Calypso-15

1 - The Pug

I wondered if a job was worth my sanity as Professor Runkle's face scrunched inwards. He resembled a pug, the creases on his face leading to an indeterminate point somewhere in the middle. His fat tongue lapped out to finish the little bit of wine at the edge of his lips. Nothing would ever erase his face from my memory, not even the loss of it.

"Sentience? Professor Orion, you jest. It would be no more than a parlor trick. Robots can mimic it, but they cannot truly feel it. Tell me, does your reflection feel what you do?" Runkle took a self-satisfied swig of his wine. The drink was dark, and the harsh lights of the lecture room reflected in it. His suit strained to keep him in, his youth fleeing him through each strained button. Maybe there was a time where he resembled his conversation mate, a young and slender man of no more than twenty. But that time was long gone.

"We have yet to figure out what sentience even is. How are you so sure we will not simply stumble upon it," said the student.

"If we simply stumble into it," the fat man swayed onto his heels. "Then we will surely stumble out. There's no reason to keep a robot alive." For Papa. I turned my face into a soft and serene smile as both men looked to me. I had nothing to contribute to this subject, but I found myself speaking.

"I think sentience would be a more noble goal than assassination," I grinned conspiratorially at the young man. He floundered slightly, disturbed by the force of my smile. Runkle clapped me on the shoulder.

"There is nothing more noble than the pursuit of money, bah, all the ethical riff-raff about creating a better world. War. Murder. Death. That's where innovation is," Runkle sighed. "I'm not saying I like it. But if I want to be kept interested, and by that I mean paid, then this is where it's at."

"Speaking of money, Professor Runkle, I wanted to talk to you about the open position in your laboratory. My father asks to cash in a favor, the spider-favor, for me."

Runkle's face contorted comically in astonishment. Where before, he scrunched everything inward, now everything stretched out. He looked more and more like an asshole, than a pug. Unrelenting.

"I thought you were enjoying my company," he hissed. I grimaced inwardly. Maybe I had led him on a little, to get into the party. "Sorry, this position is closed. Tell your father the favor has reached its limits. It's been many, many years now."

"Please, he isn't feeling well," I continued my forced, soft, smile. Creep. "Anything to help."

"Should have chosen a relevant degree, I'm afraid. I do not give positions to those not in the same field of study. Nor to any of my romantic prospects."

I did not hide my disgust as I bid my farewells. Papa was so trusting. Many years ago, he saved Runkle from death by his own inventions, a little gun-turret robot with spider legs. The story went that they lived in the same dorm, and Runkle ran in, screaming bloody murder. My father, a young soldier recently home from the Last War, kept a gun under his mattress. He shot the spider real good. A terrible one-sided friendship enthused between them. My father was completely enamored with Runkle for reasons I would never understand.

This was also my final chance before having to find work out on the street. A shudder ran through me. I would be running out of credits soon, so even transportation would have to be outside, not through the Government drive-capsules. Anything. Anything. Truly, if wasn't he was not as repulsive as a bull-frog, I may have slept with him. At least, I could enter this new, poorer era with dignity.

I stepped outside the lecture hall, thankful not to have to sit through another speech, thankful to never have to speak to Runkle again. The worst case scenerio was here. I would have to find a job that paid well enough for Papa's medical expenses on the street. That meant one thing: to sell my body. Either I would have to sell it through sex work, or through Labor. Laborers were paid absurdly well. They died all the time. I thought about spending my time in a grimy sex-club. It was better than an increased possibility of death. But it didn't pay well enough.

Before Papa fell ill, we were a touring musical duo. He played violin and I played piano. We were in demand enough that it had allowed us to get by, but we knew we would never be chosen to entertain the masses. That was where the real money was. Credits unlimited. Celebrity was carefully chosen, and always to fit what the Government wanted. Everyone was ok with that. Everyone was starting to forget what it was like before. I only knew of a time before because Papa had always told me stories, and over time it felt like it was my history too. Now, well. Papa could not play. I did not earn enough on my own.

I patted my pastel pink wool coat, and slid on my black satin gloves. Tonight, a failed performance. The search for the next begins.

A gentle hand on my shoulder stopped me in my tracks. A tall, thin, pale man smiled shyly from under a fedora. His hair jutted out in tufts. He was unexpectedly handsome, with high cheekbones and delicate lips. Bright crazy eyes.

"I heard you were searching for a position in a lab? Pardon me for listening in."

"Uh, yes. I was. Not anymore. I don't have any relevant qualifications," I stepped away from the outstretched hand. It quivered slightly. The man shook his head.

"No, I don't need that. Just someone to keep watch. A warm body, really," he said, in a tone that betrayed he understood my current situation. "Thirty credits an hour during the night. Twenty during the day. You will be fed on the job. Though it's not good food, mind you."

Any questions died on my tongue. Thirty credits would be enough, more than enough. It was more than a Laborer. Or sex-work.

"And the hours?"

"As many as you can bear. I just need you to keep watch."

"Of what?"

"That's a secret."

"Dangerous secret?"

"Yes," he shrugged. Lots of things were dangerous. I could not afford to pass this up. "Can you start now?"

"Yes, lead the way."

I followed him out to the drive-capsule, and thanked him as he payed for the ride. Usually, capsules move either left or right. The city is nothing more than a grid of squares. This time, however, the capsule sank straight down.