We Are Programmed to Receive

The captain waved, rusted joints screeching like a seagull struggling to do push-ups.

Vergil Warren nodded. These bots were as good as people, no matter what human rights activists might proclaim. He ought to pay them a little respect. Especially considering he didn’t pay them at all. That was one aspect where the robot worker had an advantage over the flesh-and-blood kind. He waved back.

The captain beckoned him to the boat.

The captain didn’t need to tell Vergil twice. Hell, he didn’t need to tell him at all. He owned the damn thing – and the boat – and could do as he liked. ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘are we all ready to head out?’

The captain saluted, his bolted-on cap tilted at a jaunty angle. ‘Aye-aye!’

Vergil clapped his hands. ‘Great, then let’s get on with it, shall we? I want to see what the problem is.’

‘Problem?’ asked the captain, head tilting like a dog. ‘I ain’t heard of no problem, sir!’

This job was where the human worker had an advantage over their electrical brethren. Robots couldn’t audit other robots very well unless you designed one to do so. At some point, he’d get around to it. But now, as the only remaining human in the company, after he’d sacked everyone for AI and bots, he’d have to do it himself. Sacrilege: a CEO getting his hands dirty. Vergil stepped up onto the boat, aided by the captain. ‘There must be,’ he said, wobbling. ‘The hotel’s making no money.’

The captain started the engines and set the vessel in motion. He scratched his head, metal scraping against metal. ‘That’s strange. As far as I know, everyone there’s delighted, they is. In fact, I’ve not taken a single person back in 1,837 days.’

Vergil blinked, holding onto the rail as the sea spray flecked his face. He did the maths. ‘Five years? You mean to tell me nobody’s checked in or out of Paradisland in over five years?’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said the captain with a nod. ‘Sides, nobody could check in even if they wanted to. The hotel’s fully booked. Until someone checks out, there ain’t no space for new uns. Sounds like everybody’s pretty happy to me!’

Vergil scowled as the mainland disappeared and the island rose on the horizon like a ghost. ‘Everybody’s happy, but nobody’s paying anymore. That’s not right. Bloodsuckers. I advertised to the richest folk on the planet, offered them fully automated luxury.’ He looked to the captain, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s why I charged top dollar. Few could afford to stay there a week, let alone five years. The only reason they wouldn’t be paying anymore, would be if they ran out of money. And if they ran out of money,’ he said, snorting, ‘then why on earth haven’t they left?’ He shook his head. ‘Nobody penny pinches and steals like rich folk.’

Paradisland came into view in all its tropical glory. Palm trees rose from the grass, swaying in the breeze. Perfect white sands stretched along the coast. Azure waters frothed as the waves crested and crashed. The sound of the ocean hushed and shushed every rich person’s troubles away. On the beach, a tiki bar stood, with a cheerful bartender at the helm. The smell of hot dogs and burgers wafted over the scent of sea air. In the distance, Paradisland Hotel rose above the treeline, perfect and fancy. The windows reflected blue. The golden five stars shimmered in the sun. At the island’s rear, the small mountain rose, offering stunning vistas to those who could handle the hike. Most took the cable car.

Vergil sighed. Perfection. No wonder nobody wanted to leave. But he’d soon see to these scrounging millionaires.

The captain helped him off the boat. ‘I’ll be right here, sir, I will! I ain’t going nowheres!’

Vergil winced. Why had he programmed such an annoying pirate voice for the captain? It had seemed funny while he was making it. Enduring it was a whole other kettle of fish.

Striding towards him, robot hips swaying, was the greeter. She held a lei in one hand and a pink cocktail in the other. ‘Aloha!’ called the greeter. ‘Welcome to Paradisland! Lord, it’s been a while since I welcomed a newbie to the place!’

Vergil let her put the flower necklace around his neck and took the offered drink, sipping from the straw. It tasted good, fresh, though it left a faint metallic aftertaste on his tongue. ‘Mmm. Thanks. I own the place, though. Vergil Warren?’

‘Ah, Mr Warren! How do you do?’

‘Concerned,’ he said with a nod. ‘How are the other guests?’

‘Why, in paradise, of course!’

‘Right. Can you take me on a little tour? I’d like to see how smoothly things are running.’

The greeter turned and led him down the pier towards the beach. ‘Of course, Mr Warren!’

Vergil followed her, sipping on his pink cocktail, squinting in the sunshine.

The sand felt like silk underfoot as they popped by the tiki bar. The bartender waved and smiled as he poured a beer from the tap in his finger. He poured it for nobody, as the only thing at his bar was what looked like an out-of-date Halloween decoration. He slid the beer towards it, where it clinked against a dozen more. ‘Howdy! What can I get you?’

‘Nothing, thanks,’ said Vergil, lifting his half-full cocktail. ‘How’s business?’

