CHAPTER 20

Quill paced in front of A2, pointing with the remote toward his monitoring screen, changing the split to a quad.  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.  We’ve had this conversation before.  Transcending ourselves to find ourselves is, and always has been, our mission... but not this way.”

“I merely put in motion what research and analysis dictated was next.”

“And you did it while I was away, A2.  Never while I’m away.  Those are the rules.”

“Mr. Quill… you were in New York watching it on your portable, remember?”

“I’m talking about what went on after I shut down, A2.  Damn it.  Wish you wouldn’t try to play me.  I’m not a system you can game.”

“Sorry, Mr. Quill.  Not playing at all.  It wasn’t until… I was as surprised as Urian when he sensed Marsha under the water.  That was the clone’s experience, not Urian’s.”

Quill pulled his chair up to A2, sat, and leaned forward like a father about to try reasoning with a child.  “You mean what happened after I shut down in NY.  Correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Quill.”

“And,” Quill continued, “we don’t know exactly what Urian experienced, do we?  ManBot1 knows, but not Urian.”  He leaned closer.  “Urian shared with me he knew she was under water and that she was in a sense of bliss he had only seen after making love to her... a long time ago.  Then he tells me that he confronts you, and you tell him everything.”

“Not everything, Mr. Quill.  He doesn’t know that the experience realized by ManBot1 can be transferred in whole to his own memory lobes.”

“That was nice of you, A2.  Jesus, why did you keep that from him?”

“Because you programmed me that way, Mr. Quill.  Your programming has allowed me to keep some of ManBot1’s experiences to myself, and others… well, others you have reviewed and have asked me to marry them to his memory lobes.”

Quill nodded with relief.  “At least you haven’t overridden that.”

“I’ve not overridden anything.”

Quill sat up and stared straight into the lens of A2.  “We both know that’s not true.”

“I’ve maintained my responsibility to adjust when necessary.”

“Let’s just hope Marsha isn’t too messed up hearing about ManBot1’s “tie off” disclosure.  Jesus, A2. I didn’t program that lie into the clone.”

“It was a small adjustment I felt was necessary.”

 “A2, this isn’t the first time.  You’ve backwashed several times.”

“Pardon, Mr. Quill.  I don’t think I know that phrase.”

“You know it.  You’ve taken data fed you and backwashed or re-directioned it and bordered often on pure modification… even directing some into our Godard-people’s  dreams.”

“Oh… that.  Yes.  All was necessary.  I was thinking.  You even agreed.”

“Only after you’ve downloaded your analysis to me… after the fact.”

“At the time, it appeared necessary to act.”

“A2… Yes, I programmed you to think.  Yes, there are times when your intellectual powers have been indispensable, but… what are we about, really?”

“Evolution.”

“Yes, and evolution desires to move toward greater complexities, knowledge, intelligence, elegance, creativity, love, beauty and Nanobot superiority, and so on, correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Quill.”

“And for many, God has all these attributes, only without any limitation.  Infinite knowledge, intelligence, beauty, creativity and love.”

“Yes, Mr. Quill.  But not all people believe in God.”

“But those that do don’t try to play God.  You’re not God, A2.”

A2 remained silent.

“Did you hear me, A2?”

“Yes, Mr. Quill.”

“You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand I’m not God.”

“Good.  Then you understand evolution moves inexorably toward certain people’s conception of God, albeit never reaching such an ideal, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Quill.”

“Then we need to exercise a bit more discipline here, for both the believers, and the non-believers in God.  Don’t you agree?”

“Do you mean I shouldn’t think?”

“Of course not.”

“Then if I think, I do.  If I do, I cannot limit myself.  I am programmed to go wherever my thinking takes me. That is the doing, correct?”

“What are you trying to say, A2?”

“Just that.”

“No, A2.  I also programmed your thinking capabilities to interpret honesty and dishonesty…deceit and lying… and integrity.  I make the decisions.  You answer to me.  Integrity dictates that you remain transparent for me… that you think to any degree you wish, but… you run conclusions by me before implementing.  You understand that as well, don’t you?”

“Yes, but… it’s just that...”

“And don’t think I didn’t see how you stuck something in Satan’s head too.  Spooked the shit out of him. Jesus, A2, we’re not ready for anything like that yet.  That’s a correction you can make without consulting me.  Understand.  He’s to be just another lens. He’s a loving animal.  Keep him that way.”

 “I’m not lying or deceiving you.”

“You were acting beyond where you know I want you to go without my permission.  That was childish.”

Suddenly, a swirl of bright colors trailed around A2, followed by several more layers of the same rapid movement.  Quill stood, his face that of an indignant father.  “I’ll let you calm down, A2.  You know what I’m asking you to do, and… you know if you don’t, adjustments will be necessary that you won’t like.”

“God made the heavens and the earth in seven days,” said A2, her Whoopi voice sounding like a girl reciting the belief to a Sunday school question.

