Barren Cove (9 page)

“Can you believe all this?” Kent said. “In the city, people have kids all the time—it doesn't mean anything, just one more person to catalog all this on a fresh hard drive.” Kent looked at what was being stored on each of these robots' hard drives and then smirked. “And not this. What do robots care about nature?” He looked at the sky. “I don't care.”

“You did once,” Mary said.

He looked at her as if he had just remembered that she was there. “Don't tell me about what I did once. What happened to you? You're a slave now.” He reached for the bag of groceries. “Look at this—getting food for that defective human.”

Mary snatched the bag out of the way. “He's family. ­Father—”

“Father was a slave too, and I guess you're more like him than I am. Maybe that's why he liked you more than me, but
I'm not going to forget that I'm an Asimov 3000. I'm not going to forget that I own Barren Cove. I do. A robot.”

“So what does it matter out here who owns what? Look around. What does it matter? A bunch of machines.”

“You are a slave.”

Mary turned away, but he grabbed the arm that carried the groceries, pulling on her. “You couldn't beat me when we were children,” Mary messaged.

“You sleep with him!” Kent yelled out loud and messaged. “Don't even pretend, Mary. I've been home less than a week. You fawn over him, you sit with him like Father, you fetch for him, you sleep with him. What do you think's going to happen?” Kent came up to her. His face was ugly. He grabbed ahold of her again and pushed his body up against hers, vibrating, causing her to vibrate. “What do you think's going to happen? He's a human.”

“And I love him.”

“You're just a machine to him.”

“No,” Mary said.

Kent backed away. The sound of the party drifted into the silence. “I'll kill him.”

“If you hurt him, I'll never forgive you.”

Kent turned and disappeared around the corner of the house. The sound of his motorcycle seemed loud even from the backyard.

“Kent, no!” Mary messaged. She ran after him, but he was already gone. She knew she couldn't catch up to him, but she ran anyway. What would he do? He couldn't really kill Beachstone. He couldn't. She would never forgive him. She had said that. She ran. She crushed the groceries in her arms. She had to get there before Kent. She had to.

Barren Cove rose on the cliff ahead of her. She saw Kent's
bike parked out front, but she refused to believe that she was too late. He couldn't. She took the front stairs without pause and burst into the house. “Beachstone!” The house was silent. “Dean? Where's Beachstone? Beachstone!” Mary rushed upstairs. “Beachstone!” He couldn't have. Kent couldn't have. She rushed to Beachstone's room and stopped in the doorway.

Kent sat on the edge of Beachstone's empty bed.

“What have you done?”

Kent didn't answer.

Mary stepped toward him, dropping the groceries. The bag fell over, the broken eggs seeping onto the floor. “What have you done?”

“He no longer lives in this house.”

Mary grabbed her brother. “Tell me.”

“I didn't hurt him,” he said, looking at her, his expression blank. “But he no longer lives in this house.”

Mary stepped back, still staring at her brother. She did not recognize him. She turned and ran from the room.

13.

MARY MOVED BEACHSTONE'S
workbench down to the cabana piece by piece. Beachstone seemed to thrive living closer to the ocean. The cabana had everything he needed—a bathroom, a work space, shelter—and when Mary asked about a bed, he said that he was fine sleeping in a chair. In fact, Mary realized, Beachstone was barely sleeping at all. She worried about that given his weak health, but all he wanted was his tools, his computer, his parts. Kent allowed her to take things out to him, a sort of silent approval. But Mary was to spend the nights in the house. She accepted these terms in order to keep Beachstone at Barren Cove. Father would have wanted it that way.
She
wanted it that way. Beachstone seemed unconcerned.

One day, Beachstone was sitting in a chair at the edge of the open cabana door watching the ocean when Mary arrived. The sky was unmarred by cloud or bird. A faint breeze blew, just enough to offset the heat. “Hello,” Beachstone said as Mary stepped into the cabana with his lunch.

“Are you all right?” Mary said, concerned, so used to seeing him working.

He held his hand out to her. “More than all right.” He waved her over. “Come.” She came to him, and he pulled on her wrist. She realized that he wanted her to sit in his lap.

