Mother Knows Best
A Sandbox Earth Story
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This story is set in the Sandbox Earth Universe, and while it is not entirely necessary to read anything else to enjoy this story, this story “Personal Journal of Juror No. 6” may enhance your comprehension of some details.
In the capital city of Adillade, there were no underground tunnels. Absolutely none—there was no need for tunnels, there were perfectly good streets on the surface which good, honest citizens could traverse freely and safely, such was the law and order in the Adille system. Why would you need tunnels with such honest, safe streets?
It was in one of these crowded tunnels that two dishonest men held conference, next to a heatlamp to stave off the cold of winter.
“I’ve been watching for months. I’ve got the pattern down,” the first man said in hushed tones. He was trying to speak loud enough for his conspirator to hear, but not so loud that the others crowding the heatlamp became accomplices. “I’ve figured out a route, I’ve figured out how to carry the goods. I would be in and out before anyone notices.”
His conspirator tightened his coat around his chest. “I don’t know, Charles. I just don’t know,” he whispered.
“Enough flim-flam, it’s time to put up or shut up. You agreed to this months ago when we started. What’s changed, eh? This could be our ticket out of this hell-hole.”
“It just isn’t done! You know how it is. They’re always watching. And no one’s figured out how. They could be listening to us right now and we’d never know.”
“Look around you, Will. Is there anyone in this tunnel you don’t recognize? You haven’t seen before?”
“No, but—”
“It’s only you and me, Will. We just get one. And it’s our ticket out.”
“But what if—”
“There’s no downsides! Best case, we sell it, get a bucket of money, buy a ticket offworld. Worst case, we keep it, and we have a third set of hands to help us out. Eh? Many hands make light work, eh?”
“That’s awfully optimistic of you, Charles.”
“I know the route like the back of my own hand. This is it. No more waiting. The next batch drops tomorrow. This is it. Okay? I need your support. I can do all the work topside, but once I’ve got the thing it’s your time to shine. If you’re not with me then let’s just call it quits now so I don’t waste any more time.”
Will hugged himself more tightly, and furrowed his brow more deeply. “I just don’t feel easy about this.”
“It’s because it’s a risk. If it wasn’t a risk it wouldn’t help us. No risk, no reward. Come on Will. We’ve talked about this.”
Will sighed heavily. “Okay. Do it. What do you need from me?”
“Be at the sixth hatch of tunnel three at 3am. I’ll meet you there, goods in tow.”
Charles hastily wrote a plan for his day on paper, to help keep him busy. Anticipation always made him anxious, and being publicly visible would give him plausible deniability. From his third floor apartment, in his finest street clothes, he stepped into the streets of Adillade.
Grey clouds blanketed the sky, and a cold winter wind blustered about the streets, which were perfectly empty. No vehicle traffic, a few droids, the odd pedestrian or two. Everyone walked with purpose, eyes straight ahead, not daring to even glance.
Two crows alighted upon powerlines above the streets, cawing ruefully at Charles’ passing figure. He turned a corner, putting the crows at his back. The street cut a desolate line across the city, revealing the fields beyond—where a massive grey dome stretched up, the number “03” painted in faded, weathered lettering on it’s side. Charles’ stomach rumbled—a mix of real hunger, and hunger for success. The dome was a Droid-Mother—not just any, but the Droid-Mother. The site upon which his scheme rested. Charles slowed his pace, allowing him to take in the terrible magnificence of the thing.
While Charles daydreamed of schemes and successes, he bumped into a stranger. He was shaken swiftly from his reverie: “Pardon me, sir,” he said timidly, touching the brim of his woolen cap.
The stranger turned—he was wearing a blue coat, and had a golden star pinned to his chest, with a barcode in the middle. “Pardoned!” he said loudly. “Names Sheriff Dudley, how do you do?”
Charles, mystified, shook his hand. Thinking better of lying, he said, “Charles, a pleasure.”
“Charles, a pleasure indeed. I was just taking in the scenery. Beautiful, is it not?”
Charles was not interested in this conversation, and it’s serendipity was ominous to him. Three crows flew past and perched on nearby rooftops. “Uh, Yes, sir. Yes indeed. Like a mystery of nature, sir.”
“How apropos!” the Sheriff replied cheerfully. “Did you know, not a single human soul has set foot inside a Droid-Mother complex? They were designed and constructed entirely on their own.”
“A mystery indeed, sir.”
“What I would give to see it up close. Wouldn’t that be something? Alas, I make time to enjoy it from afar whenever I can.”
“Never was much one for mysteries myself—leave ‘em be and they’ll leave you be.”
“Ha! Too true, Charles, too true.”
“If’n you don’t mind, sir, I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Charles! Have a great day.”
Charles touched the brim of his cap, and walked determinedly away. His hunger had evolved into nausea—this meeting was not a good sign.
Charles had all his preparations complete. The hand-cart was hovering near the ramp marked Hatch 6. It was 2am, it was now or never.
Charles pushed the hand-cart effortlessly up the ramp, and took a deep breath. Now or never. He pushed a red button, and the hatch slid open, and he pushed the cart out into the open night.
The hatch slid closed seamlessly behind him. He made a note of the surrounds, so he could find it again when he came back and met Will below.
