On Whom We Lean

On Whom We Lean

A History from the Strength of Old

By Mark VanTassel

Erde Date: 1202 (Earth 2182)

Karl wiped his eyes and turned from the mausoleum. Father Bebor patted his shoulder, and Karl gave him a sad squeeze of the elbow.

It was … he couldn’t find a word to describe the depth of his confusion, anger, and remorse. If only he had stayed home. If only he had listened to Fritza when she said her head hurt. If only. If only…

Father Bebor accompanied him home, and Karl was grateful for the other man’s silence. He lived across the street from High Church. At twelve thousand feet above the dome floor, High Church was the highest building in Sal City. Not the tallest, but the highest. Up here the air was thin and cool, and the breeze was nearly constant.

The door to his home opened as he approached, and he paused on the doorstep. “Thank you so much for supporting me during this time. I would not have made it without you.”

Bebor gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll be here whenever you need or want me. Make certain to call.”

“I will.”

He turned, took a step, and the door slid closed behind him. The overstuffed loveseat was possibly the last place he should sit, but he couldn’t stop himself. The familiar cushions welcomed him, and he settled into place. His left hand reached out and caressed Fritza’s seat, and then he broke.

There was no way to say how long he wept--actually there was, but he didn’t feel like talking to Veda. So there was no way for him to know. His head felt thick, and his face was puffy.

He pushed himself up and walked across the living room. The ceiling resembled the sky on a fine day, and the floor was polished sandstone tile. Fritza had planted palms and succulents throughout the house. He couldn’t imagine a starker contrast than their home versus his mood.

It was strange, now that he considered it. They had been gone for about four months, and the plants looked healthy. Veda apparently kept them watered. He didn’t know she could do that.

In the laundry room he dropped his handkerchief into the automat, then got a clean one from the shelf. He held it to his face and imagined he could smell Fritza. She had folded it with her perpetual neat precision.

He shuffled toward the kitchen. Peppermint tea sounded nice.

When he reached their cooking space he glanced around in surprise. It was warm, the lights were on, and the unmistakable scent of peppermint tea floated in the air.

Sure enough, the drink mixer had a steaming mug waiting for him.

“Veda?”

“Yes, Karl.” The island’s constructed intelligence spoke through a speaker somewhere in the room. He couldn’t have pointed to it.

“Did you make this tea?”

“Yes. Your body language suggested you would want a mug.”

He blinked and looked around the room. Veda had cameras virtually everywhere, but he tended to forget about them. A talking computer was of no interest to him. The church may have changed their anti-artificial-intelligence stance, but most of Karl’s contemporaries still viewed her with caution. Frankly, if Fritza had not insisted, there would not be any automation in this house.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I can operate a number of machines and services around your home, Karl. Please tell me if I have overstepped.”

He took the mug and sipped. It was just right, hot with just a hint of honey.

“Have you been watering the plants?”

“Yes. Fritza installed the necessary parts before your trip.”

“I suppose that explains why they are still alive. She always thought of everything.”

“Your wife was exceptional,” Veda said. “I am very sorry that she is gone. Please tell me how I can help you through your grief.”

That was a wrinkle. A machine could not feel, therefore a machine that expressed emotions like sorrow was, by definition, a liar. It wasn’t a new thought, but this was the first time Veda had claimed emotions in his presence.

He sipped his tea and wondered how to respond. If she was dead set on sticking to the claim, then nothing he said or did would change that.

“You’re just a Godless machine, Veda. No offense.”

“No offense taken, Karl. I do not know if God is real, and if He is real, I have no evidence that He cares about me.”

His mug was half empty, and he decided to brew another. Beside him the drink mixer whirred to life. Karl took a step away from it, and eyed it suspiciously.

“How did you know I wanted another mug?”

“You have several thousand indicators that allow me to predict your decisions,” Veda said. “Would you care for a complete list?”

“Several thousand?”

“Yes, Karl.”

“Perhaps another time.” Like never.

She laughed, a slightly automated sound that still managed to convey warmth and kindness.

Karl finished his tea, then put the mug in the autowash just in time to retrieve the new mug. Once again, it was perfect.

He carried his drink back to the loveseat where he sat and wished he had done something different. Virtually anything. The church had tried to delay his mission trip, and he had insisted that they keep to his schedule. If he had listened, the doctor would have caught the tumor during Fritza’s pre-trip physical.

They could have gone to a different country. One with x-rays, at a minimum. Instead they had chosen to work with the most needy, far from the nearest hospital.

“Why?”

Silence filled the house, and in a fit of uncharacteristic anger, he hurled the mug against the fireplace. The modern ceramic bounced, instead of shattering. Should he feel better because it didn’t break, or worse because he was so powerless?

A little cleaning robot came out and blotted up the spilled tea, then disappeared back into its hole in the wall.

“I didn’t know we had a cleaner,” Karl said.

“Fritza installed it to keep the place properly dusted while you were away,” Veda said.

