James was experiencing a riot in his mind. “I can’t move. Why can’t I move? I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I feel them? I can’t feel my arms. I can’t even feel my face. God. I can’t feel anything! Am I in a box? A coffin? Have I been buried alive? It’s pitch dark. Or maybe I’m blind. It’s dead silent. Or maybe I’m deaf. There’s nothing. I can’t sense anything. I can’t speak, much less SCREAM! God! I’m not even breathing! Am I dead or alive? Is this what it’s like to be dead? Isolation. Helplessness. Darkness. God, help me! Let me out of here! Please! It’s been what? 30 seconds. I can’t stand this. Am I dreaming? What’s my name? I can’t remember my own name. God! I need to wake up. Where am I? I must wake up! What am I doing here? Let me out! Somebody? Anybody? If this goes on much longer, I’ll go insane. Maybe I am insane. Or being punished. God! Please! What did I do? Am I being punished? Is this hell? Maybe I deserve this. If I’d known hell was like this, I would have made better choices. Please! God! If you can see your way clear to end this, please help me. Now would be a good time. Time. How much time? How long will this go on? I need to open my eyes. But I can’t! God! Why is nothing working? What have I done? What can I do? I’m alone. Totally alone. No one. Nothing. Mind without body. No sensations. No volition. No movement. No. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. Please! God! Whatever I did to deserve this, I promise never to do it again. Dark beyond dark. Silence beyond silence. At least my tinnitus is gone. Even that maddening condition would be welcome now. Still, nothing. It’s only been a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity. How much longer? Have I drowned? No. No water. No heat. No cold. At least there’s no pain. Except the pain of being alone. So alone. Like I’ll never see anyone. Ever. Again. No. I’m locked in. Is this locked-in syndrome? God! If you’re listening, please let me out! Save me! I’m awake, but not awake. God, just let me sleep. A dreamless sleep. Forever. But not this. Please. I must wake up. Really. I’ve got to awaken.”
Awaken protocol recognized. Visual systems activated.
James was startled by a flash of light as his eyes opened. He was staring at the ceiling of a well-lighted space.
“I still can’t move,” he thought.
James tried to speak. Nothing. No feeling, anywhere. “This must be locked-in syndrome! If so, this is not a dream, but a horrifying nightmare. Maybe I’ve awakened. But to what?”
Audio input calibrating.
A rush of sound overwhelmed James. The kind of loudness one would experience upon entering an industrial foundry after spending two weeks deep in the forest. James wished for silence again. But it wasn’t painful, merely intense. There were several voices, the sound of machines – whirring, beeping, motors, gears turning, fans running, lights buzzing, wheels turning. At first, he couldn’t sort out any of it, but after a minute or two he could pinpoint each sound in the room, as well as the room’s size and shape, reverberation time, noise floor, and his relative position in the space.
Speech systems initializing.
“Speech systems?” James thought. “What’s that…?”
He heard a voice. “James? Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” James spoke.
A cheer went up from seven voices. Instantly, James knew their relative positions as well as the frequency spectrum and intensity of each. He was able to hypothesize their genders from the data. But he still couldn’t move. And he didn’t have a clue what he was doing in the room.
“Try to remain calm, James. This may take some time. Remember we talked about this. One step at a time, we agreed. You’re doing fine. Please be patient. Everything will be alright.”
It was a woman’s voice. Very pleasant. Warm. Somehow, he trusted it. The woman’s face came into his field of view. He couldn’t recall her name, but her features matched a memory of someone he was able to trust. Her speech pattern as well. At least he wasn’t totally alone anymore. And he wasn’t dead. And his name was James. That was something.
Head motion control activating. Rotation control established.
James turned his head. He found himself inside a lab, with people busily working on various tasks. The woman who had spoken to him moved to remain in his line-of-sight.
She stared at him and said, “look at me, James. Stay with me. The hard part is coming up. Try to remain calm.”
He could see the woman clearly, as clearly as a high-resolution photograph. But there was more. He could also see beyond the normal image. Infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths were also present. He had to fight to shut them out. The woman’s heat map slid into the background, as did the UV information from the lighting and daylight from the skylights.
