Page 41 of Even Robots Die
I bring it in, change my shirt, and then I’m on my way to the lab.
It's eerily quiet at this time of the morning.
I can hear myself breathing and every single one of my steps resonates through the hallways, so I hurry up to my desk.
And there, waiting on top of it, is a steaming cup of coffee with a cinnamon roll next to it.
How did he know I would be awake? That I would be coming back at this hour of the night? This doesn’t make much sense.
Because yes, there is no doubt in my mind that this is the work of Brice. It’s the same tray he brought me last night. Though the pastry might be different, the coffee is prepared the same way as yesterday—well, as a few hours ago if we want to be technical—with what most people would say is too much sugar and a generous serving of milk. Just like I usually take it.
I search for a note or something, but there is nothing on the tray or even under it.
It makes me wonder if the man ever sleeps because that can’t be something he prepared in advance. The coffee is steaming and those mugs that keep the coffee—or tea, to each their poison—hot have a tendency to either lose temperature fast when they don’t have a lid to close them or to leave a bitter aftertaste to whatever is kept hot.
This coffee was made five minutes ago at most and it tastes like confusion, but I can’t focus on that or I’ll be as useless as I was during the night.
I turn the holo-puter on and bite into the cinnamon roll.
That shit tastes so good and I want to say that I will regret it, but I finally have clothes that don’t make me feel like they were sewn on my body, so I relish the pleasure of eating something sweet.
The cinnamon roll disappears too fast and still leaves me a tiny bit hungry.
Focus on the job.
Breakfast is in … I look at the right corner of the holo-puter … about two hours.
I can survive this.
I open the coding page and go back to work.
This is going to be a long day.
25
Florentine
It turns into a long couple of days.
Coffees and pastries keep appearing, but not Brice.
It’s probably better this way.
I haven’t seen the man since he brought me a snack in the middle of the night the first time.
It’s like he disappeared and I don’t know what to think of it.
Shouldn’t he want to know how I’m doing? If everything is going alright or if I’m close to finishing?
Because yes, I am.
Milton was right. It was doable. Long and fastidious, but I finally reprogrammed the infernal device so it’s a bit less powerful—and gives less of a chance to fry brains—and can operate sequences that are already set. I’m now modulating the power in the different cables, because it couldn’t be as simple as launching seven sequences in a row to get the result we want, of course. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that the research we did made Milton and I conclude that we need seven different sequences to make this work? And that some of the sequences include images and sound that need to be sent directly into his brain. It’s not just about electrical shocks like I initially thought.It’s much more and if I hadn’t been the one coding everything, I wouldn't believe it was possible.
It feels like I’m almost done, though. Maybe a couple more days and then we will be able to try it.
I say that, but I’m pretty sure once everything is finished I’ll take another day or two to double or triple check everything.
It’s not like we can try it on anything before using it on Brice.
