The Warners: Meet David

     Constructed, programmed, trained, dressed and polished. Each and every botler from Sterling Robotics was top of the line, because the Sterling company itself was nothing but.
   Ben Warner had been a man on a mission to get his family a Sterling-brand android that Christmas, and damn if he wasn’t going to get one. Being a wealthy music producer came with a lot of good perks. He got a famous musician to owe him a favor and it helped grease the wheels with one of the higher-ups at Sterling Corporate in order to get them something really special, on-order and ready for the holiday season.
   Only thing was, Benjamin Warner had to get a specific type of Sterling robot, a botler. Ben really didn’t mind that, he just liked robots and wanted someone or something more reliable to look after the house when he couldn’t be there to take care of things. He was always so busy with all of the meetings and the sit-ins during recording sessions with many celebrity singers, songwriters and musicians that he hardly saw a lot of his family, usually. And he loved his family more than anything.
   His wife, Aurella, was pregnant with their third child, and the family had a history of somehow hiring people who would either steal from them, or only take the opportunity to try to sneak in and around to see some famous faces. A robot was the only safe way to go. Ben had suggested that they get a nandroid or two, but “Ella” put a quick nix to that.
   “I have heard stories of men running off with the nandroid to have little tristes when the wife was left at home,” she claimed. “I’m not having some mechanical hussy have you torn away from me and your family, Benjamin Arthur Warner. You’re getting a botler, and it’s going to be a Plus-grade at that.”
   Not being able to tell his darling wife no, for he really did love her as much as she thought he was wandering, Ben simply told her, “Of course, dear.”
   Ben could afford a Plus-Grade botler, certainly. But the Plus-grade range of botlers cost a little bit more for their versatility compared to the standard grade, and they were taller than the standard botler. Still somewhat slender, a Plus-grade botler was meant for housework, standard industry work, Grade-school to post graduate education aid, minor construction like housing or road-work and even security detail for home and personal use. They were a near perfect 6 feet tall(183cm), had a slightly longer face than a typical botler, a fully modular voice and could fit into most standard men’s uniforms. Their charging chair could even be modified to resemble something more like a genuine piece of furniture. The standard charging chair for a botler was something that resembled a shoe-shining kiosk.
   Ben was hoping that he could make up some story and just order a standard botler.
   He made sure to keep the purchase secret from his kids, making a meeting between him and a Sterling company specialist seem like another meeting between him and the lawyer of some musician that he worked with.
   “Are you sure you want just the one standard-grade botler sir? You *do* have a growing family, and it’s a considerable bit of house to watch over,” stated the salesman as the lady of the house spied on from a concealed corner of the livingroom.
   “Yeah, I know, but I really don’t want to blow the bank for this bot. My wife likes her pretty clothes, my kids like their duds and toys, and I like the good food and the top-shelf service for my car. Can’t squeeze all of that into the budget unless I want to scalp the kids and myself.”
   “Your wife can’t go without the upper-tier jewelry?” the salesman light-heartedly joked.
   “You’ll take her pearls from my cold, dead hands.~”
   “Oh, your hands? Why not hers?”
   “What, and ruin her good manicure when she has an able-bodied husband?” Ben returned the humor in kind, to which both gentlemen had a nice chuckle.
   “Well, sir, are there any specifics you are looking for in your home maintenance android?” asked the sales associate. Ben blinked with curiosity as his smile turned into a soft, unassuming line. “Huh, what d’ya mean?”
   “Well, there isn’t much that we can offer in the way of personalization until you’ve had your unit for a year or so. That is to say, the only modifications to your Sterling-brand android would be personality traits at first. Anything past that and you will have to wait a full business quarter to get anything else.”
   Ben really didn’t know what to make of that information, but he gave it a go, simply for the sake of curiosity. “Well, er… My wife was wondering if I could get one that was…what was it, blond?”
   The salesman lifted a metal clipboard and opened a panel. He wrote down something in it for a bit, only helping to stir up more of Mr. Warner’s inquisitive curiosity. “Uh…are you writing that down, then?”
   “Oh, yes sir.”
   “Seem to be taking your time with it. You having to write down an entire paragraph?”
   The Sterling associate gave him a relaxing smile and rejoindered, “Have to be very specific with the I.T. and Deliveries departments.”
   “Oh, I see,” muttered the music industry tycoon with a satisfied interest. “What else can you set up?”
   The man from Sterling gave a friendly smile, his eyes relaxed as he seemed to be nearly as interested as he looked up at Mr. Ben Warner before finishing his writing. “Well, we don’t do this often, but it is a privilege to some of our more high-priority customers,” the Sterling employee stretched as he had been trained to do. “What would you like the name of your botler to be?”
   Benjamin Warner gave a lazy grin and he pointed with his thumb in the direction of the left side of the living room in which they sat.
   Curiously, the Sterling man stuttered his turn to look in the direction that the music manager had directed…and then he saw it.
   It was a large mural, done in a sort of homage of style to Andy Warhol. The subject matter was of the same man’s face in different positions with different hair styles and colors. There was even one where a lightning bolt was painted over one side of the man’s face.
   “You’re a big fan of his work, I take it?” the man with the clipboard quipped.
   “Who isn’t?” stated Mr. Warner. “But my wife is the diehard fan in this house.”
   “Well,” mentioned the Sterling company fellow, “He never *did* go out of style. Even after his passing. Some people even think he didn’t really die.”
   “Yeah, that Elvis Presley syndrome will get ya. Like the Mendela effect, but in reverse…and *stronger*.”
   The Sterling salesman nodded in agreement and wrote down a few more things on his clipboard. “Okay, then. I just need you to sign this one form,” the man in the suit prepared, pulling out a packet of pages with tabs posted on a few. “Take your time to read that if you like. Once that’s done, we will see you at Christmas. Or at least your botler will.”
   “Why do you always try to give them out at Christmas?” Ben asked genuinely.
   “Helps the kids bond with them better” admitted the salesman.


