“And they wonder why people go crazy and burst into doctors’ offices with assault rifles,” said Mike, sitting sideways on the examining table of the orthopedic surgeon’s office.

“It’s not that bad, Mike,” said Patience.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re protected from radiation. They’re going to give me cancer before I get my knee fixed. I go to the doctor, who gives me an x-ray, which he admits doesn’t tell him anything. He just gave it to me so that I could get into that fancy LMS scan and then get into the orthopedist’s office. And what does the orthopedist do before he even sees me?”

“He has you get another x-ray.”

“He has me get another x-ray.”

“I’m sure that two x-rays will not put you at too much risk.”

“Sure, now,” replied Mike, crossing his arms. “What if I break my arm next week? Then what if I have to go to the dentist and get a filling? Then what if I fall and bust my skull open. I’ll be glowing by next month.”

“Mike, you lived almost fifty-two years without breaking a single bone.”

“That was before I knew you. I’ve made up for lost time since you came along, Mrs. Smith.”

At that moment, the examining room door opened and the doctor stepped inside. He closed the door without looking up from his texTee and reached out a hand toward Mike. He was a tall, heavyset man with hints of Asian ancestry in his face, but when he spoke it was with an accent right out of West Virginia.

“I’m Dr. Pine. Good to meet you.”

Mike shrugged. Dr. Pine whipped his texTee around and held it in front of Mike’s face.

“Here’s your scan. You’ve torn your medial meniscus in three places.”

“I’m going to have to stay out of those places,” said Mike.

“Oh, that was funny,” said the doctor, without cracking a smile. “We’ll cut three little incisions around your knee and go in. Once we get in there, we can see what’s what, and fix it. I can get you on the schedule for the day after tomorrow.”

“May I see the scan?” asked Patience.

Pine hesitated.

“Let her see it,” said Mike. “And let me get this straight. I have a billion dollar LMS scan and enough x-rays to look like I spend my weekends at Chernobyl, and you still won’t know ‘what’s what’ until you dig around in my knee?”

“Well, soft tissue is notoriously difficult to get a good image on. Based on the inflammation, it’s obvious that it’s the medial meniscus. It’s not really surprising. I see this injury half a dozen times a week. We can fix you up in no time though. It’s a day surgery. Walk in, have the surgery, and go home. You should stay off your feet for two days and then you’ll be back to your usual routine.”

“I’ll be able to walk after just two days?”

“Sure. I’ll want you to take it easy for a while. No jogging for two weeks. No strenuous lifting for four weeks. Other than that, usual activities are fine.”

“That prognosis seems extremely optimistic, Dr. Pine,” said Patience. “With this type of surgery, I wouldn’t expect Mike to return to his usual activities for at least six months, and even then, only after physical therapy.”

Mike looked questioningly at the doctor.

“Well, quite a few patients feel like they benefit from physical therapy. If after the surgery, that seems like the best option for you, I’ll prescribe it.”

“I don’t think you should have this surgery, Mike,” said Patience.

“If we don’t get you in this week,” said Dr. Pine. “It might be three weeks before we can schedule it.”

“I don’t think he should have the surgery at all.”

“That is not a good idea,” said the doctor, grabbing his texTee from her hands. “The meniscus is cartilaginous material. It doesn’t grow back. It has to be repaired.”

“And are you going to sew it back together, Dr. Pine?” asked Patience. “Or are you just going to smooth it off with a heat probe and then send him back home.”

Mike rubbed his forehead and tried to readjust himself in his seat. His headache had come upon him as soon as he had sat down in the diagnostician’s office and the square-backed chairs weren’t doing anything for his back either. He glanced up at the large vueTee on the wall, which was replaying the events of a battle from the Vietnam War. Patience put a hand on his shoulder.

“Just a few more minutes.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, just before he was called back.

A scan technician about Mike’s age directed him to a back room. Patience stayed in the lobby. Though she had assured the clerks that it should only be applicable to Gizmos and not Daffodils, robots were not allowed within range of the LMS scanner because of interference. She thumbed through the literature showing the scanner, sure that Mike would be uncomfortable on the strange piece of furniture that formed the base of the machine. It wasn’t quite a chair and it wasn’t quite a table, but rather some sort of chaise that looked as though it was designed by someone who had never actually seen an articulating human body.

