Robbie's World

Hey, peeps! As you have probably guessed, I was asked to write this chapter. And I’m only too happy to oblige!

I wrote it all down and my man Adem tidied it all up. I’m not the best at writing, so I tried hard not to let anyone down. It felt like I was back in school!

I’m not going to lie, schools these modern days are quite nice, but it was a bit tricky for me. I didn’t understand the games, or sharing, so easily. All the other children were kind but – sitting down discussing feelings wasn’t for me. I wanted to climb trees! Have adventures!

When I clambered up the water collector pipe on my first day at nursery, they called the police. My mother came out and very swiftly dealt with me. She tried to be calm, but I remember feeling just so – defective. I wasn’t bad. Just restless.

My dad was almost as restless. He was a flame-haired athlete who doubled in sales and marketing for confectionary. I’m sure he scoffed more chocolate than was advisable, but he would hit the track and burn it off – at one time, he was the Zone 2 champion for 200 meters. He was a sprinter in a world of long-distance runners. I loved playing with him – rough and tumble all the way.

He had a flair for the dramatic. It was fun to see my calm and measured mom around him. Sometimes they would quarrel, but never for long. I remember those family hugs, reassuring me after another bewildering day at school.

One day, my dad didn’t pick me up from school. His autocar had experienced mechanical failure and came crashing to the ground. Every year, the amount of people who experience their end this way in Zone 2 is close to zero, and that’s amazing, considering New City’s population of 45 million alone. It was just one of those things. On the insistence of the autocar company president, the spot he came crashing down on was turned into a small memorial flower garden, and he was buried there. Sometimes I still go to his grave and talk to him.

I missed my dad terribly. I know mom did. She said, “Don’t worry, I love you more than enough for two parents.” She did all the therapy and counselling and got a lot from it. But she never remarried, or even dated again. I asked her why once. She just said, “Just nobody can measure up to him, and it won’t be fair on anyone.”

The police gave her custody of the Sensoback. Why? Well, I think they just wanted to do anything they could for her to completely heal. Another example of how nice people are in these times.

But I digress. As I said earlier, sometimes I needed more than nice from others. I needed to feel understood and welcomed, and I know that sometimes I made that difficult. I went through elementary and junior high school without making a single friend. Senior high was better, I felt some bonds with people who were closer to me, who could shrug off any embarrassing situations I could bring myself – or them – into. I never physically hurt anyone, and I wasn’t a bully. But sometimes my frustration could boil over, and I could be very critical of people. Very few were used to my sort of spikiness. I admit, I was hurting, and I could have done better.

They did try counselling and therapy for me and did genetic scans on me. I realised that a lot of my anger was, of course, from my dad’s death, but so much was just from feeling out of step with everyone. I accepted I was me; it was just another of those things. And that really helped. From talking to Adem and my own online research, I felt I would have got on so much better with a few people in his time. I guess society wouldn’t have been as nice to me or as kind to me in general – but I would have had those few close connections I craved, surely? I know it’s easy saying it, because I get a sense that Adem is a bit of a misfit, and I just felt I could be myself around the dude right from the start. And people want to be their best selves around Adem, just because of Who He Is. I am not interested in the legend; I know the guy who likes chatting about guitars and girls and music and just hanging out. I know he thinks he’s fake, and that’s just a riot to me, because he’s so genuine it makes me want to hug the guy until his ribs pop. They might be artificial ribs, but who cares? Who really, really cares? It’s just packaging, man. And I’ll always be biased, because he’s got me and Steph together, and. Yeah. Watch this space.

So that’s me, and I’ve just dumped my backstory on you. Apparently, that’s a very me sort of thing to do. Sorry. I’ll get to what is happening in the story before Adem uses his magical editorial powers.

Where were we – yes, I’m in an autotaxi, trying to sneak my arm around my princess-to-be, when I get that call from Adem. We were told to investigate the images that we were sent. Right.

As soon as the autotaxi drew up at mine, Steph went to work. I wish it had been on me, but she logged straight onto our house computer, accessing the private news network and the AI started matching up the images with the records. It didn’t take long at all to get our man – someone called something Olsen. The AI showed it was almost a dead cert.

“I’m trying to holohail him…but I can’t get through.”

“Can you see who he’s chatting to?”

“Yeah. Oh. Source Unknown.”

We stared at each other.

“It’s them!” I said the obvious. I often do that. Look, I’ve just done it again hahaha. Erm.

She sent our discovery as a quick text, hoping he’d read it.

We anxiously waited for a reply for five, maybe ten minutes. 

I tried to call him. Wouldn’t connect. “Device off, or number not in service” appeared on my holophone.

Stephanie was running her hands down her head. I almost didn’t notice how beautiful she was.

“Right…what to do?”

My mom suddenly walked in. “Oh, the prodigal son has returned!” she smiled at me with quiet containment, as was her way. “And hey, hi there,” she welcomed Steph.

Mom then saw our worried faces. She wasn’t used to me being subdued. “What’s going on?”

Thanks to my mom’s irritated and cold dissections over the years, I knew that the Police weren’t all that. Don’t get me wrong, they were diligent and well trained – in theory. But in practice, they had zero experience, as there were no crimes to get experience from! They were run by hypothetical flow-charts. I’m not sure there would be one for an ideologically-based kidnap (thanks for the edit there, Adem).

I didn’t want to let the dude down. Adem had always been let down.

So I decided in that instant: I won’t tell you, mom. At least, not yet.

“We’re…just doing some research. Stephanie is writing an article on Adem, and I thought we could do it together.”

Her suspicions were aroused. “You’re getting academic help from…him?”

“Yes!” Steph stepped up. “I’m writing a college paper on Adem and his musical influences, and Robbie is the man to go to when it’s about music, after all.”

“That’s it!” I began wittering on, giving Steph the chance to delete our browsing history.

“And we’re done for tonight, and now we’re off to Day and Night. Don’t wait up, mommy dearest. Bye!”

I took Steph’s hand and exited rapidly. We scooted out the door, down the hall, to the elevator. Hanging about for the autotaxi would have given her interrogation time. She would have picked our story apart with consummate ease.

I felt Steph squeeze my hand…she could have let go ages before, but it stayed in mine like it belonged there. I love that word: belonged. I needed to hear it, feel it more.

As we descended in the elevator, I was calling an autocab to take us to Adem’s. It arrived promptly, then we did too. The door retina-scanned me in (thankfully he hadn’t blocked his favourite freeloader!) and we looked around, quickly discovering his handwritten note.

Steph and I looked at each other with an impeding sense of doom, although we probably had seen this coming to pass. I was pretty sure Adem had seen it coming himself...

“What will we do?”

I took a breath, channelling my inner Adem. “We’re going to Makime City. But first –”

I looked round the house, opening every drawer, looking on tables. It wasn’t there. But something else was.

Maybe Adem had a chance, after all.