Stanley Duncan's Robot: Genesis by David III (korean ebook reader .txt) 📕

Stanley would have thought he was being mocked had he not written Dan’s code himself. After Dan went into the kitchen, he soon smelled the rich, delightful scent of bacon. Wanting so much to say something funny or interesting, nothing came out.

“Maybe war is where we’re headed.”

“I hope I’m wrong, but what other realistic path is there? And after that horrible program I published — ” Stanley pressed his hands to his lips.

“What are you talking about?”

Stanley sighed. He couldn’t hide it anymore. “I was coerced into creating a program that could turn Brutus, a sentry I created several years ago, into an assassin.” He told him about the threatening phone calls and how Sergeant Wilcox had tortured him into releasing the assassination program.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Dan’s mouth opened wide.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Stanley looked away. He couldn’t imagine life without him. “And, honestly, I was worried you’d nobly try to sacrifice yourself.”

“But we could have dealt with this together.” Dan flailed his hand in frustration. “Why is it that you just can’t trust me?”

“It’s not …”

“Then, what is it?” Dan’s face was bright red.

Stanley sighed. Something from outside the window drew his attention. Darkness engulfed the sill. “What the hell is that?”

Dan rushed over. “Spiders. Mechanical spiders. An army of them.” He took a game board and swiped dozens of them out the window.

“Don’t touch them. Who knows if they’ve been modified, like the demon-cat.” He ran into the bedroom, returning with small orb and placing it on the windowsill. “Stay back.” Pushing a button, the generator started, and the spiders fell to the floor. “The EMP range is adjustable, but it won’t go beyond six feet.”

“You think they’ve been modified like the demon-cat?”

“Could be. Perhaps they’re venomous.”

“With large steel fangs.”

Stanley shuddered. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” Code to port these mechanical spiders to use his assassination program drifted into his head. It was frighteningly easy.

Teddy’s cybernetic enhancements were proving useless, refusing to obey his commands and causing him to black out over increasingly long periods of time — it was like being paralyzed again. But even more horrible than not being able to rely on his body, he was unable to trust his own consciousness. He would wake up as if from a dream and realize that none of his quasi-decisions or actions had truly been his. A few days ago, he had driven all the way to Quincy before turning around. Something was calling him to Boston, and soon he wouldn’t be able to resist at all.

Maple stood still in the corner of the room like a useless piece of circuitry, an ever-present reminder of Teddy’s crappy life. He whittled away at the wooden table with his knife, occasionally glancing over at her and wondering why he kept her around. With one stab, he could put her out of her misery. Or better yet, ransack her solid-state drive and search for any data that might be of use. But there was nothing to discover except years of showing him how she spoon-fed a cripple. Years wasted thanks to that stupid oaf. “Maple, go clean the bathroom upstairs!” It was a relief to be in control of something.

The knife continued to slice up the table, carving the corner into the letter “K.” He had screwed up and killed the wrong man, and now Brad had a vicious pit bull guarding his house, making it much more difficult to ambush him at home again.

Teddy didn’t know how much time he had before becoming completely insane. Nearly all his will to kill Brad was gone. If he didn’t destroy him today or tomorrow, he never would. Yet all he could manage to do was express his diminishing bloodlust through art, drawing and sculpting his rage into physical expressions.

The implant was erasing his memories. Half the time, he no longer knew why he needed to kill what’s-his-name. And it felt good to forget — painless. The burning need to exact his revenge would completely fade. Then the floodgates would open, and the horrors of his life would inundate the peaceful plains of forgetfulness.

Blowing the sawdust away from the table, the details of his work became clear. Kill Brad. It was intricately carved, a work of art. This mechanical body had endowed him with incredible abilities.

He could get a DNA test and prove that Brad was his father, even take him to court. All Teddy needed was to get Brad’s saliva off of the ever-growing mound of beer bottles he left behind. No need to rush — this could be done after things settled down. He leaned back, content with this idea, until he realized that this was another trick from the Cerebral Stitch — further delays so that he would continue to sink into the valley of nothingness, forgetting everything.

Confusion — where was he?

The surroundings came into being. Beautiful art everywhere. Life was full, resplendent. Gifted creatures abounded. This artist — whoever it was — was passionate, obsessive, and more. More than any words he could conjure. Just “Yes.” Everything seemed right. Paintings and drawings abounded on every surface with a single message: Kill Brad. There was something he was forgetting …

Instantly, it all flooded back in. Knowing this bubble of knowledge was brief, he whipped out his phone. Every second was like a ticking time bomb. Soon he would implode back into that dream of revenge. He had no friends, no being he could rely on except Maple, but she wouldn’t be competent enough to stop him. Was there anyone who he could reach out to?

A memory appeared in his mind. With perfect clarity, he recalled Dan Duncan announcing his phone number at the hospital. He took and his phone and dialed the number. “Help me! Stop me from — ”

The floor creaked behind him.

“Maple — ”

The war-hammer slammed into his back. Gasping for air, Teddy felt like his chest