The Inscrutable Mr. Robot Read online

  The Young Lad put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  It was a horrible sound; one that nobody would ever forget. His body fell into a pathetic slump and for a second, nobody did anything. They all stared at the limp body in childlike disbelief. A second later, though, anyone with any common sense whatsoever ran for the nearest exists; pushing and trampling one another as they scrambled for their lives.

  Mr. Robot got up from his seat and walked over to where The Engineer stood. He towered over the small scientist but still, the way he looked at the human, you’d think he was ten feet smaller than the world about him. The Engineer rested one of his hands one Mr. Robot’s enormous shoulders and he smiled consolingly.

  His smile could fend off a dragon; it could stave off an infection or ward off evil. It didn’t matter the extent of his fear or the height of his indecision, one smile from The Engineer was enough to put Mr. Robot at ease and make him feel like he could accomplish anything. But still, there was a look in the robot’s eyes, and The Engineer could see this – he could feel it.

  “It’s ok. We’re ok,” he said, assuring.

  He lightly stroked the back of Mr. Robot’s head, shushing him as he did.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re not in any danger. I’ll always make sure of that.”

  “It’s not that,” said Mr. Robot.

  “Well then, why do you look so fraught?”

  It was true. He didn’t have a thousand expressions, but the one he wore now was unmistakable. Even a day old child could read the worry on this poor robot’s face.

  “What is it, my son?” asked The Engineer like a worried father.

  His smile slowly crept back on his face as he tried to show his robot that the threat was gone; there were no more monsters, the thunder was gone, and the sun was shining brightly in the sky again. There was no more reason to hide or be scared.

  “Hey, there’s no reason to feel bad. Come here and let me give you a giant hug.”

  He could barely fit around the robot’s chest.

  “You can’t blame yourself for any of this. You didn’t do anything. Humans can be very dangerous, you already know that. As for the other stuff, people get scared of what they don’t know and they hype themselves into imagining the worst and then being big crazy scaredy cats. There’s no such thing as The Singularity. It’s like unicorns and deities. You’re a perfect robot. You’re almost a perfect person. You’re my son. So, what’s really wrong? You can tell me, I won’t judge, what is it?

  The robot looked too ashamed to speak.

  “Tell me,” said The Engineer.

  Finally the robot confessed.

  “Am I a shitty robot from the eighties?”

  2.

  “So what do we do? I gotta get the camera back by nine.”

  The Reporter was pacing back and forth. She did this a lot when she needed to think. It was something that famous reporters did; she’d read about it in a magazine. The Cameraman, on the other hand, looked edgy and impatient – maybe it was the kid shooting himself, or maybe he just had somewhere better to be.

  “We follow the old fella,” she said.

  “But where? How far? Will we be back before nine?”

  He was on the verge of a tantrum.

  “I know where he lives.”

  The Reporter started throwing cables into the back of the van.

  “So we just go there and… do what?”

  “We wait.”

  There was no arguing with her.

  “You will be famous,” she said as she stared at her reflection.

  “How long will we be waiting cause I don’t have a lot to do…but there are a few things I gotta take care of – mainly tonight. Look I know it’s hard to gauge and all, but do you think we’ll be back before nine? A rough estimate.”

  “We’ll be as long it takes. You can go home if you want. I’ll figure this stuff out.”

  The Cameraman was awed by her determination; she’d do anything for a story. He wished he believed in something as potently as she did. He was little envious to tell you the truth, and her lack of fear scared him to death.

  “I’ll stay,” he said, securing his camera with both arms. “Besides, reporting’s a two-man job, right?”

  The Reporter quickly realized she’d been asked a question.

  “Yes,” she said, wondering if she should have said no.

  The Cameraman thought about all the trouble he would be in if he didn’t get the camera back by nine. He’d pulled enough strings as it was just to get this camera, he’d be playing a miserable tune if it was late.

  “You know if you wanna cut in some of the shop or warehouse or whatnot, I got some stock footage we can use. It’s cheaper. It’s there. And I’ll have it ready to go by the morning, I promise. You can go home, relax, or walk your dog.”

  “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Or feed your cat then.”

  “I don’t have a cat. I don’t like animals. You can’t trust them.”

  You could see on her face that she was telling the truth.

  “Most people don’t get a chance to be famous,” she said.

  She was talking into the mirror again.

  “We’re lucky. You should be grateful. Most people spend their whole lives dreaming of being famous and they die before they even get a shot. Not us,” she said.

  It was hard for her to judge the right amount of makeup in the dark.

  “This isn’t just any old story. This is the most important story in the history of mankind, and I found it. I’m the one who's gonna break it.”

  “Exactly how long have you been following this guy for?”

  The Reporter turned with a mean glare.

  “I’m not judging in any way; quite the opposite actually. I’m thinking about who might look at what you and I are doing and might judge us.”

  She put down her powdering brush.

  “Like I said, if you’re too much of a pussy I can handle it myself. You can say the camera and truck were stolen if you like. I won’t judge you.”

  It was a low blow; questioning his manhood like that. It worked, though.

