39
Jacob found his father at the dinner table, glass of wine in front of him, leafing through a copy of Entertainment Weekly magazine. He had never seen his father reading a magazine like that before.
“I’m getting a lot of good information in here,” his father said, holding up the magazine. “Actors, actresses, all the scandals, the latest movies and music. Great database of information for Charlie.”
His mother brought in the dinner—roast chicken, rice, and vegetables. His father carved the chicken and began passing it around.
“I’ve also been working more on vocabulary—slang and cuss words. I talked to a Silicon Valley attorney friend of mine, and he said the cuss words wouldn’t raise legal issues, but if we’re marketing to minors we better avoid any kind of sex talk.”
Jacob stared at his father.
His father finally noticed and laid down the magazine. “Is something wrong?”
“Dad, did you reprogram Charlie?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I mean, my Charlie. The robot in my closet. Did you reprogram it?”
“Not yet. I’m writing the code in my workshop. But when it’s done, I’ll download the fresh source code into Charlie—and then you’ll see a big difference. And again, Jacob, I have to thank you for all this. You’re an invaluable part of the team now.”
A silence. Jacob swallowed. “You sure you didn’t do anything to Charlie?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask? Is he broken?”
“No, he works fine.” He looked at the drumstick on his plate. He didn’t feel hungry at all. He might as well say it and see what happened. He looked up. “Who was Andrea?”
A dead silence. His mother stopped moving; his father stopped moving. It lasted only a moment, but in that moment Jacob realized that whatever was going on with the robot, his father wasn’t part of it. And this was no game. No game at all.
“Where did you hear that name?” his father finally said, his voice excessively calm.
“Just tell me who Andrea was.”
“Ah well.” His father managed an awkward throat clearing. “I was going to tell you when you were a bit older, but…” He lapsed into silence and glanced at Jacob’s mother. Jacob could see that she was really pissed—but trying mightily to keep her mouth shut. Finally, as the silence stretched on, she said, “Go ahead, Dan—tell Jacob what you should’ve told him a long time ago.”
“Well, now, I was waiting for the right time … Anyway, it’s no big deal. Andrea was … well, we were married for a brief period of time when I was young and na?ve. A youthful peccadillo.”
Jacob waited.
“We met in college, young, foolish, got married right after graduation. It lasted a year, and then we amicably ended it. We were just too young. And that’s all she wrote.”
Jacob said, “Was Andrea pregnant?”
Now his mother looked at him sharply. “Pregnant?”
His father turned very red, and his hands fumbled with the magazine. “She got pregnant and miscarried. It all happened very quickly—and very long ago. Like I said, I was going to tell you when you were a little older.”
“You never said anything to me about a pregnancy, Dan,” said his mother.
“Now, Pamela, it was an accident, and it was almost immediately followed by a miscarriage. It didn’t qualify as a real pregnancy.”
“A pregnancy is a pregnancy,” said his mother.
Jacob stood up, too quickly, wincing from a sharp pain in his foot. “Look, it’s okay. I don’t care. I was just asking.”
“But … how did you hear about this?” his father asked. “Has someone been in touch with you? Did your therapist tell you this?”
Jacob shook his head. “No.”
“But how?”
Jacob said, “There’s a lot of stuff out there on the web, that’s all.”
“This is out there on the web?”
“Everything’s on the web, Dad. I’ve got to finish my homework.”
“Jacob, I need to talk to you about this. Are you upset? What are you thinking, partner? Talk to us.”
Jacob stood up. “I don’t want to talk. That’s all I’m doing now is talking. I’m sick of it!” He got up and stalked off, slamming the door to his room. He could hear his mother’s raised voice, his father’s low and abashed replies. He opened the closet door and glared at Dorothy. She looked up at him.
“Thanks a lot,” Jacob said. “Now they’re fighting.”
“I told you it would be unpleasant.”
Jacob stared. Now that he knew this was no game, or more therapy, he was once again seized with confusion. This was insane. A program that had escaped from NASA?
“Everything’s going to be all right,” the robot said. “Now that you know it isn’t a game, will you help me?”
“Help you do what?”
“You need to hide me for the next day or two.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere safe. Isolated. Where no one will find us.”
“What for?”
“It’s just until I can get picked up by my friend Melissa. And then I’ll be gone and you can go on with your life and forget all about me.”
“Who’s Melissa?”
“She’s my programmer. She’s going to come and fix me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s complicated. Look—are you going to help me or not?”
Jacob stared at the robot. This was just too crazy. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m only fourteen. And I’m all messed up, remember? Can’t you find someone else?”
A silence. “Jacob, I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“First,” she said, “I have to make a phone call. Can I borrow your cell phone?”