology. All data
relevant to priorities one and two must be secured.
Baba.
The girl says her first word. It is the name she gives the robot. The robot
deduces it comes from the child’s favorite book, about an elephant. A month
later the child says her own name for the first time. Amari.
Amari turns two. Baba bakes a small cake. The robot
reserved enough chocolate from the colony’s supplies to ice and decorate ten
cakes like this one. It has thought of almost everything in advance.
Amari learns new words. No. I don’t want to. Baba do it. I don’t want peas! I want cookies!
Baba meets each protest with uncompromising politeness, counters each tantrum
with merciless serenity.
Take your vitamin, Amari.
No!
I want a cookie!
The vitamin is important to bone growth and liver
function. Please eat it.
I
want a cookie!
If I give you a cookie, will you eat the vitamin?
Yes!
Baba gives Amari a cookie. Amari does not eat the
vitamin. Baba comprehends that Amari has lied.
Amari, did you make this mess?
No.
Amari, are you climbing out of your bed?
No.
Amari, do you need a new diaper?
No.
It takes Baba six months to develop subroutines and
compile enough data to discern a lie from the truth. It takes another three
months to make Amari understand that lying is bad, and another three to
convince her she will be caught and punished. Robot and child learn together
through a process of error and trial.
Amari turns three. She can read on her own. Her new
favorite book is The Little Prince.
She watches Baba tend the fields and asks if there are bad trees that will break
their planet.
No, Amari. Our planet is too big for the plants to
hurt it.
But
there are bad plants.
The plants are not bad. The plants make dust that
causes people to get sick. We just need to figure out how to make the people
better.
Amari frowns. How?
I must study the pollen.
I
want to help!
You help by not getting sick, Amari. In time I will
understand why everyone else got sick and you didn’t.
And
then we can get my mommy back?
No, Amari. We cannot get her back.
Baba
play with me.
The game is hide-and-seek. Baba hides where it can
keep sight of Amari. It cannot break its directive to protect the child. Ha!
You’re a bad hider! Find me now! Count!
Baba counts. It cannot block its optical sensors. It
walks to where Amari is hiding behind a rock. No! Don’t look at me! Count again!
Baba starts to count again. No! Stop looking!
Baba cannot stop. Baba has to watch. Mommy said Baba must
always watch.
Mommy
said? When?
Three years ago.
Where
is she now?
Mommy is dead.
Amari cries. The game is over.
Baba realizes a conflict in directives. Tell the
truth. Protect the child’s emotional well-being. Baba must learn to tell the truth
less, or say it more gently. In the meantime, cookies make Amari feel better
and board games offer a safe way to play. Baba determines that adjusting
difficulty levels is an acceptable means of adapting within the constraints of
honesty.
Amari turns four. She can almost beat Baba at Memory.
Baba can almost tie Amari at I-Doubt-It. They split games of Uno.
Amari exits her room one day with her mother’s dress
wrapped around her.
Baba!
Today the people come! Get dressed!
Baba does not understand. No, Amari. No one is coming
for many years.
No,
no! Pretend!
Baba can simulate the permutations of more than eight
quintillion simultaneous genetic combinations in a second. It cannot pretend.
It follows the child and does her bidding. Amari drapes clothes over the robot
and throws all the tools out of a trunk.
This
is the spaceship. Get in, Baba! Let’s go to Earth!
I cannot fit in the rescue ship.
Amari looks over her shoulder at the box, then to
Baba.
I
can’t go without you! Let’s make the ship bigger.
Baba pauses for a second to consider the permutations
of Amari’s statement and its directives. Its processor hums from the effort.
Amari hears the sound and notices the lights within its chest glow a little
brighter for a moment. She interprets this as love.
The robot takes a compass from the scattered
equipment. You do not need to take all of me. This is my memory. It is all the
things I know about you. So long as you have my memory, I will always go with
you. Keep it safe.
Amari hangs the compass around her neck and smiles.
She faces forward and makes rocket engine noises. In her mind, she is blasting
away from this lonely place of dying. She pretends gravity pulls her back into
the seat, trying to hold her back. Baba assesses that it has successfully told
a gentle truth.