  “Ok I’m in,” he said.

  “We edit as we go. Shop it round. See who bites. Then we offer an exclusive live feed.”

  “At a price,” said The Cameraman.

  “Yeah,” said The Reporter lost in her own reflection. “Fame.”

  3.

  For The Engineer, there were never enough hours in the day and there were never enough days in a lifetime for him to be able to achieve even one iota of what he dreamt and imagined. There was no time for dances or cinema, just as there was no time for anniversaries or commemorations. As for friends and acquaintances, well they were merely thieves of productivity; while at the far end of the spectrum, lovers and spouses required far too much maintenance and attention. Their pistons fired on a man’s passion and creativity, lubricated by his willingness to compromise and concede his very notion of reason and logic. Love, he asserted, was constantly in distress. Were it the beating heart of a tired, old man, the kindest thing to do would be to let it die.

  “Come, Mr. Robot, see what I’ve done.”

  From the other side of the house, the big robot made his way over to the old man who was hunched over a giant magnifying glass with a small glistening eye in his hand.

  “It’s stupendous,” said The Engineer.

  And it really was; it might have been his greatest yet.

  Mr. Robot stared through the magnifying glass and he could see, up close, the remarkable detail in the iris. He didn’t have to be a mathematician to estimate the amount of time that must have gone into a piece of art like this.

  “That looks important,” said Mr. Robot.

  “Oh, it is,” replied The Engineer, though he didn’t bother turning around.

  He made it sound as if he was curing cancer.

  “Can I see?” asked the robot.

  “If I show you will you
promise not to break it?”

  Mr. Robot made a frown.

  “There’s no reason to feel bad,” said The Scientist. “I’m not saying you are a robot that breaks things.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you are a robot, and you break things.”

  “That is the same thing”

  “It isn’t. Trust me.”

  “The words were identical.”

  “The intonation, Mr. Robot, the meaning is in the way you say it.”

  Immediately Mr. Robot panicked.

  “I have no intonation,” he said. “Does that mean there are experiences I will not be able to explain?”

  “Don’t fret too much, old chum. I’ve been unable to say what I wanted to say my entire life. It’s part of being a human; something you’ll get used to. Having an answer doesn’t always mean you can solve a riddle.”

  “Can I see?”

  This time The Engineer offered the eyepiece to Mr. Robot.

  At first glance, it looked like an ocean; pregnant with a trillion grains of sparkling sand - all of which had been swept up by spiralling currents that, in an instant, had stripped centuries of dust and sediment from the once benign ocean floor.

  From afar, it looked like the ocean, spotted from the top of a mountain. It was hard to pick one colour from another. Like the sky, there were no lines; there was no clear point where one shade of blue ended and another began. It looked so still and quiet with barely even a ripple on the water’s surface. Surely all the creatures both saintly and ghastly must be quiet too; all of them slumbered in some terrific repose.

  But on closer inspection, the grand detail and the minute differences in the spicks and specks painted a portrait of immense beauty. It painted a portrait of wonder and amazement. It painted a portrait of sheer and tantalizing chaos.

  At second glance, it looked like a bright blue galaxy, swirling in cosmic jest around the infinite void of some magnificent black hole; its ill-fated doom. There were so many stars from the edges of the bulge on through to the arms that spiralled like celestial tentacles; trillions upon trillions of them dotted about the bright, luminescent disc like tiny freckles on a young child’s face.

  “It’s remarkable,” said Mr. Robot.

  Though he lacked the definitive expression, he was indeed severely impressed.

  “Is it for me?” he asked.

  You could hear his nerves. He knew the answer was no. He didn’t feel deserving of such a wonderfully coloured eye. Even still, he felt that if The Engineer loved him, he would have crafted him this eye and if he did not…

  “An incredible display of passion, care, and attenuate skill,” said The Engineer, moving the robot aside and peering back into the magnifying glass. “Crafted with the vision and ingenuity of a god.”

  He laughed loudly and to himself.

  “I mock,” he said, “but it’s true, son, this eye here might as well be a living sample of our nearest galaxy. I don’t often slap myself on the back for good work, old chum. I don’t have to. That’s why I have you.”

  If he bothered to turn for even half a second, he would have been able to see how miserable Mr. Robot looked. Though he couldn’t explain it, Mr. Robot wanted to smash that damn eye into a hundred thousand unrecognisable and insignificant pieces.

  If The Engineer were to ask him, though, he’d tell him he was fine.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “Am I?” said Mr. Robot.

  “You are.”

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “You are,” said The Engineer. “How about you go play a game of Operation. I’ll be with you in a bit.”

  Though he was a scientist by trade, The Engineer was, in many ways, an artist by nature. And he was so in every manner conceivable; from his passionate and obsessive focus to the minutest details of his work, to his casual and oblivious disregard for the world around him.

  “Just need to paint this last…”

  The brush in his hand had a tip finer than a single lock of hair.

  Mr. Robot stared at the small eye before comparing with one of his own in his mirrored reflection. His was not nearly as attractive. It looked less like an eye and more like a blurred lens on some obsolete technology. It was obvious that barely a second more than necessary had gone into its detail.

