“Have you checked the mail?”
A moment after the appartment’s front door opened, Trina was back into her emails. She couldn’t check them on her phone – first, that was illegal while driving. Phone poles had long enough to grow up in front of you, the way it reduced reaction time. Second, replying to emails on a flat expanse of glass was infuriating. Dozens of variations of mechanical keyswitches were developed for reasons. “Oh. Uh. No. Have a conference call on California time in a minute. Feel free-” Trina’s voice bled out. She was already seeing stupid silicon valley dreams that needed to be squashed as soon as possible.
“But the girl will be there.”
“Yeah, it’s a dance studio downstars. There will be little girls about.”
“No, the girl.”
Trina was typing away quickly.
[Rose] turned toward the door. She SecureRandom[0..1]ed a few times, choosing a light coat and a short wig. The hallway would be hot. The elevator hotter. The outside. Dust And Wind and the uncontrolled human horde. “I’ll be back in a minute.” There was no point making the vocalization have any slant, Trina was lost to her job for another hour.
Six normalized entrance points to the hallway. Four apartment doors, One stairwell door, One elevator entrance. Two emergency exits, though only one was built to be survived by humans. The stairwell was out of the question; for a short span it required exit to the second floor, where classes were ongoing, as confirmed by the din of music below.
The fire escape looked like a good option.
Unfortunately social convention recommended the elevator. It was a small unit, of discontinued make and model, barely accommodating modern accessibility requirements without indecent.
As the doors opened, The five minute timer hanging from the back, provided by Trina for all the building occupants, was not set. Unfortunately she was limited to this provision by liability; many would prefer the sometimes overheating motor be retrofitted instead, but none wanted to bear the cost. However, as cool down time was not ticking away, it should be immediately operable without indecent.
The matrix of mailboxes was adjacent to the parking lot behind the building. Request floor one. Almost as soon as the elevator doors had closed, an unexpected notification: the second floor had requested service.
HER.
The Elevator doors open to the second floor. The same strawberry blond bob. The single green eye and the mirrored simulacrum. The stockings that never sag. The extra layer of knit paraphernalia worn despite it being the coldest or hottest day of the year.
HER.
“Hello again.”
Social requirements require stepping back and allowing her board. There is no reason to deny her. At [Rose]’s first movement, the girl steps close. Too too too close. Temperature sensors waffle at her presence. But somehow, she does not touch.
“How are we today?”
[Rose] does not answer as the door closes. Looking ahead, ignoring as social convention states is proper.
How long after the doors open on the first floor does she remain in place? Too too too long. But eventually she moves. [Rose] gallops out the mudroom door, trying to distance herself.
~
Brita watched her go. There was nothing really to do at this point. Even if she could fudge the staging of the ride down, the robot would hover at the mailbox for an hour if it could. There was no way to get back on the same schedule in a naturalistic timetable.
She turned for the studio’s 1st floor toilet instead.
It really made no sense. One robot to possibly encounter, and yet no actual scenario explored with it. No scene. As tiring as this narrative was, this part was actually frustrating. Why have there be potential for their paths to cross at all? Or worse – how long was this narrative going to run if it hadn’t happened by now?
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