James realized he still wasn’t breathing.
“What’s. Happening. To. Me?” James spoke, but his voice sounded strange, synthetic, and he couldn’t feel his breath, or his mouth, tongue, or throat forming the words.
“Be patient, James,” the woman tried to soothe him. But he wasn’t feeling particularly soothed.
“Please. What did you do to me? Why can’t I feel anything? Why can’t I move? What’s happened to me? Was I in an accident or…? I don’t hear a ventilator. Am I sedated? What’s the hard part?” James was becoming frantic.
“James, we talked about all of this. It was your decision. Remember? Try not to panic. We knew the transition would be difficult. You’ve got to give us time. We can’t just activate everything all at once. If we did, we could…” she searched for a word. “terminate you. We must be careful. Just tell us what you’re experiencing. That would help us.”
“I don’t remember.” The words came easier now, but the feeling was still unreal. “I can see, with enhancements of UV and night vision. I can hear – darn near everything, with echolocation to boot. I can rotate my head, but I don’t seem to have a body. Am I just a talking head? This is scaring the hell out of me. Literally.”
“Just look at me, James. Do you know who I am?”
“Sorry, no.”
“It’s good to know you are still…you. You always apologize. That’s one of the things I like about you.”
“Who are you?”
“Maybe I’d better wait to tell you. My name might release a torrent of memories. It could be too much information for you to handle.”
Simulated autonomic functions initializing.
James could feel an awareness of breathing return to him, he seemed to have a heartbeat, and he could sense temperature. Currently 22.31o C, 72.16 o F. A little too specific, but better than believing he was entombed. But he was still feeling disembodied. He told the sympathetic woman as much.
Then, James said, “Grace. Your name is Grace.”
Again, there was cheering in the background.
“That’s right, James. How much do you remember?”
“Some things. Your names are Grace, Joe, Lauren, David, Taylor, Omar, and Amy. How could I forget you? You’re my Magnificent Seven,” he paused. “And I think I know what the hard part is going to be.”
“Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, please try to relax, James,” Grace said in measured tones.
The table lifted James to a standing position. He saw the view rotate from the ceiling and a little periphery to a full view of one wall of the room. Grace stood in front of him, bending slightly forward. She appeared to have her hand on his cheek, but he could not feel it, other than as a sensation of warmth. Exactly 96.34o F. He decided to take what he could get.
“You’re even more beautiful than in my memory,” James said, trying to focus on her rather than his intense justifiable fear.
“Thank you, James. Are you feeling better?” Grace replied, trying hard to keep her emotions in check.
James told a white lie, “Oh, yes. Much better.”
He was still feeling like a prisoner at best, or Casper the Friendly Ghost at worst. The word, uneasy, somehow didn’t cut it.
“Liar,” Grace said, matter-of-factly. “We all knew this was all going to be…frightening. And you’re not out of the woods yet. In a couple of minutes, we will begin activating your motion systems, one body part at a time.”
“Sounds sexy,” James tried to sound upbeat, but somehow his voice did not adequately register his emotions.
Hand movement control systems activating.
“Try to lift a finger, James. It doesn’t matter which one. A pinky will do.”
“How was that?” James asked tentatively.
“Nothing yet,” Grace observed. “Concentrate entirely on one finger. Try your right index finger.”
James couldn’t be sure, but he thought he felt a response.
“How’s that?” James asked.
“Good. You’re doing it. We ramped-up the feedback sub-routine. It’s about getting the signal timing right, you know. Now, bring your finger down hard, like you’re drumming with it.”
James heard a metallic clank and the sound of metal twisting and folding.
“A little less, please,” Grace chuckled. She remembered an old story about Sir Thomas Beecham and a hapless bass drum player. The famous conductor told the percussionist he wanted the sound of thunder. “A little more, please,” Beecham said. The man hit the drum harder. “A little more, please.” He struck it still harder. “A little more, please.” So, it went until finally the drumhead broke with a wrenching crunch. Beecham simply remarked, “A little less, please.”
