The Greatest Commodity (First Draft)

Many Years

A young waiter arrived with his burger, and Nevil ate it slowly, relishing the taste. Like many times before, he wondered how the reconstruction of Earth was going; the robots had their orders, it was probably going fine; Nevil put it out of his mind.

By now, he was quite awake. And so too, was the world. The cafe was bustling with diners, in fact, it was full. Dozens of people were already queuing up just outside, likely cursing to themselves about how they despaired of the thought of having to eat inferior food; it was their fault, anyway. The early bird gets the worm, nowhere had Nevil gone where that wasn't the constant; it was their fault, they should've gotten up earlier!

A woman about thirtyish walked up to Nevil's table and waited for him to see her. He was too engrossed in his thoughts, and his burger, to see her. She cleared her throat to get his attention and said, "this is the only table that isn't fully stocked. May I sit here?"

Nevil looked up and saw her. Tall and thin like all Selenites, rather pretty too, but Nevil was too old for those things to matter to him. But he understood that he was hogging two chairs around a single table while only using one, he nodded assent and she sat down. "Have you made your order?" he asked. It would be a bit too late for her to do that now, if she were to get up, the force of the traffic would ensure that someone else would instantly take the seat.

"Of course," she said, "I made it before I came to you." she looked him over, "you look familiar."

Nevil laughed, "In what way? Film? Newsletter? Or on the back of a book?"

She smiled slightly, "All three, I believe. You're James Nevil, right?"

"Indeed." He swallowed the last of his burger. Since he was finished with his food, it was only common courtesy for him to get up so someone else could sit. The woman noticed it too and pulled out a notebook from her jacket. "Could I have an autograph, please?" She offered him a pen.

Nevil took the pen, and the notebook and wrote his name, plus a little message -- something motivational, the usual stuff. He then handed back the two items, grabbed his coat, and left.

Nevil returned to his apartment, the smoky sun still shone down through the skylight. But some things had changed, the bed had been made, and all the clutter put away. "Aquila?" he called out, after locking the door behind him.

The robot emerged from the closet, a simulated humanoid-form composed entirely of claytronic goo. "You rang?" It answered its voice the perfect imitation of cheerfulness, though Nevil could never fully tell whether or not it was real.

"Yes," Nevil said, "I did. I asked you to stop cleaning up the place, everybody knows I'm a slob that lives alone!"

"But, James." the robot pleaded, "It was not me, it was the maid."

Nevil was surprised, "Maid? What maid?"

"It's new, apparently. Free housecleaning, a little local service. It was in the newsletter."

"Can I opt out of it?" Nevil asked.

"I believe so," Aquila replied.

Nevil went to check the computer. Indeed, the local government of the section had instituted a service to deal with trash cleanup. Citizens could opt out of the service, but only if they cleaned up with their own two hands and delivered the garbage directly to the incinerators themselves. In short, you clean or we clean for you.

Nevil sent an email to the service asking to opt out. He was growing old and had always been kind of messy. But he had to do these things himself. "Did they see you?" he asked Aquila.

"No. I turned into a suitcase and propped myself up against the bed. They picked me up and put me on the shelf."

Well, at least they hadn't found Aquila. Nevil had found out that personal robots were banned, likely because the Collective saw them as a threat. Luckily, all robots had been removed seventy-thousand years ago, and nobody bothered to search anymore. But if Aquila were discovered... the laws still existed, openly enforced or not.