Get ready for a thrilling ride into a future where robots and humans clash for control in RoboNomics, the updated and refreshed version of the 2013 sci-fi classic.
In Toronto, elementary school teacher Andrea Anderson's world crumbles when she's rep...
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I wrap my plush winter robe around myself, tying it as I leave our empty bedroom and pad quietly down the hall. The tiles are chilled, I should have pulled on some socks. I hesitate, then decide in a flash not to go back. The holidays are over now, and I need to translate my panic into action.
It had been a quiet Christmas. After the I.I.U. was destroyed, I didn't feel in the mood for carols, mulled wine, or presents spilling out across our tiny living room floor from under the tree. We didn't even bother with stockings this year.
The most we did was walk. Austin insisted that it would take my mind off things, and with the first big winter storm battering Toronto, it was the most we could do.
On Christmas day the snow stopped falling. We linked arms and shuffled gingerly down our city street sidewalk with the air biting at our cheeks. The sun died away in the late afternoon, then the wind picked up and tore through my clothing as if I wore nothing. I kept my head down so my eyelashes wouldn't freeze and marveled at the way the snow part gently around the ankles of my thick black boots like the sea against the prow of a boat.
My head snapped up at the sound of a high-pitched whirring. A machine: black, boxy, stupid, and covered in a hard plastic shell, blocking the entire sidewalk.
A plough blade hung down in front while chunks of salt poured from its rear carriage. The machine had no face: no reason for human interaction.
It left a clear, ice-free surface in its wake. But to get to that, to get home, we had to get around it.
"Austin," I muttered, but it was too late. A bank of thigh high snow lay between us and the street traffic. We squeezed against the bank of snow as much as we could to let the machine pass.
It, on the other hand, didn't stop. It ran over my feet with tank treads.
"Goddamn bot!" I kicked the machine's backside.
"Andrea!" Came Austin's protest. But the machine rolled away undisturbed.
After that, I didn't want to walk anymore. I couldn't stand the sight of the bots that crawled our neighbourhood, doing erstwhile human labour.
It's been barely a week since Goodman tried to fire me, but at least the holiday gave me some sort of reprieve from thinking about what's next. As I enter our small sitting room, late December chill seeping through its walls, the unlit tree with its rapidly shedding needles reminds me of my predicament.
It - that machine will come back. And it will replace me.
That thought, and the morning cold, shakes sleepiness from my brain. No breakfast, no coffee. I head to the couch with its shiny upholstery from being sat on for thirty years and plunk down, then slowly sink into it.
For long moments, I stare out the window across from me and at the sidewalk beyond. The snow falls in large clusters of flakes. The snow shimmers even without sun. It's as if we're living inside a Christmas card.
