Those Who Live in Grass Houses

Poor Old Hieronymus Bleeg

Poor Old Hieronymus Bleeg

It wasn’t often we had deliveries out there in the backwoods of Amphitrite, a remote planet in the furthest reaches of the Leto Expansion. So it was a surprise to open my door to a knock one day and find a delivery guy outside. He was standing with an order form in one hand, an anti-grav trolley in the other. A tall, rectangular box stood on the trolley.

“Hieronymus Bleeg?” he asked.

Without thinking, I answered, “No.”

“Damn,” he commented, rechecking the order form. Then he looked back at me. “I don’t suppose you’d sign for the thing anyway? Thing is, it’ll take years to transport it back to the depot on Nubia, then who knows how long to sort out the mess and decide who actually ordered it. I’ll be dead and gone before it ever gets where it should be. So you might as well have it and everyone’s happy. ‘Cept Hieronymus Bleeg, of course. And he’s probably forgotten ever asking for it by now.”

I had a quick think. My surreptitious look at the order form had given no hint of what was in the box and delivery guys never know nor care about that, so it would be a bit of a lucky dip. And what had I got to lose?

“Okay, just dump it in the hallway and I’ll sign the form.” Which I did, hoping I’d spelt Bleeg’s name right.

Later, I examined the box before opening it. It was as tall as me and covered with New Sears logos but nothing to indicate what it contained. Inside was another box, this time plain and without labelling. I stripped it off and revealed a woman.

She stood there in my living room, totally naked, with me frozen in embarrassment. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there was no mistaking her for a real woman. For a start, her entire body was silver, highly polished, and reflective of her surroundings. But already I was referring to her as a female rather than a machine. Even then, when I had yet to switch her on, she had some strange, attractive power over me.

I found the Owner’s Manual buried in the pile of discarded packaging at her feet and sat down to read. It was fascinating stuff, even with the presence of that metallic female hovering nearby. That was the first thing I was going to do - get her some clothes and a bit of dignity to go with them. Couldn’t have her standing at the windows, scaring what few neighbours I had, I reasoned.

It was an excuse, of course. The truth was she unsettled me in her nakedness, unused to any sort of company as I was. And with no experience at all of naked females. They are rare creatures indeed in the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

The manual informed me that she was a Household Assistant Android mark seven point four two. Fully conversation capable and with optional voice selection. When I thought of the parlous condition of my little house, I could hardly believe my luck. Someone to get the place into shape and a bit of company to boot. It seemed I’d won the lottery.

On the last page of the manual there was a little square in which someone had written the name Angela. Angela the Android, I thought. That’s appropriate enough.

I turned her on through the simple but embarrassing expedient of opening the hatch between her breasts and flicking the relevant switch, then set her to clearing up the packaging mess. While she did that, I nipped next door and persuaded Ozzie’s wife, Sheila, to part with an old dress she was never likely to wear again. Angela put it on as though she’d been dressing herself all her life.

Then she cleaned and tidied the house with incredible speed. I could not believe how easy she made it look. But then, I guess she was designed for it.

She was also interesting to talk to and we got into the habit of spending most days deep in conversation as we came to know each other. Oh, I know you’re thinking of some pretty weird stuff by now, but I’m far too old for that. It was just wonderful having someone to talk to.

And then one day, she told me how she was made. I knew already that scientists had worked for centuries to create an organic-based computer, on the assumption that only that way could a computer be designed to think the way we do. And nothing had worked until a hundred or so years ago. They’d discovered that a human brain could be persuaded to unite with digital computers and so give access to all that humans are capable of.

Which is great until you begin to wonder where they could get the brains to create such creatures. In the end, they found a source and it wasn’t pretty. Angela was chosen when she hit a series of bad luck decisions and found herself at the bottom of society. She woke up one morning in the body of a machine.

I was horrified and couldn’t wait to get out and raise a rebellion against such evil. But Angela calmed me down with the thought that nothing could help her now. “And our chances of ever raising more than a feeble outcry in some backwoods colony are pretty low. I dare say we’d both be dead long before we even got that far.

“No, Andy, I’m happy to live out my days far from the centres of the vicious power that designed me. I want nothing more than to spend what time I have in conversation with you, looking at the stars, and being content with what we have. It’s more than most achieve, you know.”

I looked out from the porch at the galaxy wheeling through the night sky and knew that she was right.


House Martell

Word count: 990
For "Game of Thrones" , The North Remembers, Stolen Artifacts Prompt 3
Prompt: A package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next.