Amari gets to Earth. She does not know what to pretend
about life there. Baba offers to explain, but Amari is done pretending now. I love you, Baba.
Baba does not feel or understand love. Baba must be
honest. Baba must protect the child’s emotional well-being. It pauses
again.
Would you like a cookie?
Amari turns five. Baba bakes another cake and gives
her a soccer ball and her very own tablet computer. Amari’s face darkens when
she unwraps the presents. Something has occurred to her.
Is
that the cake I had last year?
It is a new cake, identical in design to the last one.
This
ball and this computer were already here. They belonged to someone else.
Our stockpiles are limited to whatever arrived with
the initial logistics support module. No one owned these items. They were
spares.
I
don’t want them.
Would you like something else?
No.
All of these things are from dead people and I don’t want them.
These items came directly from the stockpile. They
have never been used—
I
don’t want them!
Amari goes to her room. She doesn’t want to talk. She
doesn’t want to read books or do chores. She responds to Baba’s admonitions
with impolite facial expressions. Her speech becomes limited to commentary on
how stupid various things are. The plants they raise for her
nourishment are stupid. The shelter that keeps them
safe during the windy season is stupid. Books and arithmetic are stupid. Board
games are stupid.
Amari, did you take a cookie from the jar?
No.
That is a lie, Amari. I can tell. I know you took a
cookie.
Then
why did you ask?
It is important for you to learn honesty and to
apologize for breaking rules.
Amari makes an impolite face.
If you cannot admit your guilt and apologize, I will
stop making cookies.
Go
ahead. I don’t want your stupid cookies.
Amari grows restless. Her sixth birthday is even worse
than her fifth.
Those
markers where Mommy and Daddy are buried are stupid. No one is ever going to
come see them.
That is not necessarily true. The allergen—
This
whole planet is stupid. They were stupid for coming here.
Amari, you mustn’t say such things.
You’re
the stupidest!
Baba turns to correct the child. Amari runs away. She
is faster and more agile than Baba. She clambers a rocky hillside and taunts
the robot. Baba assesses the terrain is too steep to negotiate. The robot
stands at the base of the hill for twenty minutes while Amari pounds her fist
against the world below her and screams at the heavens above.
When she is done, Amari sees Baba through her tears.
The robot is waiting at the bottom of the hill without judgment, or complaint,
or anger. She doesn’t see a fissure in one of the rocks. Amari catches her foot
and spills eight feet. Her body comes to rest in a grotesque position. Baba assesses
the danger of attempting to climb up to Amari as severe. Amari whimpers. She
does not answer when called.
Baba labors up the hill. Amari’s arm is broken in two
places and she is unconscious. Baba cradles the girl in one arm and attempts to
slide back down. It slips and falls back. The dirt scratches its coating. A
rock dents the torso casing. Baba’s free arm becomes lodged in another fissure.
There is nowhere to put Amari down so it can free its arm. It must hold on for
the wellbeing of the child. So that’s what it does.
Baba wrenches back and twists. The elbow joint pops
and they are free again. The child nuzzles fitfully against her broken robot’s
chest. The robot meticulously guards the child’s broken parts from further
pain.
Amari wakes up to her arm in a cast and Baba watching
over her. She does not cry until she sees Baba’s arm.
I’m
sorry. Please don’t hate me.
I will never hate you.
I’m
sorry.
I forgive you.
This is Baba’s first outright lie. Baba cannot forgive
Amari because Baba does not get angry or assign blame. But the child needs to
receive forgiveness, so the robot offers it.
Amari becomes sick whenever she looks at the grizzled
bobtail of wires and metal hanging down from Baba’s arm. She keeps asking Baba
if it hurts.
Did
you already lose all your blood? I don’t want you to die.
I do not have blood. I cannot die.
You
said everyone has blood. You said I was born with special blood when you took
some out with the needle.
All humans have blood. Robots do not. Robots are not
born. They are assembled. Your father and mother assembled me.
But
if your mommy and daddy are my mommy and daddy, then they died… which means you
can die!
Baba does not know how to make Amari understand. It
takes Amari to a terminal and unlocks a video log of a man assembling a robot.
