The ball of light splits the forest in two, bouncing heat and ash off the canopy all the way down into the damp undergrowth. Where bits of debris alight on a rare dry patch, the underlying fungal layer, with sodden indifference, snuffs them out in a puff of smoke. A wide flat piece,
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Adam observed the flock of pigeons. The whole time he’d been sitting on the rusted park bench, seeds disappeared around only one. The real pigeon ate the seeds he threw at it; the drones just pecked at the ground.
A few drone birds took flight. Adam glanced at his watch. Right on schedule.
Lyle bit his lip, heart pounding as he scanned the waters for any sign of police boats or security. This trip was a stupid idea. Why had he even agreed to return? He knew the dangers.
Flustered, he ripped the sunglasses from his face and rubbed his burning eyes. Foolish sentiment had clouded
If only that blasted goat hadn’t eaten the time machine.
Inventor and his brother, Farmer, hadn’t spoken a word between them since. Plus, the stupid goat blipped to the Renaissance every time it hiccupped for a solid month. That afternoon snack had ruined everything…
Inventor shook his head, staring out the workshop’s high
When Rosco opened his eyes for the first time and saw the old man smiling back at him, all operational parameters pointed to one thing: it was going to be a happy life.
His performance diodes peaked under the kindly gaze and the feedback-response loop set his chain-link tail thumping uncontrollably against
Closure.
Ha.
I’m here by doctor’s orders. The last place I want to see is Death’s Curve. I despise every stick, every inch of pavement, every pebble along this road. You’d hate seeing where your daughter died too.
This is the sort of place teenagers used to go to neck when I was younger.
The synaptic probe slides into my brain, battering down the doors to my treasured memories. There is no time to prepare for the pain. Instead, I focus on the memory of a kindly old face.
Would my creator be proud of me?
“Are you smiling, RS-47? Such emotional mimicry will not hold sway here.”
The ornate front door of The Inventor’s house had a glass knob and engravings of vines crawling over the edges. I didn’t knock—there was no need. The Inventor wouldn’t answer, anyways. Mother had tried to convince him he needed an assistant to run the house, but The Inventor wouldn’t have it.
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Danil raised his binoculars to his eyes, scanning the buildings below him. From his perch in the clock tower, he could see the necessary details from a great distance.
Apartment 203’s curtains were pulled back, allowing him to survey a tidy living room. He panned his binoculars to a church across town.
The rowdiness in the mall stretched for miles. I watched from a distance as people flocked the hallways, leaning over balconies to gape at the waving, smiling bot in their midst.
Thomas900.
Thomas’s robotic voice matched mine. He was tall like me, but with inward curves in the middle and a spherical base.
Kylie had never seen so much bot blood.
There were drops of it, splashes and pools of it, all leading farther into the house like Gretel’s breadcrumbs. Toting her medical bag high, she watched where she placed her boots. There was nothing like getting cobalt blood on leather. It was the consistency of
NOTICE OF SAFETY RECALL: DOMESTIC BOTS
According to our records, you recently purchased a domestic bot from The Gentrifix Corporation. A routine safety check revealed an anomaly in the bot’s code that makes it aggressive when exposed to the unique shade of Martian Red.
Contrary to recent, unsanctioned news reports
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