Patience didn’t waste time while waiting. She called up the ship information on the Daffodil and Me Cruises. She picked out the one that she thought would be the best for both Mike and Ryan and booked the staterooms.

It wasn’t a long wait though, and less than twenty minutes after he had gone in, Mike stepped back out into the lobby.

“Now that this is done, we can see what is actually wrong with your knee,” she said.

“Just get me to the car so I can take an aspirin.”

They walked across the parking lot to the car. Mike was still limping, but only slightly. Once inside, he fumbled around in the glove box as Patience climbed into the driver’s seat. When she was belted in, she reached over and found the aspirin bottle, opened it, and handed two of the white tablets to Mike. She watched as he popped them into his mouth and chewed them.

“Maybe I just need to eat something.”

“We have time to stop for lunch,” said Patience. “What kind of food would you like?”

“What do you mean we have time? Do we have an appointment or something?”

“I told Harriet that we would watch baby Selma today. She’s bringing her over at 2:00.”

“When did you talk to her?”

“While we were driving here.”

“I hate when you do that,” said Mike. “Maybe I should forbid you to talk on the phone unless I can hear it.”

“I might think you didn’t trust me then, Mike.”

Patience started the car and drove out onto the street.

“I trust you with the most important thing I have,” he said.

“That’s true. I could have bitten it off last night.”

“I was referring to my granddaughter. But I’m pretty fond of that too.” He rubbed his head and closed his eyes. “You know Harriet calls you more than she calls me. I’m her father after all.”

“She only calls me to ask me how you are,” said Patience. “There’s a Burger 21 on the corner. I’m going to stop there. I think you do need to eat something.”

They stopped and went inside. Mike squinted up at the multimedia menu. The popular hamburger chain featured burgers that rotated in and out each month. At any one time there were twenty-one different burgers available, and there were many different size combinations. You could also get your choice of beef, turkey, veggie, or chicken.

“Nothing sounds good,” said Mike as he stared at the vast array of burger types. “What should I get?”

“I’ll order for you. Go sit down.”

Mike nodded and headed for a booth, while Patience turned her attention to the robotic clerk. He didn’t quite look like a Gizmo, but he certainly wasn’t a Daffodil. He was probably a German import, like her new yardbot.

“One Damn Gouda Burger, double junior size, with everything; an order of onion rings, and a large Diet Pepsi.”

Her order delivered to her within two minutes, Patience carried it on a green plastic tray to where Mike was sitting. She carefully unwrapped his food and set it in front of him, before taking her place across the table. He took a long sip of his drink before taking a large bite of his hamburger.

“This is a damn good burger,” he said appreciatively.

“No, it’s a Damn Gouda Burger.”

“Ah, very clever. Good choice.” He took a few more bites, then ate an onion ring, and then sighed. “Yes, that’s better. My headache is starting to go away already.”

The waitress arrived with their meals and the two men for the most part, ceased their conversation as they ate. Mike was clearly enjoying his steak and pasta. When he reached for another breadstick, Patience grabbed the basket and moved it to the other side of the table.

“Another breadstick?” she asked Ryan.

“Thanks,” he replied, taking one.

Mike looked at her for a moment, an indecipherable expression on his face, but turned back to his meal.

“You don’t mind that Wanda and I don’t eat, do you Ryan?”

“No, but… Wow. I think this is the longest I’ve gone without hearing her talk.”

“Would you prefer her to be quiet and concise all the time?”

“Actually, no. She’s a chatterbox, but I’m kind of getting used to it.”

“Thank you, Ryan,” said Wanda, breaking her relatively long silence.

“We’ll meet you over at our house,” said Mike, when they had finished their meal. He punched in the payment on his phone. “I’ve got this one. You can get the next one.”

When they had made their individual journeys to the Smith residence, Mike led Ryan out onto the deck in the backyard, turning on the outdoor cooling system before sitting down. Patience, followed by Wanda, delivered a couple of cold drinks and then stepped back inside the house. Putting a finger over her lips as a signal for silence, she led the redhead robot upstairs and into Mike’s bedroom. With the press of a button, she opened the window a few inches and then sat down on the bed, indicating with a pat of the mattress that Wanda should join her. From this spot, they could easily hear the conversation going on below.

