Get ready for a thrilling ride into a future where robots and humans clash for control in RoboNomics, the updated and refreshed version of the 2013 sci-fi classic.
In Toronto, elementary school teacher Andrea Anderson's world crumbles when she's rep...
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Three weeks of trying, I think to myself one day in early November.
It's lunch hour and the sounds of Crescent Street students laughing, singing, screaming with joy waft through the windows that are closed to the chilly, frosted day.
Three weeks, and nothing to show for it. My AR workstation is up, and I'm seated at the teacher's desk. I refuse to sit anywhere else in the room when it's just myself and the machine in the classroom. I refuse to cede my position to her, to own up to the reality of my situation.
"Teacher", meanwhile, is snug in the security of her brace. She's used to this routine by now. She's used to looking around the empty class from her shackle while I dig through her digital thought patterns, willing a way to overcome her stunning learning speed. Wishing I was smart enough to undo her and the changes she's wrought.
Even though my quantum computing skills are coming back to me at a rapid pace, another day is passing, and I still don't know how to take her down. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the AR workstation a random group of lights seared into the back of my eyelids. I slump forward towards the desk, brace my elbows on it, and let my head fall heavy into my palms.
My fingers slot between the smooth threads of my hair as my head slides further down, towards the desk. Tears of frustration are gathering, threatening to fall. I picture my future as a long, steady, straight path - as it had been only a month and a half ago. There were no obstacles between me and comfort, prosperity.
My past, granted, has been a winding road with forks into dark paths and walls to climb over. But I'd always known what to do next, which road to take. To survive, and then to find myself, to center myself on the right path at last, to leave the past behind me.
Now, the path before me disappears completely, and for the first time in my life, I don't know what to do next.
At least I don't have to worry about the fallout from the clandestine teachers' meeting. I ran into Henri at lunch, and he led me back to his classroom where he conveyed all the news in whispers.
"There's not much they can do," he said, referring to our Principal and Vice Principal. "They asked for a formal apology."
"That's it?"
"They made us all sit down in the break room when they had our unions on the phone. It was embarrassing for them. The unions basically told them in the interest of a cohesive work environment, this is the best way forward."
"Meaning they don't want to rock the boat," I suggest.
"I guess," he concedes with a smile that's more smug than triumphant. "Goodman definitely had egg on her face."
"Maybe." I wonder whether this concession is a way to placate us until we can be completely replaced.
"Anyway, we agreed to write the apology. But we tried not to agree to anything that sounded like it would end our right to peacefully assemble – whether virtually or not."
