COMMITTED

by A.R. Kirby

Episode 24
Ralph tells a story

A
tlanta whizzed by as Vernon deftly maneuvered the
Taurus northward on Interstate 75, Ralph gazing
intently out the passenger window and Brandon
nursing his confused brain in the back seat. After
20 minutes or so of hearing nothing but the hum of the tires on
the highway and the cacophony of thoughts in his mind, Brandon
decided he couldn’t take it any longer.

“No way,” he said, sitting up and leaning forward between the

front seats so he could look at Ralph. “No way you’re a couple
thousand years old. Can’t be.”

Vernon laughed, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Why not?
I told you things would get weird. Yesterday, you were in a cave
with this same man who had the entire universe in there with him.
You handled that well enough. What’s so hard about believing
Ralph is 2,000 years old?”

“Yeah, but...” Brandon paused, trying to come up with some

argument against Vernon that made sense. He couldn’t find one. He
pressed on, nonetheless. “But why doesn’t he look old? I mean, if
he was here when Jesus was around, I think there’d be a few more
wrinkles or some gray hair or something. I mean, come on! He
looks like he can’t be more than...”
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Brandon stopped and looked at Ralph’s face. It was true that he

showed very few signs of advanced aging, or any aging at all, for
that matter. The face was proud, rugged and somehow timeless.

“Okay, so I can’t tell how old he is by looking at him,” Brandon

said. “But this is just wack.”

“You know, you could talk to me instead of referring to me in

the third-person like I wasn’t even here,” Ralph said quietly. “Just
because I’m ancient doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry, Ralph,” Brandon said. “But this is kinda messed up.
It’s screwing with my head.”

“Tell me about it,” Ralph agreed. “It’s not easy being almost
immortal. That really screws with your head.”

“No way. Living forever... that would be so cool.”

“You really think so? You think it would be cool to see your
entire civilization almost wiped from the face of the earth? You
think it would be cool to watch everyone you ever loved wither
and die -- while you keep going on and on and on? Nah. In a lot of
ways it ain’t so cool.”

Ralph folded his arms across his chest and looked back out
the window as the car passed through some of Atlanta’s northern
suburbs. Brandon and Vernon were quiet.

“So Ralph...” Brandon’s voice was almost a whisper. “How did

it happen?”

Ralph sighed and rubbed his chin, then leaned his head back
against the headrest and closed his eyes. He held out his hand in
front of him, palm upright, and began speaking.

“I was about eighteen years old, I guess,” Ralph said, “and it

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was time for me to become a man.”

Brandon looked at Ralph’s outstretched arm and saw what

looked like a wisp of mist form above his palm. The mist slowly
solidified into a visage, about 10 inches high, of what had to be a
young Ralph. It was a figure of a tall, long-haired Anasazi, wearing
only a loincloth and decorated with ceremonial paint across his
body.

“In my tribe, one of the passages to manhood is the first vision

quest,” Ralph went on as the figure appeared to begin walking
through what looked to be Canyon de Chelly. “The elders of the
tribe send you into the wilderness to find your spirit animal, and
when you find it and become one with it, you are accepted as a
man. When my time came, the village’s medicine man prepared me
for the quest, mainly by loading me up on a buttload of peyote and
sending me out into the desert.”

Brandon watched in amazement as the action-figure-like scene

in Ralph’s palm played out. There was young Ralph, entering a
small, dark lodge where an ancient-looking Anasazi marked him
and chanted around him. The medicine man then handed Ralph
a large bowl filled with a steaming, dark green liquid, which
Ralph drank deeply. The scene shifted, and then there was Ralph
again, stumbling out of the village and puking behind a sage bush
before wandering into the desert in the afternoon sun. The figure
scrambled around in the desert, sometimes on all fours, eventually
reaching a high promontory. The figure of young Ralph sat in a
lotus position overlooking the canyon, bathed in the glow of the
Arizona sunset.

