Bryce struggled to gauge the impact his writing made upon the audience of keepers when he finished his story’s final line. The keepers stared at him. Their faces were blank, and Bryce suspected all their mental energy was focused on forming an opinion of his story. Bryce nervously swallowed. He wanted his story to shake the world out from its daze. He didn’t want his words to numb anyone’s mind.
Dave Foster was the first to comment as his fingers dug at his beard. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“I can’t imagine any of the automata ever writing anything comparable to it,” whispered Sue French, “no matter how many software updates the bookstation franchise crams into those robot brains.”
“Is that bad?”
“Of course not!” shouted Brian Altamont. “It’s fantastic!”
Bryce sighed with relief. “I didn’t know what to think. Everyone was so quiet when I finished.”
Rebecca laughed. “Sweetie, you have to give us a little time to let a story like that sink in. You can’t tell us such a strange and wonderful story and expect us to offer you instant feedback.”
“Are there any first impressions?”
Helen DeFoe answered. “We all agree it’s captivating.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” Dave Foster boomed. “So tell us now what you need of ask of us. I doubt anyone will refuse it after that story.”
The words rushed out of Bryce. “I want all of you to help me wake up the world. I want you all to help me distribute this book.”
The keepers gasped and shared anxious glances.
“How could we help?” asked Sam Noon. “This is no mark against your work, but outside of our shop gatherings, there’s not going to be anyone interested in spending one of their tickets for your story. No one picks up a book unless it comes straight from an automaton.”
Bryce nodded. “And that’s just why everyone will read the story. All of us are keepers of the machines. We determine how the automata operate. The bookstation franchise might send us their ideas and requests, but we’re the ones who wield all the tools and make all the modifications that give the automata any power. We’ll adjust the robots so they’ll hand out copies of my story when the customers give them those tickets.”
Sue French’s eyes narrowed. “But don’t you think people are going to notice when they open their books and find your writing on the page instead of words written by their favorite automaton?”
Bryce laughed. “I don’t think people are going to notice at all. None of those customers will ask a single question if the story comes out of an automaton kiosk. They’ll never stop to wonder if the story fits properly into their favorite fiction genre. The bookstations and the automata have told the people what to read for so long that all the customers are incapable of choosing anything for themselves. All of those customers will read my story. Even the children will read my strange book so long as it comes from Freddy the Fox.”
Brian Altamont sighed. “I don’t know. You’re asking us to put a lot on the line.”
Sam Noon agreed. “I might not think much of the dribble that comes out of the automata, but fixing those robots gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and I don’t want to have to go back to wasting my days in my stinking apartment.”
“Look, Bryce, I’m as frustrated as you are that there’s no market out there for our writing because of the robots,” spoke Trent Wallace, “but that doesn’t mean I want to throw away everything I’ve earned while working in my bookstation’s repair shop.”
Bryce held up his hands. “But this is about more than the book market or the publishing trade. It’s about getting people to look away from their romance novels and vampire fantasies long enough to see how the world is dying.”
“And you think your book is the one to open their eyes?” Helen DeFoe looked unconvinced.
“I do,” Bryce instantly answered, “and I’m willing to risk everything on it.”
The crowd grumbled. The keepers couldn’t decide. Bryce didn’t fault them for such hesitation. Maintaining the robots gave purpose to each of those keepers. Such purpose was an invaluable commodity to people, who like Bryce, failed to find satisfaction in the paperbacks written by machines. Those keepers found a community in their weekly gatherings where they shared cherished words born of human minds. That purpose and fellowship might be lost should Bryce’s plan falter. It was not fair for Bryce to expect them to accept the burden of saving the world, but someone had to accept that quest before the water and air turned so foul that only the automata could survive.
Rebecca stepped out of the crowd and joined Bryce on the metal platform.
“Perhaps we can come together in the middle,” Rebecca started. “There’s no need to force anyone to take that risk. Distributing Bryce’s book will be done on a voluntary basis. Everyone who harbors doubts can wait to see what happens. I believe Bryce’s words will wake the world, and I’m willing to distribute his story in my bookstation. Bryce’s book might not have any impact at all. But I’ll still distribute his story simply because his writing puts anything puked out of a robot to shame. And he’s right. Our world is wasting away, and no one is looking. We’re like the characters in Bryce’s strange story, and that scares me.”
Dave Foster grinned. “I’ll distribute Bryce’s book as well. I say we we distribute Bryce’s story on the next day the franchise sends us automata updates, just to make sure we get that strange story into as many hands as possible.”
All the keepers agreed that Bryce’s words might change the world, and all of the keepers were pleased to take as much or as little risk as they desired in helping Bryce achieve his little rebellion. A sense of hope filled the shop as the keepers spent the rest of the gathering by sharing ideas for plots and nibbling on the protein offered in synthetic casseroles. Perhaps, Bryce’s story would remind readers of the random wonder that once leapt from the pages penned by humankind. Perhaps, Bryce’s story would show all those readers how the automata were cheap imitations of plastic and rubber. Just maybe, Bryce’s story would convince the world to again favor the imaginations of woman and man.
Bryce never felt so important. He never felt so happy. He found a grand purpose with his writing, and he had a loving woman at his side. Bryce had never dreamed he could achieve so much.
But even Bryce failed to appreciate the impact his words would have upon the sleeping world.