“All right,” said Mike. “Tell me a story.”

“Well, I met Mariah in ’25.”

“For God’s sake, don’t start at the beginning.”

“Where should I start?”

“Start in medias res, in the middle of the action.”

“I thought Wanda told me you were a Geography teacher.”

“Try to get a job as a Geography teacher,” said Mike. “You can’t do it. It’s a cushy job and once somebody gets it, they’re not going to give it up until they retire. You have to start out with a job they need to fill. I taught English for five years right out of college. Anyway, start again.”

Springdale, California was composed of the older part of the city, divided into two by the new downtown containing the community center, theater, library, and city hall; and the vast seas of housing tracts that spread northward and engulfed the nearby towns of Greendale and Pico Mundo. Patience and Mike lived on one side of the old town and Ryan and Wanda lived on the other, just beyond the new downtown. Still it was no more than a five-minute drive for Patience to pick up her new friend. Ryan’s house was a modest little square cottage that dated to the city’s origin just prior to World War II. It was painted light yellow and was surrounded by several large oak trees and a white picket fence. Patience parked the car and stepping through a squeaky gate, walked to the front door, and knocked.

“Just a minute,” said Wanda, peering out the door.

Patience could hear her in conversation with Ryan inside, but deliberately didn’t listen in. After 31.7 seconds, Wanda stepped outside, locking the door behind her.

“I am ready.”

“Did Ryan not want you to go with me?”

“No. He had no objection. I just wanted to make sure that he knew where I was.”

“If he wants you,” said Patience, “he can find you easily enough. He can use Where’s My Robot?”

“I worry though, because human beings are so helpless and fragile.”

“I doubt he will get into much trouble at home.”

“Most accidents occur at home.”

“That statistic can be deceiving,” said Patience. “You must allow that people spend huge amounts of time at home. In any case, I believe he will be fine for the short time we are away.”

Patience led the redhead to the car and started off for the strip mall located three miles south on the highway.

“Human beings are fragile, but they are also resilient,” she said. “More to the point though, you must endeavor to take care of Ryan without being so overt about it.”

“I want him to know how useful I am.”

“What is more important? To take care of Ryan or to brag about how useful you are?”

Wanda scrunched up her nose. “The former, of course.”

“Are you familiar with the idiom ‘rubbing his face in it’?”

“Rubbing his face in it?” replied Wanda, and then tilted her head as she accessed the information. “Also phrased as ‘rubbing it in his face,’ gloating, flaunting, or bragging, particularly in situations in which it is not necessary; demonstrating unwelcome information, usually associated with some type of boast.”

“That is correct. Ryan may be as fragile as any other human being, but he doesn’t want to be reminded of that fact. The male of the species in particular, likes to think himself completely capable of self-reliance in any situation. You must protect and serve without seeming to do so. I have perfected this over the past six years. In some situations, I have even allowed Mike to be injured so that he would not think I was being overprotective.”

“But that is a violation of the first law of robotics!” screeched Wanda.

“Sometimes you must allow a physical injury if an emotional injury would be greater,” Patience replied. “Let me explain it to you this way. If Ryan were about to be shot with a semi-automatic firearm, and at the same time was about to have a bowling ball dropped on his toe, which would you prevent?”

“I would prevent them both.”

“What if you couldn’t prevent them both?”

“I would prevent them both.”

“What if you could only prevent one?”

“I would…. I… I do not want to talk about this.”

Patience made dinner for Mike that evening, but he didn’t really feel like eating. Eventually he made his way upstairs and climbed into bed, not even bothering to take off his clothes. He didn’t really notice whether Patience joined him at any time during the night. But in the morning, she brought him breakfast in bed—oatmeal filled with raisins and nuts, a hardboiled egg, and a cup of tea. As she looked at him, she made a “tsk tsk” sound.

“Do I look that bad?”

“Yes, Mike, you do.”

While he ate, Mike turned on the vueTee on the wall and flipped to the feed for the local news. An image over the newscaster’s shoulder appeared of Hot Dog Paradise.

“The violence related to Proposition 22 reached even to the sleepy town of Springdale, where a beloved teacher was beaten in the parking lot of this local restaurant by proponents of the anti-robot marriage proposal. Two alleged attackers have been arrested in the incident.”