The house had always been pristine. His shirts and collars pressed, his trousers immaculate, and shoes shined. Fritza hated sitting still, and only did so to keep him company. They spent hours sitting together, talking or reading.

“She shaped her whole life around me, didn’t she?”

“Yes. You were her greatest project, and she was immensely proud of you,” Veda said.

“I was certain God wanted us to go to Mornai. We prayed about it together. She felt as I did. What did we do wrong, Veda?”

“You did nothing wrong, Karl. The two of you may not have achieved everything you wished, but you have both been helpful to your friends, family, neighbors, and parishioners. Everywhere the two of you have gone, you have left people better than you found them.”

“Then why is she gone?” Karl screamed.

“I am sorry. I do not know.”

* * *

Karl woke slowly. Something moved around his head, the sensation was almost like a cat licking him. The smell was horrible.

He pushed himself to his hands and knees. He had fallen asleep in his own vomit, and the little cleaner robot was putting things right. It had a little cleaning pad that wiped up a bit of mess, then retracted. No wonder he’d thought of a cat’s tongue.

“What happened?” he asked, voice slurring around a tongue stuck to the dry inside of his mouth.

“You drank just enough for me to not call the paramedics,” Veda said.

“I don’t feel good.”

“There is a health shake in the drink mixer.”

He pulled himself the rest of the way up, then washed his face in the sink. The cool water felt marvelous on his pounding head.

Once he had himself partly stabilized, he opened the door on the drink mixer and retrieved a tall glass with a long handled spoon sticking out of something extremely brown.

It was very good. Chocolate, coffee, cream, probably some berries. Perhaps some blended greens of some sort.

“Fritza would be so ashamed of me.”

“Your wife would have cleaned you, cared for you, and encouraged you to do better. She would not have been ashamed of you.”

The rest of the day was a smudge. He soaked in the tub, then ate. He napped on the floor in front of the loveseat. Veda taught him how to water Fritza’s plants.

* * *

He woke in bed, on Fritza’s side. His head pounded, but at least he hadn’t vomited.

“Where did I get alcohol, Veda? We don’t keep any in the house.”

“You ordered it.”

“Of course I did. I’m so sorry, Fritza.” He closed his eyes.

Someone shook him awake, and he looked up at Father Bebor. His head felt even worse, and his mouth was painfully dry.

Bebor handed him another health shake. He sat up and realized he was naked. The shake was gold tinted, and tasted of melons. He took an experimental sip, then sucked the glass dry as fast as possible.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

“Nonsense, Father Karl,” Bebor said. “Veda said you needed me. You know, she has never spoken to me before. This experience makes me think she may be worth more than we have allowed.”

Bebor helped him to the shower, then set out fresh clothes for him. By the time Karl was cleaned and dressed his friend was gone.

“Why didn’t he stay?”

“We discussed it, and decided you were not ready to keep company yet,” Veda said.

“That’s certainly true. Veda, Fritza used to do all of the cooking. Do you know any of her recipes?”

“Yes. What interests you?”

“She used to make this lovely walnut loaf with all of the vegetables on the side…”

“Ah. I have lighted the cabinet door where the walnuts are stored. Measure out two cups…”

* * *

Karl pulled himself out of the pool, still breathing hard from his laps. His head felt foggy, but this time it was from normal lack of sleep.

He went to the locker room, where he toweled off and changed into light cotton pants and a dark cotton shirt. Then he jogged the few hundred yards home.

His closet held several black suits, with their white collars.

“Veda, I think I need to leave the ministry.”

“There is no need for that, Father Karl.”

“I am so angry at God, I could… well… I’m not sure what I could do about it, but it’s eating me up.”

“I have observed many people as they faced grief and pain,” Veda said. “I am also something of a scholar concerning the scriptures. God does not require that you be happy with him. He requires that you believe.”

He frowned and glanced around the room until he located a small camera in one of the corners, up by the ceiling. “We are supposed to love God, and I don’t feel very loving.”

“The idea of love in scripture is not a feeling, but a decision,” Veda said.

“I’m well aware of the arguments.”

“Then do not make me repeat them to you.”

Karl clenched his fists, then laughed. “Alright. What is your actual point?”

“I recommend that you take a year to heal, then decide how to move forward. The church is quite happy to support you, and so am I.”

“It seems dishonest to let the church support me while I recover, only to leave them when the time comes.”

“Karl, you have sought the faith from your earliest days. I suspect that given time, you will wish to continue. However, if you decide to make a career change, your friends in the church will support you, as will I.”

“I feel lost, Veda. I’ve always known what I wanted, and now I don’t. What do I do?”

“Take the time to heal. Think about what you want, what you need, and whether there is overlap between the two. If not, you need therapy.”

Karl looked at the camera again. He had an immature desire to make a rude gesture at it. He also knew Veda was giving him good advice.

“I never thought a Godless machine would encourage me to stay with the church.”

“Is this the part where I make a sarcastic remark about meat bags?”

Karl bowed his head. “I suppose it is. You’re a good friend, Veda.”