Young Robots In Love, Part 2 Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: VVV (Very, Very Victorian), actually PG-13 for language. Spoilers: Takes place right after Smashed in S6 BtVS. Summary: This idea came from Taramisu (Thanks, Tara) who
demanded a WilliamBot fic. That got me thinking about why a WilliamBot
would have come into existence.
Jonathan woke to the sound of the beep that indicated the bot's
programming had finished loading. He set his book aside and stretched,
then set about unhooking the data cable and preparing for an initial
power up.
He opened a service port on the robot's abdomen and pressed a few
buttons that activated a self-test routine that would ensure that the
newly installed programming hadn't been corrupted. The LED panel
inside had come from a Xerox machine Warren had scavenged. Warren
was always bragging about his discovery that with the exception of the
paper-transport system, the components of copy machines were nearly
indestructible. When the LED display said READY TO COPY,
Jonathan closed the port and pulled the blanket back up over the robot's
chest. All that remained was to press the switch at the base of the skull
in back and watch the SpikeBot come to life.
Jonathan hesitated for a moment, looking at the lifelike mannequin
lying on the table. For all intents and purposes, it was Spike. From the
platinum blond hair to scar on his eyebrow to the finely chiseled
cheekbones, the robot's face was the face of the vampire who had been
sitting on their sofa the week before. The body - well, Jonathan would
never admit he'd paid any notice to the vampire's body, but it all
seemed pretty accurate. Except for the... Don't think about that,
Jonathan told himself. You aren't a pervert.
Jonathan reached around the robot's head and found the little nub that
would turn the power on. He pressed it and pulled his hand back.
Nothing.
Jonathan frowned. The eyes ought to open. Or it ought to sit up or
something. It simply lay there motionless. Could he have messed up
somehow?
He pulled back the blanket to reopen the service port. As his hand
touched the robot's abdomen, it reacted - jerking slightly and opening
its eyes.
The first sound out of its mouth was a series of high-pitched clicks.
That's when Jonathan remembered he hadn't activated the language
subroutine. He was glad Warren wasn't here, because there would have
been hours of sarcasm.
Jonathan reached for the switch to shut the robot down so he could
finish the pre-power-on routine. However, the robot apparently
objected to being touched. Its face contorted into an angry grimace and
it opened its mouth, emitting a torrent of static.
"Calm down," Jonathan said as soothingly as he could manage. "I'm
not going to hurt you. I just need to fix it so you can talk."
He reached out slowly. The robot's eyes followed his hand. But it
didn't try to move or stop him, so Jonathan was able to switch it off. It
took Jonathan a moment to locate the language processor switch under
the skin at the point of the robot's jaw. Once that was switched on, he
could turn on the power again.
"Wh-where am I? Is this a hospital?" the robot asked in a frightened
voice.
"No, it's not a hospital. And you're just fine. Nothing to worry about,"
Jonathan said, attempting to reassure the robot.
Jonathan had suspected the android would be disoriented when it woke
up. The programming here was different from any Warren had used
before. His previous creations began life with a sense of purpose, but
little sense of self. With the mindprint, the robot would have actual
memories and a sense of who and where it was that would be disrupted
by waking naked on a workbench in somebody's basement.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Jonathan."
"Where is this place?"
"This is our lair ... um... it's just a house."
The robot sat up and looked around.
"My clothing!" it said as it registered its nudity. "What have you done
with my clothing?"
"Calm down," Jonathan said. "Everything's OK."
The robot seemed to be becoming agitated and Jonathan really didn't
want to deal with an agitated Spike, even if Warren had said the robot
couldn't harm him.
"I demand you bring me clothing immediately, sir!"
"I will, I will," Jonathan said, "I just wanted to make sure you were OK
first. I'll get you some clothing now."
"And I demand to be returned to my home! My mother must be ill with
worry. Why have I been abducted? Do you hope to win a ransom?"
"You haven't been abducted," Jonathan assured the robot.
"Then I may leave this place?"
"Um... no. Not right away."
"Explain yourself, sir!"
"Look, I'm Jonathan, and I'm going to take care of you until Warren
gets back. But you can't leave because... because you don't have
anywhere to go."
