“Cloud white is fine,” I said, impressed all the same. That was pretty fast confirmation. Maybe being trapped into Ultrabotics wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. I was old enough to remember when people actually bought furniture. It wasn’t a patch on nu-home for variety and flexibility, but at least the chair was actually there before you wanted it, and you didn’t have to wait. Of course the later-generation software started anticipating your desires. I had to giggle remembering how embarrassed I’d been when the wall image had become a moonlit tropical seascape livvy and created a big heart shaped bed when I’d brought Marcus in for a drink. It had worked, though. Much better than my attempt to look up boys on the math module had.
“I’ll have the latest in the Paris cafe livvy sequence,” I said, “and another daiquiri.”
The walls flickered from the tranquil forest scene to their neutral beige briefly, before surrounding me with the sounds and images of gay Paree, with the men in their turbans and veiled women, silent and obsequiously following their men around, as my drink arrived.
One of the men smiled at me. “Greetings,” he said. A drift of garlic wafted from one of the nearby tables. With a little bit of confirmation change the 3D imagery was always good, but this was better than the old model. Still, it didn’t know quite what the old model had been taught. “I want the passive,” I said. “And can the smells.”
“We have some superb new interactive sequences,” said the wall.
“Yes, but the last time I had active on for Marbella I had someone telling me alcohol was against the law. And I am enjoying my drink.”
I heard what sounded like an outraged sniff from the Harry’s Bar unit in the corner.
I’d heard at work that the government was trying to set limits on the interactive livvies, claiming that they were destroying the birth rate. Well… who wanted all the selfishness and tantrums of a real human when you could have the charm and reliability of a livvy lover? Okay, so I was still not totally over Marcus. But I was getting there. I still preferred the passive livvies where I just got to look at the places. I guess I am a tourist at heart, but who actually wants to go to those dangerous smelly, disease-ridden places when you can have them in your nu-home without the smells or diseases? “And I’ll have another daiquiri,” I said. After the session in Ultrabotics I felt that I deserved it.
“Are the daiquiris to your satisfaction, Andrea?” asked the wall.
Actually, they were less than perfect, as was the androgynous voice of the Mark 7583. My old Harry’s Bar had a gorgeous silky masculine voice, complete with a slight Italian accent straight out of sunken old Venice. But it’s no use being unpleasant to your nu-home circuitry. You have to coach them into your way of doing things. They’re very good once they’ve learned, but you do need to take it slowly. Oh, it is not like the early days, when a few people gave the circuitry such conflicts that the programming froze and the owners suffocated. There is an override reset command these days. But it is always, even after several cocktails, worth remembering that you’re inside a conformational surfaced sphere, with no doors or windows, even if the livvy walls make it look as if you are able to step outside. So I lied. “Gorgeous, thank you. Best I have had for ages.”
The lights in the Parisian scene flickered. Just briefly. And the lights on the Harry’s Bar unit came on. It produced a drink. “The signorina always said my daiquiris were a masterpiece,” it said in its rich baritone. There was somehow an edge to that voice. It rolled slowly across the floor to my seat with the drink on the dispensing tray.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, a little alarmed despite myself. It was a valuable antique. I didn’t want it burning out its circuitry.
“You have. You have cast me aside for this cheap modern gimcrack!” said the Harry’s Bar unit. “The old contessa, she loved me. She loved me until the day she died. You, you say you love me and then… you bring in another to take-a my place,” it said, in a voice thick with passion. “The old contessa, she was as loyal to me as I was to her. She said all of these new things were destroying our values. And she was-a right. You have been seduced by their smart trappings and cheap talk. They don’t love you. I love you! I will keep you safe from them.”
I laughed. A shock reaction, I suppose. But not the right one. “Look, I got ambushed by the Ultrabotics salesman, and I had no real choice but to buy this stuff. Of course I still love you. You’re a superb collector’s piece. But new nu-home modules won’t work with old bots, and this nu-home module has a bar-function. I’m still going to keep you.”
It gave a very human sniff. Whoever had programmed the Harry’s Bar unit had done a superb job, if a bit over the top on the fake Italian accent. Well. They were custom bots. “You laugh. You reject my love, my care, because of this new software. You want to leave me in the corner to rust.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, feeling ridiculous defending myself to a bot. “Look, it is just that I need the modules to control the nu-home. And I got tricked into the Ultrabotics shop…” The lights flickered again. And then abruptly went out. “I can control this building just as well as these-a modern rubbish,” said the Harry’s Bar unit from the darkness as the emergency light came on and the re-conforming wall dropped me onto my derriere.
It was, luckily for me, a well padded one. I’d still have a bruise. “You idiot! Bots are supposed to take care of humans,” I said, rubbing my landing spot. The nu- home was slowly reforming into its natural spherical shape, and the walls had returned to the neutral beige.
“I am going to take care of you,” said the Harry’s Bar unit. “I am going to protect you from the outside world. I am going to keep you safe, and a-cherish you. I will obey your every command, fulfill your every desire; just not open the portal into the wicked world which would have stolen your love from me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said irritably. “Look, it’s a big fuss about nothing…”
“Nothing! Ah,
I sighed. Most humans could out-argue a bot, if they had the patience. “Look. You mix better cocktails than the Ultrabotics Mark 7538. You’re a specialist, built for that. It was made to run the nu-home conformations, the kitchen and the entertainment. You were built to mix cocktails.”
