The Gift
Feeling his own body rolling off the shelving unit restored some of his autonomic functions, but it still felt as if everything was happening in slow motion. He twisted, trying to focus on generating enough torque with his synthetic flexor muscles to right himself and land on his feet. In spite of his best efforts, Joe 59 crashed to the floor. He lay on his back momentarily frozen in systemic shock while the metal rack tumbled down on top of him. Fortunately, he didn’t feel pain. Pressure, yes. And his diagnostic alarms reported multiple malfunctions and minor breaks, tears, snaps and punctures. In less than a second he determined that the damage was minor and that he was fully functional, so he pushed the shelving unit away with a clatter and sprang to his feet then raced to the self-service bar. Maybe the poor arachnid had survived the vicious snap of the apron and landed safely on a stack of Java Joe biodegradable napkins. A visual scan of the self-service bar turned up nothing. He looked beneath the bar, to each side. Nothing.
“Shop!” Joe 59 called. “Shop! Do you sense the spider? Can you locate it again, please?”
MY SENSORS ARE NO LONGER DETECTING ANY RESPIRATORY ANOMALIES, JOE 59. THEY ARE REGISTERING DAMAGE TO YOUR BODY, HOWEVER. MAY I BE OF SERVICE?
“There’s no time for that,” Joe 59 shot back. “There’s a dead spider somewhere in the shop and we have to find it before something disastrous happens!”
CAN YOU DEFINE THE NATURE OF THE ANTICIPATED DISASTER?
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
IT IS NOT.
Joe 59 didn’t have time to explain to the dense OS how important it was that every customer’s experience at Java Joe had to be the best it could possibly be. It was enough that he was aware of the importance of every detail. Then he caught a reflection of himself again in the window. Although Joe 59 couldn’t feel emotions such as horror, his cogware produced a range of perceptions that precipitated further actions, and the sight of his disheveled appearance, missing apron, mussed hair and a small gash exposing a shiny inch of his internal composite skeleton prompted a whirlwind of activity.
I DETECT A FAMILIAR FOOTFALL CADENCE APPROACHING THE SHOP. I CALCULATE THE PROBABILITY THAT IT IS MR. KILMER AT 87% CONFIDENCE. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO UNLOCK THE DOOR?
