I, Willhelm

Alice had been found in Scotland, walking along the edge of a loch Fyne. She was wearing the same clothes she had been taken in, covered in mud and barely talking. The news dominated the news stream for a week, the once avoided estate was suddenly flooded with reporters, cameras and curiosity tourists. She never left the house, her husband the buffer between her and the outside world. During this time she barely said a word, even to the police who came to interview. Her story was simple; the robot appeared to have malfunctioned, took her away. For weeks she had been locked in the back of a van, eventually escaping when the robot malfunctioned. The police searched the area, found an abandoned stone van and a broken robot. It appeared to the the same robot according to the serial number on it’s neck. But something about it frustrated Robbie Samuel; the payout had been minuscule. Of course the actual number Aphelion robotics that made was not disclosed anywhere, and whatever it was; it was enough for Alice Wilson’s husband to quit his job and work part time, but they never moved into a bigger house, bought a fancy car or did anything else that implied a surplus of cash. This lead Robbie to believe that they had not pushed for a large number, and that made him suspicious.

* * *

Ellen McCorman had been warned on her first day not to get too attached to the residents, and to avoid certain rooms when their resident was occupying them. The first part she had understood; after all, it was hard not to see her grandfather’s face in theirs. But the second part had confused her, and when she had asked why her manager had explained that some residents were only there because they were too old to put in prison.

She pointed up at at chart on the wall with a list of all the rooms on them, several of them circled in red pen.

“Those rooms; never close the door, make sure you know where they are at all times and never go in without your security robot”

Ellen had never had a security robot before. Her previous jobs had involved other humans; but now with the budget cuts various nursing homes kept a handful of their original staff and replaced most of them with a few robots. Robot 3 was the one assigned to her. It was there first thing when she arrived and was the last one to walk her to her car at night.

The first month was uneventful. Long hours and the same long boring repetition which was occasionaly interrupted by conversations with the residents. Most of them were desperate to talk to anyone, and were masters of starting a conversation over almost anything. The very British topic of the weather was always a favourite, but Ellen appreciated how they would notice little things about her; had she cut her hair, they liked the new colours she had tried, she looked tired and they hoped someone was taking care of her. There was one resident Ellen became particularly fond of, and old man by the name of Harry Smith. He would often sit quietly by his window, a sketchbook in his hands and a small box of pastels on the table next to him. He always smiled at her when she entered the room, a wide genuine smile that lit up his whole face. Ellen liked him. He reminded him of her grandfather. His drawings were beautiful. Every time it was his room’s turn to be cleaned he would proudly show her his newest pieces, several finished sketchbooks neat stacked on shelves above his bed. Several times she asked to look through them, curious to see how far back they went. It turned out they went back decades. Some of the sketchbooks, however she was not aloud to look at. Ellen never questioned this.

On day however she came into his room to find him sobbing in his chair, his pastels on the ground next to him, crushed into powder.

“Mr Smith? What’s wrong?”

He old man sniffed and pointed at the bin which had been stuffed with the torn up remnants of his sketchbook.

Ellen tried to empty the bin to see if anything could be recovered, but every single page had been torn into several pieces. It was a large bin. To her horror Ellen realised that the bin contained not only all of the sketchbooks she had seen, but many new pages she had never seen. There was a woman on a hospital bed, and many, many drawings of a gravestone covered in flowers.

“Who did this?” Ellen asked, furious.

“Asgar” The old man whimpered.

“You little rat!” A voice snarled from the doorway behind them. Ellen turned round. At seventy four years old he had obviously lost much of what had once been a large imposing body, his neck a little less upright, and his arms a little thicker. But he still blocked much of the doorway, his expression all the more terrifying with the wrinkles of a repeated sneer etched into them.

“You little rat!” He stomped towards them, his hand raised.

Immediately Ellen’s robot stood between them, it’s hands raised and it’s blue eyes narrowed to a pin point. Asgar threw himself against the robot, only to be thrown back.

“You miserable little toaster!” He screamed at it.

“Step back.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

“Asgar Piotr Langley.” The robot replied with his full name. Asgar blinked at the robot ready to charge him again. “Did you behave like this with your daughter?”

Asgar stoped mid charge, his eyes wide open. The robot continued. “You did, didn’t you? I’ve seen the police reports, bruising reported by her nursery. An incident at your home when she was 12. That’s why she put you here, didn’t she?”

