EXURB

EXURB, chunk one

1: Want Ad

Roger check was just your average metrobot who answered a want ad. The Big Down News glowed in his hands, its images flitted like jazz from the translucent plastipaper pages. It was both crude and overly modern, like most things in the city. His lenses scanned past the sportsball section, past the coverage of the endless celebrity riots, and rested for a moment on a sadly incomplete crossword puzzle toward the back. The paper's previous owner had given up, leaving three unsatisfyingly blank cubes. Extruding a stylus from the tip of his index finger and typing vertically, he mumbled to no one, "The word you needed is kin, it couldn't be more obvious", and began looking at the want ad section out of sheer boredom.
His suspension train was running late yet again, the tunnel wafted a subrail's burning oil smell, but there had been no PA announcement. Often when there was an incident, the Subsys put a hush on it until the injured and dead were sorted and the commuters were back to being distracted by hating commuting. He should have prepared better for these lulls, he thought, by putting a few hours of video in his temple port. But during those evenings when he was alone and had the time to remember things, forgetting things always seemed to take precedence.

"WANTED - Hard worker for various tasks, incl. waste removal, solar mod repair and maintenance, light driving, insect battle, etc. Car will be furnished, payments deducted from salary. Must be good with children, animals. No oilers, no smokers. Location: North."

This ad was clearly not meant for a rustified Down City pseudo-man like him. He took a mental appraisal anyway, he had the time. He thought to himself, "Hard worker; I am that by nature and design." He wondered what sort of waste needed removing and how often. Not that it mattered, he was no stranger reassigning waste to new, less visible locations. He knew zip about solar, but he was good with his hands and had always been the curious type. He knew even less about kids and animals, aside from the fact that they both make noise, make messes, and make him smile like a simpleton. A car? He hadn't driven in decades, but at that moment the thought of not being trapped in a subterrestrial coffin outweighed any fears he had of freeway mayhem. He wondered, if he were an actual human person and the work day was done, if he would be allowed to use the car to drive to... but Roger had no points of reference, only a peaceful image of infinite highway exits.
Roger was beginning to daydream without his own permission. "Insect battle? I wonder if the person placing the ad meant to say exterminator. If I were to take this seriously at all, which I certainly do not, I would have to cut out the oiling." He hadn't had a cigarette in years, but he did devote a lot of his time to lubricating the Roger Check machine. Liberal oiling made things duller, flatter, easier to parse. A few months later, with an army of toaster-sized stink bugs upon him, Roger would know she had truly meant to use the word "battle".

The words "Spare some chit?" came through the chest panel speaker box of a hulking, squared off lifterbot. The weight of the genderless, virtually faceless, purple-grey machine almost upended the plastic bench as it sidled up to Roger and repeated,

"Spare some chit?"

Roger could see the bot was badly in need of maintenance but clearly too old a model for anyone to spend the money to refurbish. He knew the lower level AI bots also had far less capacity to feel emotion than other types, but to see any creature suffering made Roger hurt. It was one of his many weaknesses. Roger responded, awkwardly trying to make light of a terrible situation,

"I have zero money, but I'll give you half."

The lifter repeated Roger's words in its own failing electric voice, "I have z-zero money, but I'll give you half."

"Yeah, sorry, just a bad joke. Sometimes when things get lousy you have to laugh, you know?"

But the bot again said, "I have z-zero money, bu-but I'll give you half," this time its voice was even louder and more gravely. Concern came across Roger Check's face, and it was not the look of concern that an android is programmed to display. All bots with fully articulated faces like Roger's are wired to respond to human concerns by mimicking human sympathy. But no humans were present in the echoing subrail.