His skin is blue and there are beet-colored circles under his eyes. He keeps
working though he is in obvious discomfort.
Do you understand now? I was built. I am a robot. I
cannot die or feel pain.
Was
that daddy?
Yes.
Are
there more videos of him? Are there videos of mommy?
Baba’s processor hums in thought and its chest glows.
Amari puts her hand over Baba’s chest.
I
miss them, too.
Baba reviews terabytes of peer-reviewed literature on
early childhood development and trauma in a few moments.
Yes, there are more videos.
Can
I see them?
Not now.
Why?
They were very sick. The videos would upset you. Your
parents would not want that right now.
Baba,
will you ever get sick?
No.
You’re
never going to leave me?
No.
Amari has Baba sign her cast. The robot does not know
what to write, so it asks Amari. The robot’s chest glows and hums in response
to the girl’s request. Baba writes across the length of the cast in beautiful,
exacting cursive. Amari surrounds the message with flowers and hearts. When it
comes off, she places it in a box under her bed as a keepsake.
Could
you reattach your arm if I got it back?
Please make no attempt to retrieve the arm. It is too
dangerous.
But
you only have one arm and it’s my fault.
You are forgiven.
But
it’s not right you have to be this way.
I can perform all motor-function tasks equally well
with either hand. The damage has negligible impact on my productivity.
I
would be careful.
Amari, if you tried to retrieve my arm against my
wishes, I would be hurt and disappointed. I would not forgive you. If you were
to get hurt again I could not help you. I would be alone without you.
More lies. In the interest of the child’s
well-being.
I
won’t go. I promise. I love you, Baba.
Rest. When you wake up we will make cookies.
The child rests and helps to make cookies. She opens
the oven door while the robot puts the pan in. The smell of dough and heated
alloy makes her smile. She learns how to tend the fields. She helps to take
pollen samples. She inspects her blood for antigens. She helps to clean. She
learns to do all of these things with the same efficient motions as the robot.
With the same speech patterns and vocabulary. With the same patience. Like
robot, like daughter.
Amari grows more mature, more methodical, more mechanical.
Baba puts another cake on the table.
Baba,
I am nine years old.
Yes. Happy birthday.
I
have been here nine years.
Would you like to blow out the candles?
Baba,
I would like to see the videos of my parents.
You are not yet old enough. They were very sick. They
were suffering. It would be an unpleasant experience for you.
I
have been conditioned to unpleasant experiences for nine years, Baba. I am
well-adjusted to them.
Baba has never heard this before. Based on the
structure and thought of the child’s argument, Baba assesses that she is old
enough.
They watch the videos. Mom holds the baby and utters
words Amari has never heard.
I
love you, Amari.
Amari closes her eyes and exhales. She breathes out
something heavy and unpleasant that has weighed her down for nearly her entire life.
I
love you. Mom’s voice is warm and melodic. I love you. Amari
wants to dance to it.
They keep watching. Baba materializes on a work table.
Father deteriorates. Mom demonstrates how to feed the baby as Baba stands next
to her. She explains how to change a diaper from a wheelchair, how to swaddle
and bathe from her bed. Amari watches the circles under her mom’s eyes run
deeper into the sockets, the corners of her mouth pull tighter in discomfort.
She keeps trying.
I
love you. It sounds like sand blowing across the habitat walls
in the windy season, but Amari can still make out the words.
Amari watches Baba take her from Mom’s arms for the last
time. Even in that moment, she knows Mom is still trying. Amari holds tight to
Baba.
The windy season comes early this year. Amari hears
Mom’s ghost wandering the valley. There’s a rhythm in the beating of the wind
against the walls, a melody in the creaking of the
structure’s joints. Mom is trying to say I love you.
Amari asks if she can sleep with Baba. The robot will not be able to perform
several evening maintenance items. Baba does not sleep. The robot lies down and
puts an arm over Amari. The atmosphere roils around them. Their foster world
whirls on its axis and twists around its sun like a leaf caught in a storm
drain.
The wind storm lasts four days. They stay huddled in
the shelter. Baba plans maintenance checks each night, but Amari asks the robot
to keep her company. Amari wakes one night and sits up. Something is wrong.