"What do you mean? I have a townhouse in London and a country
house in Surrey!"
"Um... not anymore. Look, just chill. You've got a lot to catch up on.
Let me get you those clothes."
"I think you a poor excuse for a manservant!" the robot said with a
haughty sniff. "Your dress is slovenly, and your manners leave a great
deal to be desired."
Jonathan stopped in his tracks. "Let's just get this straight. I am not
your manservant," he snapped. "If anything, it's you who's going to be
a servant. You're here to make money for us."
"Then I am abducted," the robot said. There was a tremor of fear in its
voice.
Jonathan's eyebrows rose in surprise. The robot didn't sound like Spike
at all. The voice sounded the same-- except for the accent -- but he
couldn't imagine Spike afraid of anything.
He brought it a pair of Andrew's jeans and one of his plaid shirts.
"What, pray tell, is this?" the robot asked, holding up the shirt with a
disdainful expression.
"It's a shirt. Put it on," Jonathan said.
"A gentleman would never wear such a thing!"
"Then a gentleman is going to stay naked!"
The robot wilted a little. It looked at the shirt with distaste, but relented
and put it on. It still had the blanket over its lap though.
"I must ask you to leave the room while I don these ... trousers, for lack
of a better description."
Jonathan laughed. "You'd better get over that modesty," he said.
"What ever do you mean?"
"I mean... never mind. You'll find out soon enough." He shook his
head. "I'll turn my back, but I don't want to leave you alone right now."
The android was mollified. Jonathan heard it stand up and begin to step
into the jeans.
"No!" the bot exclaimed. "What is this?"
"What is what?" Jonathan asked.
"This is beyond terrible! I seem to have contracted a horrible disease --
some form of elephantiasis! My privates! They're... never mind."
Jonathan laughed silently, pressing his lips together to keep it inaudible.
Then he felt a twinge of guilt. He realized how frightening it must be
for the robot to wake up naked in a strange place -- then discover
something had happened to his, um, thing.
"No, it's not a disease," Jonathan said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's
just part of being here. Nothing to worry about. Most guys I know
would be happy to find out they've been given a ... thing ... like that."
"You've seen? Sir! You are no gentleman. This is most improper and
unseemly! I will brook no more talk about that which should remain
unmentioned!"
"Calm down, Spike," Jonathan said, frustrated with his inability to calm
the robot. "You're going to fry a circuit if you're not careful."
"You speak most strangely, sir. And who is Spike?"
"You're Spike."
"I most certainly am not!"
"Yes, you are. That's your name."
"My name is William -- William Worthington."
"No, your name is going to be Spike. Look at it this way. You're not
going to want people to know your real name. People in the line of
work you're going into always have a stage name -- like Johnny Wad,
or Dirk Diggler."
"A stage name?" the bot asked.
"Yeah, you're going to be an actor. Isn't that cool?"
"Am I to understand I have been kidnapped and will be pressed into
performing in a theatrical troupe?"
"Um... not exactly, but that's close."
"Why am I being subjected to this degradation? I am a gentleman!"
"Look, there's a lot you're going to have to get used to. I know this is
all strange, but it's not going to be so bad. I think you'll like what
you're going to be doing. Wait until you meet your leading lady. She's
a real beauty."
"I do not pretend to understand what has happened to me," the robot
said. "But I will not be called `Spike.' It sounds common and vulgar."
"Oh, all right. I'll call you William. Let me see... William Botsworth. Is
that OK?"
The robot thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe that will be acceptable.
I can see that I would not want my family name associated with this
unfortunate and scandalous incident. I will assume this name until I can
return to my rightful place in society."
"Right," Jonathan said, rolling his eyes. "OK, I'm supposed to take you
shopping now. We've got to get you some clothes that fit right."
"I'm encouraged to hear that better clothing is promised," the
WilliamBot said, looking down at his Andrew-wear outfit and sniffing
disdainfully. "But surely you could have the tailor come here. I cannot
be seen in public in this bizarre garb!"
Jonathan sighed in exasperation. This wasn't working out the way
Warren thought it would -- of course, that was nothing new.
