His Robot Girlfriend: Charity

By Wesley Allison

Robotics engineer Dakota Hawk has problems. His life is falling apart. And even he doesn’t know why he bought a used, and seemingly non-functional, Daffodil Nonne. When your life turns to crap, which should you worry about more– your past or your future? How easy is it really to remake yourself and start over? And will having your own robot girlfriend help or make things even more difficult?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wesley Allison
• Release date: Jan 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311644633

Wesley Allison

At the age of nine, Wesley Allison discovered a love of reading in an old box of Tom Swift Jr. books. He graduated to John Carter and Tarzan and retains a fondness the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs to this day. From there, it was Heinlein and Bradbury, C.S. Lewis and C.S. Forester, many, many others, and finally Richard Adam’s Shardik and Watership Down. He started writing his own stories as he worked his way through college. Today Wes is the author of more than thirty science-fiction and fantasy books, including the popular His Robot Girlfriend. He has taught English and American History for the past 29 years in Southern Nevada where he lives with his lovely wife Victoria, and his two grown children Rebecca and John.For more information about the author and upcoming books, visit http://wesleyallison.com.Books by Wesley Allison:Princess of AmatharHis Robot GirlfriendHis Robot WifeHis Robot Wife: Patience is a VirtueHis Robot Girlfriend: CharityHis Robot Wife: A Great Deal of PatienceHis Robot Wife: Patience Under FireEaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven PrincessEaglethorpe Buxton and the SorceressThe Many Adventures of Eaglethorpe BuxtonEaglethorpe Buxton and... Something about Frost GiantsThe Sorceress and the Dragon 0: BrechalonThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 1: The Voyage of the MinotaurThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 2: The Dark and Forbidding LandThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 3: The Drache GirlThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 4: The Young SorceressThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 5: The Two DragonsThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 6: The Sorceress and her LoversThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 7: The Price of MagicThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 8: A Plague of WizardsThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 9: The Dragon's ChoiceThe Sorceress and the Dragon Book 10: For King and CountryKanana: The Jungle GirlTesla’s StepdaughtersWomen of PowerBlood TradeNova DancerThe Destroyer ReturnsAstrid Maxxim and her Amazing HoverbikeAstrid Maxxim and her Undersea DomeAstrid Maxxim and the Antarctic ExpeditionAstrid Maxxim and her Hypersonic Space PlaneAstrid Maxxim and the Electric Racecar ChallengeAstrid Maxxim and the Mystery of Dolphin IslandAstrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier

Book preview

HIS ROBOT GIRLFRIEND: CHARITY

By Wesley Allison

His Robot Girlfriend: Charity

Copyright © 2015 by Wesley Allison

Smashwords Edition

Revision: 9-08-14

All Rights Reserved.  This book is not transferable.  It is for your own personal use.  If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work.  This is a work of fiction.  Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Wesley Allison

Cover Image Copyright © Valua Vitaly | Dreamstime.com

ISBN 9781311644633

For Vicki, Becky, John, Daisha & Theodore

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His Robot Girlfriend: Charity

By Wesley Allison

Chapter One

The sun was really beating down when Dakota Hawk pulled his pickup to a stop next to the metal cargo container that GoodWorks was using as the drop location from which to collect donations of clothing, furniture, and electronics.  When he climbed out of the cab, his foot slid in the half molten asphalt.  The poor bastard, who was earning a dollar less than minimum wage to sit in the heat and collect the donations, stepped out from the container’s interior, dripping sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.

Back again?  What are you trying to do, get rid of everything?

As much as possible, said Dakota.  Do you have water in there?  Maybe a fan?

Oh yeah.  I’ve got a nifty little setup.  Come in and look.

The air outside was well over 140 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was just as hot inside.  It was even more oven-like.  The back third of the container was filled with cardboard boxes and plastic trash bags full of who-knows-what.  Along the left side were a few pieces of larger furniture.  Along the right-hand wall were a dozen non-animated robots—a couple with clothes, but most naked.  Just inside the entrance sat a chaise lounge next to a mini refrigerator with an electric fan sitting atop it.  A long orange cord ran out the door, across the parking lot, and was plugged into the back of McDonalds.

Sweet, said Dakota, and then he turned back to his truck and began unloading the black bags filled with clothing and household goods.  He handed them to the guy, who then stacked them in back.  By the time they were done, his own long, blond hair was plastered to his face too.

Mostly clothes, feels like.

Yes, mostly clothes.

