THE TRIALS OF AN ANGEL

Part 3,  The Arora Borealis.

Of course. How could I have forgotten such a fabulous thing? The memory of the time Professor Davies showed a vid of it on the lecture screen came to me. I was nine. It hypnotised me. For years after I dreamt of going to the Arctic to see it. I used to badger Marge about taking me. She promised me one day when we were free to travel it’d be the first place we would visit. But that time never came. Intensive education was the imperative. Slowly the dream died. The babies came, they needed nurture and an education to suit them for their role. The new “family” arrived. My children and I – so much occupied us day and night over the first decades. Even after we built them into a growing community our hands were permanently full. Without AI it would have been impossible.

I never went to the Borealis. Instead it came to me. The cool breeze gently messing with my hair concentrated my thoughts while we soaked up the wonder of the Sun’s power. I chose to keep my concerns to myself. Remnants of Prof. Davies’s lectures surfaced. We were much too far south for this to be normal. Danger. I couldn’t remember why. Something happened hundreds of years ago.

‘Rachael, anybody awake will be afraid like you. Forget sleeping. You’d better message your sisters. Tell them it’s a natural event, but their folks might be scared. Ask them to look around their gebeits. If they see anyone about they need to be re-assured its safe.’

Turning her left wrist, she frowned and shook it. She stared at the image of hands frozen at 03.14.22 on the screen. She tapped it.

‘It won’t open.’

‘You dropped it again?’

‘No, I wear it all—‘

‘It doesn’t matter, run over to Mandy, she’s nearest. She can send a message.’

‘What if hers doesn’t work? I didn’t drop it.’

‘Shit, Rachael. If it doesn’t, get a scooter or a bike each and go round everywhere. . . Sorry, Babe.’

I kissed her on her forehead. I watched her go feeling guilty. Not at snapping at her, but for not including this information in my kid’s education templates. Maybe I’d been too pragmatic.

Taking one final look at the fiery sky – green for oxygen, purple for nitrogen – I went home determined to find more information. In my study I carefully poked the light switch with a twig I’d picked up in the garden. The thing buzzed. All the LEDs came on then, one by one, they shattered in mini explosions. I could feel my hair standing up. The large window was blinded. Pulling them back filled the room with a green light brighter than the Moon’s.

Rifling through my desk draw I collected my AR info-screen and slipped it on my head. Before I could command it to find the Professor Davies file my view was filled with bright blue corrupted by orange lettering: HI SALLY SORRY NO INFORMATION AVAILABLE.

When I was six, fresh from Ozz, I got a reprimand from Marge so fierce it felt like being blown backwards. I said the F-word. I never uttered it again – until that moment.

Touching one of the Link buttons spread around the house I called out for Droid to come to the study. The microspeaker replied with white noise.

‘Droid, can you hear me?’

Through the hiss Droid’s faint distorted voice confirmed he could hear me.

‘Come to my study, please.’

‘I cannot, Maam. Com-m-m unni . . . fail-re.’

‘Are you at your station?’

‘Y—s, Mmm.’

I groped my way through darkened rooms to Droid’s station, a kind of cupboard attached to the side of the house. Inside it smelt of overheated electrical gear. Droid sat in his charging chair in standby posture. His arms hung loose at his sides. What passed for his head looked at the floor. He didn’t respond to my presence.

‘Droid what is wrong with you.’

‘I cannot move, Maam.’ His voice faint and tinny. ‘I cannot see. I cannot feel anything.’

‘Can you compute?’

He went silent for several minutes. It felt like an hour before he spoke.

‘Communications error. No sat link. No charge power. Operating on emergency battery. Estimated time to shut down fifty-one minutes and thirteen seconds.’

‘Can you link with other droids and bots.’

‘Negative, one-hundred percent failure. Slave bots functioning on reserve batteries.’

Slave bots were useless to us. They only operated on droid and intel-bots commands. They were the helpers, helpers.

‘Fifty-one minutes and thirteen seconds to just your shutdown?’ I asked hoping for a yes.

‘Forty-two minutes and three seconds to total droid and bot shutdown.’

‘Can you repair yourself?’

‘Need power, need net, need restored sat-link.’

For the second time in an hour the F-word tumbled out as I left Droid slamming his stupid cupboard door behind me.