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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There's always something refreshing and liberating about this first week after winter break. The chill of deep winter snaps one's mind to a task. The bracing cold pairs well with renewed effort and routine after those long, languid mornings of nothingness that stretch out into endless post-Christmas afternoons.
I'm grateful for it. I've come to Crescent Street this first Monday morning - determined to keep my head down, productivity high, and support the damned machine, if in appearance only. I will not give Newhouse an excuse to get rid of me - much as it weighs on my soul.
He won't win.
My determination sets my jaw as I shuffle up the badly-cleared walkway to the school's front door. Most mornings I'd curse the cheap bot that attempted to push the heavy piles of January snow from the pavement. But this morning, I push that bitterness from my brain and clomp firmly to grip snow between the treads of my boots.
I pick up my pace, cold biting through my heavy down parka. Thankful as I reach the double doors and pull them open, the huge exhaust grates on either wall of the vestibule forcing hot air out at me. I unzip my coat halfway in anticipation of the warmer environ just beyond the second set of doors, stamping my feet to shed snow.
I reach for the door handle and pull. Nothing happens.
I pull again while I glance just above the handles, at the sensor that instantly reads my I-yes so that I can enter. I'm greeted by a tiny light that is red rather than green.
"What the hell?" I whisper to myself.
I flick on my AR messenger and open the E-merse environment. I open my chat room with Goodman and send off a missive before I can barely process my ordeal.
"Good morning! I'm at the school's front doors but they seem to be malfunctioning. I cannot gain entry. Any idea whether the system is malfunctioning?"
Perhaps overly informal, especially given our recent run-ins. But I don't care.
I wait a minute, then two, as I pace the small liminal space between the two sets of doors, gaze locked on the chat, looking for her "read" indicator.
The sweat starts at my palms and crawls up along my arms. I unzip my coat all the way, hoping that the sudden heat under my collar is because of the massive vents and not panic.
I have to do something. So I message Henri.
"Hey, are you in the school? Can you help me out? The front doors are stuck."
His read indicator appears immediately. "Stuck?" He writes back. "Like, frozen? It was a frigid one last night."
"No - the inside set. Like, they're I dunno... I can't get in."
As if to punctuate my point to someone who's not physically with me, who can't hear it anyhow, I grab the handles of the two doors and frantically rattle them. The lock on them is so frail, perhaps if I just shook them enough. My teeth grit painfully as I do it, and I attempt to release the tension that's building in my jaw. It still won't give way, the metal faceplate and deadbolt clanging.
