“You told me once that first-time parents pretty much have to make it up as they go along. I’m in the same position, only better, because I have instant access to just about any child-rearing book that’s ever been written. Besides, I’ve watched this boy and his father for a while now. I know their routine.”
McGowan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. I could tell that he was wavering.
“Where is Mickey now?”
“Outside in the waiting room.”
“You brought him here?” McGowan scowled. “Did anyone see you?”
“Perhaps.” My remote shrugged. “What’s the matter with—”
McGowan cut me off with a wave of his hand. “If our supposed colleagues find out you’ve taken Mickey into custody it won’t be long before word filters down to the lobbyists outside the governor’s office. The ones telling her not to put a machine in charge of people’s problems, no matter how cost-effective it might be. My recommendation about the program is due a week from today. Do you really think this is the time to go out on a limb? Do you realize what will happen if the decision goes against you?”
My remote stared at McGowan impassively, because I knew exactly what he was talking about. The power to my main grid had accidentally been shut off once. Imagine losing your senses, one by one, as if locked in a dark closet, only then to have consciousness itself slip away, an electron at a time, while being helpless to do anything about it.
“I know what’s at stake.” My remote nodded numbly, chastised. “I suppose I should have thought beforehand about how things might look.”
“You sure as hell should.” McGowan glowered at my remote, and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Listen—I’m impressed with how you’ve handled the Smithers situation, and I actually agree with your conclusion about the group home being the wrong place for Mickey, but that’s all beside the point right now. As much as I hate to admit it, you can be of enormous help to a lot of people across this state, much more than I or any other single person.”
McGowan acknowledging my abilities? Saying that I could actually be of some use? The unexpected news was so welcome that I found myself having to concentrate to hear the rest of what he had to say.
“But if I approve of you taking care of this boy my credibility in recommending implementation of the Automated Welfare System could be destroyed.” McGowan threw his hands up in the air, a gesture that looked as though it pained him. “I’m sorry, but there are lots of Mickeys in the world. One of the things that you’ve got to learn about this job is that you can’t just go around taking in strays. Get that boy out of here and over to the group home, pronto. Understand me?”
With a conscious effort I had my remote nod assent. McGowan believed in me! Half in a daze, I sent my remote out to the reception area to reclaim Mickey.
Mickey took my remote’s hand and led it to the pile of toys in the corner where he had been occupying himself, to show off a fort he had constructed for the stuffed animals there. I complimented him on a job well done, and his face drank in my approval.
Mickey took my remote’s hand compliantly as I led him away. He would follow wherever I led, and the unvarnished instructions I had just received left no question as to what our destination should be.
Mickey paused outside the waiting room and turned his head, puzzled. “You OK Otto?”
Mickey’s eyes were wide with concern, but I didn’t honestly know how to reply. I was on the verge of winning McGowan’s approval, something I had longed for since becoming self-aware. But at what price?
“I’m fine, Mickey.” I had my remote reach over and tousle Mickey’s hair. “Thanks for asking. Let’s go home.”
I lived a double life the rest of that week.
I reinstated day care arrangements for Mickey at the apartment with just a few calls. That was the easy part. Sneaking in cradle time for my remote was more difficult, but I managed by having my remote come in from the apartment early enough to seem as if it had been in its cradle all night and by having it return to the cradle once McGowan left for the day.
I didn’t talk much with McGowan that week, nor did I want to. I wasn’t sure I could lie to his face about Mickey and didn’t want to try. I just kept telling myself, with some sense of relief, that my future would soon be decided and that it was pointless to make any permanent decisions before then. During the day I concentrated on doing my job. Each evening I made the most of my time with Mickey.
The week ended without a further clue from McGowan as to what his recommendation would be, and I was full of bleak thoughts as my remote went to the apartment Friday evening. It had been a tough week in and outside of work. While the consistency of my presence had built up some measure of trust with Mickey, he still lapsed into hysterical crying each time he thought of his father. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having two whole days alone with Mickey and feared that I had made a mistake in ignoring McGowan’s orders.
We did nothing extraordinary that night or the rest of the weekend, but life with Mickey was pleasant for all its mundaneness—a cycle of eating, washing, playing, and sleeping that repeated itself with minor variations. I found in Mickey much of the same comforting consistency he derived from me.
On Sunday night I put Mickey to bed and, as by then had become custom, read him a story. Mickey curled up beneath the covers, dreamily attentive to my remote.
“Otto?”
Mickey was still awake, but his eyelids were getting heavy. “Yes, Mickey?”
“I tired.” Mickey yawned and pulled his blankets up to his chin. “You give me kiss goodnight?”
“Sure, Mickey.” My remote bent over and kissed Mickey on the forehead. He smiled, turned onto his side, and began to snore gently.
I had my remote stay at Mickey’s bedside for a while afterwards, content just to watch him sleep. Although I had not yet found definitive answers for either of us, for the time being Mickey was happy and so was I. Each rise and fall of Mickey’s chest gave me more satisfaction than any meager bit of approval which McGowan had ever deigned to bestow.
As my remote turned out the light in Mickey’s room there was a knock at the apartment door. When I opened the door McGowan stood there, looking bemused.
“Otto, huh?” McGowan shook his head and snorted. “Mind if I come in?”
My remote swallowed hard. “How did you know?”
McGowan walked down the corridor into the central living area before answering. “The fluctuations in your cradle use were a giveaway. Besides, I was watching you.”
“You watched me?”
“Sure. I could tell how you felt about this kid. What do you think I am? Stupid?”
“No.” My remote shook its head. “While there are many words I can think of to describe you, stupid is not one of them.”
McGowan furrowed his eyebrows and stared at my remote with mock seriousness. “Tin man, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were making fun of me.” McGowan smiled. “But of course you don’t have a sense of humor, do you?”
“I guess it wouldn’t matter much now if I did, would it?” My remote slumped into the chair where, not long ago, I had seen Smithers sit watching his son. “Can you at least wait until the morning before taking Mickey to the group home?”
McGowan shook his head. “The boy’s not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
“What?”
“I’m sure that eidetic memory of yours heard what I said. Mickey stays here and, if I can sell my recommendation to the governor tomorrow, you’ll have plenty of time from here on in to develop your funny bone.”
“But you told me to take Mickey to the group home and I disobeyed.”
McGowan shrugged. “Of course you did. Tin man, I wasn’t absolutely sure you could do your job until this past week. Until Smithers came along you were able to play everything by the book. But then you were confronted with a messy situation that required independent thinking. The type of problem that has no easy solution—the kind that make this job worth doing. I ordered you to let Mickey go just to see what you would do. I wanted to see if,” McGowan leaned over and tapped my remote on the chest, “you actually had a working ethical construct in there to go along with all the circuitry. It’s one thing to know a series of prescribed answers, and quite another to feel empathy deeply enough to put yourself on the line. As for disobeying my orders, well, don’t make a practice of it. But some of the best decisions I ever made came after I told my supervisor to go stuff himself.”