“I don’t know how long I sat there,” Ralph continued. “I had

many strange visions and dreams, and then sometime in the night,
my spirit animal came to me. A large, black puma, like you saw in
the cavern yesterday. It sat down and began speaking to me, about
the desert, about my people, about the future. But I don’t think it
was really my spirit animal; I think it was one of the Ancient Ones

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in animal form.”

Brandon looked at Ralph and then back at Ralph’s palm, where,

indeed, an image of a large, ghostly puma had joined the young
Ralph at the edge of the cliff.

“I say it was one of the Ancient Ones because of what happened

next. The puma told me I was to be a god among my people and
that I would be able to perform miracles; that I would be revered;
and that one day, I, too, would join the Ancient Ones and I would
hear the people’s prayers -- and be able to answer them. I was
bathed in an otherworldly light, and then the puma disappeared. I
think I passed out.

“When I woke up the next day, I felt -- I don’t know, I just felt
different. I wasn’t sure what to make of what the Ancient One told
me. Plus, I was still pretty out of my head because of the peyote.
But for whatever reason, I stood at the edge of the cliff, my arms
outstretched, the desert wind blowing my hair out behind me -- and
I jumped.

Brandon watched in horror as the figure in Ralph’s palm arced

gracefully off the cliff toward the canyon floor. He expected to see
the memory smashed to bits on the boulders below, but he gasped
audibly when he saw the young Ralph swoop upward at the last
instant, flying through the canyon, catching updrafts to join the
hawks circling lazily high above the desert floor.

“It was amazing,” Ralph said. “I never felt so free. I could fly
like the hawks; I could run faster than the swiftest deer; I was
stronger than a bear. I played around in the desert most of the day,
trying out these wonderful gifts given to me by the Ancient One.
Eventually, I realized I was starving -- and that the people in the
village were probably wondering what had happened to me. So I
headed back home.”

“Gah!”

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The back end of a tractor-trailer rapidly approached the car’s

windshield, causing Vernon to yank the steering wheel hard to the
left, knocking Brandon’s head against Ralph’s seat and making
the scene in Anasazi’s hand disappear. The Taurus careened across
three lanes of traffic, narrowly avoiding the previously-mentioned
tractor-trailer stalled in the right-hand lane, as well as a large RV
whose occupants, according to the bumper sticker, were off to See
Rock City.

“You have got to stop talking with your hands,” Vernon said
after the trio had righted themselves and the car was back on an
even keel. “I can’t not pay attention to it -- it’s worse than having a
DVD player in the front seat. I almost took off all our heads going
under that trailer!”

“Ours, at least,” Ralph said with a smile. “Yours is so hard it

would have gone straight through.”

“Ha ha,” Vernon said, deadpan, his eyes firmly fixed on the
interstate. “Just cool it with the puppet show until we’re stopped
somewhere, okay?”

“Sorry, man,” Ralph said. “Just trying to tell the kid a story.”

The three men drove along in silence for a few minutes until
Brandon piped in.

“Hey, there’s a rest area coming up. Can we stop? I could use a
bathroom break.”

“Didn’t you go before we left the Collective?” Vernon shot a

glance at the Junior Associate. “We are on a mission, you know.”

“Oh, c’mon Vern,” Ralph said. “This is more of a road trip than
a mission. If I had my way, we’d stop for a case of Bud -- and we’d
be listening to some decent music. It’s like a mausoleum in this car.
Let’s stop for a few. You can have a smoke and the kid can go to

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the bathroom. It’s not like we’re on a schedule or anything.”

“Oh, all right,” Vernon said, and pulled the car into a state rest
area a few moments later.

“Back in a few,” Brandon said as he hopped out of the backseat

and toward the low, neat building across the parking lot.

“Hope everything comes out all right,” Ralph said with a laugh.
Brandon pretended not to hear, shaking his head at the old joke,
and walked towards the men’s room.