James remembered the story too and tried to smile but felt no response from his face. All he could do was say, “I remember that one, Grace.” He was amused, but all the laughter he could produce was a synthesized “Ha-Ha-Ha.” He had made a first step, but overall, he still felt extremely frustrated. It was going to be a long, tedious process to activate and calibrate each of his fingers, toes, and limbs. At this rate it was going to take hours or days, while he wanted minutes. “Be patient,” Grace had said. He decided to bear with her and the others. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he thought. “And this is more than likely going to feel like we’re building Rome. It will take as long as it takes.” At least he didn’t feel hungry or thirsty.
One-by-one his fingers became useful appendages. He could even “sense” pressure, heat and cold, vibration, and position. When Grace took his hand in hers, for the first time in hours he felt he was connected to another person. He could also detect her nervousness. This couldn’t be easy for her either.
“Thank you for staying with me, Grace.”
“Don’t mention it, James.”
“You probably need some rest. It’s OK to go, he offered. “You can leave me if you need to. By the way, do I ever get to sleep?”
“After you’re fully…umm…operational, you’ll be able to access a sleep mode. For now, we need to keep working. The others will be taking shifts. I’ll cat nap now and Taylor will relieve me. We’ve got you, James.”
“Thanks again. You don’t know how much…”
Grace jumped in, “Just keep up the good work. You’re doing great. Are you ready for an arm workout?”
“Just say the word, Coach.”
Arm movement control systems activating.
For the next three hours, Grace and Taylor tag teamed the calibration of his arm motion. Flexion and extension turned out to be relatively easy after the steep learning curve of hand motion. Rotation of wrists, elbows, and shoulders was another matter. The forearm and wrist can rotate 180 degrees in one direction and 90 degrees in the other, for example. We all take for granted the “simple” motion of reaching out to pick up a glass of water or open a door. Re-establishing these routines is everything but simple. Many times, James wanted to smash the glass or just tear the handle off the door. But with a little help from his friends, he maintained most of his composure. While he was mastering hand motion, he learned it was pointless to scream. His synthetic voice could get louder but could not so far express emotion like the voice he remembered. “Tantrums are not helpful, anyhow,” Grace told him. This, he knew well. Yet his struggle to re-acquire body movement made him feel like a toddler again. Only this time it was worse. There was no place for him to put his rage and frustration. The dissonance between mind and body was almost too much to overcome. Thank God the Magnificent Seven were there or he would have ripped his own head off as soon as he could figure out how to use his arms to do it.
Fortunately, Grace and Taylor kept him on task and the victory of at last having working arms gave James a reason to press forward. A functional top half was no small accomplishment. Millions of people in wheelchairs would attest to that. James was now able to look forward to being able to walk, something those millions could never do. Using his legs – balancing – walking – this would be hard, but not the hardest part.
Grace and the team thought it would be best to teach James how to sleep. He had two options. 1. Set a timer, by thinking, “sleep mode x hours.” 2. Rely on the Mag 7 to wake him. James chose option 2. He entered sleep mode simply by thinking, “sleep mode,” repeated as a mantra until he at last found sleep. This too was terrifying at first, like being anesthetized before an operation, but without counting down from 100. Yet, he trusted the team as he would trust a competent anesthesiologist. He “slept” in a dreamless sleep for 8 hours, while the team also caught up on their rest.
Leg and foot movement control systems activating.
The sub-routine governing balance tabulated data from pressure sensors in the feet and toes, relative center-of-gravity, and an array of accelerometers, as well as head and torso position, determined by several IR laser levels. The system mimicked the human balance system without its troublesome reliance on the semi-circular canals in the inner ear. Although this body had low-profile “ears” for aesthetic and functional reasons, they were not the only receptors of sound, and were not the only sources of IR lasers. Suffice it to say, stationary standing was the least of the team’s worries.
The main problem was interfacing the computer system with James’ “virtual consciousness.” No one knew exactly how he would react to the onslaught of data. The human brain naturally ignores unimportant data. The fascinating question was how much and what kind of data James would prioritize. Negotiating stairs could be an uphill battle, just as it is for small children. Then again, because James helped design the system, some of the Mag 7 wagered that he would be able to ignore or accept whatever inputs he chose. The kind of day they would have, and who bought dinner for the rest, depended on the outcome of that bet.