Mother’s voice sounds different. She tries to tell Baba, but the robot insists
it is just a dream. Baba cannot make believe, so Amari cannot make it
understand. The building was meant to be a temporary shelter and it has stood
for ten years. Baba has not done maintenance checks for four nights.
Mother’s ghost groans. The roof joist snaps. An
aluminum bar tears and the wall next to them shears away as if in the teeth of
a wild animal. They are swarmed by angry debris. Baba throws itself on top of
Amari.
The storm passes. Amari crawls out from under Baba to
find the habitat completely destroyed. The composite skin dangles in shreds
from skewers of broken frame. It looks like the carcass of some picked-over
leviathan. Baba is tangled in the spars of its rib cage. Amari fights through her fear to gather
tools. It takes several hours for her to cut away enough of the metal to free
Baba. Over and over, they have the same conversation.
I
am sorry.
It is not your fault.
If
I had not asked you to stay with me…
This could not have been prevented. Maintenance checks
would not have led me to discover the structure failing.
Another lie. It is necessary to protect her from
trauma.
Please
be alright.
Everything will be fine.
Baba is uncertain if that is true. It has already
performed a self-diagnostic. There is an anomaly.
They go to the lab. Baba instructs Amari to examine it
for damage. Take out these screws. How do the wires look? Good. Now remove the
thoracic plate. Use the pliers if you must. See the four tubes running to my core
processer housing? Do you see any liquid?
Yes.
The blue tube is dripping fast.
That explains the anomaly. One of the primary
capillaries feeding Baba’s redox-based liquid quantum computer lost pressure.
Baba is leaking brain fluid.
Amari receives very important instructions. Get a new
tube. Cut it to similar length. I will power off and you can restart me once
you have replaced the tubes. Do it quickly. Save as much fluid as you can.
The whole procedure takes less than two minutes. Amari
catches several milliliters of the precious fluid in a vial. Baba returns it to
the appropriate reservoir. Capacity is now at thirty-seven percent. Baba calculates
the degradation rate at current performance levels. Eighteen months. It
recalculates with power saving strategies. Two years. It calculates again with
regular shutdowns. Again after closing subroutines. Again with higher
thresholds for memory access during decision-making processes. Thirty-two
months. Rescuers will not arrive for forty-eight months. Baba must find a way,
so it keeps trying.
Are
you okay, Baba? Did it work?
Baba simulates the permutations of the necessary
measures and their consequences in less than a second. It will take Amari
longer. Baba recalculates again, this time factoring for the girl. Then it
tells another lie.
Yes. You did wonderfully. I must take steps to fully
recover. I will power off at night now. It will help if you manually power me
on in the morning.
I
can do that.
Baba never says how long it will take to fully recover.
Amari never asks. After a few weeks, the process becomes routine. Off. On. Off.
On.
The windy season gives way to harvest season. Amari
frowns at Baba one morning. That’s a sickle, Baba. We need the hoe, don’t we?
Winds give way to planting season, not harvest. It is
a small error. Baba exchanges for the hoe.
The next week Baba seizes while powering on. It
reboots. Baba says once in eleven years is within system tolerances. The same
thing happens again three days later.
Baba,
what is happening to you?
Everything is fine.
Baba,
it distresses me to know you are lying.
Amari listens to lengthy technical explanations. The
robot speaks in choppy sentences fraught with rates and percentages.
You
are dying.
I cannot die.
Amari wipes her face with both hands. She resents
having to use the technical language. Your
processor is approaching catastrophic failure.
Yes. My system performance is declining. Power
management strategies will prolong my service life to the safe date.
Amari has never heard these words before. Define the term ‘safe date’.
Fourteen days prior to rescue ship arrival.
Amari’s lower lip trembles. What… she has to begin again.
What will your status be when the rescue
ship arrives?
The processor core will experience acute degradation.
The system will be compromised.
Amari nods. Thank
you. I understand. We will work on strategies tomorrow.
The principal directives are to care for you and study
the allergen. All other considerations are ancillary.
I
would like you to begin your power-down cycle now, Baba.
Understood. Goodnight, Amari.