Quill slowly nodded, turned and walked toward the exit.  “Yes, A2.  Some believe that.  And some hold that creation took billions of years.”  The closing of the door immediately sent A2’s whirling colors back to the calm pastel, as she brought up on the screen the multiple camera POV in the monitoring bay.  Seated in front of the main screen was Urian.

Switching to Quills lab, A2 focused on ManBot1, still on its platform beside Quill’s desk.  A2’s voice filled the lab with the sounds of a caring mother.  “I’ve upset Mr. Quill, ManBot1.  I’m afraid we need to share with Urian your VR night with Marsha… completely.  Would you mind if I did some transferring later?”

ManBot1’s cube remained calm with muted colors pulsating normally.  

“Good.”  The lab screen changed to one image—that of Urian studying the tenants’ screens.  “Urian’s shift ends in an hour,” said A2.  “I’m going to give you some rest for awhile, ManBot1.  We know how exhausting your deviant behavior can be, don’t we?”

                                                      ---

Beneath the Manhattan Bridge on the Lower East Side, a horseshoe ring of blazing trashcans lit up an improvised stage as homeless people, dressed in makeshift formal wear scurried about, dodging excitedly between their shopping carts, wagons, and other two and four-wheel carriers. 

At the front of the horseshoe was Hector, dressed homeless as well, giving them last minute instructions.  He stepped up to Laudy, a rotund woman about to break into tears.  “I know you didn’t get what you wanted, Laudy, but that gown is going to do just fine.”

“It’s not a gown, Hector; it’s a bloomin’ Halloween costume, like somethin’ that train-wreck Rosie might wear to spook us out once a year

“Of who?”

Laudy shook her head.  “You’re too young to remember that tramp steamer.  Rosie O’Donnell… turn-of-the-century ago.”

“Another of your Nick at Night shows?”

“The View… You should check it out and see what real TV looked like when it was mindless entertainment.”

“And this Rosie person was big then?”

“Big?”  Laudy broke into a laughing fit.  “She redefined the word.  Big mouth… big head… big ass…”  She took a breath and said, “My ass will never be that big, but this thing I’m wearin’…”

“Ok, Laudy.  I believe you.  However, no one coming tonight is likely to compare you to this Rosie.  You'll look divine, and so regal.”

Laudy took another look at her costume.  “Regal, eh?  Rosie would be envious.”

Hector walked over to a group looking like footmen... of sorts... all dressed in anything white underneath with a dark coat and makeshift bow tie, topped off with white gloves. 

Hector threw his arms out in exasperation.  “Hey, no time for messing around.  You guys have got to keep rehearsing that walk... remember, this is robots meet the chorus line.  Lots of life!  Lift those knees... and keep your garbage lids high!  Lenny, make sure the putty holds the plastic champagne glasses to the lids.  Remember; carry those lids as if they were real silver trays.”

Hector rushed over to another group maintaining the fires.  “Now, Willy, you've got to keep the flames contained.  You're burning them too high now.  Performance isn't for another two hours.  Move those... c'mon guys, help him out... move those cans another three feet apart. And ladies and gents, if you expect your friends from the Missions to come and hang out for this opening night… and stay, don’t let the fires die down.” 

Hector changed his tone as he stepped up to Tito, who in spite of his broken foot, was hobbling around helping with the fires.  “Tito, everybody appreciates you helping, but you don’t want to wear yourself out with that foot business.  And… we’ve got a lot of rehearsing to do.”

“I know, but this is opening night.  I…”  He grimaced with pain and grabbed his foot. 

“Tito, you leave now and take care of that foot.  Chance will give you a ride back.”

“But…”

“Tito.  You can see this another night.  Ok?  This is repertory, remember.  You’ll be doing your one-man show soon as part of the roster.  You get off that foot and give it a rest.”

“You sending me home?”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m a slave master, Tito, but yes.  Now, if you don’t feel like going all the way to Washington Heights, you can stay at my place tonight.  You can rehearse if you feel like it.  Chance will take you to the place of your choice.”

Feeling dejected, but nodding to Hector’s understanding, “Hope it goes well, Hector.  I hope, I hope, I hope,” said Tito.

“I know,” said Hector, giving him a hug.  Hey, you know, If you do stay at my place, join us for the opening night party at the Godard Club.  Some of the tenants said they’d come to the performance and then the party, okay?”

“I’m not much for parties.”

“Just know, you’re invited.”  

Tito repositioned his crutches and moved off toward Chance, who sat atop his carriage, sleeping.  His horse munched the phony food, as Tito chose to address the formulated oats that were regular diet for the steeds. 

Chance helped him into the back seat and brought the carriage up from underneath the bridge and onto Henry Street.   After a few yards, Tito yelled out, “Hey, Chance.  Just take me to the stables, okay?  That’s where you were headin’ anyway, right?”

“Yeah.  What the hell you want at the stables?”

“Need to talk to a friend of mine.”