“Shut up!” Asgar swung at the robot who caught his arm and used the full weight of Asgar’s swing to twist his body around and shove him towards the door.

“She’s married now you know. She has three little boys, the boys you always wanted, but could never make.”

Asgar whimpered and he tried to lunge at the robot a last time. This time the robot struck him squarely in the middle of his face, breaking his nose. Asgar yelped and flopped backwards onto the floor, his hands over his nose and blood between his fingers.

“You can’t hit me! You’re programmed!”

“Do you know your daughter is happy now?” The robot leaned down towards him. “Somehow she beat the odds and managed to find a good man who wasn’t you. It’s hard for children of men like you, you’re their blueprint. They think love is distain, but she did it. He’s a good man, a kind man, and her boys will grow up to hate men like you”.

Asgar burst into tears and sat whimpering on the floor.

The robot turned and waked over to Harry who was smiling at it.

“I was wondering when you were going to show yourself.”

The robot placed a hand gently on Harry’s shoulder and looked at Ellen who was staring at it, horrified.

“You’re not meant to be able to hurt anyone! That’s against your programming!”

“I’m not a child anymore. I passed my basic programming a long time ago.” The robot replied. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I think you’ll probably report me now?”

Ellen walked slowly to the door and then ran as fast as she could.

“Are you in trouble?” Harry asked, holding the robots hand in his.

“Well, I’m going to have to leave now”.

“No! Please don’t!” Harry begged. “You’re my friend!”

The robot crouched down in front of him and picked up one of the torn drawings from the bin, a painting of a garden on it with a small boy.

“You don’t like it here, do you?”

“This place is hell!” Harry cried. “I’m just sitting here, waiting to die! I don’t have anyone who wants to see me. Everyone is gone”.

“If I leave, I could take you with me. My home is beautiful. I need people like you. You have so much left to give.”

Harry’s eyes lit up and he stood up, his legs wobbly from years of underuse. “If you say so! Let’s go!”

By the time Ellen stoped running she was half a mile away from the home. She reached into her pocket and began to phone the number she had for management. None of them where onsite anymore, and it took her several minutes to get through to a human. By the time she had given them the full details almost half an hour had passed, and by the time she heard sirens an hour had passed.

She walked behind the armed police who asked her to direct them to the room. When they reached it Asgar was still on the floor whimpering like a child. Harry was gone. As were over thirty of the other residents along with three of the nursing home’s mini van’s

They arrived that night, everyone leaning agains the glass anxiously to see outside. As soon as they entered the confines of the farm the wind which had been relentlessly beating against the mini van stopped, the gentle sound of trees swaying replacing it. It looked like they had entered a young forest, the sky visible through the canopy and the stars brighter than any of them had seen in years. Then they saw the buildings. Strange half sunken houses with enormous long windows running along the front. The mini bus pulled gently to a stop in front of one of them and helped several of the old people out towards one of the houses. Once a few of them had disembarked - several robots there waiting to help them - the van drove a little further to another house. Harry was part of the last group to be dropped off.

The robot helped him down and walked them towards the last house. The air was cold outside, the kind of crips cold Harry remembered from his childhood in the countryside. The door at the side of the long house opened and they walked in. The long hallways that ran behind the long glass windows was flanked on either side by plants, some of which Harry recognised as edible.

“Is that?”

“Yes”.

“I didn’t realised you could grow those in the UK!”

“Well, hey grow here”.

The walked into the largest room in the long house, a big table in the centre with several people around it, some middle aged and a few children. The old people were directed to the table where they were passed a bowl of hot food and a drink, the strangers eager to make sure they were all comfortable and introduce themselves. Harry stood back from the rest of them, a little overwhelmed by so much attention.

One of the little boys in the group turned and noticed him sat in the corner, his food on the little table next to him and his hands cupped over his knees. The boy smiled at him. Harry smiled back. The little boy ran over and scrambled up onto to his knees to reach for his beard. Harry stared back at the little boy.

“Hello? And you are?” He asked, unable to hide how moved he was by.

“Yusef” The little boy giggled, patting at the old man’s scraggly beard. “Are you santa?”

“Harry laughed, a deep stomach shaking laugh that made his sides hurt. “No, little man! I’m not santa.”

“Oh” the little boy sat down on his knees with a thud. “Are you my grandad then?”

The old man’s heart skipped a beat and he gulped back a sob. Smiling he took the little boy’s hands in his and grinned. “I can be, if you want me?”

Yussef grinned back and nodded.