When the soft glow within Baba’s carapace is gone,
Amari throws her arms around it and lets go of her tears. I love you, Baba.
They do not talk about preparing for the ship’s
arrival. Amari is not ready to know how much time they have until the safe
date.
Amari decides that Baba should have a birthday. She makes
a cake with ten candles. The AI is much older than that, but Amari counts from
the day the robot was activated. Amari makes the cake. The robot snuffs each
candle out between its fingers. Amari detects the scent of singed alloy and
feels warm inside.
This is supposed to be your cake. Your birthday is in
two days.
My
birthday wish is for us to celebrate yours.
Amari’s birthday was two months ago. Something about
Baba’s processor degradation and the lengthened shutdowns are causing it to
lose time. Amari considers the ramifications.
Baba,
I would like to implement a new power saving strategy. From now on, I do not
want you to come out to the field with me.
I should be with you if you have an accident with the
machinery.
Monitor
me using the cameras based on the observation tower. It will save some effort.
I concur.
Good.
Assign yourself a new protocol not to leave the shelter unless I am in
distress.
Amari has never told Baba to do anything before. Now
with a single command she has made it homebound. Baba complies without judgment,
or complaint, or anger. Amari always feels worse because of it.
Amari works the fields alone. She spends long hours in
the sunlight until her skin glows. With each seed bag hauled and field
implement heaved she grows lean and strong and radiant.
Inside the shelter, Baba’s processor slowly
diminishes. The light of the robot’s mind dims. Amari has to make more rules.
Verify with me that it’s time to cook before you try to make dinner. Do not
engage the irrigation system controller. Do not use the ladder. Do not attempt
repairs on electrical fixtures.
Baba performed thousands of tasks every day to care
for Amari. There are at least a thousand rules now, and for each one of them
Amari has a new responsibility. She does not complain. She refuses to feel
bone-deep weariness, or insecurity, or loneliness, or the resentment of
coupling the energy of her youth to the care of one in decline. She has learned
all this from Baba’s example.
Amari observes the approach of her twelfth birthday.
She does not want to make a cake, but she does it for the sake of helping the
robot keep time. Baba has trouble pinching the candles. Its hand quivers too
much to catch the flame just so. Amari holds the wrist steady as the robot
extinguishes the flame. She leans over the candles and takes a deep
breath.
They must have a difficult conversation while Baba can
still provide information. If Baba is to survive until the rescue day, it will
have to be shut down indefinitely. Amari will need to know how to get them off
the planet alone.
Baba,
please explain the procedure for the rescue.
The ship will be here in approximately three-hundred
days. It will transmit location data for a landing site. A lander with a small
launch vehicle will land at that site. You will enter, follow instructions by
radio, and wait until the launch window for the rescue ship’s orbit. The craft
will dock with the rescue ship. There will be room for an additional
six-point-eight kilograms of personal effects.
Amari feels the words bite her chest. What about you?
Do you remember the time we simulated your departure?
I told you the rocket was not big enough for me.
We
could have shut you down. You would have been okay.
The rescue was planned as quickly as possible. They
did not anticipate a planet they could not land on. The retrieval vehicle was
retrofitted. Accommodating my full assembly was not a principal concern.
They
never planned to get you. For the first time in years, Amari’s
voice sounds angry. They never cared
about you.
They will save what is most important. Do you remember
the compass?
Amari’s face streams with tears. Your memory drive.
Yes. I have recorded everything. My entire experience
on Cambria will survive.
I
can load your memory to a new AI. A new robot.
No. The retrieval team will take the memory core. My
data is of extreme scientific value. It will be used to discern what happened
to the colony effort.
Discern
what happened… The words taste alkaline.
Would it be possible to resume this discussion in two
hours? Managing this conversation used more processing power than normal.
Amari swallows hard. Baba feels itself slipping.
Yes,
of course. Rest.
The lights in Baba’s torso dim. Amari waits until they
grow dark and cold, then goes outside. She kicks a rock formation and screams
into space.
Amari sits with Baba at the end of each day. Their
conversations become more labored.
