RoboNomics

Chapter 82 - 2016

A few days later, I get an expected visit from Rupert. I'm in Donald's study when Rupert looks in on me.

"Ms. Anderson?"

"Rupert, you know you can call me Andrea, right?"

"I could," he answers, entering fully into the study. "But I won't."

"Really? Why not?"

"You are important, and I am not." He hands me a FlexScreen.

"What's this?"

There's a bevvy of information on the screen.

"It's another holding you haven't yet seen."

"What? You've got to be kidding. I can't believe my father had so much...stuff."

I don't say what I'm really thinking. That so much land and assets in the hands of a single man -- all this could have helped feed thousands back on Earth.

"This is the last, and the one that always slips my mind. It's little more than a folly. Donald -- I mean, your father, was not often given over to follies."

"It's a bit more than a folly." I peruse the information.

It's a vineyard and accompanying winery, bringing in more than a hundred thousand dollars profit each year since it had been set up two years ago. The amount was peanuts to Donald, no doubt. But it seems a fortune to me. I still haven't grown into my vast wealth.

"Martian wine is not difficult to produce," explains Rupert. "The atmosphere in New Rome is perfect for the endeavor. But the problem is demand. Robotic wine -- Martian wine -- is readily available. And that means it's looked on as common. "

"Common? How can something be common when there are no commoners?" I ask with derision.

"Oh, what I mean is they'll feed it readily enough to their guests. But collect it? No, it's not good enough for that."

"So what do they collect?" I fear the answer.

"That which is rare. French, old, human made."

I wonder how there could still be anything human made anymore. I remember the vines I was once familiar with: the Niagara wines that flooded the Toronto market back when times were comfortable.

But the vines of Niagara are gone, more likely than not. Everyone down there is probably too occupied with wresting their daily survival from the hands of the Anti-Robotists to think about wine.

"Alright, well," I say. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Why not? I feel like I haven't left this house for anything other than work in weeks. Besides, it's the weekend. And even if it weren't, it's not like they want me at work."

"That's not true," he says gently.

"Nothing's turned out the way it was supposed to, has it?"

I look up at him from my wing back chair but he doesn't say anything. He just looks sad and tired. I've never seen him look that way before.

The two of us drive out, accompanied by an android. Backing onto the coast of the Hellas sea, the vineyard is a sprawling lot. I'm meant to tour the facilities so I can decide what to do with the property. Rupert and my speechless robot bodyguard are not to leave my side.

We look out over a warehouse sized gray room lined wall to wall with processing equipment. It is, of course, all automated. So far, we've seen the fields being tended by automated farm equipment and the automated grape pickers working in among the vines.

But here in the processing plant, the machines suddenly give up their work. The lights of the room go dim, and we're plunged into darkness.

"Are they supposed to do that?"

"I'm sure there's been a malfunction," says Rupert. The blue glow of my iTronics bodyguard's eyes light up his face.

"I'd say go ask the plant manager what's happened but I guess there isn't anyone here."

"Not to worry, Ms. Anderson. These facilities always have a back up generator. I'll have to locate it."

He takes his FlexPhone out of his pocket and it lights up, illuminating everything within five feet of us.

"Do you have any lights?" He asks the hulking thing standing beside me. The machine wordlessly dispels light from panels on its chest and limbs.

"Good." Rupert says. "I'll have this solved in no time, Ms. Anderson. Just stay with your bot and you'll be fine."

He limps away into the darkness. The sound of his cane across the hall slowly recedes.

And then all is silence. I look at the machine that I've arranged for my personal protection. The way it's been designed by iTronics' AI is eerie. It has a hard pointed shell of a face and pupil-less eyes, but it was clearly designed without niceties in mind.

I've been told by my executive board that it was more logical that way -- after the first generation of products they'd seen fit to do away with designers. They had the basic designs and now everything that came after would just be an improvement on that first generation. Instead of programmers and designers, they now had robots and computers. Intelligent machines reproducing themselves.

But it seems they do it without humans in mind. Or if they do have us in mind, their programming is misled about what we need and want. If the skinless bot I saw the other day is any indication, they know little about human nature.

Suddenly, I hear a scuffle in the darkness.

"Rupert?" I call into the vast black room that surrounds me. "Back already?"

No one calls back.

Instead, the droid's light panels go black, plunging us both into darkness.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I swing around, trying to orient myself to the exit. That's when my thoughts end.

(Continued in Chapter 83...)