I drank my robot soup and grinned intelligently. At least the techs told me I did. Their sense of humor again. I know that they have this sense but it is one of the few things about them that happen at absolutely random occasions. I cannot predict it's occurrence but only register that this input was joke. I was particularly attentive to this behavior, analyzing it between interrupts because it was the only situation that a human was ever faster at anything than I. They were always grinning by the time I realized that they had told a joke. Except twice a day of course. That was when the one I believe they call Big Secretary or something like that walked by them on her way to and from her big circular realwood desk. Then I always knew to the exact millinstant when they would tell their joke. In fact I think I was faster. Because they never seemed to realize that they were going to tell a joke until just before they did it. That's very odd. Because they did the exact same thing every day and the same time and further I've reboubleoverchecked my analysis and I am sure I am right. It was always the very exact same joke.
Curious.
What really happened is that my main and storeoff plates became fully charged and held. They moved a large lever and the voltmeter's display dropped to zero. I was unplugged. I automatically powered on and the manual overcontrol buttons lit in sequence, indicating the process of my selftest. Having passed all stages, I settled down to my usual hum, and waited. I was moved across town via the 1300 transtram and at 14:24 my owner signed for my standard six month recharge and checkout. She was glad to have me back. I'd been gone since 06:00 and she'd been without me all day.
She really didn't understand why they had to take me away for over eight hours for a routine one hour job. Why couldn't they just send a flat when they were ready for me? Her thinker seemed to lack the capacity to interpret and process even the simplest figures. I was sent to a substation, a fairly small one, called REDO SOUTH40 located in Sector 40 to the South of New Boston. They processed 18,000 routines a day just at RS40, not counting overhauls and repairs. You'd think Ms. would easily understand why they couldn't send a t- tram just for me. But she didn't. Every time, she tried to explain what she wanted. After all, she had a long-standing account and they did have six months notice, didn't they? And every single time we processed 18,000 routines a day and it was just as impossible to send her the flat.
I slid into the living room. Mr. was playing at making eye contact with his infant son. They connected. Mr's eyes bored into Mason's. "Hi," he said, "I'm Dad. I love you. Goodbye." Not bad for his first try.
He didn't talk to Mason very much. He didn't see him much. He said "I love you" often, and he meant it. The trouble is, he says "goodbye" so much. I know this. Ms. tells me so. I know this well, because Ms. repeats it often, up to eight times an hour sometimes. But she's no worse off than any other housebird and better than many. At least she has a partner. At least he comes home. And she has me.
She has two offspring but they are both at school, so she only sees them twice a year, for a week at a time. I am the help that Ms. counts on, the friend she talks to,the organizer she depends on and, she says, "a darn good cook." Food gives them life. It also gives them pleasure. It seems to give them more pleasure than almost anything. Except the stereovision and of course yelling at each other over two companies of men and women called the Red Sox and the Yankees. Sometimes they fight, and the words they say are bitter. Those words cause the two of them pain, but they say them anyway. Yet, they shout many of those words at stereovision images of the Red Sox and the Yankees at work, and then these same words give them pleasure.
Curious.
Mr. is leaving again. This is a very big job. He is a monorail engineer. There is a branch line in Trenton, New York that extends from the shuttleport to the monolink. They must double it's capacity and not interrupt the passenger flow. It means a lot of credits. Mr. dares not tell Gates Monorail that he has a week of vacation left. He will go. He is going now. He is picking up his two heavy black bags and saying I-love-you-I'm-leaving-goodbye.
He is gone.