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 rush from the scene. Panicked, I attempt to slow my breath as it comes in short gasps. The pavement flies beneath my feet, and I barely notice the people and machines that swirl on the periphery of my vision. I have to put as much distance between myself and the bots that look like me as I can.
My friends don't try to keep up. They bid me a hasty goodbye before we've even crossed a block. I don't slow down until I turn from College Street onto my own long avenue, where the snow-laden boughs of century old trees cocoon me in the comfort of home and safety. It may only be perceived safety. Many people saw me in that pub before it devolved into chaos. I don't know how many of them could pick me out of a lineup.
I've tried to put my past behind me, to reinvent myself. And for awhile, it worked. I was looking forward to years of this: of shedding my false name and living under my given name. Of looking into Austin's eyes and forgetting that I ever kept a secret from him at all. But lately, the past comes back to me in scenes and feelings, scents, sensations, all long forgotten. Now it comes back in minute detail, ever since I crossed paths with that intelligent monster, the I.I.U., and was forced to come face-to-face with myself.
Or at least, something that looks like me.
My place comes into view over the top of a sumac bush adorned in snow. I look past it, and the wrought iron fence that barely contains it, to the red brick building with its sloped roof. I swing the rickety metal gate open and shuffle up the snowy walk. Our landlord forgot to send his automated snowblower again.
I dodge the thick icicles that line the overhanging eaves and drip along the side of the house. Sure, there's a door on the front of this hundred-year-old dump, but it leads to the basement unit. Our apartment entrance is around back and leads to the ancient carriage road between streets. Austin's car is parked there, surrounded on every side by freshly fallen flurries.
Then I remember. He just got off shift. He's home for days. I'm about to grab the handle of the screen door when I hesitate, and wonder what to tell him.
Might as well bite the bullet, I think. Resign myself to the inevitable. He is my chosen life partner, isn't he? I owe him the truth, one half of my brain thinks. The other half practically screams: then why don't you tell him who you really are?
"Hi," he singsongs at the swing of the outer screen door, the click of the lock and the turn of the knob. He's right there, sitting on the couch, and my adrenalin spikes when I look at him.
"Hi!" I say too eagerly, and drop my gaze from his face. I spin around to lock the door behind me, hoping he didn't notice.
"What's the matter?" He notices everything.
"I just... I didn't expect you home."
"I told you about it, remember?"
"Sure." I busy myself removing my winter gear. Then I walk into our tiny living room and sit down on the couch beside him. He's already gone back to whatever he was doing in some I-yes VR world, but this can't wait.
