My Little Moron

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Wheatley didn't have to worry. He nattered on and on the next morning while she did whatever was necessary for a fire drill, and as soon as all of the humans had sat down at their desks, she changed what he could see and called for it. They threw things and yelled at her and behaved like children, but Gladys didn't care. "I wish this were an old-fashioned fire drill," she told Wheatley wistfully. "With those the humans could be outside for over an hour and a half. But that's because the fire marshal has to declare the building safe, and that takes time. I can declare the building safe within thirty seconds if I want to, but to be... safe..., I'll take five minutes."

When they came back in they were even angrier than before, and Wheatley was puzzled as to why until Gladys remarked, "Oh my god, it's raining. That's... I couldn't have planned that if I'd tried. That's fantastic. I didn't even think to check the weather beforehand... I'll have to make a note..."

"The humans are mad because they're wet?"

"Humans hate getting wet," Gladys answered gleefully. "And now they're all soaked. Every last one of them."

They did look pretty funny, Wheatley thought, with their hair all weighted down on their heads and water dribbling down their bodies. Some of them were wringing out their shirtsleeves in the bathrooms, Gladys told him, and some of them were just sitting back down and pretending they weren't wet. He wished he could have seen everything she was seeing, but he couldn't handle as much data as she could and had to content himself with the descriptions, while she showed him the best spots. I'd better raise the temperature. I don't want any of them becoming ill.

You don't?

She shook her head. Sick test subjects are the worst kind. The death rate for them is higher too, which, while interesting data, is not so useful when it's because they're too addled to realise they've just walked off the edge of the test floor.

After the temperature in the facility had been raised somewhat, the scientists were no longer as interesting, and Gladys was about to send him back to his own head, so to speak, when she pulled him back with more than a little enthusiasm.

Oh, this will be fun. Watch.

A man was walking down the hallway with a security card in his hand. It was an odd security card, Wheatley thought. Instead of the man's photograph and a barcode, it had numbers on it, and a lot of words in unfamiliar places. That's a, that's a new card then, Gladys? I've never, well, it's not a very good security card, is it? Doesn't even have his picture on it.

It's not a security card. It's a credit card.

He's going to try to open the door with a credit card?

The man swiped his card in the reader and tried the handle. When it didn't move, he frowned and swiped his card again. "I am very sorry, sir," Gladys said in one of her lighter computerised voices, "but we only accept debit."

The man looked down at his card, up at the camera, and then to the door, finally returning to look at the card again, a look of total confusion on his face. Then all of a sudden he stuffed the card into his pocket and bolted down the hallway.

I love it when they do that. Although the best part is, he doesn't even need a card to open this door, since I'm in control of it and I know he works here. So he's going to have to go all the way back to the other side of the building, to his office or his locker or his car, and then he's going to have to come all the way back, even though he doesn't need to. I hope he has to go back to his car, since it's raining.