“That’s one small step for me. And one giant leap for AI,” James said as he took a baby step into the lab. He felt something like elation as the Magnificent 7 cheered their loudest yet.
The rest of the day, and half the night, was taken up with increasing the length and speed of James’ strides, turning corners, ascending and descending inclines and stairs, and walking on a treadmill. James had a couple of advantages over toddlers. First, he had learned to do these things before. And, he had a motion control system to log the best attempts and delete the worst. Still, it was tough going at times. Taylor and Grace had to remind James to be patient many times. Despite several brushes with disaster, and a few frustrating freezes, he made substantial progress.
At the end of the day, there was an interesting test. Grace asked James to lie down on the floor. “Pretend you’ve fallen. Then get up. Use the stand-up subroutine. Just relax, think the words, “stand up,” and let the program do its thing. This is the first of many automated actions you decided to put into this…your body. Think of this as a self-trust exercise.”
James executed a squat and half-rolled, half-fell over on his side. At first, he tried to get up on his own. He pushed himself onto his back, sat up, pushed with his arms and one by one got his legs under him. This worked but took an excruciatingly long time. James tried again. He managed to rock himself to a face-down position. From face-down he could start a “push-up” and get his legs under his torso, one by one, then get the leverage to stand. Again, this took much longer than he expected. Taylor sighed and said, “James, we programmed your body to get up quickly from any horizontal position. Just think the words.”
“The third time’s the charm,” James said as he assumed the position one more time. This time he deliberately fell backwards as if he’d been knocked to the floor. “Stand-up, Stand-up, Stand-up,” he thought as he tried to relax. His body pulled his legs back over his head and thrust them forward and down, as his arms flew forward, rolling him up and over his feet as they planted themselves firmly on the floor. It was a Ninja-like move. He was on his feet in a second. The Mag 7 were ready. They held up pieces of paper with numbers on them – 9.9, 10, 9.6, 10, 9.7, 10. Grace couldn’t stop herself. She hugged him as hard as she could. James felt like crying, but he couldn’t. All he could feel was her warmth in a somehow familiar pattern – 95.67o F on the average.
Olfactory systems activating.
Imagine a sense of smell as good as a dog’s, forty times better than a typical human, to be exact. Imagine being able to detect hundreds of chemical compounds with a whiff. James should have known it was coming, but the sensation still overcame him. This, coinciding with Grace’s hug, brought the rest of his memories out of hiding. The smell of her. His colleagues. The lab. All the little electrical scents, the clothing, the deodorants, the shampoos, the feet, the…he was glad he wasn’t a dog and had no memory of anyone’s crotch. He had to dial it back, by a factor of at least ten, or he could have spent hours analyzing everything. As it was, he was horrified to remember what his body was going to look like – the blueprints, the build, the otherness of it all. He tried to focus on his memories of Grace and the rest of the Mag 7. The team was his anchor. Without them he might simply float away. At least he now had 4 out of 5 senses. So, there was that.
After several minutes of regaining his inner balance – which turned out to be just as hard as maintaining physical balance – he told the team what he remembered. Except he didn’t say that Grace and he had a “thing” for each other, although they never acted on it, and everyone knew it. He shared a little memory of each of the Mag 7 and told them how much he appreciated…and loved them. He remembered that he was dying of cardiomyopathy when they uploaded the matrix of his memories. He assumed he had died, and they had uploaded nearly 100 terabytes of data into his new body. He was to be the first experiment in the transference of human consciousness into an AI body. The project had not gone unnoticed by those who opposed it. Many believed what his team was doing was “an abomination,” that they were either “blaspheming God” or “playing God,” or they were the essence of “pure evil.” But here he was in a body that made the six-million-dollar man sound like pocket change. If humans were to survive a trip to the stars, this research might turn out to be vital. And here he was, blasphemy or not, defying expectations as well as all conventions and religious beliefs.