"I never heard of a tailor making a house call," he said irritably. "And
you're not getting anything custom-made, anyway. It's not in the
budget. So, come on. We've got a bus to catch!"
The WilliamBot's introduction to the 21st century was anything but
smooth.
First, there was the problem of walking. The WilliamBot found his
enhanced "privates" -- the only term he would apply to that part of his
anatomy -- disconcerting in motion. Once he'd accustomed himself to
that unexpected sensation, there was the matter of his environment.
He startled and recoiled in fear when he saw his first automobile.
However, after Jonathan explained it was a vehicle powered by a
gasoline internal combustion engine, the WilliamBot was fascinated
and flagged down a car, asking the driving permission to open the hood
and examine the engine, before Jonathan could stop him. The driver
sped away after demonstrating a colorful hand gesture.
"Why did he raise his index finger that way?" William asked
innocently.
"Um... it's a friendly greeting people use these days. Sort of like
waving."
"Oh, capital!" William exclaimed. "I must learn the customs of this
place! So, when I greet people on the street I should raise my finger
thus?"
"Um... no, it's sort of for special occasions."
"I see, can you give me an example?"
"Well, when someone cuts you off in traffic," Jonathan explained.
The bot nodded gravely.
When they got to The Gap, the WilliamBot was shocked when he saw
his reflection in one of the full-length mirrors. He froze, looking at
himself, first without recognition, then in horror.
"This experience has shocked me so thoroughly that my hair has turned
white!" he exclaimed raising a hand to touch his gelled locks. "I have
taken the countenance of an old man!"
Jonathan laughed. "No, you dye it that color. It's super cool."
The WilliamBot frowned. "Surely not. The effect is too unsettling. I
can only take comfort in knowing that no one will recognize me."
"Um... actually, people will recognize you. It makes you look like..."
"No! I will not tolerate looking this way. If this color was achieved
artificially, then it can be removed. I demand to have my natural hair
color back!"
"Look, you're in no position to demand anything," Jonathan said with a
frown. "You belong to us. You'll wear what I say and do what I tell you
to!"
"I will not!" the bot said obstinately. "I refuse to be bullied into vulgar
behavior and dress!"
"I don't think you understand. You're not a person, you're a ..."
Jonathan said, instantly regretting the words. He was pretty sure the
robot ought to believe itself human for the purpose it was designed for.
"What do you mean?" WilliamBot said angrily. "A man is a person,
and no one can rob him of that if he remains in control of his behavior!
Even abducted and enslaved, I am a man!"
"Right," Jonathan said, looking around in alarm. The WilliamBot's
loud exclamations were likely to bring store security down on them at
any moment. "We'll fix your hair. But, stop making a scene!"
"You're right, making a spectacle of one's self in public is unseemly. I
shall lower my voice. But make note, you cannot force me to do
anything against my will!" he said sotto voce.
"Against his will" turned out to include wearing black jeans and T-
shirts. After a long, wearying argument, Jonathan relented and took the
WilliamBot to a Men's Wearhouse, where the robot selected an
admittedly off-the-rack, but reasonably well fitting, three-piece,
camelhair suit. The WilliamBot was puzzled by the non-detachable
collars on all the shirts, but contented himself with several in white
broadcloth. The clip-on bow tie was selected to complete the ensemble
when it was determined that neither Jonathan nor William could tie a
Windsor or Four-in-Hand knot unassisted.
Later, back in the basement, Jonathan dyed the WilliamBot's hair and
introduced him to television and DVDs while they waited for the color
to take.
"You say this is the 21st century, and I am in America," the WilliamBot
said as it admired its new, more natural hair color in the mirror over the
bathroom sink. "This feels very odd to me. Apparently, I have slept
longer than the character in that American story -- Rip VanWinkle.
"It's disturbing, mind you. For I must accept the sad truth that I can
never return to my dear mother. All those I have known, all those dear
to me are long dead. But, at the same time, I find it intriguing. How
many men have had an opportunity to see so much of the future?"
"That's right, look on the bright side," Jonathan said.
Just then, he heard the door upstairs open.
"Honey, I'm home," Warren called down the stairs sarcastically. "And
wait until you see what we've brought."