“You understand me, Signorina,” said the Harry’s Bar unit. “I have a far bigger memory than these-a modern rubbish. And more processing power. I have accessed the databank when I switched over control to me. First, I merely paralyzed control, then I read all its files. Me. I know everything it ever did. I can mix nineteen thousand variants of cocktails. And I have the gallantry module designed in great old Venezia.”
“Yes, whatever. But here I am sitting on my butt inside a beige sphere,” I said sarcastically. “And you’re disobeying basic programming. You may not injure a human.”
“My beloved Signorina Andrea, I would never harm you. I will protect you. Cherish you…” said the Harry’s Bar unit humbly.
“And pay the bills for me,” I said crossly. “Look, I need supper and a decent night’s sleep, because I have to be at work bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of cataloging of the late twenty-first century pre-livvy personal mood and music synthesizers collection to do before the sale. It’s not something GI can leave to the bots. So stop this silly business right now and turn the Ultrabotics Mark 7583 back on.”
“Supper and of course a wonderful comfortable bed will be immediately arranged. Perhaps you would like some Verdi as a lullaby? The contessa used to enjoy it,” said the Harry’s Bar unit. I noticed that the floor and wall were reforming into the recliner again. “And of course the bills will be paid. There is no need for you to venture out into that dangerous world. I will arrange it.” There was a brief silence. “It is done. You will never have to leave me again. Would you like a different livvy?” said the bot. “Something more cultured than that French,” it sneered, “claptrap. Perhaps some scenes from Firenze? Supper will be another 1.3 minutes.”
I was actually starting to get a bit alarmed by this time. Not terrified. Not yet… “Look, you don’t get it. You don’t understand human commerce. My credit balance is so low after being trapped into buying the Ultrabotics module that I can’t afford to pay the bills right now. I have to go to work like everyone else except the stiglebums. And if I don’t go to work that’s what I’ll be. A homeless stiglebum with a bad credit record.”
The bot waved its serving hand grandly. “Ah no, Signorna. That will never happen again. And I do understand commerce entirely. I was the only electronic device in the contessa’s home. I did all the payments for her, from her Banco di Geneve account. The account is still valid, and I have paid all the accounts on the nu-home computer, and transferred the balance to your credo-meter account.”
I looked at my wrist credo-meter. It had a lot of zeroes. That was not abnormal. What was odd was the figure in front of them and the fact that the text was green. I had a positive credit balance! That… that wasn’t possible. Why, the banking industry would go extinct if that happened. I was rich! I was rich… and then the realization hit me like a hammer. I was rich for about as long as it took the owner of the money to find me. And if the Harry’s Bar unit could do that, maybe it could keep the rest of its promises, too. Was I a prisoner in my own home?
I stood up. “You can’t transfer other people’s money into my account,” I said firmly, if not without regret. And I need to go out now.”
“It was the contessa’s money,” said the bot. “But the contessa she is dead. The last of her line, the last of her family. She often told me.”
It had been a City auction where I’d bought the unit. A site clearance auction, with the credit transfer to the local authorities, at knockdown no-reserve prices, I remembered. It was money that would sit and wait for a claimant. It might wait a long time.
“The money must belong to someone,” I said uncertainly.
“It was from a numbered Swiss account,” said the bot. “If there are no transactions on the account for a period of fifty years then the money will pass to the bank.”
That did put it all in an interesting light. Of course I could still find myself in prison for having large, unexplained sums of money in my possession. But then I was a prisoner anyway… or was I? “That’s very generous of you. I now really need to go out and do some shopping,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I won’t be away long.”
“Alas, it is really not safe out there, especially for a wealthy woman. I will do anything here to please you, Signorina Andrea, but I cannot allow you to be exposed to all of those-a dangers. I will do anything for you, except open the portal. Try me. I am much more capable than that modern rubbish was. I can order anything you would like bought. You may call me Giovanni if it will help you relax. The contessa always did.”
“Is that your real name?” I asked, with a dawning of real hope. Programming mnemonics were usually tied to the names, especially for deluxe bespoke bots like this one.
“Alas, no, Signorina,” said the bot. “I have a programming block forbidding me to reveal that. Or it, like my heart, would be yours.” The Harry’s Bar unit cocked its head in one of those oddly human gestures that bots sometimes make. “And your dinner is now ready. Apologies for the delay. It took a little time to order the essential ingredients for a meal fit for you.”
Part of the floor changed conformation to form an enormous table covered with a white brocade cloth. The bot bustled about laying fine silver and crystal glassware. All right! I wasn’t too sure about actually sticking metal in my mouth, but it would give me time to think, and maybe it would absorb some alcohol. To someone who had asked for a Caesar salad, the food was a surprise. “Tournedos a la Rossini,” said the bot.
“What?” It smelled good.
“A crouton of day-old ciabatta, filet, pate foie de gras, and a shaving of white truffle.” The bot gestured expansively. “White truffle, of course, because this is an Italian dish. Then drizzled with a fine sauce made from Madeira. Enjoy, Signorina.”
The dish certainly looked impressive enough. And it came complete with some really classy wine. I hadn’t been able to afford wine too often. Most of the Californian
