The Lilly Effect

By Geof Johnson

When a down-and-out android blows himself up in a crowded store, killing Jack Hartley’s wife, it changes his life forever.
Android technology has advanced at an incredible pace. Androids are no longer glossy robots. They look, think, and feel exactly like humans, with all of the emotional problems that can bring.
Human society is struggling to adjust. Androids are abused, assaulted, and scorned, and they have very few rights. Life is hard for a synthetic human. They have the most mentally demanding jobs with low pay and no social safety if they fail.
Two years after the explosion, Jack is forced to work with an android woman named Lilly Thomas, and his life changes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626752139

Book preview

her.

CHAPTER 1

He buttoned up his threadbare coat before walking into the crowded store, hoping no one would notice the suspicious bulge around his waist. On this busy shopping day, one week before Christmas, people were too busy to see anything except the glittering merchandise in front of their faces. They wouldn’t look closely enough to tell that his wool cap barely covered exposed patches of his carbon fiber skull, or that behind his sunglasses was a cheap unmatched artificial eye that he had bought on the black market. Any other day, perhaps, but not this one. He expected Security to be too concerned with the sheer volume of customers to notice an android in a store where only humans could afford to shop, with prices hopelessly out of reach of his kind. By the time anyone became alarmed, it was too late to stop him from reaching inside his coat, squeezing the detonator, and embracing oblivion.

Jack woke with a gasp and sat up, frantically patting the empty space beside him in a disoriented panic. Then it all came back to him — the bomb, the phone call, the funeral — and he fell back on the pillow with a groan. Not again, he thought. I’m tired of this.

He knew how it was happening. In his sleep he would push his arm across the bed, feel nothing there, and wake up in alarmed confusion. The surge of adrenalin would set his heart racing and make it impossible to go back to sleep. What time is it? The glowing red numbers on the clock said 4:35. Might as well get up.

He sat on the edge of the bed, clicked on the light, and rubbed his face, the stubble of his beard scratching against his palms, his fingers pressing his closed eyelids. Resting his elbows on his knees, he looked at the picture of Nora, his wife, still on the bedside table, just like he did every morning.

His therapist had suggested that it might be time to put the photo away. Two years is long enough.

Jack scowled. Easy for her to say.

Betty, start the coffee, please.

Yes, Mr. Hartley, the house computer replied in her usual soothing, mellifluous voice. Did you have trouble sleeping again?

No, I planned to wake up at 4:30 in the morning in a panic.

Is that sarcasm, Sir?

You’re catching on, Betty.

Did you not take your medication, Sir?

No. It’s not helping, anyway. He yawned and stretched on the side of the bed. Better than the booze, though. I’m tired of waking up with a headache. He scratched his belly. Did Carmen pour out the rest of it? Carmen was his housekeeper, hired three years earlier by his wife.

Yes Sir. As you instructed.

Good. Remind me not to buy any more.

Don’t buy any more, Sir.

Funny, Betty.

He walked barefoot down the carpeted hall to the stairs and paused beside the closed door to the nursery, a shrine to a child who was never born. If he were to open it, he would see the unused crib and glider and a few unopened boxes of baby clothes and toys. He reached for the doorknob and Betty said, Your therapist said that you should not go into the nursery, Sir.

You’re not my mother.

You told me to remind you.

I know. I’m sorry.

No need to apologize, Sir. I’m just a computer.

Sometimes I wonder.

You also instructed me to remind you to clean out that room. Would you like for me to call an appropriate charity to come for the furniture?

He stared at the door for a moment. No. He cleared his throat. I’m not ready for that yet.

By the time he made it down to the kitchen, Betty had the lights on and the coffee brewing in the dispenser, the warm smell welcoming him as he shuffled in.

While spreading cream cheese on a bagel, he scrolled through the news on the table top. More androids in the headlines today, he noticed. A right-wing political group was advocating total segregation of all androids, and there was a short article about another android killed, an apparent victim of a gang attack. Gang attack? That’s odd. Oh well, it’s just an android. He swiped a finger across the table and the next page appeared.