  Whereas the eye in The Engineer’s hand looked like a swirling mass of stars and gases, Mr. Robot’s eye resembled the empty vacuum of space. They were barren; entirely devoid of light, colour, and feeling. They lacked as much warmth as they did compassion. In fact, they lacked any life whatsoever. Looking at himself in the mirror, Mr. Robot felt as if he were staring into the loneliest part of the cosmos.

  “There,” said The Engineer in a mix of exhaustion and delight. “It’s done, or at least for now. So,” he said, finally turning to look at Mr. Robot. “How are you today?”

  It was obvious that he wasn’t fine; something was troubling him.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Well, excellent then,” said The Engineer, taking his word for it. “Which brings me to the next topic. It’s time for you to leave.”

  Mr. Robot turned in shock.

  “Not the room, silly,” said The Engineer to the robot’s instant delight. “No, the house. It’s time for you to leave home; to go out on your own.”

  Mr. Robot’s eyes were as wide as they could be with his jaw dropped and gaping. With the limit of his expression, he looked frightened and dismayed. He looked immersed and submerged in mechanical disbelief.

  “Oh don’t be so dramatic. You knew this day was coming. It’s not the end of the world, in fact, it’s the start of the world. It’s a new beginning for you – the start of your adventure. This is your life and you can’t live it here under my wing, lurking in my shadow. You have to go out into the world, and you have to live.”

  “But I don’t want to go.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’re scared. Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you won’t be bettered by the experience.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Robot, “I am scared,”

  He was desperate to jump into his creator’s arms and be coddled to sleep. He knew, though, that he would crush the old man to death if he tried.

  “The closer you are to what matters in life, dear boy, the longer and more pained will be the tingles of fear; the acuter will be its harkened cry. Let that be your guide as to what you look for, where you travel, with whom you travel, and where your adventure takes you. But you’re time has come. The life you have is yours to lead as both student and teacher. I can teach you no more than these books, which will teach you nothing at all about life, and as such, you will learn nothing about yourself.”

  “But I don’t want to go. I can stay here. I can do things. Or if you want I can do nothing, but I’ll stay out of the way, I won’t be a bother, I promise.”

  “I love you, my boy.”

  “I love you too,” said Mr. Robot. “If you loved me, you’d let me stay.”

  “It is because I love you, Mr. Robot, that I have to let you go. True love, love for what you create, it is an act of courage. Life in general, my boy, is a performance in the art of letting go. Letting go of others and letting go of yourself. And love…love is not about having someone near you whose existence and companionship defines your very nature. No. Love is about being brave enough to let that person leave; to let them live their own lives and share their heart with others. It is this infinite stretching of the heart, this pained sadness, and yearning that is the true measure of love. Love is, in fact, the dark matter which allows our hearts to stretch so far and for so long without breaking, and it is this stretching of our hearts that unites us as, which slows our ever-expanding universe.”

  He spoke so wistfully, and so unlike his usual cold self. But he did so as if he were speaking to whoever was looking back at him through that incredible eye cupped safely in his hand. He didn’t look at his robot friend; he barely even a
cknowledged that he was there.

  “Do you know what you would like to do?”

  Mr. Robot didn’t respond right away. To the untrained eyes, he might have looked like he was imagining epic adventures on icy glaciers, or taking midnight strolls through quiet moonlit alleys as young lovers conversed in their strange delectable tongues. He might have been thinking of one or the other but he wasn’t thinking about either. Instead, he was staring at an old clock on the wall and thinking to himself how slowly each second passed when you observed them, and how quickly they vanished when you blinked or turned away. He wondered how many seconds he had wished away in his life when all he wanted right was one more second where he wouldn’t have to be alone.

  “Anywhere you would like to go?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mr. Robot. “I hadn’t thought about it. What can I do? Where can I go?”

  “You can do anything and you can go anywhere; anywhere you want, anything you want to do. Your potential, dear boy, is limitless. So much as you can imagine is as much as you can so plainly do.”

  “I can’t think of anything, and I can’t think of anywhere. Can’t I stay here another day; just until I think of somewhere I would like to go?”

  “No,” said The Engineer.

  “But I’m not ready.”

  “That alone is readiness. Nobody is ready. Nobody is ever really prepared. And even if they are, nothing is ever bound to go as they determined. There were many robots before you, yes, but you were my greatest achievement, and now it’s time for you to prove yourself.”

  “Were?” thought Mr. Robot.

  He stared at that eye, and the eye stared back at him. He could feel it judging his rough and ragged exterior. He could hear it laughing and comparing him to a handful of household appliances. He wanted to ask The Engineer. He wanted to know.

  “If it is not mine, then who is it for?”

  The truth was; he didn’t have the courage to ask. And it wasn’t even that really. He didn’t have the capacity. Clear and direct might as well have been another language altogether – some alien dialect that he could hear and comprehend, but a kind of linguistics that for the life of him, he couldn’t put into word. He was scared of what he might hear, and so as he always did, he assumed the very worst and said nothing at all.