   That very Christmas, Ben Warner, his wife, Aurella, his son, Evan, and daughter, Darcia, were all making merry of the holiday, eating lovely food-stuffs and opening presents. The breakfast that morning was waffles with berries and whipped cream atop butter pecan syrup. The sausage was crisp and the scrambled eggs were spiced perfectly. Darcia had a hard time eating eggs, the texture put her off. Not fried, scrambled, sunny-side up or poached, she just couldn’t stand breakfast-style eggs. Deviled eggs, however, she would eat until she was sick. Such was the adventurous nature of a 9-year-old girl.
   Evan had to be scolded by his mother not to eat his breakfast so fast, and he nearly choked when he heard her call out to him. Evan was 11 years of age and did his best not to swear on Christmas, or during the last three months.
   Evan’s attempts at keeping his tongue clean had paid off. His presents consisted of those video games and that new wide-tire bike he had his eyes on.
   Darcia was delighted to see that her daddy had gotten her two albums of two songstresses she worshipped, and they were signed (paid to be a music guy’s daughter). She was SO thrilled, running up to her daddy and hugging him, she told him, “Daddy, thank you! I love you so much.”
   Ben was happy to get that approval from his little girl, hugging her back with a cooing, “Aww, you’re welcome, baby~. Merry Christmas.”
   Even also made sure to thank their father. “Thanks for the bike, Dad.”
   “You’re welcome, my young man. Now remember, that’s a special job there. You can keep that bike practically forever. You just have to make sure to take care of it. I’ve already gotten eight replacement tires for her, so no trying to do big tricks with it at a skate-park or somethin’.”
   “Something this classy? No way, pops. This is my *ride*.”
   That left Mr. Warner to laugh in delight. He had unofficially earned himself “cool dad” points and he knew it.

   Then there were the presents that the kids got for their father and mother. Mostly made with their own hands. Well, Evan’s present for his father was a combination of something he designed and had a neighbor print out for him on a 3D printer. It was odd, seeming to be made of a cube, stuck with another cube, with a rod slit through the both of them. “Wooowww, Evan…what is it?”
   “Mom said you used to love those metal and wood puzzles they used to have in gift shops. So I made you one out of resin and some aluminum.” The boy received a warm hug from his father.
   “It is a wonderful present, Evan. Thank you so much.”
   “I also made sure to print instructions on how to solve it, tied it on with twine.”
   The man looked at his new toy and grinned wide before ruffling his son’s hair. “THAT’s my Boy~!”
   “I made you somethin’ too, Daddy~!” piped up Darcia, running over to the tree to hand her father a little box with silver wrapping. He undid the bow on top and then opened the box to reveal a rolled-up tie, but it wasn’t just a regular tie. “Woah…far out,” commented the man looking at the neck-tie that was splattered with colors in a wide, counter-clock-wise swirl. Greens, blues, yellows and streaks of bleached grey and white. “A tie-dye neck-tie…Honey, how did you do this?” he asked his daughter, honestly intrigued.
   “Well…mommy helped me by buying a tie from the second-hand store that was in your size, then we washed it real good-"
   “Uh-huh?”
   “And—and then we got dye colors that you liked, and then we twisted the tie up three different ways.”
   “Ohhhh~…neat. A lot of my clients are going to get a kick out of this, too. Thank you very much, sweetie.” He hugged her, picking her up and kissing her cheek, making the girl giggle and pull back a little. “Daa-deee~! So you like it?”
   “Of course I do, sweetie-pie,” he told her, noticing that she was holding onto the box.
   “It also comes with a pocket hankie,” mentioned the little girl in his arms.
   “Oh, I didn’t see that…By the way, that is called ‘a pocket square’, dear.”
   “A what?” asked the little girl with a tilt of her head.
   “Yeah-yeah, a pocket square. A lot of distinguished gentlemen and men of business, like your daddy, usually have one,” mentioned Aurella to her daughter.
   “I don’t remember daddy having a pocket square,” a confused Darcia plainly commented.
   Now it was Evan’s turn to add his two-cents. “Okay, Darcie, you know that little handkerchief that some guys in suits usually have in that pocket in their jacket?”
   “Yeah?”
   “Pocket-square.” flatly remarked the young boy.
   “OH~, okay.” The little girl’s realization amused her parents and left her brother with a nod.

