Category: Fiction Factor

The crow seemed to float toward the smiling old man, its wings fully extended as it gently landed on the bench where he sat. As usual, peanuts and peanut shells were scattered liberally, and the bird dug in, spending half its time eating and the other half staring at his benefactor before abruptly flying away.

“Good to see you again, Stanley,” said Henry, who left the Greenvale Village assisted living facility each morning at 9 a.m. sharp to meet his feathered friends at the nearby park. “Thanks for not hogging it all, buddy … you’ve got friends coming.”

He did, indeed.

The birds had been around Henry for so long – and knew his habits so well – that they always showed up when it was feeding time. And they knew very well who was doing the feeding.

The best Henry could remember, he had been at the facility for less than a week when he decided a daily walk to the park would be his morning exercise. There was always a staff member giving him a loose follow – usually an attendant named Frank – but he was in good physical shape for a 91-year-old man, and able to get away far enough to have  a bit of time to himself.

It was nothing personal … Frank and the rest of the staff had always treated him with kindness and dignity. But sometimes Henry wanted to feel as free as a bird, and sharing his time with Stanley was a way to do that.

Henry figured it was because that first day in the park – his stomach already growling after the 5 a.m. oatmeal had lost its stick – he sat down, leaned back, cracked open a shell and gobbled down the two peanuts.

Once he tossed the shell to the ground the crow swooped down – gave Henry a quick glance – clamped the shell in its bill, and headed toward the trees.

When another crow showed up the next day, Henry said, “Welcome back, Stanley!” and emptied a handful of peanuts on the bench.

He had no idea if it was the same bird – and he couldn’t tell you why he named him Stanley – but those were just small details.

He had found a friend, and a friend needs a name. Besides, he just seemed like a Stanley.

So, it became a routine, day in and day out. Stanley was always the first on the scene, followed shortly by other crows who – wouldn’t you know it? – looked just like Stanley.

After Stanley and the others had picked over all the shells and nutmeat they wanted, they headed for the skies.

And that was Henry’s cue to head back to his room.

On this particular Friday, Henry was moving a bit faster than usual as Frank intercepted him at the walkway leading to the main entrance of Greenvale Village.

“What’s up, Henry?” Frank asked. “You got a date or something?”

Henry smiled.

“I’m gonna go spend some quality time with my friends,” he said in an excited, raspy voice. “When you reach my age, you don’t have a lot to look forward to, but I’m looking forward to this.”

Frank patted him on the back and watched as Henry scooted toward the door and headed inside.

Frank didn’t know the details, but he assumed some old acquaintances had decided to come around for a visit. Henry’s wife had died several years earlier, and the couple had no children. In fact, Frank couldn’t recall at time when he’d ever seen Henry entertain guests – family or otherwise.

Frank’s Saturday shift began at 8:45 a.m., and he looked forward to checking in, escorting Henry to his favorite bench, and getting all the details about his night on the town. When he arrived, however, he was met with somber looks.

“I’ve got some sad news, Frank,” said Martha, who always manned the front desk on weekends. “Henry passed away … died in his sleep. Rex was on duty overnight and when he checked in about 4 a.m., Henry was gone.

“He was a sweet old man … I’m gonna miss him.”

Having been on staff for close to a decade, Frank was used to patients transitioning while being cared for in Greenvale Village. And even though the news hit him hard, he knew that Henry looked happy the last time he saw him. Hopefully he had one last, pleasant get-together before closing his eyes for good.

He never verbalized it for fear of sounding morbid, but Frank thought it was his duty and the duty of everyone who worked there to make sure residents lived comfortably and died peacefully.

For the next several weeks, out of habit, Frank would check the time and expect to see Henry headed for the door with a bag of peanuts in tow.

Eventually, a new resident discovered the joys of birdwatching and bird-feeding, and it always gave Frank a warm feeling when he saw the man tossing shelled nuts on the ground, just as Henry used to do.

Frank had shared pleasantries with him ever since he arrived, but the attendant figured since his bird feeding was apparently going to be a daily practice, he’d start a conversation.

“Those crows are always glad to see you, aren’t they Stanley?” Frank said.

“Well, I think they’re just following Henry, and Henry seems to like me.”

Frank chuckled.

“That’s funny. There used to be a fellow here named Henry who’d go out and feed the birds every day.”

Stanley reached up and gently patted Frank on the cheek.

“Oh, I know, son,” he said. “You should join me on the bench and visit with him sometime. He’d love to see you again.”

The annual International Robotics Conglomerate Expo was always a lively one, with CEOS, inventors and designers from across the globe coming together to introduce – and integrate – their latest products into a high-tech society.

Ever since the Robotic Revolution of 2043, this was the new world order. Man designed the machines, and the machines went on to redesign the infrastructure of civilizations.

Planes, trains and automobiles no longer needed pilots, engineers or drivers.

Public transportation could be conveniently summoned anywhere and everywhere with the touch of an app.

House cleaning, street cleaning – all done flawlessly by robots or robotic devices.

Even motion pictures and sports were affected. Movies starred computer generated actors working from screenplays composed by artificial intelligence, while synthetic athletes never had to worry about injuries – only scheduled maintenance.

Everyone lived in a simulation that wasn’t a simulation at all.

But even on a futuristic planet in which the future was now, there was still room for nostalgia.

While robot bands could replicate note-for-note everyone from Robert Johnson to the Captain and Tennille to the Sex Pistols – anything, really, from the historic human music era – there was still some demand for “live” entertainment, especially from wealthy patrons who could afford the luxury.

And it was the human desire to take part in human experiences that convinced Dexter Talmadge to go big and bold when announcing his new product at the IRC Trade Show, held inside the spacious Golden Golem Enterprises Los Angeles Coliseum.