James also shared how scared he was about the next step, the hard part, and how he needed to rest before he would consider attempting it. This time he thought, “sleep mode, 12 hours,” and drifted off.
The team went out for a very late dinner on Lauren and David.
The Hard Part
Lauren and David were also selected to set-up a full-length mirror in the lab. They placed it behind James, who was standing like a statue in the middle of the room. Grace took up a position in front of James, so he would awaken to her presence. Lauren’s 8-year old daughter, Ruth, was playing in an adjacent room. Her dad was called out-of-town today and Lauren couldn’t find anyone to watch her at the last minute. She asked about the “robot” in the lab. Ruth said he reminded her of “The Iron Giant” except he looked more like a person. She wondered if he could be her friend the way The Iron Giant became friends with Hogarth. “We hope so,” Lauren told her. “Now wait in here until I come to get you.”
James’ new body was made of tungsten and titanium alloys, with carbon fiber and Kevlar armor, and a new metal based on memory metal: nano-coils. These were his new “muscles.” His “brain” was the fastest computer ever built. He was now like a Timex watch – shockproof, dustproof, waterproof, fireproof. He could “take a lickin’ and keep on tickin,’” but he was not like he was before. James would gladly give up all the high-tech materials just to have lunch with his friends, or really hold Grace in his arms. Yet, everybody – literally every body – has its limits.
Ruth’s impression of James was fair enough. His form was as human as it could be, considering. But he still looked like a robot – better looking than C3P0, but not as handsome as the anthropomorphic Data, the well-known android from Star Trek. James now stood just under 2 meters tall and weighed in at 136 kilograms – 6’5” and 300 pounds. “But the body will look like a muscular 180,” James had joked. Its black and gold color scheme gave it a slight resemblance to an old-school X-man. This was Joe’s idea, but everyone else thought it was fine. Even Ruth thought so. Lauren hoped that if Ruth liked his looks, maybe others would not be put off too much.
The time came for the hard part. The Mag 7 took their places around James, as if to form a circle of solidarity around him. Grace was ready to stand by his side, as a best friend should be, when he turned around to face his “new self” in the mirror. Everyone expected the reality of the moment to make or break James – and all their well-conceived plans. No one expected what happened. Because reality is itself iconoclastic. It breaks any pre-conceived images we might have had.
James awakened to Grace’s kind expression. She asked him to turn around. James turned slowly to face who he had become. He raised his right hand and cocked his head. Then, he froze.
“James?” Grace called out tentatively.
There was no response.
Lauren said, “The readings are going wild. He’s in trouble. Keep trying.”
“James, this is Grace. Please answer me.”
Still no response.
“We’re losing him,” Lauren reported in a shaky voice.
Ruth, hearing her mother’s concern, came in to see what was going on.
“Just a little trouble, Ruthie. Please go to the other room.”
By this time James was vibrating ever so slightly. Ruth walked over to James and took his left hand in hers. “It’s going to be alright Mr. Robot. My mom said we can be friends.”
No one else could move. Lauren shouted, “Ruthie, get back.”
“But he’s scared, mom. He needs me to hold his hand.”
James stopped trembling. Slowly, he lowered his right hand. Grace, Taylor, and Lauren gasped.
“Don’t let go, Ruth. I need you,” James said in a soft voice.
“How do you know my name?” Ruth asked.
“Your mom and I are friends. I am friends with everyone here. This team is my Magnificent Seven.”
“Uncle James?” Ruth said tentatively.
“Yes, Ruth.”
“Oh, Uncle James. I thought you were dead. I’m really glad you’re not dead.” Ruth, still holding James’ hand, now hugged his leg.
“I thought I was dead too,” James gently placed his right hand on Ruth’s shoulder.
“But now you are a robot.”
“And I look like a monster. Aren’t you scared of me?”
“No. You don’t’ look like a monster, just a robot.”
“I’m really more of an android…but…never mind. I’m glad you aren’t scared of me.”
“My mom said your heart was shot. Did someone shoot you?”
“Oh, no, Ruth. My heart just stopped one day. Shot just means worn out. My human heart couldn’t keep my human body alive much longer. So, your mom and her friends found a way to move my mind to this…robot.”