Dakota had spent all morning trying to empty out the apartment.  The first hour had been taken up getting his own things.  He had packed up his vueTee and his other electronics, and then his clothes.  That had filled up the back of the truck, leaving just enough room for the two crappy chairs his dad had given him.  He’d taken it all to the Jiffy Locker and rented a storeroom, their smallest size.  After unloading, he had made one final sweep through the apartment, taking whatever was left that he wanted—nothing more than a few photographs and mementos.  Then he had spent the next five hours hauling as many of Rachel’s belongings away as possible and donating them to GoodWorks.  He realized he could be charged with theft, but he didn’t care.  Her closet was empty, her wriTee and all her files were gone, she had no pots and pans and no fine silverware, her underwear drawer was empty, and her grandmother’s Depression era glassware collection was history.  He looked at his watch.  There wasn’t time to make another trip before she got off work.

He looked back into the cargo container.

Say, what are you going to do with these old robots? Dakota asked.

They have a group that recycles them for parts.  Most of them are Gizmos, and you can’t really fix them anymore.

Dakota looked them over.  They were mostly Gizmos, but not all.  He recognized a Braun… and something else.  A naked female robot, waist bent at an anatomically impossible angle stared at the wall.  A curtain of long brown hair was brushed aside just enough for Dakota to make out three small holes in the back of the neck, and beneath them, a button.

How much do you suppose they’ll get for them?

Oh, a few hundred each, I suppose.  Most of them don’t work at all.

Could I buy one?

We don’t sell them to the public.

Seems a shame, Dakota said.  I’d give you $500 for that one there, right now.

Well, we don’t even know if it works.

You wouldn’t have to worry about it.  Cash deal.  No exchanges or refunds.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed in $500, waving it back and forth in front of the guy’s eyes.

The guy reached into his own pocket for his phone.

You can’t tell anyone about this, he said.  You know, because they don’t want us selling them.

He pressed his phone to Dakota’s; transferring the $500 into what they both knew was the guy’s personal account.

Nobody’s going to hear anything about it from me.  Help me load it?

They picked up the robot with the long brown hair, wrapped it in one of the donated sheets, and tossed it in the back of the pickup.  With a nod, Dakota climbed back into the cab of his truck and drove away.  He stopped at the nearby Wal-Mart, where he bought a cheap suitcase, an ice chest, a case of Coke, a loaf of bread, a package of sliced cheddar cheese, some Oscar Mayer Bologna, a package of Chips Ahoy cookies, and a squeeze bottle of mayonnaise.  He got a bag of ice at the checkout.  He tossed everything into the truck’s bed, next to the robot. 

Back at the Jiffy Locker, Dakota carefully selected enough clothes to fill the suitcase and zipped it shut.  He filled the ice chest.  He opened the case of Coke, carefully nestling the cans in the ice.  Then he placed all his other food on top.  With the ice chest, the robot, and the suitcase in the back of the truck, he locked the storage unit and drove away, taking the freeway onramp to leave Sacramento.  Just as he hit 80 mph, his phone rang.  He glanced at it to see that Rachel was calling.  He turned off the ringer.

Four hours later, he pulled off the freeway in Oceanside.  Stopping at the first motel that had a vacancy sign, he checked into a room on the ground floor.  He backed up the truck into the closest parking place and then unloaded his three items into the depressingly rectangular room.  He set the suitcase next to the well-worn dresser, leaned the robot against the closet door, and set the ice chest on a little table that leaned precariously to one side.  Assembling two bologna and cheese sandwiches, he took them and a Coke to bed.  And so ended the two most depressing days of his life.

It had seemed like any other week.  He had a promising, if uninteresting, job as a threader for Internal Dynamics.  He had an apartment that he’d lived in for four years with his girlfriend.  It was nice.  It had a pool.  And yes, then there was the aforementioned girlfriend.  Rachel was two years older than he was and was too good for him in just about every way that could be measured.  She was smarter than he was.  She was a lawyer, with a job at an important firm, with a clear career path.  She was good-looking—too good-looking really.  She was smoking hot, and he was just average—just an average guy.  And she came from money.  He’d been born, if not into poverty, at least into financial obscurity.  She had money before they ever met.  Everything of worth in the apartment was hers, or at least it had been before he’d donated it to GoodWorks.

Dakota finished his dinner, rinsed his mouth out with Coke, and fell asleep on top of the bedspread, his clothes still on.  When he woke up, at first, he couldn’t remember where he was.  Motel room—cheap motel room.  Why?  Oh, that’s right.  It was the day after the day after the world ended.

He got another Coke and drank it while getting undressed and into the shower.  One thing you had to give motels, even cheap ones.  They had plenty of hot water.  He washed his hair with the tiny bottle of shampoo and combed it back with his fingers after he dried off.  When he was done, he put on the same clothes he had worn the day before, with the exception of a clean pair of underwear.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked at the robot.  The sheet had slid off onto the floor, leaving it naked.  It would have been called cute if it had been a real