The Gift
That was the last he’d seen of her until this morning. He quickly searched the Net for related links and was surprised to find a police report that had been filed the previous week at Java Joe’s corporate headquarters in Seattle’s coffee town district. A group from the Sisters of Creation had tried to sneak into the office building. They were found uploading files off the company’s main terminal. Java Joe security had called for police support. Several Sisters and Java Joe employees had sustained minor injuries and were taken to the hospital, but the newsblinks never picked up the story. Joe 59 walked quickly across the shop while reviewing the report. There was no specific mention of Luca, but he supposed that there must be a connection between her visits and the attack.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING? inquired the shop’s OS.
“I don’t know,” whispered Joe 59, below the frequency that humans could hear.
ARE YOU COMING BACK?
He had no answer for the OS. He opened the door and stepped outside. The package was just to the side of the door beneath the window. Wrapped neatly in red paper with a gold ribbon and bow, it was about the size of a case of biodegradable swizzle sticks, and when he picked it up he realized that it was surprisingly heavy. Corporate had a strict policy about this; no unattended packages, bags, purses, shoes or objects larger than a muffin were allowed anywhere on the premises. For a moment he wondered why she hadn’t delivered the pretty package to him in person. He certainly hadn’t thought she was the shy type.
As a licensed public vendor, Joe 59 was equipped with security features and protocols, and one sniff was enough to detect several chemical signatures that suggested the package might contain explosives. No wonder she hadn’t brought it inside! The shop’s sensors would have set off an immediate alarm! Security imperatives overrode a sudden cascade of questions and speculations. Nothing mattered but removing the dangerous material and protecting his customers! He fired off a distress message to the authorities on his Net link as he tucked the package firmly in the crook of his arm and ran into the street. No one in the coffee shop turned to watch him, which was a relief. If the bomb were to explode when they were looking they might get window glass or slivers of his metal composite skeleton in their eyeballs and he would never forgive himself.
Joe 59 sprinted down the avenue with auto cabs whizzing by on either side of him. None of the passengers glanced at him, but the curious auto cabs peppered him with rapid queries that he had no time to respond to except with a general warning to clear the area. He had no idea how much time he had before the explosion ripped him apart, but he suspected it wouldn’t be long. One simple question looped through his cogware endlessly as he ran: Why? Humans had so many conflicting motives that trying to understand them left him feeling quite simple and inferior. He was just a machine, as Luca had so adroitly noted. He couldn’t think of a single cause that would be advanced by blowing up his coffee shop?