Sometimes he had Betty move the news display to the wall on his right, or even the window across from him, but usually he preferred the table view. Multiple displays was one of Nora’s ideas; she helped design the kitchen, and her touches were everywhere. It was a large, open room, with east-facing windows that let in the morning sun. A counter with a sink lined that wall, and the opposite side was mostly pantry and shelves, all white tile and maple wood. A long center island ran in between, with plenty of space for food prep, a stove top, and an oven. A larger oven and an oversized refrigerator were on the far wall opposite the eating area. The fixtures were all clear ceramic, which looked like crystal, and when the sun struck them in the morning, hundreds of little rainbows danced everywhere.

One of the perks of being an executive at a big corporation was that he could afford to buy expensive things, like his big lonely house and his expensive automobile. Nora wouldn’t let him buy a sports car with the baby on the way, so he bought something pretty close. The sleek, black, high-performance machine was his personal materialistic joy. He liked the way it looked, liked the way it drove, he even liked the way it smelled. It smelled high performance.

And had he never let anyone else drive it. Not Nora, not his sister-in-law, not anybody. Just Jack.

On the way to work that dark morning, he saw something out above the highway, something huge, crossing the late-setting moon: a floater, one of the enormous freight barges that flew over the city, held aloft by huge repellors, nearly silent except for a faint, deep hum.

He almost always drove hands on; you didn’t own a car like his just to let a computer drive it, but sometimes he’d relinquish the duty if he had things to do on the way. Like putting on his tie and checking his messages.

Jane, any calls?

Four, Sir, the computer replied. All from Natalie.

He shook his head. My relentless sister-in-law. Play the most recent.

Hi Jack, it’s me. Just called again to invite you to Mom and Dad’s next Thursday night, since Friday’s a holiday. I already told them you’re coming, so don’t make up some lame excuse. Eve’s going to be there, and I know it was kinda awkward last time, but just give her a chance, will you? I think you’ll like her, really. I promise she’ll talk this time. Bring wine, if you want. See you ’round 7:00…Bye.

Oh no, not Eve. She probably didn’t say ten words last time. He liked eating at his in-laws but wished that Natalie wouldn’t try to set him up with her friends. It wasn’t awkward; it was painful. And to make matters worse, he’d broken Hartley’s First Law of Stupid: If something stupid could be done, he’d do it. As he was leaving that night when he first met Eve, Natalie escorted him to the front door, her face hopeful. Well, what’d you think?

Eve’s okay, for a mannequin. Maybe next time you should invite a living person.

Natalie leaned close and whispered, She’s right behind us.

He turned slowly, feeling his face flush, and forced a smile. Yes, uh, nice to see you, Eve. Goodnight. He left as quickly as possible without appearing to run.

However, that wasn’t as bad as last month’s attempted setup by Larry Hodges from Marketing. Stop by for a little cocktail party, he’d mentioned to Jack in an offhand manner. Lots of people will be there, it’ll be loose, have a little fun. Except that when Jack arrived, everybody was paired up except for him and this annoying woman named Becca or Vicca or something. She talked nonstop and snorted when she laughed, which she did often and for things that weren’t funny.

She didn’t have anything interesting to say, either; she talked more about less than anyone he’d ever met. Afterwards, Jack told Larry that if he wanted to keep his job, he’d better not set him up with a girl again.

Another perk of being an executive was that he got his own parking space in the concrete underground garage. Reserved for Jack Hartley, the sign said in bold red letters. The first time he saw that, he got a little thrill, like winning a trophy at an awards ceremony. But the thrill had worn off, and now it was just a warning to others: Keep Out.

After parking, he had to go upstairs to the only entrance that was open before 6:00 AM. As he approached the glass-and-steel guard station, he noticed the slim, dark-haired woman he often saw when he went in early. She and the guard were sharing a laugh before she turned away and walked into the building.

Morning, Mr. Hartley, the gray-haired guard said as Jack approached. How are you today?

Fine, Jim. Is that a friend of yours? Jack watched the pale gray metal door close behind her.

That’s Miss Lilly. She’s friends with everybody. That’s the sweetest girl in the building, that one is. Jim had been working at the company longer than anyone could remember, and he seemed to know every employee and called them by name. Jack was still staring at the closed door when Jim said, If you hurry, you can catch her.