While other exhibits showcased glossy, glitzy humanoids and droids, Talmadge merely stood in front of a white screen that read “404 Initiative” while surrounded by what appeared to be a very random set of men and women.

Each exhibitor had five minutes to make a pitch that was broadcast throughout the coliseum, and when Talmadge’s time came, he quickly cut to the chase.

“Friends,” he said. “You can look around you and see magic made real. Everything you could dream of to ease your life is available for purchase. If you don’t want to cook, cooking will be done to your exact specifications. If you don’t want to spend the weekend cleaning out the garage, there are automatons that can do it in record time – and make it look even better than it did originally.

“The thing is, robots are designed to be perfect. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a companion robot that was less than perfect … that was much more like you?”

Many of the affluent attendees were intrigued. They moved closer to Talmadge and his 404 Initiative products, who came in various ages, sexes, skin colors, shapes, sizes – and imperfections. One appeared to be suffering from amblyopia, while another had protruding ears.

When engaged in conversation, their voices mimicked that of humans – one might speak a Geordie dialect, while another vocalized in a twang common in the American South.

The realism was truly state of the art.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Talmadge said. “Certainly, we can all appreciate the burden robots have removed from our lives. But isn’t there a certain charm to human error? Wouldn’t it be comforting – not every day, but every once in a while – if you ordered a glass of tea but were given a soft drink instead? Doesn’t that make you feel … I don’t know … maybe just a little more human? Our 404 companions will come to your home Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and help cook, run errands … we’ve even designed them so they can ingest food if perhaps you just want have someone to talk to while enjoying lunch. They might make a mistake now and then, but isn’t that part of the fun?”

Talmadge prided himself on being persuasive, and his spiel appeared to be working.

Hundreds of people descended upon him, asking how they could rent 404 companions and what the robots’ full capabilities were. By the end of the first day of the trade show, more than 600 people had signed up for the service.

Once the crowds had cleared out, Talmadge was left with only a blank screen behind him and the handful of 404 escorts he had brought along. One – a smallish woman wearing a dark brown dress – walked up to him and grabbed his right hand.

“Thank you for doing this, Dexter,” she said. “There haven’t been many jobs for us humans since ’43, so this helps more than you’ll ever know. It gives us a sense of worth. And as long as the rich people who hire us don’t know the difference, does it really make any difference at all?

“All we want to do is work.”

Talmadge smiled broadly.

“Well, the first command of the Three Laws of Robotics states that I may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,” he said. “I’m just trying to lessen the harm that’s already been caused by the revolution.”

The woman nodded and began to walk away.

“Wait,” Talmadge said. “Would you mind going with me to the Figueroa Charging Station? I know robots aren’t supposed to feel anything, but I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

Although his vision was blurred, the man knew he was staring into a bright light. He’d heard stories about this before … an ethereal tunnel that links this world to the next, perhaps the final bridge between life and afterlife.

His breathing was labored, and he felt anxious. If this was the journey from here to there, he worried that perhaps it would be an unpleasant one. Yet, just as he started to get more agitated, he heard a soft, soothing voice.

“It’s OK, Mr. Bannister, everything is fine. Everything going forward will be wonderful.”

The voice was reassuring, reminding him a bit of his mother’s. She always had a sense of calm no matter the situation, and a similar tranquility was evident here.

Was it his late mother reaching out to him, or simply another angel? Although the light was brilliant, he could almost make out a figure, one that appeared to be that of a woman with shoulder-length hair and dressed in white.

“Mr. Bannister, it’s time for you to move on,” she said. “There’s no need to worry anymore about any pain or regret. That life is over. And a new life will begin in a new form.”

He didn’t understand. A new life? A new form? Did this mean that there was no end, merely a new beginning?

It all seemed so … pleasant.

“Mr. Bannister, you’re a very nice man – you always have been,” she said. “You’re friendly, you’re good, and as you transition it’s important that you find a vessel best suited for you.”

The word ‘vessel’ didn’t seem to make much sense at first, but the more he thought about it – and to be sure, his thoughts were random and unclear – he realized his body was the vessel in question.

His current one apparently was of no more use, so the angel was transferring him to another. He imagined a taller, slimmer body, one with muscles and tone. The idea made him chuckle, although he couldn’t tell if it was audible or something merely in his head. He seemed to have little control of his mouth, or anything else on his body, for that matter.

“I know the perfect fit for you, Mr. Bannister,” she said. “A Golden Retriever. They’re kind, intelligent, gentle, affectionate … just like you. And imagine all the good times you’ll have with your human. Running, jumping, playing fetch. It’s a life you’ll love, and one that you deserve.”

The thought of being a dog made him smile – at least he thought he was smiling. He loved dogs, and he especially loved Golden Retrievers. In fact, he had one at home named Buck. How funny it all was … sometimes he’d look at Buck and think how joyous it must be to live so carefree, and now he was going to find out for himself.

Would he miss being a human?

Who knows?

This was the work of an angel, and an angel would obviously know what they were doing. His first life was a man, and he was a good man. His next life he’d be a dog – a good dog.

He was fine with it all. Dying wasn’t so bad. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

Now he’d just doze off and when he woke up, a new adventure would be waiting for him. A new life on four legs instead of two, one full of wagging instead of nagging. He closed his eyes and felt completely at peace.

Once he opened his eyes – he had no idea how long he’d been out – the bright lights were gone. He felt slightly confused, and the left side of his face was numb.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Bannister?” said the dentist, rubbing her hands with sanitizer. “You still seemed a little distressed even with the sedative and nitrous oxide, so I told you my famous reincarnation story.

“It’s weird, but that crazy little tale almost always gets patients’ minds off their procedure. And with you getting two root canals today, I figured you needed it.”