Robot Soul

By James Fink

In the year 2015, household robot helpers are as common as electrical appliances. The overabundance of pollution and traffic has driven people out of the big metropolises into smaller suburbs much like Greenview, Il where the nation's largest producer of these robots, Armonk Enterprises, reside. The town will be shaken by an unforeseen occurrence. One of the best selling machines, the BTX-20 kills

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Fink
• Release date: Aug 24, 2009
• ISBN: 2940000789315

James Fink

Robot Soul is James Fink\'s first publication. James lives in Montreal Canada and is a designated accountant. His ambition is to see someone read his novel during his morning trek on the subway.

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Robot Soul

James Fink

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 James Fink

Published by

James Fink

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Author’s Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank my wife for her support and her help in creating this book, Mike Canu my editor, critique and guide and all of my friends who helped just by listening. I hope my kids (once they learn how to read) will enjoy this book.

Introduction

The soul is the animating and vital principle in humans and is credited with the faculties of thought, action, and emotion. Some humans believe that it’s a spirit separate from our physical body. Others say it’s the central core of our moral beliefs. I believe that our souls help us connect with our surroundings. I don’t know if the soul dies when the body does--nor do I intend to find out anytime soon. The story you’re about to read doesn’t answer that question either, but rather tells a tale of discovering what the soul is. It’s a tale you’ll relate to no matter your age, race, social position, or location—even if you’re a robot.

Chapter 1

The Hamilton’s

Three weeks before the murder

An old sign lay half torn at the entrance of the town of Greenview. The inscription read The ecological suburb of Greenview. A clean and safe city to raise your family. Population 20,000. The sign had been erected in the late nineteen nineties to attract the working crowd of Chicago. Since Chicago was becoming less affordable and more polluted, the mayor of Greenview hoped that the white-collar class would be willing to move into his smaller city despite the fact that it was an hour and a half away from the larger one. But, as the metropolitans of the world became very polluted and congested, many companies started to move to their outskirts. Thus, as the factories moved in, the beauty of Greenview evaporated. Greenview had been well known for its unblocked and fantastic view of the stars in the sky at night. That view had been replaced by a thin layer of permanent smog. Most of the beautiful parks were destroyed to make way for gigantic industrial complexes. Now, in the year 2015, the suburban section of Greenview still existed, but lay sandwiched between the industrial park and the new downtown landscape.

The principal employer of the city was Armonk Enterprises. Its factories could be seen from kilometers away thanks to the continuing release of smoke blazing out of its three central pipes. The huge pipes were the tallest of all the surrounding factories, their length almost touching the sky. They were covered with blinking red and yellow lights to warn off incoming planes. Armonk was a key contributor in the evolution of the robotics industry, spending billions of dollars on research. Their prized possessions were the household robots they’d developed through the years, which had become indispensable in middle and upper class houses.

Frank Hamilton had worked for Armonk for fifteen years. He wasn’t paid much--just enough to buy a rundown house in the suburban area. Frank had managed to fix most of the façade, making it appear warm and cozy. The house was one of the last made completely out of red bricks and wooden windows. The freshly painted white windows would have shone among the dark red of the bricks if not for a layer of factory dust resting on the sills. A big wooden door, with its yellow paint chipping away, drew the eye of the casual passerby to the center of the house. About five years ago, a small oak tree had been planted close to the door. The tree had never grown to its expected height due mainly to the absence of sunlight, which always struggled to penetrate the city--even in the peak of summer. Consequently, many species of birds had fled the town, leaving the tree devoid of song. But, it bore a reminder of the forgotten beauty as an empty nest lay near its top. All in all, the house irked a feeling of solitude and loneliness.

It was the first week of October 2015 and the events to follow would stir this house from its sleepy reverie forever...

