How Cold the Steel Hand

[First few pages]

Gary Feltman roused from a peaceful dream where he’d been surrounded by family. They’d been laughing at some mutual joke, all together in one room for the first time in years.

Now his eyelids were cement. The blankets had fallen off the bed. And what was that damned buzzing?

“Computer. Time?” he moaned.

“It is 2:30 AM, Gary,” came the reply from the house computer, which answered in an annoyingly pleasant female voice.

The buzzing continued. Gary recognized it as the ringtone of his teledroid. He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes. “Identify caller.”

“The caller is your brother, Adam Feltman,” the computer chirped. “Allow via teledroid, all access?” it continued, meaning video and audio going both ways as well as control of the teledroid movement.

Gary sighed and threw the sheets over his boxer shorts. “Lights on dim,” he commanded, less bearish. The overhead lights came on at half intensity. The teledroid in the hall, just visible through the open bedroom doorway, stood rigid, a red light on its shoulder blinking furiously. A green light next to it showed power to the unit, as he always left it on. Buzzing echoed across the room from its mouthpiece, making him wonder why he chose such an annoying ringtone. “Okay,” he finally told the computer. “Allow, all access.”

The buzzing stopped. The teledroid lit up as the status lights and eyepieces glowed a soft green. As the droid stepped into the bedroom, a vidscreen on its chest showed the face of his brother, Adam. A set of virtuglasses allowed Adam to see Gary’s room through the droid.

“Gary,” Adam said. A good connection. No pixilation. But his voice was oddly somber. “I thought you’d never answer.”

The teledroid stepped closer to Gary. Guided by Adam from half a world away, it padded deftly over a shirt on the floor and gently lowered itself onto the chair at Gary’s compudesk across from his bed.

His model was very robotic looking, like most, with plastichrome fittings, aluminum joints, and a “face” that only approximated a human’s. It was slim and non-threatening, unlike the hulking military models on the front lines of warzones around the world. Early on, some pricey personal teledroids had looked convincingly human, but they creeped people out too much to have them walking around their homes and communities, especially if they were “child” models.

“What is it?” Gary asked. “It’s two-freakin’-thirty in the morning here! This is Chicago, damn it, not Kolkata! And I’ve got a surgery in four hours.”

“Sorry, bro,” Adam said. His lips were tight. His eyes were wide and watery. “It’s Uncle Wallis. He’s had a relapse. He’s not expected to make it through the week.”

Gary held his breath, staring in disbelief at the screen on the droid’s chest, then up at the eyepieces. His brother turned his face from his camera, turning the droid’s head at the same time. Gary saw only the side of Adam’s head onscreen, but he knew his brother was crying when the droid reached up and wiped at its eyepieces as his brother did the same.

Seconds passed as Gary tried to cope with the news. “Give me some time alone,” he finally said, staring into space. “Okay? I just need to think about this, and I’m too damned tired.”

“Okay,” Adam replied. The teledroid turned its head back toward Gary and stood up. Adam’s eyes were red. “Give me a call later. I’ll let you know what’s happening. You should call Dad, too.”

Gary nodded. Adam disconnected up as the teledroid’s screen and eyepieces went dark. Only the power indicator remained lit. The droid automatically stepped back to its place in the hall and shut off, standing at attention like a palace guard.

(continued)

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