Huh? Jack turned to face Jim. Oh. No. He managed what he hoped was a smile. Just asking. He waved goodbye and headed into the building.

Inside, he stopped in the main floor restroom before entering the elevator. Two cups of coffee were calling for his attention, pressing on his bladder. He stepped to the first urinal and saw that someone had scrawled over it Reserved for Jack Hart-less. Again? He shook his head slowly and clenched his jaw.

He knew what his nicknames were around the company: Jack Hart-less, No Hartley, the Cold-Hearted Bastard, and other variations of his last name. He didn’t mind that much; it came with the territory — his rise in the company had been rapid, and that surely ruffled some feathers — but he could do without the graffiti.

Just eleven years earlier, he had joined the company as a junior manager, and the promotions came quickly. Barely 18 months ago, his boss had promoted Jack to Senior Vice President, making him the number two man in the company. Jack had come back after Nora’s death with a fierce dedication to work, and his boss must’ve seen something in Jack that he liked and trusted enough to give him the V.P. position. The fact that Jack tended to fire incompetent people didn’t win him many friends, either.

Dodging a cleaning ’bot as he exited the elevator on the top floor, he was greeted by the smell of coffee. The cafeteria wasn’t open yet, but someone had made a fresh pot and left it on a small table by his office door. He poured himself a cup and went to the balcony outside of his office to drink it and watch the rising sun warm the city to a rosy glow.

Mrs. Hayes, Jack’s ever-efficient assistant, arrived and handed him his slate. Your schedule for the day, Mr. Hartley.

He looked up from his desk and accepted the thin, incandescent-blue device. What’s the worst of it?

The tall, trim, middle-aged woman smiled thoughtfully. Your ten-thirty meeting, probably. You always hate that.

Yes I do. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled between tightened lips. If I have to listen to one more manager mumble jargon and numbers to try and justify their job, I’m gonna scream.

Maybe you should, Sir. Might be good for them.

I think I’ll try that, he said, scanning the schedule. He looked up again. You coming?

I have other duties then.

Coward.

She laughed and left the room.

Jack jerked his head up and blinked hard when he felt his chin touch his chest. Uh. Must’ve dozed off. He sat up straight in his chair at the end of the long, glossy-finished wood table and looked across the room to where a man stood gesturing at a glowing display of graphs that floated in the air beside him.

Who is that? Marshall? God, he’s boring. The man in the dark blue suit droned on, pointing at a new display. I should record his presentation and watch it before I go to bed. Bet I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping then.

Marshall, apparently finished, looked at Jack expectantly, and all heads turned Jack’s way. Yes, Jack said. Fine. He glanced at his slate and looked around the table. Any other business? When no one spoke up, he stood and straightened his coat. I’ve decided to try a new policy with our Monday meetings. I’ve been reading about other companies that have tried this, and they report big improvements in productivity and morale. He crossed his hands behind his back. Every week after we finish the usual business, we’re going to open up the meeting and let anybody say what’s on their mind. Anything that’s bothering you about your job, the company, your schedule, the wallpaper…anything. I want you to speak freely. He surveyed the anxious faces before him. Who wants to be first? Anybody?

No one raised their hand.

"Come on now, somebody’s got to have something they want to get off their chest."

Still no hands.

Jack crossed his arms. Okay, if somebody doesn’t come up with something in the next ten seconds, — he glanced at his watch — I’m going to fire one of you right now.

Reynolds from Advertising raised her hand. Sir, I think the food in the cafeteria is not very good. She looked at the others around the table. Well, more like, it’s awful. Several heads nodded and she continued, I can’t stand to eat there anymore, so I have to bring my lunch. My break isn’t long enough to go out.

Jack regarded her for a moment before saying, I don’t remember it being that bad, but I haven’t eaten there in a while.

It’s bad, Sir. There were a few murmurs of agreement.

All right, Jack said. All those who think our cafeteria’s food is terrible, raise your hand.

The showing was unanimous.

Jack rubbed his chin and narrowed one eye. Does anyone here have any experience in food service, restaurant work, or —

A man raised his hand. Jack pointed to him. Perkins?