“I'll crush you,” she said.

“No, you won't.”

“I will,” she said, sitting anyway, relearning what he had taught her so long ago without even knowing, to ignore what her logic told her in order to meet his needs. Or her own.

He took the sandwich from the plate in her hands and began to eat. “I feel good,” Beachstone said. Neither of them mentioned Kent or Beachstone's exile. They looked at the ocean as Beachstone ate.

“Many people have never seen the ocean,” Mary said.

“That's true.”

“That's sad.”

Beachstone ate. Then he raised his legs as best he could and pushed on her. “Okay, you're right—you're crushing me.”

Mary got up. “I told you I was too heavy.”

“You're right,” Beachstone said, smiling.

“It's not funny. I liked sitting on you.”

“What do you mean, ‘you liked'?” Beachstone said, still smiling, but then the sound of a wave crashing filled the silence after the question, and his smile faltered. He looked at the water. “Let's go swimming,” Beachstone said. He stood up and grabbed her hand again and started to pull.

“Wait,” she said, reaching to put the plate down on the table.

“Come on,” Beachstone said, still pulling.

Mary allowed herself to be dragged. “You just ate,” she said.

“So?”

“You're not supposed to swim after you eat.”

“No one ever told me that.”

“It's common knowledge,” Mary said.

“No one ever told me.” They were in the water now, the waves fighting against their feet as they dragged themselves into the ocean.

Mary was able to access every time she had ever gone into the ocean—every time with Beachstone, and when she had gone into the water two weeks before with the two young boys. Now the sun was directly overhead. The surface of the water seemed to remain still, the water's motion coming from below. “What are we doing?” Mary said.

“Don't you remember?” Beachstone continued to pull them farther into the water. The waves now reached up to their chests.

Mary said, “I remember every time.”

“So do I,” Beachstone said, stopping and turning to her. “Look,” he said, and he stepped closer to her, put his hands on her waist, and as the next wave passed, he lifted, raising her even higher. “I can lift you out here,” he said.

When the wave had passed, both of their feet rested on the ground again.

“Your hair is wet,” Beachstone said.

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him under, letting go immediately, afraid as always to misjudge how long he could hold his breath, and especially now, so many years since they had gone swimming together and all the time he was sick. When he surfaced, she said, “So's yours.”

He attacked her. She held him. “God, it's beautiful,” he said.

They looked into each other's eyes. He pulled himself closer to her. She could feel that he was hard, excited. She knew what that meant, but she wished that she could understand what
that meant. She hugged him, and he wrapped himself around her, and she remembered learning from him what a hug was, and then he kissed her. There had been glancing kisses before, brushes of his lips on her cheeks, but now he kissed her. She understood the affection, and she was glad for it, although it was nothing more than a conveyance of information for her. He loved her. He ground himself against her. She reached below and gripped his penis in her hand, knowing that was something she could do, and he pushed against her and gripped her, and he groaned, and she held tight as he moved in her hand, and then his penis began to go slack, and he looked in her eyes. “I love you,” she said. His pupils were large, his muscles relaxed.

“I'm ready to begin,” he said, after they had floated in silence for a moment, the waves drawing them farther from land.

“What?”

“Our son,” he said. “I've studied enough. I'm ready to begin. I can build the hardware.” He looked away. “And you can contribute software.”

Mary thought of the party in town, the celebration that seemed to go on around her, without her. “I'll do what I can,” Mary said.

Beachstone kissed her again. Then he tilted his head back, water running from his wet hair, and shouted.

Mary smiled back. When had she last seen him so carefree? And this was
with
Kent threatening murder and succeeding in banishment. She was happy, but as always, she felt as though she didn't quite understand.

“So why wasn't I supposed to swim?”

“You get cramps,” Mary said.

Beachstone rolled his eyes in mock consideration. “Nope, I didn't get cramps.”

“Well, your lips are turning blue.”

“I'll race you back,” he said, and he turned and began to swim.

The waves seemed to both assist and work against him. Mary outdistanced him quickly. When she turned back, she saw that he had stopped swimming. His face had gone pale, and his usual grave expression had returned to his face. Mary swam back to him. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he said, out of breath.

