His Robot Wife: Patience Under Fire

By Wesley Allison

Patience Under Fire is the second book of the trilogy that began with A Great Deal of Patience. Lucas Smith must lead his robot soldiers through the radiation-strewn battlefields of eastern Russia, as his wife makes her way to America, and the rest of his family, including Mike and Patience must try to carry on their lives in an America that is changing as a result of the worldwide conflict.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wesley Allison
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463861011

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 WIFE: PATIENCE UNDER FIRE

By Wesley Allison

Smashwords Edition

His Robot Wife: Patience Under Fire

Copyright © 2020 by Wesley Allison

Revision: 12-30-19

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 © Valuavitaly | Dreamstime.com

ISBN: 9780463861011

Dedication

For Vicki, Becky, and John

Patron

(With great thanks.)

Darryl Schnell

To find out about how to be a Patron and support this author’s writing, visit:

www.patreon.com/wesleyallison

His Robot Wife: Patience Under Fire

By Wesley Allison

Chapter One

It’s good to be back in Springdale, said Patience, as the car steered itself down the freeway exit.

Oh? wondered Mike. What’s good about it?

You aren’t happy to be home?

I’m not happy to be ordered home, he said. And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

You left out a verse, Mike, said Patience.

I know. Poor Quirinius gets left out of every Christmas pageant.

In many editions of the bible, the text focuses less on taxation and more on registration.

That’s what I’m focused on too. Registration… It’s all so fascist.

Mike Smith was a retired schoolteacher, fifty-eight years old. Though his hair had gone almost completely grey, he was handsome in a distinguished older man sort of way. Though one could not tell it from his reclined position in the car, he had a runner’s body that was in far better shape than the days before retirement.

Mike’s wife Patience was five foot seven, with a slender yet curvy figure. Her black hair was cut straight across her forehead. It matched two dark, carefully arched eyebrows and a set of long eyelashes, and accented big blue eyes and a cute little button nose. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, but her actual age was less than half that. She was a robot, a product of Daffodil Corporation.

Mike looked around as they passed through town. The Daffodil Center looked deserted. Across the street, two of every three businesses were boarded shut. As they reached the turnoff for old Main Street, things looked a little better, though even here, many of the stores were closed. Still, the local restaurants apparently had customers, and both Walmart and FoodNGo had parking lots filled with cars.

Why don’t we stop for a burger? he asked, spying Burger 21.

You ate lunch less than two hours, six minutes ago.

Yes, but I had an Asian salad and I’m hungry again.

Patience took manual control and turned the vehicle into the parking lot of the restaurant. There were several vehicles on the ceramic pavement and two waiting in the drive-thru line, but it wasn’t as busy as Mike had seen it in the past. Once the car was safely parked, both occupants climbed out and stepped across the lot.

It was a cool February day, the temperature well below ninety, but Burger 21 had their air conditioner on full. Mike felt the chilly blast when he opened the door. Letting his wife enter first, he followed her to the counter.

Can I interest you in a Freedom Burger today, sir? asked the robot behind the counter. She looked like a teenager, with medium length red hair and a symmetrical pattern of freckles across her otherwise unblemished skin.

Let me look for a minute, Toni.

Of course, sir.

Mike scanned the choice of burgers. Usually, they all sounded so good that he had a hard time choosing from among them. Today, none of them really stood out—Freedom Burger, Backyard Burger, Damn Gouda Burger, Sweet Dreams Burger, Prom Burger, and He-Man Burger.

Didn’t you have a commercial going for a Roman Senate Burger? Mike asked her.

Yes, sir. That burger rotated out on the thirtieth.

I don’t think you would have liked it anyway, Patience said into his ear. You know how you feel about fish sauce.

I’ll take a He-Man Burger combo, fries, with Refreshment 1026, and a water for the lady.

Wouldn’t you prefer a Refreshment 42? asked Toni, turning toward Patience.

Water. The two locked eyes for a moment. Turning to Mike, Patience told him, Go sit down. I’ll pay and then bring our food to the table.

Mike walked into the dining area. Only one table was occupied, with two women and two children, a preteen boy and a younger girl. He selected a table on the opposite side of the room.

Pulling his texTee from his pocket, he unrolled it and checked his email. It was mostly junk mail, but there was a message about his pension. A brief stint in the California Department of Child Support Services had managed to stymie the computers that kept track of his monthly retirement payments. His attempt to straighten it out had resulted in numerous requests for his information. He wanted to take care of it without Patience’s help, but there was a limit to his frustrations, and this was it. He forwarded the note to her inbox.

I’ll take care of it, said his robot wife, arriving with the food.

He examined his burger, as she took her seat across from him. Beer cheddar cheese, bacon, onion strings, smoked ketchup and garlic aioli on a burger with toasted sesame seed bun. He took a bite.

How is it? asked Patience.

Not bad, he said. I don’t know that it’s particularly manly. I somehow doubt that a real he-man cares so much for aioli. I would have gone for a stone ground mustard.

I can get you some mustard, if you like.

No. It’s fine. Did you get the email I forwarded to you?

Yes, Mike. I said that I’ll take care of it. Is there anything else of interest?

Mike looked back down at the texTee on the table, as he took another bite of his burger.

Yeah. There’s a message from my hot Japanese daughter-in-law. She’s going to be here next month.

Interesting.

Why is that interesting? You knew she was coming.

Not that, said Patience. How you refer to her. An attraction to Asian women is a common fetish among American men, but I have never observed that you were particularly drawn to them.