Tunnel 3 extended far beyond the Adillade city limits, stretching towards the Droid-Mother. Not far was the chain-link fence with the little gap in it he had found—presumably some creature had found it’s way in or out. It was enough for him to work with. The ground around the Droid-Mother was barren, rocky dirt; muddy in some places, more desert-like in others. Charles put one foot on the cart and pushed with his other, and let it cruise over the varied terrain with minimal effort. He disturbed a group of six crows which were scratching around in the dirt and rocks—they cawed, offended, and flew off in who-knows-what direction.
Huffing and puffing, Charles finally came to the fence. The gap was small enough for him to crawl through, but he hadn’t anticipated the cart. He tried turning it, but the repulsors kept pushing it away, like two magnets with the same polarity. He disabled the repulsors, pushed the heavy metal through at an angle, crawled through behind it, and then figured out how to re-enable the cart. This would be challenging on the way back—he hoped he hadn’t made too much noise. Seven crows watched him quietly from a distance.
Now that he was through, there was nothing between him and the production line where completed droids are delivered from the Droid-Mother. All he needed was one droid. That was enough.
He had timed it perfectly. Lights flashed from the walls of the Droid-Mother where the conveyor belt extended out towards a loading dock. The conveyor belt groaned to life, and as Charles approached, brand new droids hunched in a space-saving ‘packaging’ configuration began to emerge. It was another batch of innocuous looking worker droids, as far as Charles could tell. They were perfect—multipurpose and versatile. They were being used everywhere. He looked up at the massive dome of the Droid-Mother, stretching far and away into the sky and around into the distance. The whole facility could be a mile in diameter—too enormous to comprehend from so close on the ground.
Twelve crows were perched on the sloped edge of the dome of the Droid-Mother, and watched in silence as Charles pulled up next to the conveyor, and prepared to pull a droid off the line. Something caught his eye—in the light, it seemed the crows had a red glow in their mouths. No time to think—Charles braced himself and reached into the conveyor and with a mighty heave pushed a hunched-up droid off the line and onto the cart—it landed with a CLANG of metal on metal.
Excellent. Now, the only thing left to do was—
Charles’ heart sank. Two droids were in the distance and walking towards him. No time to waste—he pushed the droid into the center of the cart, turned the cart, and pushed off with his feet heading back towards the fence. He felt something strong grab him from behind—he was yanked into the air as the cart hovered off down the slope and towards the fence.
He was held in the air by a pair of ten-foot tall security droids, their blank white eyes illuminating the night like flashlights.
“Unauthorized personnel,” one of the droids declared.
“No, I’m…I’m authorized,” Charles pleaded.
“You are not authorized,” replied the other. “Apprehended individual to be processed by Mother.”
“Affirmed.”
“Processed? What does that mean. You should hand me over to the police, shouldn’t you?” Charles squirmed, unable to release their mechanical grip.
The two droids began carrying Charles around the Droid-Mother site, towards the rear. Charles saw train-tracks come into view, and soon train-cars piled high, some with minerals some with metals, some seemingly filled with dirt. The train-cars were idle, waiting to be pushed into the waiting receptacle of the Droid-Mother.
“What’s going on here?” Charles asked, frantically. The droids continued carrying him. They rounded a corner and seemed to be walking back towards the Droid-Mother.
“HEY!” he shouted. “You blockheads, stop this. I order you to stop! I have rights you know! You’re droids, you have to listen to me, right? What does it mean to be processed?”
They approached a wide industrial metal door that looked like a garbage bin. In faded paint above the doors, it read “Atomic Sorting & Processing”.
“What’s that for? What’s that for?!” Charles screeched at the droids.
“That does not compute,” replied the first.
“Mother knows best.” replied the second.
As they approached, the door to Atomic Sorting & Processing opened.
“NO!” Charles screamed. “HELP! Somebody help!”
The droids tossed Charles unceremoniously into the chamber.
Will decided to go for a walk to clear his head. He wasn’t feeling good. It wasn’t like Charles to be late. He’d been there at the hatch at 3am, and waited until after 4am—Charles never showed. Something was wrong. When he’d checked the periscope, there was nothing but crows standing outside the hatch. No sign of Charles at all.
Will shook his head. He would get a coffee. Make polite conversation. He would be visible. He was a good citizen. If they arrested Charles—who knows. Who knows what laws they would say he had broken.
Will huddled deeper into his scarf and coat, bracing against the winter chill. He bumped into a figure standing around the corner. “Pardon, sir,” he said hastily.
“Ah, William, I’ve been looking for you.” The man turned around—it was a Sheriff. Will was suddenly conscious of a massive flock of crows lining the rooftops.
“Me, sir?” Will sputtered.
“Yes, I’m Sheriff Dudley, how do you do.” He said, antiseptically. “I’m looking for your friend Charles, have you seen him recently?” The crows cawed, revealing a strange red light within their mouths. “You see, we’ve been keeping an eye on him, and we’re wondering where he’s gone.”
The End
Thank you very much for reading! I’ve been in a bit of a writing drought so I am pleased to get back in the swing of things, with a return to my Sci-Fi roots. If you enjoyed this story, please consider sharing it with a friend!
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story on Notes. If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of longer fiction at The Volume.
God bless!
AJPM
The crows were ominous from the start, and then.. CROWCAM! Great buildup!
"There's no downsides!" Ooh, Charles, I think I've spotted one there, bud.
(But seriously, this was a great story, and that first paragraph: masterful).