There was nothing in the start of the week to lead any of its inhabitants to believe anything unusual was about to happen in Greenview. Frank Hamilton drove his twelve-year-old car home from work carrying a demo of one of the best selling robots in the world in the trunk. Frank’s neighbors couldn’t help but be aware of his coming and goings thanks to the horrendous racket bursting out of the broken muffler of his car. But, they’d become accustomed to the noise since the muffler had broken more than four months ago.

Frank was in a hurry to get home and wasn’t about to let anyone get in his way. Earlier in the week he’d promised his daughter Veronica that he would bring a new robot home. At his arrival, he saw her face pressed against the window, squashing her nose against the glass, hoping for a sign that he’d brought the new robot home. Frank didn’t disappoint her and held up a thumbs up in the air with his left hand (since he always hid his right one) to signal the arrival of the new robot. It was the highlight of Veronica’s week when Frank pulled the box out of his trunk. Being an only child, what she really longed for was a brother or sister to play with, but she hoped that this robot would do just fine.

Autumn had settled into Greenview creating colder temperatures. Veronica giggled at the sight of the yellow and red leaves dancing around her daddy’s feet and at the sight of condensation forming a cloud issuing from his mouth. She loved fall since it meant that snow and Christmas were getting closer. Her mother had bought her skates last year and she’d spent hours on the rink in the park (one of the few still available to the citizens of Greenview) close to her house.

She’d just turned nine last month and had started experimenting with her mommy’s makeup, hiding in her closet with the lighted mirror she’d gotten for her birthday. She desperately wanted a sibling to hide in the closet with since she didn’t have many friends either. Because their income was lower than that of the surrounding families, the Hamilton’s were regarded as outcasts. Veronica was often the target of other kids who laughed at her cheap clothing and her lack of fashion sense. But, she didn’t mind the clothes or the fact that she didn’t have cool shoes like the other kids--she just wanted someone to share her imagination with.

Veronica ran to the front door, intrigued with the picture of the robot on the box. Her curly hair jumped up and down, following her small, quick steps.

Yeah! she squealed at the sight of the box. Her squeaky little voice echoed off the walls as she ran all over the house.

To Veronica, whenever he would bring her gadgets from work, Frank Hamilton was a hero, but he saw himself as just a hard working blue collar guy who’d spent the last fifteen years operating the same machine. At first he’d worked long hours at Armonk Industries, sometimes double shifting to be able to provide for his family until one day, in his exhaustion, he made a mistake that cost him the simple comfort of using his right hand freely. During his twelfth consecutive day of work, Frank dropped his security pass inside the machine he was operating. Unable to think straight, he’d reached into the machine to retrieve the item before shutting down the machine. The result was the loss of two fingers from his right hand. After the accident, Frank became more distant, wondering why he’d spent so much time working only to be rewarded with fingers ripped from his hand. So, he lowered his working hours to a standard week and devoted more time to his passion for testing robots and other electronic devices. His wife Linda didn’t think they could afford Frank’s hobby, but Frank always seemed to get his gadgets at very little cost, and sometimes for free. He liked to bring in the newest generation of robot and brag about it to the neighbors.

What’s his name, Daddy? asked Veronica, watching her father lug the heavy box into the house.

He doesn’t have a name, but we should find him one, don’t you think? Frank replied, reaching out with his left hand to stroke Veronica’s curly blonde pigtail. He was proud of his latest acquisition and couldn’t wait to show it to his wife. Where are you Linda? Frank called.

In the kitchen honey, Linda yelled back.

Come here babe. I brought home that new robot and I want to show you what it does.

Don’t you have to assemble it first? Linda never cared about his new devices and always went out of her way to pretend she was too busy to look at them.

This one is pretty easy to assemble. It’s a revolutionary, hassle free robot for home care. This will do all your chores so you can be queen of the house all day, Hoping to pique her interest, Frank recited the words he’d heard spoken about the robot in a recent company announcement.

Linda sighed. The last time he’d come home sounding like a commercial, the robot had broken several of their mismatched dishes while emptying the dishwasher.

Alright, I’ll be right there, Linda tried to keep her voice from betraying her disinterest.