“So,” Vernon said, leaning against the driver’s side door of the
Ford and pulling out a cigar from his vest pocket, “you gonna tell
the kid the rest of the story?”

“Not until you can keep your eyes on the road.”

“Heh. But tell me one thing,” Vernon said as he flicked a lighter

and touched the flame to the tip of his cigar. “You ever meet that
puma again?”

“You know, that’s the funny thing about it,” Ralph said, taking a
space next to Vernon against the car. “In all my vision quests, and
in all the times I’ve spoken to Spider Mother and the Ancient Ones,
I’ve never run into him. I even asked Spider Mother about it once,
and she said she never heard of it. My guess is that it was coyote
spirit playing a trick on me. I asked him about it once, and he said
it wasn’t him. Of course, I didn’t believe him.”

“Some trick, huh?” Vernon blew out a large cloud of blue-gray

smoke.

“Yeah. Some trick.”

----------

“Good afternoon, sir,” said a voice in a pleasant southern accent

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as Brandon entered the restroom, “and welcome to the Gordon

County I-75 North Rest Area, provided for your convenience by
the state of Georgia.”

Brandon looked around for the source of the voice, but all he
saw was a conical piece of machinery, around three-feet high,
somewhat silver in color, and with a large black orb protruding
from near the top of the cone. It took him a moment to realize that
the speaker was the piece of machinery.

“Oh, you’re one of those new bathroom bots, right?” Brandon

made his way toward the row of urinals as he spoke.

“That’s correct, sir,” the robot replied as Brandon took care

of his business. “I am a model PB-001, purchased by the state to
maintain the facilities and meet all your restroom needs. Please let
me know if I can assist you in any way.”

“You know, I think I’m good,” Brandon said as he zipped up and

flushed the urinal, then walked across the bathroom to one of the
three sinks lined up against the wall.

“Are you certain, sir?” The robot made its way on its uni-ball
across the room to a position about three feet behind and to the side
of Brandon. “I have a full supply of breath mints in a wide variety
of flavors, cologne of various popular scents, styling products for
your hair, chewing gum, aftershave, condoms in assorted sizes,
shapes, and colors...”

“No, thanks.” Brandon turned off the faucet and shook the water
from his hands, then grabbed a paper towel from a dispenser on the
wall. “But I am interested in what makes you tick.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you, sir,” model PB-001

replied. “I have a number of functions, but ticking is not one of
them.”

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Brandon knelt next to the robot, gazing at the jet-black eye near
its top.

“Oh, I know you don’t really ‘tick’,” he said. “I’m just

wondering about your operating systems. You’re a fairly advanced
piece of machinery.”

“Oh, you are correct about that, sir.” Was that a hint of pride
Brandon detected in the robot’s voice? “I am constructed from a
highly-advanced alloy, and my operating systems are controlled
by a newly-developed form of artificial intelligence. It’s all quite
proprietary, however. I’m afraid I can’t divulge any details about
my design.”

Brandon’s ears pricked at the word “proprietary”. He’d spent

years hacking into so-called “proprietary” computer systems,
breaking them down into component parts and utilizing them to his
advantage. Of course, the last time he hacked into such a system,
it belonged to the United States government. More precisely, it
belonged to the Internal Revenue Service. In the long run, his last
piece of private hacking work landed him in hot water legally and
was the reason he was now with the Collective. Of course, none of
that resonated with him at the moment. He was enthralled with the
robot and had to know more.

“Oh, come on,” Brandon said, “can’t you just tell me a little bit
about how you work?”

“My apologies, sir, but that is privileged information. Only

my technical support staff are allowed to access my internal
workings.”

“You know, I’m pretty technical myself,” Brandon said, looking

over the robots casing as he spoke. He couldn’t see a seam
anywhere on the bot’s body. How was this thing put together?
What was this material it was made from? And what kind of
software was it running. “Let me guess... you’ve got a basic

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Microsoft operating system that’s been tricked out some way,

right?”

A metallic laugh emanated from the robot at the suggestion.