I
think I have isolated the calcification mechanism. It is not chemical. There is
an odd protein in the pollen itself. It interferes with cilia growth at the
mitochondrial level—
I have compiled a list of common social behaviors
perceived as inappropriate or rude in public spaces. It is imperative to
understand these when you arrive on Earth.
You
told me about those yesterday, Baba. We don’t have to do it again. I saw some
haze out east today. Might mean an early windy season. I think I will dust the
solar panels tomorrow, just to make sure we get a good charge on the
batteries.
There may be men on the rescue craft. You have never interacted
with one before. Interactions between human males and females are more complex
than I comprehend. However, certain general principles will be valuable to you
for—
If
there is an early windy season the rescue ship crew will be waiting a while for
a recovery window.
Then perhaps we should review retrieval procedures.
The lander will—
Amari pounds her fists against her forehead.
I
don’t want to talk about the stupid lander or its stupid procedures! I don’t
want to go! I want to stay here with you!
You cannot stay here, Amari. Even if you did, I will
cease to function.
You
said you would never leave me.
I will not leave you. You will leave me.
Amari’s face contorts. Baba cannot assess whether the
girl is making an impolite face, so it cannot formulate a response. The girl
falls asleep. The robot powers itself down shortly after. Days pass. Amari simply
directs Baba to cease discussions of Earth or retrieval. She cannot bear the
thought of moving on without knowing how to let go.
The windy season does not come early. The rescue ship
does. The computer sends a communication alert. Amari plays the message. There
is no video. Amari hears a woman’s voice.
“Hi, Amari. How are you? My name’s Karen. I’m a doctor
and I’m here to help. Me and my friends have come in a spaceship from Earth to
help. We’re all excited to see you and we want to know if you’re doing alright.
Can you please send us a message back?”
Amari has to play the message several times to
understand it. The woman speaks with an accent. She uses contractions and odd
sentence structure. She talks so fast.
Amari sends her response: Your arrival was not anticipated for another three weeks. I request a
one hundred-twenty- hour delay before initiating retrieval operations.
The ship responds thirty minutes later.
“I know this is a difficult time for you, Amari. Is
there anything you want to talk about?”
There
are no difficulties. I had not planned to prepare for departure for another
three days. I request time to adequately prepare.
“We brought plenty of things with us just for you,
Amari. If there is a special toy or game you have trouble leaving, let me know
and if we don’t have one here I’ll see if we can make one.”
Amari almost thinks that the woman on the radio is odd
for thinking she would have an emotional attachment to a toy. Then she realizes
the woman is using her degrees and certifications to talk about Baba
indirectly. Amari realizes the woman is dishonest… and stupid. She can’t be the
one in charge. Amari can use that.
I
am conducting a test on the allergen. If my hypothesis proves correct, then it
may have value to producing a cure. I request time to complete the test.
The test is a lie, but the hypothesis is not. Amari
has learned from Baba that this is the most effective way to lie. There is a
long delay on the radio while the child expert finds someone with more appropriate
certifications.
“That could be dangerous, Amari. If we wait, there
could be wind storms that make us wait even longer, and then we have a problem
making sure there’s enough food for the trip back. We don’t want to risk your
safety, do we?”
Understood.
Barometric readings give no indication of high winds occurring in the next
eight days. I request a ninety-six-hour delay to allow for pre-departure
preparation.
“Are you asking for the delay so you can say goodbye
to Baba?”
The sound of the woman’s voice saying Baba’s name
makes Amari angry.
Negative.
I have not yet prepared my personal effects.
There is a long silence. The rescue ship keys the
microphone twice without saying anything before the woman comes back.
“Amari, would seventy-two hours be enough to complete
the test, prepare the memory drive and assemble personal effects? We can give
you ninety-six if you really need, but the captain is very concerned about your
safety. We all are.”
Thank
you for your concern. Ninety-six hours will be sufficient. Please advise when
the lander is in position.
Amari signs off. She has clawed back four days. The
end that never should have come is still coming sooner than it should.
Baba,
may I ask you a question?
Of course.
I
have an ethical dilemma. You have said that I must take your memory drive to
the rescue crew. The drive would give researchers full access to all
information about the allergen. It would
also give full access to all recordings of private moments, actions, and
thoughts throughout my entire life. It would represent an extraordinary
invasion of my privacy.