Linda was a petite brunette, about five feet tall. Her footsteps barely made a sound when she moved around the house. She looked like a frail woman with her pale skin and her bony cheeks. She’d been brought up in a very poor neighborhood and had always dreamt of living in a house like this, though it wasn’t big by any standard but her own. Her only regret was never having a second child to complete the three-bedroom place.

She stepped over the threadbare burgundy rug lying in the hallway between the kitchen and the front door. Although the overused rug lay there accumulating dust, she didn’t want to remove it--mainly because it prevented Frank’s robots from moving freely, but also because they couldn’t afford a replacement.

To her surprise, the robot pictured on the box was actually cute. Watching her daughter’s excitement, Linda realized her husband had never brought Veronica a pet, which would be more normal for a nine-year-old girl. Veronica was giggling and shifting from one foot to another, waiting as patiently as a child her age could while her dad opened the box. The robot lay inside, well protected by the various plastic and Styrofoam items surrounding it. Frank cursed as he tried to remove the protective paraphernalia skillfully attached to the robot. After a few swears and tears, it was free of its restraints. To Veronica’s disappointment, the robot didn’t emerge from the box moving and making sounds. She never understood why grownups always had to read the instructions before any of her electronic toys worked.

Heck this thing will wash the dishes, vacuum, do the laundry, and serve as an alarm clock. It’ll even turn off the lights you left on when you went to bed, suggest dinner, or better yet--make it! Frank was reading through a thick instruction manual, his eyes bulging with excitement.

It better not mix the colors in the laundry. Although annoyed, Linda was daydreaming about the free time she would have if the robot actually worked.

Frank inserted the power pack into the back of the robot and watched it come to life.

According to the manual, the first thing we have to do is introduce ourselves.

Frank got down on one knee facing the robot as if it were a child.

I am Frank Hamilton, he spoke slowly.

Hello, Frank, said the machine in its monotone electronic voice.

This is Veronica. Sweetie, say ‘hi’ to the robot, Frank urged his daughter forward.

Hello, Buford, Veronica grinned while Buford analyzed her and gathered data. Can I call him Buford daddy? Veronica begged.

Hello, Veronica, Buford replied.

Sure. He doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t see why not, Frank indulged his daughter’s quirky imagination.

She’s Linda, my mom, Veronica jutted a thumb over her shoulder towards Linda.

Hello, Linda. I am the BTX20 designed to service all your home engineering needs.

Buford stood on two legs and was Veronica’s height. Wheels mounted on the bottoms of his feet helped him to glide smoothly around the house, but his knees were bendable to enable him to climb stairs. As he stood facing the Hamilton’s, his arms abruptly flew out from his sides and retracted back, startling Linda. Only Buford’s hands, which were actually metal clamps, stuck out from the sides of his body.

The robot turned his head from side to side, as he proceeded to study the house. His analytical mode was on, which consisted of accumulating all data on the people living in the house and then the place itself. Slowly the machine moved to the living room, studying it. A green light on his forehead blinked every time he processed data. Setting his sights on the metallic box centered in the burgundy bookcase pressed against one wall, Buford extended one small hand from his side and picked up the television’s remote control. A young blond woman appeared on the screen, delivering a news report in the streets of Greenview. The robot immediately shut the television off. Executing a smooth one hundred and eighty degree turn, he moved into the kitchen. After a quick glance around the room, the robot stared at the gray wall behind the oven. The wall was marred by a few grease stains that Linda had repeatedly tried to remove using every kitchen cleanser she could find on the store shelf. Buford started to open the drawers in the kitchen, searching for the proper cleanser. He moved quickly to the wall, aimed the spray bottle at the grease marks, and squeezed the trigger. After a few swipes with a rag held tightly in his metallic clamp hand, the gray wall was shinier than it had ever been. Linda looked in disbelief at the cleanser still clutched in Buford’s clamp. The robot had picked up the cleaning product she normally used for the bathroom to easily clean the mess from the wall.