“Sir, Microsoft couldn’t compile my code in a thousand years. Do
you think I suffer from a ‘blue screen of death’? Hardly, sir. Now,
if there is nothing else I can do for you, I shall continue my duties.
One of the toilets has a particularly nasty stain which needs my
attention, most likely the leavings from the large truck driver who
was in the facilities a short time ago.”

“Wait just a second,” Brandon said, still examining the robot’s

casing. How could he get into it? “I’ve got to know some more
about how you operate. I’ve spent years working with computers,
and I’ve never seen anything as advanced as you.”

“That, sir, is because I am the most advanced piece of machinery

on the planet. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

The bot began moving toward one of the stalls. Brandon, in a fit
of hacker desperation, leaped at it and pulled it down by the top of
the cone. He straddled the robot and focused his attention on the
giant black eye, feeling with his fingers to see if there was a way to
open the robot’s casing.

“Sir,” the PB-001 said, its voice still polite but laced with
seriousness, “I am afraid if you continue with this behavior I will
be forced to alert the authorities, or even activate my defensive
systems.”

“Oh, please,” Brandon said, still engrossed with the orb. “I’ll
be out of here before any authorities show up, and what kind of
defensive systems is a bathroom robot going to have? Are you
going to come after me with a toilet brush? Maybe shoot some
breath mints at me?”

The voice was deathly serious now. “You would be quite

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surprised at my capabilities, sir, and if you continue, I will be

forced to use them.”

“Yeah, right,” Brandon said as he attempted to rotate the orb in

its’ socket, finally hearing a click.

“Aha! Now let’s see what you’ve got going on, robot.” Brandon
rotated the orb again and began to pull it out when the robot’s body
began to make an odd humming sound.

“What are you running in there, huh?” Brandon pulled the orb
out slowly, a mass of wires attaching the back of the black ball to
the interior of the unit’s body. “Gonna play some music?”

The voice was no longer southern and friendly. It was metallic,

hollow, and filled with death.

“No sir. You have activated my defensive systems. The sound

you are hearing is a counter-frequency which effectively negates
all sound in the immediate area. I am making it to ensure that no
one around is able to hear you screaming, sir.”

“And just why do you think I’ll be screaming?”

“Because you are about to die a most painful death, sir. Do you
notice a tingling in you hand?”

Brandon looked at the hand holding the robot’s orb. It was

tingling, almost as if it were asleep. A moment later, it became
hot. Brandon dropped the orb, which was quickly reeled back into
place by the robot.

The heat in Brandon’s hand rapidly changed to excruciating

pain. Brandon rolled off the robot, holding his pained hand at the
wrist. He shuffled on his rear to a corner of the restroom nearest
the line of sinks. He had never felt such pain before. Looking at the
back of his hand, he saw that the nails on each finger were ever-so-

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slowly disappearing into a gray dust which fell onto the floor.

“What did you do to me?!”

“As I said, sir, I activated my defensive systems. More

specifically, I’ve infected your hand with a flesh-eating nanovirus.
I could have taken the step of calling the authorities first, but this
seemed like it would be more effective.”

The robot righted itself and rolled over to where Brandon

huddled in the corner. “You see, sir, the nanoviruses with which
you are now infected will devour every cell in your body, turning
your flesh into dust, which I will then dispose of. No one will
ever know you were here. The process will be intensely painful for
you, and will last approximately five minutes. Please do not bother
screaming or attempting to get help; as I said, the frequency I am
generating effectively cancels all noise in my immediate vicinity,
and I will not allow you to leave the restroom.”

Brandon continued to look at his hand, watching it disappear

from the fingertips downward. The pain was so great that he could
do nothing but ball himself into the fetal position. He screamed,
but no sound came from his mouth.

“You were warned, sir,” the robot went on. “As you humans like
to say, ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ Or in this case, curiosity killed the
man who wouldn’t leave well enough alone.”

To be continued...

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