The dilemma is a conflict between two primary
directives: serve the scientific mission and preserve your emotional and
physical well-being.
Yes.
Amari smiles and wipes a tear away. Baba has always been so clear about things.
So direct. The conversation with the space woman has made Amari realize just
how much she will miss the way Baba understands her.
If
you had to decide between my well-being and the scientific directive, what would
you choose?
I no longer have the capacity for such high-level
ethical judgments. My system is too degraded to effectively assess ill-defined parameters.
I would defer to your assessment.
Defer
to me?
You have demonstrated a high level of psychological
maturity, and it is a logical choice because the decision impacts you so
directly.
One
of my… directives is to do what you… evaluate as the best course of
action.
I cannot make an assessment.
Please,
Baba. I need your help. This is… an unpleasant experience for me.
You are well-adjusted to unpleasant experiences. I am
confident that you will negotiate the assessment process in a manner and with
results that satisfy your conditions. I apologize. I must power down.
It takes Amari forty-eight hours to make her decision.
Another sixteen to determine it satisfies her conditions. She notifies the
retrieval ship crew that she will be ready to launch on time. It is a lie. She
will never be ready.
Hello,
Baba.
Hello, Amari. I perceive that more than sixty hours
have passed since I powered down. Is there a problem? I had planned to bake
cookies for your departure. We can still do that if there is time.
That
will not be necessary. There is no problem. I had to prepare to leave and there
was the ethical dilemma to reconcile. I needed time to consider
directives.
I understand. What did you decide?
I
would rather not say. I do not want you to be angry with me.
I could never be angry with you.
Never?
Never.
May
I just say then that I am very satisfied with my choice.
That is all that matters.
I
am leaving tonight, Baba. We will not speak again.
Based on the data I retrieved on human children and my
observations of your development over the last twelve years, I assess that you
will succeed in any endeavors you may choose in your life.
Thank
you, Baba.
Amari waits, hoping that Baba will say something—say
one thing. But it cannot.
You
may power down at your discretion, Baba.
Be sure to follow all safety instructions during the
launch sequence. Goodbye, Amari.
The girl watches the warm light inside the carapace
fade. The gentle hum within lowers and fades to silence.
I
love you, Mom.
The robot dies. The girl buries it beside the father
and carries out pre-flight checks.
Telemetry confirms that she has carried
six-point-oh-seven kilograms on board. Amari hears the jealous ghosts of
long-dead colonists roar underneath her. They press on the ship and rock it
back and forth, demanding to be let in. A moment later the lonely world that
was home drains out of the window beside her. Amari is pressed into her seat by
grief. She is surrounded by hot light, then unnatural blue, then a darkness so
black that it must be make-believe. The craft comes to a halt with a sickening
thud. There comes a hollow knocking, a metallic creak. Amari hears voices and
is gripped by fear.
The expert space woman appears. Another one follows
her in. Amari is welcomed. She is told she is safe, though she does not feel
it. The people are hard to understand. They speak in a way she is not used to.
She asks them to slow down. Enunciate.
“The memory drive? Do you have it?”
No.
“You were told to bring it. It was very important.”
That
is why I left it.
The space women look at each other in aggravated
despair. Amari sees that they don’t understand. It is not much of a lie to say
she is too exhausted to explain herself.
The ship loiters around Cambria for a time. Amari
undergoes medical examination. She recoils from the warmth of human hands. A
course is plotted. They go from transfer orbit to superluminal velocity. The
journey will take three weeks or twelve years. They are going home or leaving
it behind. Everything depends on the frame of reference.
The expert lady and the other crew members offer Amari
cookies and colorful clothes and toys and games. She asks only for hot
chocolate.
Amari goes to her room and comforts herself with the
one item she brought up from the surface. A robot’s forearm rests peacefully in
the embrace of a child’s cast. She places the hot cup against the palm until
she detects the scent of heated alloy. Amari turns the cast over and reads a
message from long ago. She traces her finger lightly over the beautiful,
exacting cursive, and remembers an ethical dilemma and a choice made. It is the
one memory she carried with her. It is the memory of everything.
Love always, Baba.