Veronica continued to follow Buford around the kitchen while Frank stood in the doorway watching in amazement. Linda, trying to look as though the robot still didn’t impress her, had moved to the kitchen’s counter to continue preparing Frank’s dinner. Before leaving the kitchen, Buford watched Linda prepare a salad the way Frank loved it. Doubling back, he took the vegetable parts Linda had been about to throw into the trash bin and lay them in the compost bin. She caught herself thinking that they could become good friends.

Come on, Buford, said Veronica grabbing Buford’s hand. I’ll show you my room.

Robot and little girl disappeared down the hallway past the master bedroom. On the left side of the hallway was the vacant bedroom Frank used to store his gadgets. On the right was Veronica’s bedroom. The small room was dominated by a large poster of a girl figure skating on a pond. Veronica fell asleep at night gazing at the poster and imagining herself gliding around a rink to the applause of a huge crowd. She knew her parents didn’t have the money to pay for figure skating lessons, but she wasn’t ready to give up her dream.

Buford spotted a cuddly teddy bear with its side partly torn sitting on Veronica’s small bed. Without hesitation, he picked up the toy and started to search the toolbox built into his abdomen for the necessary tool to fix the bear rip. After swiftly stitching the tear, Buford began to deposit the toy back on the bed, but changed his mind when he glanced at Veronica. Extending his arm, he handed the bear to Veronica. She took it from his hand and gave both the bear and the robot a big hug.

As the week progressed, Buford began to blend into the family’s routine. Every evening, he pulled the covers over Veronica, brought her the bear he’d stitched up on his first visit to her room, and read her the story of Hansel and Gretel. The story was Veronica’s favorite since it was one of a brother and sister. Buford was programmed to scan a book and learn the words, but its intonations needed practice. Veronica didn’t mind. She merely smiled and urged him to go on when he paused in the wrong place or emphasized the wrong word.

One night, Veronica decided it was time to share her favorite game with Buford.

Would you like to play a game with me, Buford? she tilted her head and asked the robot.

Play? To occupy oneself in amusement. Buford would like to play with Veronica, the robot’s electronic voice answered.

Okay, come hide in the closet with me. I’ll show you my favorite game.

Veronica had a two-door closet. Opening the first door uncovered a small rack of clothes hung on a rusty metal bar. Her wardrobe was scarce but a single magnificent pink dress hung in the middle of the rack. Her mother had bought her the dress more than a year ago and she was beginning to outgrow it, but since it was her best dress, she wore it to church almost every Sunday. The other side of the closet held a small pile of toys and a pair of ratty sneakers. Veronica moved a few toys and the shoes to make room for Buford.

I got a cool mirror for my birthday. Wanna see it? Without waiting for an answer, Veronica flicked the lights on around the mirror, Nice isn’t it?

Why do you need a mirror? Buford asked.

So I can see when I put my makeup on. This is lipstick. It goes on my lips, like this. Watching herself in the mirror, she ran the tube over her lips. Buford moved closer also looking at her face in the mirror and caught the reflection of himself at the same time.

See how pretty I am now? Veronica’s little girl hands weren’t adept at performing such an adult task and she had smeared the lipstick up onto her cheek. But, she smiled anyway; convinced she looked just like the beautiful girl in her poster.

Buford does not have makeup on. The robot was still watching himself in the mirror.

You want some? Let me help you, Veronica drew a red smile on Buford’s face. Want some eyelashes, too? She asked, holding up a pair of ridiculously long fake eyelashes and continuing to babble as she worked to apply them to Buford’s face.

I don’t think I’ll ever have any brothers or sisters, Buford. My mom told me babies are made when a husband and wife love each other very much and my mom and my dad don’t seem to like each other much anymore. Maybe you could be my brother. Would you like that?

Brother, one who shares a common ancestry or a close male friend. Buford would like to be Veronica’s brother, The robot replied in his electronic voice.