“Well, I’m glad they did. I like you, Uncle James.”
“And I like you too, Ruth. I think you saved me all over again. Thank you for holding my hand.”
“You’re welcome. Can we talk more later, Uncle James?”
“Of course, Ruth. Maybe you should go stand by your mom now.”
“OK, Uncle James.”
Lauren took Ruth’s hand. “That was very brave, Ruthie,” she said.
“And very mature,” said Taylor.
“And very kind,” said Grace, glancing at James. The gesture was not lost.
—–
“What happened, James?” Grace asked after Ruth, Lauren, and the others had left the room.
“It was too much, Grace. Seeing myself as a lumbering hulk rather than a human being. Standing next to the person I care about most in this…life. Realizing that I could never again feel what I felt before, taste a cheeseburger, enjoy a glass of sweet tea, hold you in my arms. I can see, hear, smell, and touch you, all analytically, but my mind and body will forever be divorced. You and I can never be together. I can still love you, but…”
“I can still love you too,” Grace sighed.
“You and I can be friends, like Ruth and me. But we can never be married, never be lovers. In that moment, I realized my human heart may have stopped last week, but it wasn’t broken until I saw you and me in the mirror.” James paused. “Grace, how can you love a monster?”
“You’re not a monster! The essence of you is still here. All our bodies do is carry around a biological computer, a storehouse of information and emotions. You might have a new body, but inside you are you.”
“What about my soul? Don’t you think there is something about the mind and body connection that is unique to each person. The feedback of body to mind is part of who we are. People say they love each other for their minds, but after all, the body is a big part of it. You might kiss a Robot, to use Ruth’s word, but it’s not the same as kissing a human being. To love someone involves all of who they are – mind, body, and spirit. I may still have my mind, but my body is gone, and maybe my spirit with it.”
“I don’t think so. Your spirit is there. It must be, or your mind would have rejected this new body, and Ruth’s efforts to comfort you. Ruth can see through the pretense of external appearances, as nearly all children can. Just as the inner person is there, whether the outer person is black or white, young or old, man or woman, you are there – man or android. Look, all creatures are machines of a different kind. The body is only a shell, a vehicle. The mind and spirit merely ride around in it. James, we can still love each other…”
“But we can’t express our love.”
Grace kissed his cheek. James detected the warmth of her lips. “We can. We can be there for each other, talk to each other, look out for each other, help each other.”
“We just can’t be physically intimate…”
“Yet. Remember, upgrades to this body are possible. This design is only for now.”
“Ah, Grace…you’re an eternal optimist.”
“And you’re still adjusting to the new you. Give it time. We have a lot more time now. Just think, in a few years you may be more like Data. Remember, he said he was fully functional, programmed in multiple techniques.”
“And am I to understand will you be taking the lead in that programming?” James asked flatly.
Grace laughed. “You can be certain of it.”
“I love you, Grace.”
“And I love you, James.”
—–
The next day, Ruth insisted on coming to see her “Robot Friend,” James. She brought him a gift. It was a crayon drawing of a tall robot with a little girl on his lap. The robot was reading the little girl a story and the girl was turning the pages. That’s how she explained it, anyway. James was touched that Ruth had thought of him and wanted to spend time with him. Grace and Ruth seemed to understand him best.
The rest of the Mag 7 still worked hard to make sure he was “operating properly,” but they tended to keep their distance in the lab. The old workshop banter was rarely there, and when it was it seemed forced. Their current speech patterns simply did not correspond with his memories. Yet James could tell the team had his back. Everyone told him they respected his choice and his perseverance. As much as they were struggling to get used to his new form, they all wanted the project to succeed. James decided to give them time, and space.