Sir? The hefty blond-haired man said, My family owns a restaurant, and I worked there all through high school and college.

Jack sat down and folded his hands in his lap. Think you can do something about our cafeteria?

Yes Sir.

Jack worked his lower jaw slowly from side to side and regarded Perkins. Do it, Jack said. Start today. Clear your calendar and make it a priority. He leaned back, crossed his legs and nodded, steady eyes still on Perkins. How long do you think it will take to turn it around?

Perkins looked thoughtful for a moment. A week. Ten days, maybe?

Jack gazed at him with his mouth pressed tight. Okay. I’ll come in next Wednesday for lunch.

CHAPTER 2

Mr. Gilchrist will be calling in the next few minutes.

Thank you, Mrs. Hayes. Jack knew it wasn’t wise to keep Mr. Gilchrist waiting, so he ended his other call and sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the padded armrest of his chair, staring at the display where his boss would appear.

A few minutes later, a three dimensional image of Mr. Gilchrist materialized above Jack’s desk. His graying hair appeared to be ruffled by a breeze and he wore a Hawaiian shirt, open at the neck. Blue sky and a palm tree were behind him, a drink was in his hand. Jack, good to see you. How’s everything?

Fine Sir, I —

That’s nice. Listen, I’ve got a big job for you. How’s your agenda for the next month?

Uh, busy, Sir, I have a —

Clear your book. Put off what you can and shift what you can’t to somebody else.

Jack started to speak again, but his boss continued, I’m looking at picking up this Japanese company. It’s a pretty large acquisition, maybe bigger than our last. They have an auxiliary office in San Francisco, so the time difference won’t be too bad. I need you and an accountant to go over this outfit with a fine-tooth comb and make sure everything squares with what they’re telling me, like balances, projections, stock values, properties and such. They have dozens of interests and it’s going to be complicated, and we only have thirty to forty days, which isn’t a lot of time, I know, but I think you can do it. Are you up for it?

Jack had done several such reviews before his last promotion and was probably the most experienced in the company. Yes, Sir.

Thanks Jack, you’ve always done a good job for me. The accountant’s name is Miss Thomas. You can meet her tomorrow.

Excuse me Sir, but why just one accountant? Shouldn’t we use more?

Not necessary. She’s good. She can probably do the work of three accountants with her eyes closed, and she speaks fluent Japanese. She’s all you’ll need. He said goodbye and his image winked out.

Hmph. Jack sat at his desk for a moment, pulling one earlobe and processing what he’d been assigned. He looked at his watch and decided to call it a day. If he left right away, he’d have enough time to get a 45-minute run in before dark.

* * *

Jack sat in his kitchen before dawn, coffee cup in hand, thinking about the day ahead and the assignment he’d been given. In a way, it was a step down for him, less managerial work and more down-and-dirty, nitty gritty stuff like he’d done three or so years before, digging around the dark places that corporations tried to hide. What the heck, maybe it’ll be interesting.

When he arrived at work, he saw the dark-haired woman again at the guard station. He wanted to say hello to her, but he would’ve had to run to catch up, and he didn’t want to be seen doing that. Inside, he saw her step on the elevator, but she was going down and he was going up, so he let it go for some other time.

He figured Miss Thomas should be in her office by 8:00, so while he waited, he drank some coffee and cleared his schedule for the next month. Then he headed for the accounting department in the basement.

He stepped out of the elevator on the bottom floor and followed the long corridor, counting down door numbers until he found hers. One-fifty-one. This is it. He knocked. A woman’s voice said, Hold on, and a few seconds later the door opened.

He stepped inside and offered his hand to the dark-haired woman who met him at the door. Wait…isn’t she the one I see every morning when I come in early? He cleared his throat and said, Miss Thomas? I’m Mr. Hartley. I believe we have a project to work on.

It’s nice to meet you. She shook his hand with a firm grip. She was slim, with her medium-length hair tied back, and she wore a plain blue business suit that looked slightly faded.

She’s pretty, he thought, returning her smile.

She gestured at an empty chair. Sit down, sit down. I hope you don’t mind the mess.

He took a quick glance around. It’s not messy, but it sure is small. Do you actually work in here? My clothes closet is bigger than this.