That’s great. Now that you’re my brother, we have to stick together no matter what. Promise me you’ll never leave and you’ll always be there for me, Veronica pleaded in her most serious voice.

I promise, said the robot wearing a lipstick smile and long dark eyelashes.

The Hamilton’s house wasn’t too far from the factories of Armonk Enterprises. Frank would drive in at seven a.m. every weekday and park in the same spot he had for the last ten years. Every time he got out of his car he looked at the mansion sitting behind the factory. The black mansion had a blanket of smoke and dust settling over it. Its tallest peak disappeared in the smog. The mansion’s dark tower and rock statues seemed to scare away unwanted guests. The worst of the statues stood to the left side of the mansion. No one knew exactly what it was, but it resembled a snake with its eye sockets out of place and with fangs ready to strike. Frank always wondered who could live inside such an evil looking place.

The mansion had stood on those grounds for hundreds of years. Inside its foreboding walls were a myriad of hallways and rooms. An inattentive visitor could easily get lost. The mansion’s occupant for the past thirty years (most of them spent alone) was Albert Ballard, the principal owner of Armonk enterprises. He’d just turned eighty two. He hadn’t celebrated the event since all his friends had passed away, most of them in their early seventies. Like many people in Greenview, he suffered heavily from chronic asthma. He carried on oxygen tank at all times and required its assistance many times a day. Even now, in his final years, he refused to acknowledge that his factories were responsible for his sickness and for the sickness of many others.

Albert Ballard had founded Armonk Enterprises many years ago. At first he had tried to sell his robots to many distributors and wholesalers, but he grew tired of dealing with less intelligent corporations and was leery of transferring the ultimate marketing power to them. He had decided to take full control of his line of products. Albert wanted to leave a legacy to the world. His first attempt at it had almost doomed Armonk. His second attempt was incomplete, but it became the flagship product of his latest spin-off, RobotWorld. The BTX20-A was designed by a team of scientists to perform the important household chores that humans had slaved over for thousands of years. His drive for perfection prevented him from enjoying his current success. The robot did conquer the market of household care, but Albert’s quest was to create a robot that was almost human. He wanted a machine so close to human that it almost had a soul.

Just two weeks and one day before the murder, Albert sat in his favorite room watching his fireplace. The fire was ravaging two logs. A beeping sound emanated from his pocket. He fished with his gnarled hand in the pocket and took out his small computer. He got up slowly, hoping to reach his glasses on the coffee table. His back was bent as he took small, careful steps to the table. Finally arriving at his destination, he placed his small glasses at the tip of his nose. The beeping sound had been to alert him of an incoming message. The message was short but to the point, it said The package has been delivered.

Chapter 2

Violent Ways

Two weeks before the murder…

Greenview’s suburban area had many houses built about ten feet away from each other, killing almost all of the green landscapes it once had. Most of the builders had abandoned the solidity of brick since it became much cheaper to use aluminum siding. The cost of using the cheaper siding was the constant need for cleaning and repairing it due to the factory dust and the acid of rain. The Hamilton’s street was once home to many floral bouquets, but was now filled with debris carried from house to house by passing cars.

At this moment, almost no sound could be heard outside. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional brush of wind slicing the remaining leaves off the trees. However, the noise level inside the Hamilton’s house would hike up by a few decibels later in the evening when Frank and Linda came home from work.

Back when Linda Hamilton had still been Linda McCoy, she’d been a part-time waitress at the local diner. She’d hated the job, but her lack of education restricted the type of work she could do. Her poor education was the result of a father who’d run away when she was only two and a mother who had to work very hard to support herself and her young daughter. When she was twelve, Linda had been encouraged to share the expenses and thus the workload. So, she’d lied about her age and started to work full-time. Too exhausted to pay attention in school and having no time to complete homework assignments, Linda fell intolerably behind in her studies. She could barely read and her mathematical skills were even worse. And, with her lack of education came a lack of confidence. As a result, even after she married Frank and became Linda Hamilton, Linda continued working at the diner and spent her working hours hauling heavy trays of greasy food to Greenview’s tired citizens.