The bartender nodded. ‘Slow, these days. Guess everyone’s on a juice cleanse or somethin’!’

Vergil’s stomach belched acid. Something wasn’t sitting right – and it wasn’t only the cocktail. Millionaires not drinking alcohol? Had he missed the memo, or something? ‘Hmm,’ he said, frowning.

The greeter led him up a gorgeous path lined with palm trees. Through the greenery, the tennis coach played against nobody, sometimes yelling, ‘Fifteen–love!’

Where was everyone? It was a beautiful day, but no one was on the beach or at the bar. The coach was playing against himself. Nobody was strolling along this breathtaking path, dappled in sunshine. What gave? Vergil was about to ask the greeter when they emerged into the poolside area.

There was nobody. Nobody in the pool, nobody on the chairs, nobody at the poolside bar. Nobody on the balconies. Bar some Halloween decorations placed in humorous poses, the place was a ghost town.

‘What on earth—’

The entertainer appeared at the pool’s doors. Upbeat music began to play out of her speakers, and she shook her hands and danced to the beat. ‘C’mon, everybody!’ she said, shaking her hips as she boogied around the pool edge, joined by nobody. ‘It’s time to conga! Stop being such a lazybones!’

He blinked several times in disbelief. Vergil turned to the greeter, who danced in time with the entertainer, muttering a ‘Hey!’ now and then. ‘Where is everyone?’

The greeter gave him the best bemused look a robot could provide. ‘Why, they’re right here! There’s Ronald Jarvis, and his wife Casey,’ she said, pointing to two Halloween decorations. ‘There’s Troy Snyder. Over there, about to get her daily massage, is Nieve Domingo. Oh, and the chap who hasn’t gotten out of the hot tub in 1,799 days is Jacques Palomer,’ she said, smiling and waving.

Vergil turned and stared, a creeping sensation ascending his spine.

The masseur approached a cheap plastic skeleton on the bed and began to stroke the bones.

Vergil swallowed hard to prevent the cocktail from escaping. Except – it dawned on him – it wasn’t a cheap plastic skeleton. It was real. There were no Halloween decorations. He finished his drink in one go and let the bartender take it.

There was a fellow in the hot tub still wearing sunglasses and swim shorts. And a couple getting their drinks overfilled, wine splattering on the floor. And a poor guy at the bottom of the pool, with goggles still wrapped around his skull. ‘My God,’ he squeaked. ‘What happened?’

The pool bartender nodded as she continued to drown the Jarvises’ glasses in excess wine. ‘The guests did get a bit more lethargic after the mountain let off steam. We encourage relaxation. I guess the mountain heard too!’

His horrified face became a frown. The mountain let off steam? What the hell were they talking about? Ah, but they wouldn’t know. He’d programmed them each to do one thing and one thing only. Steer the boat, greet the guests, make the drinks. Run the barbecue, give massages, play pool games, and lead the aerobics class. They hadn’t a clue about anything else. Sure, they’d register it, but it wouldn’t mean a damn thing in their robot “brains”.

The ground rumbled underfoot, and the mountain growled. The air warmed and thickened.

Vergil whimpered. No, not a mountain. A volcano. The robots he’d built to build the hotel for him had made a mistake. Hell, he’d made a mistake. Automating a resort – including site selection and construction – had been a bad idea. ‘I’m gonna fully sort this out, you’ll see! If I could, I’d fire the lot of you. Do you realise how much this is going to cost me in payouts and lawsuits? Yes, I’ll sort it out. Scrap the lot of you, build mark twos. That’s the way. Sort it out, sort it all—’

‘Oh,’ said the greeter, pointing and hopping from one foot to the other, ‘the mountain’s letting off steam again. We should all copy the mountain and let off some steam and relax. Hey, speaking of relaxing, would you like a massage? I think Ms Domingo is almost finished with hers. She gets so relaxed after her massages that she sleeps like the dead!’

‘Wha—’

The “mountain” belched out a yellow cloud that stank of rot and burnt metal. From all over the island, small cracks in the ground hissed and spat out plumes of gas that made the air ripple.

Vergil felt his eyes begin to sweat. His brain rotated like leftover lasagne in a microwave. He fell to his knees, nerve endings dribbling out his pores. He reached out, blind, seeking help.

Someone handed him a glass.

His tonsils fried. His innards boiled. He was going to die here. And, as the only human aware of the problem, no help would come. These idiot robots would continue to wait on these skeletons – and his corpse – forever. He gasped out his final word, sounding like peeling Velcro. ‘God—’

But then his skin sloughed off and his heart ruptured.

He dropped his drink.

Far away, there was the tinkling of glass. ‘Oh dear,’ said a robotic voice.

‘Would you like me to fetch you another one?’