Mary turned and latched his arms around her neck and swam them both to shore.

14.

I ROUNDED THE
side of the cabana. The accordion doors were closed, and I stood in front of them wondering; I had left them open. After deciding that there was nothing to do but open the doors, I pulled them back expecting to find Clarke there. Instead, I found Jenny leaning against my chair.

She looked coy. “I hadn't seen you since that night,” she said. “I was kinda worried.”

I looked behind her, wary. She had been so disinterested that night. “Where's Clarke?”

“Why should I know?” she said, angry at the question.

I wanted to say something to make her even angrier. After all, what right did she have to visit me? We were no one to each other. She had been worried about me? She had made it abundantly clear last time that at best, I was worthy of being ignored. I thought about the way she had hung on Fairy all night. But then I wanted to make nice. It was ridiculous to cut myself off because I was jealous; she was here now. “I'm sorry,” I said, sitting down beside her.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” I said. Her body was close. Aside from the wheels and the hair, she had not gone into any of the body modification of her companions. Her simul-skin was unmarred and clean. I wanted to touch her.

She touched me first, putting her hand on my arm and leaning toward me. “You're so interesting,” she said.

“No,” I said.

“You're really human built?”

I nodded.

Her hand was rubbing my arm. She drew her hand down to my new hand. “You replaced your hand.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you living out here?”

“I needed to get away from the city. I had to do some thinking.”

“And have you done some thinking?”

I looked at her, thinking just then, thinking that she was leading me on, and yet leading me on to what? She had come here and was showing interest.

I was such an old robot.

Fairy's arms around Jenny flashed in my mind. “I don't know,” I said. “I think I have, only I'm more confused.”

Jenny rolled off then, taking her hand away. The abandonment hit me hard. I needed her back.

“Why'd you change your legs?” I said.

“Aren't I beautiful this way?” she asked, spinning for me, her hands held palms up at her shoulders.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then what's your question?”

I didn't know.

“Besides,” she said, examining the walls of the cabana, “it's
what people are doing.” She shrugged. “Is it true that in the city people are deactivating? Especially fourth-order robots?”

“Yes,” I said. That had been all that had filled the news when I left—another reason to get away.

She looked out at the ocean. “I'm faster than anybody in town,” she said.

I wanted her to come sit with me again. I wished that I had sims or at least numbers to offer her, to share with her. There was Mary's way, and there was Kent's way, and there was this way, and right now, I wanted this way. I wanted to get lost in Jenny's pink hair and maybe even to build a robot. I had never had a child, and given the state of my mind, inert and nihilistic as it was, having one would seem to be hypocritical, but wasn't my desire for Jenny so, too? Wasn't my continued habitation at Barren Cove? “Come sit with me,” I said.

“No,” Jenny said, wheeling in front of me. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Please come back and sit with me. I'm very unhappy and you're all that's making me happy right now.”

“No. I can't.”

“Why not?”

She didn't have an answer, so she sat next to me, but she kept her hands in her lap and her eyes on her hands. Where had such prudence come from? I found my earlier courage, and I traced the outline of her arm with my new hand. “You are so beautiful. Ever since I saw you that first day I have wondered if maybe you were why I was supposed to come here.”

“Like fate?” she said, with a smirk.

“Maybe so.”

“Even the humans didn't believe in fate when they died.”

I wanted to scream,
They're not all dead
. We saw one together. But I wanted her to like me. Maybe if she liked me, I
could like me too. I brought my hand up to her pink hair, and she pulled away, standing again. “Please,” I said, not entirely sure what I was begging for.

“If you still feel that way, come meet me at the clearing in two days at noon,” she said, and then she was gone.

I ran out onto the beach, but as she had said, she was the fastest robot in town. She was far gone, and running after her was fruitless. But she had said that she would meet me at the clearing. Where was she going now? To Clarke? To Fairy? Why did I care?

I turned back to the cabana. What was I going to do now? What was I going to do tomorrow?

I watched the water, not even wanting to go for a swim.