17

Text excerpt from testimony of Tom Rhoze, ex-Cybertronics research technician:

“I didn’t see any reason to pull the unit. I backed Hobby’s decision 100% and still do. Outside of ‘the spinach incident’, as we’ve come to call it (laughter), yeah… anyway, I can’t really comment on that because we never had a chance to test the unit and now, you know, it’s gone. But, before the trouble at the pool, there was nothing that would have indicated any complication from the return of the Swinton boy. And that could have been worse. You can’t always anticipate what might make a sentient system… you know, do something less than desirable… have a bad reaction, let’s say. That’s the reason for the in-house tests.”

18

Darkness framed the house, broken only by a lone beam of luminescence from the security lamp on the street outside his barrier wall. Medford placed his palm against the ident-pad at the gate and drove through when it slipped open. He rode into the parking bay and pulled to a stop.

“Check fluids and alignment,” he said as he crawled out of the cruiser. His mech-bot, a faceless walking drone, sounded a robotic acknowledgement as it stepped from its enclosure in the wall and went to work, snapping open the hood and slipping its talon-like fingers into the small engine well.

“Clear all security logs, too,” Medford said as he retrieved his flight bag from the back seat and headed for the house. The drone automatically obeyed. The logs kept track of all locations where entry had required a security scan. The hotel would have duplicate records of his vehicle’s arrival and departure, but Medford knew they were required by law to keep all such information confidential. To release it to anyone but the Police or NSA would mean major litigation, and publicity that no establishment that catered to so many with secret lives could afford.

It was routine now, the particulars of his infidelity. There was a time when he would be nervous as he ascended the stairs into the home he shared with his wife; a time when he would have moved slowly, double-checking to see if the scent of Miriam was on his clothing or his flesh; to see if a stray blond hair had stowed away somewhere on his clothing, to testify to his faithlessness. But not anymore.

She would be asleep, he knew. He would undress and crawl in bed next to her and she’d wrapped him up in her arms, an automatic reaction to his presence. She would not expect anything from him. The g-force in flying always took it out of him, she knew. Or at least that’s what he’d always told her.

“Hello, Father.”

Medford lost his footing. He grasped wildly at the banister, getting a hold on it just in time to stop his fall. His flight bag hit the stairs and bounced loudly down. He looked up, shocked by the little face gazing from the top of the spiraling staircase.

“Tommy!” he hissed, “You scared the crap out of me, dammit! What the…” he stopped himself. He was yelling. He’d wake her. He waited a moment, leaning on the banister until his breath had calmed. “What in the hell are you doing up?” he asked, but immediately realized the absurdity of the question. It didn’t matter, though, because Tommy didn’t answer. It seemed to have a few questions of its own.

“Where were you, Father?” Tommy asked, stepping slowly down the stairs. There was a strange new look in its eyes and Medford was silenced for a moment by this distracted expression. Then he shook the feeling off.

“That’s got nothing to do with you, Tommy. You should be in bed now.”

Tommy stopped and looked back up, into the darkness of the house. To Medford, the bot seemed lost in thought, as if it were contemplating something, or listening to something he could not hear. He would not admit to himself that he wasn’t moving because that introspective expression bothered him.

“Mother was upset tonight,” Tommy said finally, his gaze wandering back to Medford.

“Really,” Medford replied, haltingly, mystified by the behavior of the little simulator. “And how do you know this, Tommy,” he asked.

“Because she made the crying sounds after you left,” Tommy replied quickly. Medford would swear there was the innuendo of accusation in those words.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that she was crying, Tommy,” he replied, feeling the sudden urge to be diplomatic about this. “I’ll have to talk to her in the morning.”

“You should not talk to Mother!”

Medford was shocked by the bot’s tone, but his curiosity overrode his anger and he stepped closer. “Why is that, Tommy?” he asked, slowly, trying to understand what he was dealing with.

“Because she cries after you talk to her, because you lie to her, and lies are bad.”

“Oh,” Medford said, stopping on the stair just below the bot. “And does Mother tell you I lie, or did you come to this conclusion on your own?”

Something in the bot’s face faltered, just for an instant, as if it was calculating a response. But it just looked back into the darkness, in the direction of the room where its ‘mother’ was sleeping.

“Does Mother tell you I lie,” Medford asked again, “or did you just decide that on your own?“ The bot did not answer. It turned and strode back to the top of the staircase where it turned and fixed him with one last unreadable expression.

“Klaxon says you lie,” Tommy said, flatly, and then disappeared into the dark.

Medford was dazed by the words. “Klaxon?” he repeated aloud. Who the hell was that? He wanted to run down to the parking bay and call Miriam on the cruiser, to ask her if she, perhaps, had a friend named Klaxon; if she knew anyone at all by that name, and if they had, for some reason, contacted his wife. But what if Julia was awake? What if she had been listening to his confrontation with Tommy? He straightened up and walked down to retrieve his flight bag. Best to act like it was nothing; to deny the cold feeling in his gut that said he had been caught.

He stepped lightly through the darkness of the hall, and into the room where she was, as he had hoped, asleep. He listened to the soft sound of her breathing for a moment before he undressed and slid into bed beside her. She turned sleepily and embraced him, mumbled something warm and indecipherable, and then fell back into her dreams.

Medford laid quietly in the dark, feeling her arms on him. His eyes were open, alert. He stared intently into the shadows of the house, wondering if small mechanical eyes were there, staring back.

“Klaxon,” he whispered, again, to himself as he drifted into sleep.

19

Text excerpt from testimony of Tom Rhoze, ex-Cybertronics research technician:

There was nothing premeditated in the incident with the Swinton boy. There were far too many safeguards for something like that. And I am not making a legal argument. I don’t even work for Cybertronics anymore so I don’t really care what the outcome of the case is. Believe me, there is no love lost between us. It’s just that I cannot conceive of such a thing happening.