"I’m at the bottom of the pecking order, so I get the smallest office.

It’s not so bad."

He sat down and watched her squeeze around to the other side of her desk. So, Miss Thomas, I’ve heard that you can do the job of three accountants. How do you manage that?

I’m an android, Sir. I have an excellent memory and concentration. That’s why this company hired me.

He didn’t hear anything after android. He felt the blood drain from his face as he sat there blankly.

Android.

Mr. Hartley?

His head was buzzing as he stood and walked out without saying a word. He took the elevator up to his office where he asked Mrs. Hayes to get his boss on the line. Jack expected to wait for quite a while, but to his surprise, Mr. Gilchrist’s image popped up right away, almost like he was waiting for him.

Jack, what’s the problem?

The words tumbled out. Sir, the accountant, Miss Thomas. She’s an android.

So? What’s wrong with that?

Aren’t you forgetting something? I mean…Sir. My wife? The android…with the bomb? He paused and threw his hands in the air. She’s an android!

Not his most articulate outburst.

Mr. Gilchrist frowned. Well, did Miss Thomas kill your wife?

Of course not, but —

If a human had killed her, would you have a problem working with a human accountant?

No Sir, but —

Then I don’t see a problem. She’s the best accountant in the company, and I like to think that you’re the best at this kind of investigation. He eyes narrowed. I don’t want to put second best on it. Do I need to call Barkley and give it to him?

Ronald Barkley had been bucking for the promotion that ultimately was Jack’s. There was no way Jack was going to let him take this assignment. That would be career suicide. He gritted his teeth for a moment before replying. No Sir. I’ll do it. Somehow.

Good, that’s what I want to hear. Mr. Gilchrist’s face relaxed. Now listen, I want you to be nice to this woman. You know how abrasive you can be to the other employees. I need you two to get along, and you’re probably going to have to work together every possible minute because we have such a tight schedule. Don’t go sneaking off to your office for breaks. He shook his finger at Jack. You’re going to need to work through quite a few lunches and put in some late hours. I need this job done by deadline. Period. He looked hard at Jack again. Do you get my drift?

Yes Sir. Jack knew he had no choice. We’ll get this done right and on time.

Good. That’s the Jack I know. His image vanished.

Jack closed his eyes and slumped in his chair, taking shallow breaths. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I have to.

Miss Thomas’s office door was open when he returned, so he walked in without knocking. He sat down as she looked up from her screen.

I’m sorry I walked out like that, Miss Thomas. He glanced at her and looked away. There’s something you need to know. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her watching him intently, but he couldn’t face her, he stared at his lap instead. He cleared his throat and said, About two years ago, my wife was killed by an android.

I’m so sorry to hear that, Sir.

He cleared his throat again. She was seven months pregnant. He turned to look at her.

She didn’t immediately reply. Instead, her hand went hesitantly to her mouth, and then her eyes filled with tears. She stood abruptly and said, Excuse me, Sir, and she hurried from the room.

It was his turn to wait in the office, so he busied himself inspecting the small room. He was particularly interested in a picture on her wall; it looked like it was painted in watercolors, of a bouquet of flowers. That’s beautiful, he thought, looking for the artist’s signature. Finding none, he reminded himself to ask her about it.

She returned about ten minutes later and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her hands gripping each of her upper arms so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her voice quivered as she spoke. Mr. Hartley, I think you should assign someone else to this project.

Sorry, Mr. Gilchrist said that you and I are to do it.

Why did he assign me to this?

He said you were the best.

Then I resign my position at this company, she said with an emphatic nod.

I won’t accept your resignation. You can quit when we’re through, but until then, you and I are stuck together on this project. Let’s be professionals and get the job done. Listen to me! He almost laughed aloud. I’m the one who should be struggling with this.

She took a deep breath, uncrossed her arms and regarded him with sad eyes. I don’t see how you can bear it. After…after what happened to your wife.

Thank you for your concern, but you didn’t kill her. It’ll be fine. I hope so, anyway. He looked at the wall for a long moment, sighed, and said, We need to kick butt on this job and make the big boss happy. He turned to face her. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get a bigger office.