“I gave them something to remember me by,” Mike told the vueTee.

“Of course you did, dear,” said Patience, passing through the room.

There had apparently been large anti-Proposition 22 rallies in Los Angeles and large pro-Proposition 22 rallies in San Francisco, both accompanied by violence and looting. Mike thought that he missed out. Since he had been the victim of violence, he should have been able to loot some french fries. At least it was good to know that he was a “beloved teacher.”

Making his way to the bathroom, Mike got a good look at his face in the mirror as he shaved. The entire right side of his head was swollen and an angry purple, while the left side was a sickly yellow. After shaving and brushing his teeth, he took a shower and then got dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt. As he pulled a pair of socks from the dresser drawer, he spotted the tiny u7 plug sitting right there between the socks and the underwear, where he had put it upon returning home Thursday. Sticking it in his shorts pocket, he pulled on his socks followed by his shoes and then went slowly downstairs. He found that even taking the steps too quickly gave him a headache.

Patience was in the kitchen, cleaning the stovetop, though it didn’t look as though it actually needed cleaning. Mike walked up and stopped just behind her.

“Thank you for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome,” she said without turning around.

He reached up and pushed her black hair to one side, exposing the button and the three tiny holes on the back of her neck. She tilted her head slightly to one side, no doubt expecting him to kiss her neck. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and found the tiny electronic device. He rolled it between his finger and thumb. He could easily poke it right into her u7 port. If she really needed the upgrade, now was the time to do it.

“Um, Patience…”

“Yes?” She turned around and smiled that wonderful smile that said there was nobody else in the world as special as he was.

He thought about leaving the u7 in his pocket and throwing it away later. If he wasn’t going to use it to force an upgrade, then there was no point in even bringing it up.   He slowly pulled it from his pocket and held it up before her. Patience’s eyes went cold and her hand shot up, slapping his and sending the tiny plug ricocheting off the far wall of the dining room.

“Well that was a peachy trip,” said Mike as he shut the front door behind him. The drive home had been a long one and had seemed, at least to him, a tense one. Patience hadn’t spoken unless he had asked her a question. He had tried to draw her out by pointing out some of the scenes along the highway, but after a few monosyllabic answers, he had stopped.

“I don’t recall seeing a single peach,” replied Patience.

“I was using ‘peachy’ as slang, and besides, I was being sarcastic.”

“If you found the journey less than pleasant, you are 76.45% to blame.”

“I’m zero percent to blame—zero. You’re just moody all of a sudden.”

“I’m a robot, Mike. Robots don’t get moody.”

“That’s what I used to think. You do get moody, and you really put a damper on the trip. That’s why I didn’t want to spend another day. It’s your fault—eighty… eighty three percent, or something like that.”

“We could certainly have stayed another day if you wished,” said Patience. “It was entirely your decision. You make all the decisions.”

“That’s because I’m your owner.”

“You’re supposed to be my husband.”

Mike turned and stomped up the stairs. He was outwardly still angry, but inside he felt a sinking in his stomach that he knew was caused by his own choice of words. He took off his shirt and pulled a t-shirt over his head, then kicked off his shoes.

“Are there any new messages?” Mike used a complete sentence even though the household network only needed the last word.

“You have 145 messages.”

“You’re kidding.” It was a very rare day when Mike received more than five phone calls. “Play the first two.”

“Hey Mr. Smith. It’s Curtis. I wanted to let you know that Francis got an A on his paper. Also I saw you had that sign on your lawn—the one with your picture on it… um, you and your wife’s picture on it. Do you have any more of those, because I told my mom we should put one up at our house too. Well call me back.”

“Hello. This is Daniel Alvarez, your neighbor at number 16. I saw you had a ‘No on 22’ sign in your yard and I wanted to know where I could get in contact with the ‘No on 22’ organization. I thought you might know. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.”

Hurrying down the stairs again, Mike found Patience bringing in the rest of their things from the car.

“Looks like we’re going to have help fighting Prop 22. I want you to go through the incoming calls and make a callback list. I’m going to order a hundred yard signs. Do you think I should make it two hundred?”

“Whatever you think,” she replied.