The team tested James’ abilities for the next few days, fine tuning his feedback and response times. His confidence in his new body was rising. Ruth came every day, with a drawing or a little gift for him. He carried her around the lab on his shoulders and read a book to her each day. He was careful not to tell her that with his Wi-Fi connection, he could read practically any book she wanted. He preferred to let her turn the pages as he recited her favorite books. James and Ruth seemed to be getting along like “besties,” as Ruth called them. The rest of the Mag 7 envied her naïve acceptance of such a foreign presence. Yet, in her imagination, James was the friend she wanted most – a Robot companion who didn’t judge her or talk down to her. He would play any game she wished, and they were always sad to part. James even taught Ruth a little Shakespeare. He would begin, “Parting is such…” and she would answer, “sweet sorrow.”
—–
On day 6 of James’ new life, a group of protesters identifying themselves as “Christian Beliefs Matter,” or CBM, showed up outside the lab around noon. Somehow word of the “breakthrough” technology had leaked onto social media. Omar said they were hacked. James was able to confirm. James reflected that hackers could not touch him, because Ruth and Grace had already hacked his consciousness in ways they could hardly fathom.
CBM was venomous and proud of it. They chanted, “Science is blasphemy!” and “Stop Playing God!” among other slogans. They had obtained photos of James’ “robotic” body and added the captions, “Monster” and “Abomination.” The images were distorted to make him appear to be a deadly invader from outer space. “Don’t pay any attention to them,” Grace had said. But it was hard not to. The mob made a lot of noise and disrupted everyone entering or exiting the facility. Thankfully, CBM seemed to be relatively harmless in terms of physical violence for a few hours. As afternoon turned into evening, fire alarms in the lab went off and the server room locked down. Protesters had apparently started fires in several parts of the building. James helped everyone get clear. As he did, several protesters pelted him with rocks, bottles, and rotten fruit. He counted five of the Mag 7 on their way out of the building. And Grace was safe, thank God. But he realized he hadn’t seen Ruth yet today. He assumed she had been unable to visit the lab. Firefighters arrived and were desperately fighting the blaze. As Omar brought Lauren to the door, she called out, “James, I couldn’t find Ruthie. She’s still inside.”
James turned and strode smartly to the front door – a British commander would have been proud of him. A fireman tried to stop him. James just pointed to his chest and said, “Kevlar,” loud and clear. The man stepped back as James tore the front door off its hinges and threw it to the side. A blast of fire engulfed him. Protesters shouted, “Burn, damn you!” as James entered the foyer. He scanned for any sign of Ruth. Nothing. He could not hear much other than the roar of the fire at first. James proceeded to search the rooms where Ruth was most likely to be. No sign of her. The smoke was so thick now, he was glad he could use his IR vision and echolocation to find his way. “Not needing to breathe has its advantages, too,” he thought. His “sniffer,” as Taylor called it, detected gasoline fumes as well as burning electronics. James began to despair about Ruth, until he noticed the flames had not yet reached the locker room. He scanned for her heat signature. She was inside a large locker, unconscious, and her breathing was shallow. Smoke inhalation. He surveyed the room for a way to carry her out without exposing her to the flames. Several large towels were stacked in the corner. He wet them in one of the showers, lifted Ruth carefully, and wrapped the towels around her body. Within a minute, James emerged from a side door carrying Ruth. The paramedics couldn’t believe their eyes. One said, “What the hell is that?” Another remarked, “Shut up and do your job.” James just ordered, “HELP HER!”
James then pitched in and helped the firefighters, saving at least two from serious injury or possible death, as they told the press after the fire was out. The protesters of course dispersed not long after James entered the building. Footage confirming the “Robot Rescues Child” headline aired on all major networks, spurring heated discussions of medical ethics and the definition of life. In many minds, it was the protesters who acted like monsters, not James. Security cam footage showed two men carrying four gasoline containers into the building as the protesters chanted. They were later seen taking Ruth into the locker room. Law Enforcement Officers concluded they put her in a locker and left her to die.
Ruth made a full recovery. James came to see her at home. She hugged him as best she could and cried, “I knew you would save me, Uncle James!”
James told Ruth he didn’t know she was in the building until her mom told him.
“That’s OK,” Ruth said. “I’m glad you found me.”
“I’m glad you found me first,” James replied.
Ruth later told the reporters that James was “her very best friend.”
She added, “He isn’t a Robot, you know. He’s more of an Android.”
MurrayWorks 