RoboNomics

Chapter 47 - 2016

The next morning, I awake on the worn-out cot that the shelter worker assigned to me. My body aches, my back stiff where the springs of the mattress stuck into it. 

Austin lies on the cot next to mine, his feet hanging over the end. He's still asleep. His lashes rest on his cheeks, his lips close into a tiny pink rosebud.

I remember when we first met. It was at a house party, an apartment of a mutual friend who lived near the university. The first thought that came into my head while we shook hands was that he was handsome.

In this moment, watching him sleep, I can't believe I ever wanted anyone else. The ghost of the thought of leaving him crossed my mind and since then I've been carrying this guilt around everywhere I go. 

I've tucked it under my arm and kept it there like a child with a favorite toy. It's as though I am addicted to this guilty feeling.

But it doesn't do us any good. If we're going to get through this, if we're going to survive the rapid-fire changes the bots have brought to the city, I need to let it go. 

Austin has had so many shocks lately. So much of what he believed about the world turned out to be false. I'm not about to destroy our marriage on top of everything else just because I need a confessor.

In a few minutes, the people who sleep in the cots next to us begin to move, and Austin's eyes blink open. He takes a moment to stretch, then we start to pack up. 

A man weaves his way through the rows of cots lined up in the massive open room in the center of the shelter. The space reminds me of the gym at my old high school.

"You can't stay here," the man calls. 

A tall police patrol bot follows him. Its long metallic arms swing by its sides. Austin and I frantically stuff clothes into our backpacks. The man has a long gray ponytail and shaded gray glasses. 

He stops beside us. "You can't stay here."

"Yeah. We're going." Austin zips up his pack and throws it over his shoulder.

I slowly put mine on my back and unfold my legs from sitting on my cot. The police bot is right beside me. I look into his blank silver eyes as I stand up. 

I wonder how much information it can access. I wonder whether or not it recognizes me as a person of interest. I wonder whether it knows that I am the one who placed a bomb in the Ontario legislature. 

But if it recognizes me, it gives no indication. The stern expression on its sharp plastic face doesn't change. I lower my eyes and quickly turn to follow Austin towards the door.

"What are we going to do for food?" I ask at soon as we're past the exit. There's a hollow feeling in my stomach.

"I'm not sure, Andrea. We're just going to have to –"

"You two looking for something to eat?" A man interrupts my husband. 

I turn and stare at the people streaming out of the shelter. Among them, I spot a man who looks familiar. 

"Just follow the crowd," he says. 

Suddenly I realize why I feel like I know him. The day that I lost my job, he asked me for spare change and I denied him. Now I'm just as hungry and helpless as he has been all this time. And now he's helping me.

"Thanks." I look away before he has a chance to remember me.

Most of the people who stayed the night in the shelter walk down College Street and then turn south down University. 

Queen's Park is so different then it was the day of the riot. Bits of plastic and paper tumble across the lawn, blown by the wind. The bricks on one side of the building look burnt. There is a hole in the legislature that hasn't been repaired.

People scatter as we walk, but the bulk of the crowd still travels south until we turn on Dundas Street. We follow the mass of people to Dundas Square. 

It wasn't so long ago that this was the center of consumerism in Toronto. I can't remember the last time I visited the Eaton's Center, but I barely recognize it. 

The giant screens that wrapped the surrounding buildings in advertisements are shut off. Many of the wide glass doors are smashed in. The signs that once announced H&M and Canadian Tire have all been taken down or burnt out.

In the center of the square, a large crowd mills around the entrance to a massive white tent. They shuffle slowly forward. Police bots stand beneath mounted speakers.

Above the bots and the giant speakers are massive screens. Block letters in bright colors appear on their surfaces. The words, "Toronto's Automation Innovation Program" appear. 

When the title disappears, it's replaced by the phrase, "brought to you by RoboNomics." This is followed by a montage of scenes: images of a happy family bustling around a spacious kitchen. Another family is shown piling into an SUV. Another one roasts marshmallows around a campfire. 

All vestiges of a life that has disappeared. A voice booms over the speakers while the scenes flash across the screens.

"Toronto's Automation Innovation Program is at work for the citizens of our city. With our partners at RoboNomics, the city's plan is providing updated infrastructure, state-of-the-art healthcare services and increasing prosperity. By employing robots for work on complex city systems and using advanced artificial intelligence to support social programs, we are creating a new and more effective Toronto."

"Yeah, right," Austin mutters. 

Booing begins in more than one corner of the crowd.

"But we cannot implement this program without the support of the citizens of Toronto. When you enter this, the first of many Economic Relief Distribution Centers, you will have access to healthcare, and a chance to update your work skills and increase your prosperity. You are the heart of Toronto and the key to making this city a better place."

The booing grows as the message ends. It's followed by an image of people gathered in a boardroom, and then a picture of a family having a picnic. They all smile broadly. 

My stomach groans at the sight of the picnic sandwiches. Corny Spanish guitar is piped over the stereo system.

"What do they mean by 'prosperity'?" I ask Austin.

Before he can reply, a woman clutching a small child turns her head to me. 

"It's polite government code for food. First time here?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"You're going to love it." She says sarcastically. She turns to face forward before I can say anything in response.

We stand in line for a few minutes, silently willing the crowd forward. The video begins to loop.

"Toronto's Automation Innovation Program is at work for the citizens of –"

"It's a trick!" There's a shout from somewhere near my shoulder. 

When I look over to the source of the noise, I see that it's coming from a young man. He is dressed in black except for the red bandanna over the lower half of his face. As he removes his hood, I see the AR symbol shaved into the short hair on the side of his head.

(Continued in Chapter 48...)

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