I’m not. I just like hot women. Red and yellow, black and white, they are sexy in my sight.

Patience tilted her head.

You are referencing a Christian nursery song. Would that be considered blasphemy?

Maybe, he said. That song is pretty racist though. I mean… red and yellow?

Nothing else in the mail?

No. Why? Were you expecting something?

I was expecting some kind of notice from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Robots.

Me too, said Mike. I didn’t want to bring it up though. It might be a while.

I don’t think it will be all that long, said Patience. Since the passage of the Public Safety Act, the ATFR has put several thousand Daffodils into service. I am sure you understand that it will result in an increase in the bureau’s efficiency.

See? said Mike. Even when they’re on the other side, you can’t help being in love with Daffodil. They can do no wrong in your eyes.

That isn’t true, Mike. I was as ready as anyone to stand up against Daffodil Corp when they planned to take over the world. Now though, the company has been nationalized and is under the control of the United States Government.

And you feel so much better with the government in control?

Much better, she said, nodding. It is a government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Which currently has a President, Vice President, most of a Congress, and a Supreme Court that nobody in the country voted for.

Nobody ever votes for Supreme Court, Patience pointed out.

And with the same robot who planned to take over the world in a position of huge power and responsibility.

Patience didn’t reply, and remained so still that for a moment, Mike thought she had frozen.

Perhaps she has seen the error of her ways, she said at last.

Or maybe the government reprogrammed her?

Perhaps.

You don’t really believe that. Do you, Patience?

Again, she didn’t reply.

They finished their meal and left the restaurant, dropping their waste in the bin provided, on the way out.

It was only a five-minute drive from Burger 21 to Mike’s home. North Willow Avenue, in some ways, looked eerily normal. The houses were all intact. There were no burning cars or barricades. There were no roving hordes of looters or zombies. There weren’t really any people either. As Patience steered into the garage, Mike noticed the yardbot stuck against a tree. He also noticed a bright green paper stuck to his front door.

Someone has been in our garage, said Patience.

Mike climbed out of the car and looked around. The metal cabinet that held miscellaneous dry goods, and a few seldom-used appliances had been pulled open, damaging the handle.

It wasn’t even locked, Mike complained. They can’t figure how to turn a knob before they pull it?

It doesn’t look like anything else is damaged, said Patience. Nor did they manage to enter the house.

At least not through the garage. When we get inside, I want you to check all the doors and windows.

As soon as they entered the house, Patience set about doing exactly that. All of the doors and windows were double locked, but that was little real deterrent to someone who wanted in badly enough.

While she was engaged in this task, Mike went to the front door and retrieved the brightly colored paper that had been stuck there. He was annoyed to find that the adhesive on the back of it cause some bright green bits to remain stuck to the wood. He would have to take some cleaner and a putty knife to it.

He stepped back inside and into the living room, dropping down onto the couch. Pulling his reading glasses from his pocket, he examined the paper. It was a notice from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Robots. They had been there the previous week. They were scheduled to return Wednesday 3-2-38, between the hours of 7AM and 5PM.

Nice of them to narrow down that window for us, grumbled Mike.

The house looks secure, said Patience, arriving in the living room. I think I’ll take a walk around the block and check on the neighbors.

I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.

Why?

I don’t know that I want you out alone, said Mike, you know, in the current climate.

I take it you mean the geopolitical climate, and not the weather.

You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. I don’t want you nabbed off the street by some anti-robot lunatics or by the government.

I’ll be careful, Mike, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay away from the road whenever a vehicle approaches.

That will make me feel better, he said. Also, call me if you’re going to be more than twenty minutes. And your yardbot is trying to climb the tree outside.

I saw it, said Patience, heading out the door.

Mike got up and went upstairs. He looked in each of the rooms, just to satisfy himself that everything was as it was supposed to be. This was the house he had lived in for over thirty years. He had lived here with his first wife Tiffany, and his three children: Harriet, Lucas, and Agnes. It had changed significantly since then. Patience had taken a house that had been little more than a collection of crypts and turned it into a real home.

With a sudden feeling of resolve, Mike pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his wife.

Hello, Mike. He knew that she was probably talking inside her head. Patience didn’t need any phone but the one that was built into her.

I’m going up to the cemetery.

Do you want me to go with you?

No. I’m just going to run up. I won’t be long.

I’m sorry. We don’t have any flowers suitable for you to take right now.

It’s okay.

It was a short drive to the Springdale Cemetery. It was, in fact, only about half as far away as was Burger 21. Though seas of tract homes surrounded it, the memorial landscape was still green and shaded by quite a few very large trees. Mike pulled through the gate and drove the narrow pavement path to the southeast corner of the emerald landscape, to the point at which it touched the neighboring pavement.

Pulling off to the side of the road as much as possible, which wasn’t much because of the narrowness of the path, Mike parked and climbed out of the vehicle. Tiffany’s grave was only a few steps away. He stood and looked down at the marker. Tiffany Louise Smith 1984-2021. Both dates seemed so very long ago.

I loved you so much, Mike told the mute stone.

Did he still love her? It was hard to say. The man that he had been still loved her, and that man was buried somewhere inside him, but it wasn’t the same.

A few feet away was the other grave. A small upright statue was affixed to the flat marker stone—the figure of an angelic child holding a flower in her left hand and raising a handkerchief to her eye with the right. Agnes Winnie Smith. 2016-2021. This was different than with Tiff. Mike’s love for his youngest child burned out from his middle all the way