She laughed a little, and he felt better. She has a nice laugh. Today, we have to work in your office because you have access to all the files we need. But I think we should at least get a bigger temporary office to work in, because this one’s way too small, and it’s too far from my office upstairs. I’ll get my assistant to find one for us, hopefully before too long.

Why can’t we work in yours?

Because it’s my sanctuary. I…need to use it for executive business.

Okay. She stepped from the doorway into the room, a determined look on her face. I’m ready to work if you are.

Jack had a second display and terminal brought into Miss Thomas’s office and they set up facing each other. At first, he had to spend a lot of time standing over her shoulder and looking at her display as he explained the process of breaking the Japanese company into parts, each part to be broken down one at a time. She caught on quickly, so before long he was back in his chair, and they settled into a working groove.

* * *

The week flew by, and Jack and Miss Thomas made excellent progress on their project. By the following Tuesday, he was feeling more comfortable in his forced partnership with the android woman.

He was also feeling hungry.

Jack’s stomach grumbled and he sat up. What time is it? He glanced at his watch. Wow, it’s almost 12:30. Let’s break for lunch. He stood and picked up his coat. I’ll be back in about forty-five minutes. He headed for the elevator and thought, A Reuben sandwich would be good right now, and he walked out of the building in the direction of Domenic’s, the little deli around the corner.

Domenic’s wasn’t the fanciest joint in town, and certainly not the cleanest, but the sandwiches were great and he liked the atmosphere, such as it was. It was small and dingy, with mismatched chairs and a handful of small tables inside, with five or six more on the sidewalk out front. On a nice day it was pleasant to eat outside and watch the world go by. Domenic was an entertaining character, too.

Yo, Jackie Boy, the large, dark-haired man with the dirty white apron said from behind the counter. What’ll ya’ have?

Reuben, Domenic. Why do you have to ask? Your dementia kicking in?

Hey, I’ll kick you. Today, you gotta pay double.

Why, you think you’re gonna have to make bail again? What did I tell you about chasing underage girls?

The only underage girl I chase is your sister.

Jack didn’t have a sister, but he loved the place. Pickles and insults were free.

As he walked back to work, he suddenly remembered what his boss had said about working through lunch. Probably should’ve taken Miss Thomas with me. Oh well, she can come with me some other time. Do androids eat?

He stepped into Miss Thomas’s office and noticed a half-eaten sandwich on a paper plate by the door. Oh good, you got some lunch. He paused for a second before saying, I didn’t know androids ate.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked up from her desk. Do you think we run on batteries or something?

Well, no, I didn’t —

We charge ourselves up at night? Plug a wire into our belly buttons and stick it into a wall socket. Oh, I know. She pointed to her head. We have solar hair.

Employees do not talk to me in that tone of voice. For some reason, he let it slide. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. A little sensitive, are we?

Her mouth twitched briefly, and then her eyes relaxed. "I hear that sort of thing all the time. I am a little sensitive about it."

Jack managed an awkward smile and took a seat across from her. Boy, did I ever put my foot in my mouth that time.

They tried to pick up where they had left off, but Jack never did his best work right after lunch. He always felt a little bit lazy, and today, a little bit chatty. So how did you learn to be such a good accountant? And the Japanese? How’d you learn that?

How’d you learn to do what you do, whatever that is?

I majored in business management.

And how did you learn that?

I studied.

Well, that’s how I learned what I know. Same as you. Hard work and study.

I thought they just stuck something in your head on the assembly line and poured your smarts in. Or maybe put the right circuits in your brain, or wires, or chips, or…whatever they do.

"For your information, I was not made on an assembly line, I don’t have a single wire or circuit in my body, and my brain is organic, same as yours. It’s genetically engineered to be good at certain things, but it’s no better than some humans’ brains."

Why not?

It’s the law. We can’t be bigger, stronger, faster, or smarter than a human. I’m talking about really talented humans, not average. We can only be as good as one of your best. She looked hard at him. You really don’t know much about androids, do you?

He realized that he had just broken Hartley’s Second Law of Stupid: If something stupid could be said, he would say it. "How could I? It’s not like I know many. In fact, you’re probably the only one