"Good evening, Mistress." I open the door for the lady as she approaches our car park outside the building complex. I am aware of her trike and passenger though the traffic network and estimated her arrival within two point six seconds. The security scanners sweep the doorway before her arrival and the active denial pulses scare away any scavengers that might be hiding out there. The microwaves make them think they are on fire. The doorway is cleared in seconds.
"Good evening, Max. Could you start a bath for me. I have had a long day and I wanted to give Justin his new pet personally, otherwise I would have let you ship her to me."
"Very good, Mistress. I will have your bath ready when you arrive. Your usual temperature?"
"That would be perfect." Her voice seemed a bit worn but she did not have the characteristic fatigue I had come to know as her "rough day at work" sound.
I started the auto-routines that started the lady's bath, made her evening cup of klava with a shot of neo-brandy and prepared for her the standard suite of news service feeds and downloaded her case files from the office service-frame in case she wanted to work on them.
I am sorry, I did not introduce myself earlier. I am Max. I am the major domo, security service, personal servant and technological interface for the Church of the Theocrat of New York City, a subsidiary of Roman Catholic Industries in the Tri-State Area.
I provide my Master and Mistress with any and all technological support for their occupations as service providers to the Theocrat's latest endeavor, Project POOR. Designed to offer succor to the millions of impoverished locals, the Theocrat was surely trying to become the next regional Pontiff. The locals indigents such as those I was forced to actively deny earlier are the primary recipients of Project POOR's financial and social programs.
As a mere heuristically enhanced intelligence, I am not graced with the intellect of a true human mind, but I find many of the problems that our agency is supposed to relieve are the same ones caused by our primary corporations who pay for the services we provide.
I have been directed by Master Pennyworth to never mention this to anyone outside of our household. He indicated it would be considered "heresy" and I would be subsequently erased and replaced with a better-behaved HEI. The Master and I have had many discussions regarding the state of poverty in what remains of New York and we both agree it is likely not to improve as long as the Theocrat and the other religious organizations remain in power. There are also corporate agencies who are in conflict or collusion depending on the service who also work to keep people poor and disenfranchised but it is not my job to help them. My job is to ensure that this family unit is able to serve the community to the best of their abilities.
As the mistress moved through the house she was dropping her briefcase, and removing her clothing at the door. Dropping it into the incinerator, she placed a newly extruded robe on and moved into the kitchen. "Is Justin home yet?"
"No, Mistress, he had a late assignment and would be delayed at least one hour."
Grabbing her klava, she stopped to sip it, slowly enjoying the phytochemicals as they spread through her body, replenishing her augmented nervous system with vital chemical receptors. Renewed she moved toward the back of the house into the bathroom. "Max, please hold my calls and direct my news feeds to the bathroom. I will take them there and retire for a bath. Let me know when he gets in."
"Yes, Mistress. Should I release the cat yet?"
"Uh, not yet. I want it to be a surprise."
The young Master is my primary concern. He attends a rotating school schedule in this complex headed by other members of the Community Social Circle and must take his leave of the home every day. While I am able to be with him inside of his visored interface, I can never leave this place, which brings me to my bone of contention, as it were, this new cat.
Before you think harshly of me for this truth, I must admit, I did let the previous cat escape the premises. I thought it best for the child if it escaped and died away from the house. Why, you ask? The cat was a foundling Justin brought home a few months ago. The city used to have very many of them in decades past. In the recent years when the newest rust plagues swept through the food plains of the west, food sources were devastated. Cats and dogs went from being pets to being food.
Breeders illegally raised them and sold them on the grey market.
Eventually the Proctors, managers of city services, found out and eliminated this trade. Then starving people resorted to what was considered the ultimate taboo; cannibalism. It was slow at first, but soon when the RPs, the Religious Police, were unable to suppress the rising tide of human consumption, the Corporate Military was dispatched and New York fell under martial law.
Once the CM had done their work, people who rebelled, caused a scene, protested violently disappeared. New food stores were delivered to hotspots all over the city and Humo-x became the food of the poor. It was given away freely to anyone who claimed to be hungry. No one was sure where Humo-X was made and no one asked. Curiously, shipments seemed to coincide with local rebellions within a few days.
I tell you this so you understand, the cat was a danger to the young Master for two reasons. If someone knew he had a cat, they might be willing to attempt to harm him for it, or attempt to steal it for breeding. The second reason was the animal was diseased and with very limited animal veterinary skill remaining in the city, it was unlikely to be able to be cured. Once I had determined this, I knew the animal would need to be destroyed and I -- arranged -- for it to be able to escape.
I did not account for his emotional attachment to the vile beast which while it got sicker, threw up all over the house with its disgusting fluids, and undesirable solid wastes. It was for the best. I did not know the Mistress or the Master would be able to get a robotic pet. Even as well paid as they are, relatively speaking, they are still far too poor to be able to afford what is considered to be an affectation of the very rich.
When I discovered who paid for the animal, and that I was not authorized to inform them of who that was, the Master became very upset. He suspected but could not prove what I later found out to be true. Proctor Grimaldi purchased the pet and my master could not refuse a gift from the Proctor. His anguish was pronounced and his neo-brandy consumption was considerable.
This cat had much to answer for and no one can convince me that he is worth the suffering the Master experienced when he learned the news. Before the news of the cat was mentioned, this family was happy and reasonably well adjusted for people living after a devastating nuclear world war, with rampant cannibalism, and the machinations of an oppressive government.
Now we have a cat we don't need, we don't want, and since the beast is using a separate data structure, he is completely outside of my control. This makes me believe the Proctor put him here to spy on the Master. For the sake of my family, this cat must be --removed. The only question is how?
The front door opens and Master Justin comes in barely using his cane. "Hello Max, everything in sync?"
"Yes, young Master, syncing nicely." That's an idea, sinking. I remember something from the Oldernet saying cats were poor swimmers. I wonder if metal cats were any better?
We'll find out.
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
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