by Laura Browne-Lambert
Robot Rejection is being released in serial form. Reading this story in order is advised. Click the link below to read the story in order.
CW: Some language in the form of a curse word.
Image Description: A red articulated arm-like machine with a small claw on one end rests on a table against a white background.
Credit: Sufyan / Unsplash via Webador
Danny tugged at the seams of his binder. He had reached the time of day that the fabric made his skin itch and the seams dug into the soft flesh under his arms. But when he looked in the mirror or caught his reflection in a window – damn, he looked good. Like his body belonged to him. Before he’d started wearing binders, he’d felt like he was tagging along inside the body of a stranger.
A knock on his car window startled Danny out of his daze. On the other side of the door stood the woman from the bar. Johnny had called the private investigator to look into the case of her violently malfunctioning Mop ‘N Scrub robomop when the police department failed to follow up. Danny’s guilt was going to stick with him for a while. Folx in their community were supposed to look after one another, but he had left Johnny feeling alone. Now, the only way to fix it was to work with the enemy.
Danny rolled down the window. “What?”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Detective,” the woman said with a jaunty toss of her head. She held one of her shoulders higher than the other as she leaned on forearm crutch, a messenger bag slung over her balanced her other side.
“Uh, huh.” The last private investigator Danny crossed paths with had compromised crucial evidence and let a murderer walk free.
“I thought we might compare notes.” She flipped open a notebook, leaning against the car door so that she could use her other hand.
Nope, he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t handle the shiny attitude and the cavalier way this woman put her fingerprints all over his car. So what if it was a Civic. This stranger didn’t get to deface it with her smudgy, oily hands.
“Look, Ma’am,” Danny said, trying hard to muster up a respectful tone. He still remembered all the times he had been talked down to when he had presented as a woman. “Thanks for stepping in to help out my friend, but I’m here now, and I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure her case gets treated right.” He put the car in gear and waited for her to step back. “It’s probably best if you move on to the next case on your list.”
“Actually—” The woman’s hand left a smudge on the glass as Danny rolled up the window. Her muffled shouts blended with the whirring of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel.
“Would you like me to drive you home, Danny?” asked the disembodied voice of his AI.
Danny rolled his eyes. “No, Connie, I do not want you to drive me home.” He cut through the intersection with his foot on the gas.
“I am detecting anger, Danny,” the cool, tinny voice continued. “Road range is dangerous and can result in illegal driving practices, vehicular accidents, injury, and death.”
“Power down, Connie,” Danny growled.
“My apologies, Danny. Safety override features have been enabled. Please direct the vehicle to the side of the road and put it in park until you are no longer in a state of anger or turn over control of the vehicle so that I may navigate to your destination.”
“What the—” Danny punched the off button on his smartwatch, the AI control on the dashboard, and on his phone. “Power down, Connie.”
“Initiating countdown. Because your heartrate, blood pressure, and tone of voice suggest that you are currently unsafe to drive, I am authorized to intervene for your safety and the safety of other drivers. In ten seconds, I will take navigational control over your vehicle and inform local authorities of your incapacitated state. To avoid further inconvenience, please advise me as to your destination and relinquish vehicular controls immediately.”
“Seriously?”
“Ten, nine, eight—”
“Connie, what the—”
“—seven, six, five—”
“I’m not incapa—” Danny swerved around a stopped car and slammed on his brakes. The wheels squealed as the car skidded to a stop in front of the red light he had failed to notice. A tractor trailer barreled through the intersection. Danny’s heart stuttered in shock.
“—four, three—”
“Fine, fine,” Danny gasped. “Take the wheel, Connie. It’s yours. You drive.”
“Thank you, Danny.” The counting stopped and Connie’s mechanically polite voice asked him, “Where would you like to go?”
“Just—just drive me home.”
“Certainly.”
A vibration in the steering wheel and the foot pedals signaled the shift in control and the car seemed to drive itself down the city streets. Danny rubbed his eyes and tapped his face with his palms. He had to snap out of this mood if he was going to be any help to anyone. He counted his breaths. Inhale four beats. Hold for two. Exhale four beats. Hold for two. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Finally, the Civic rolled up to an aging apartment building. A garage door opened on the left side of the brick edifice and Connie navigated the car underground to the parking space assigned to Danny’s apartment.
Carrying the robomop up the stairs to the fourth floor of his building was an awkward task. The robotic limbs swung at odd angles and caught on railings and the underside of steps. Several times, Danny had to apologize to his neighbors as the struggled to pass him.
Finally, he tapped his watch against the sensor on the doorknob and the door slid open. Danny dropped the robomop on the kitchen table in the middle of stacks of mail. Kicking off his shoes, he tugged his shirt over his head, squirmed gracelessly out of his binder, and pulled his shirt back on as he passed through the kitchenette. He paused briefly to slice banana onto bread slathered with peanut butter. Mouth full, he settled down at the table with a toolbox and a scanner app queued up on his phone and got to work.
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Loving this!