She and Frank had had a small wedding since they couldn’t afford more. She’d been pregnant with Veronica and had tried to hide her growing belly behind a beige wedding dress. She’d adored Frank. He’d taken her though she was penniless and had provided a nice home for her and her child. They had some wonderful years together until the accident at the factory.

After the accident, Frank had changed. Frank blamed everyone but himself for his accident. He found refuge in his favorite beer. Since the accident, Frank had been coming home from work, eating dinner, and disappearing into the extra bedroom he’d filled with his gadgets. At first Linda thought he was addicted to his robot gadgets, but after spending several mornings picking up is empty beer cans, it became evident that he had developed a second passion. He no longer bothered going to bed with Linda. Instead he just passed out in his den night after night.

Linda had tried to confront him about his drinking problem, but had failed to harness the energy and the strength to do so. Her attempts simply ended in arguments and defeat. The day after one of their fights, Frank would always feel awful about his actions and would apologize to Linda by sending flowers. Frank didn’t know that Linda’s daddy had left a rose on the kitchen table the day he left. Linda couldn’t bare the smell of flowers, a constant reminder of the father that didn’t love her enough to stay.

With the addition of Buford, Linda didn’t need to pickup Frank’s beer cans anymore. Frank, seeing Linda’s growing fondness and Veronica’s clear affection for the robot, soon grew tired of Buford and began using him to fetch his alcohol and other nasty chores. Buford was frequently forced to stand in Frank’s gadget room with a collection of beer cans accumulating on his head.

Though Frank was jealous of the time Veronica spent playing with Buford, he didn’t take his frustrations out on his daughter. Instead, he began yelling at Linda; using any excuse he could find to berate her. When her parents began to fight, Veronica would take Buford with her into her closet. Hoping this would be a short spat, she’d simply sit on the floor waiting for them to calm down. As the fight drew on, she’d ask Buford to play with her so she could close out the noise.

Though they were often sneered at for their shabby clothing, in their earlier years, the neighborhood couldn’t deny that the Hamilton’s were the model of family unity. However, as the family began to deteriorate, the thick walls of the brick house hid the awful truth. The neighbors began to notice the fact that Veronica rarely smiled, but they attributed her melancholy to the social status of her parents and her lack of material possessions and human friends.

Slowly, Frank’s performance at work began to deteriorate as well. Then one day his boss reprimanded him. Frank’s supervisor had found him sneaking a drink in the bathroom at work and had called him into the office to warn him that if the problem continued, he’d be forced to send Frank to the unemployment line.

That night saw the worst of the fights in the Hamilton household. A petty argument started over an overcooked steak. Linda argued that she’d made it just the way she always did--just a bit rare with a side order of two baked potatoes. Her defense was pointless. Frank had merely been waiting for an excuse to release his frustration. Frank had been standing behind Linda, throwing his plate and the steak into the sink. Using his right hand, he hit the back of her head. Her face slammed into the table and her stomach hit the corner of the kitchen table before she slid from her chair and fell on the cold ceramic floor. She’d never felt pain like that, not even during 26 hours of labor to bring Veronica into the world. Frank looked at the red blood trickling from her lip and down her pale chin. He felt instant regret. Watching in terror as the event unfolded, Veronica ran to her room dragging the robot along with her. Frank would later promise himself that he’d never hit his wife again--but not before he finished his last six-pack of beer.

That night, fully aware that he had no one but himself to blame, Frank fell asleep in his gadget room drunker than ever. In the master bedroom, Linda barely slept. She lay staring at the ceiling, reviewing her options. Though she’d made her decision, it would take a few more weeks before she would carry it out. Veronica fell asleep in her closet, too frightened to come out. She lay resting against Buford, one small hand clutching his. Buford spent the night pondering the events he had witnessed. He didn’t fully understand what had happened that evening. If he’d been programmed to have emotions,