   Mrs. Warner caressed the bump of her belly, mentioning, “This little fellow was supposed to be my gift to you this Christmas, Ben…but he’s running a little late. I thought for sure he was either going to be born by now or four days ago.”
   “I’m telling ya, Ella,” started Mr. Warner, as he placed his daughter back down to her feet, “it hasn’t been a full nine months yet. He’s gonna be born in January.”
   His wife just sat there shaking her head in confusion. “I was so *sure* that he was going to be a Christmas baby,” uttered the woman staring off before noticing her husband approach her.
   Ben told her, “He’s not just a gift for me. He’s our gift. Third in a series.”
   Aurella just chuckled softly, “Hoping it’s the last of the series. You Warner boys make ‘em big.”
   Ben returned with a chuckle of his own. “I’d be fine with it. Each of these shared gifts we’ve had are the most precious things in the world to me.”
   “I know~,” Aurella told her dear husband, sharing a kiss with him on the couch. She watched the kids with him as they enjoyed their presents…then noticed one lonely box still behind the tree. “Oh…speaking of shared gifts…is that what I think it is?” she muttered.
   Mr. Warner nodded slowly to her. “Want me to set it up?”
   “Well, first we have to get the kids’ attention,” mentioned the lady of the house. She clapped her hands, calling out, “Hey, kids?” making the youngsters look in her direction. “Do you see what I see? There seems to be be oooone last present under the tree there.”
   “Oh, so there is,” Ben joined in, adjusting his glasses as if he hadn’t seen it before.
   “Woooooahhh~!” called out the children as they say the tall, oblong box next to the tree. Darcia tried to run and get it, trying to pick it up, only to have it start falling toward her. Ben sprang to action away from the couch to keep the box from falling on his baby girl, swiftly being supported ahead of time by Evan pushing up against the box, noticing how his sister started to lose her grip and some of her balance. Ben and his son swiftly caught the box, standing it back on its small bottom.
   “How about I help you kids out?” Mr. Warner suggested with a speculative tone.
   “Yeah, that sounds great,” swiftly answered Evan, in an exhale of nerves. He wasn’t about to let his little sister get crushed for being clumsy on Christmas day.

   Soon, Evan and his father wobbled the tall box across the floor toward the center of the living room and he rang out, “Okay, kids, unwrap!”
   The 11-year-old and 9-year-old sibling pair attacked the wrapping paper until it was completely separated from the box, the torn ribbons and bunches of the wrapping strewn about the floor.
   What they saw was a tall box with the Sterling Robotics logo, pinstripes of white on a field of deep blue with thin silver pinstripes besides. The signage on the box read, “Sterling Robotics Company. Plus-Grade Stature Botler."
   The kids and the woman of the house all oohed and ahhed with wonder… Ben was standing there in a different kind of wonder. He didn’t order a Plus-grade, he just asked for standard.
   “Hey, lookit that~…” droned out Benjamin, trying to sound pleasantly surprised.
   “Holy crap! We get a robot!?” gushed Evan. “Wowww~! He’s pretty~,” commented Darcia.
   “Evan, watch your mouth,” lightly scolded Mrs. Warner.
   “But I did?” Evan gave in a wondering retort.

   Mr. Warner found a note tucked into the botler’s vest breast pocket. A folded letter with the word “Congratulations” printed in gold at the top.
   The father looked at his family as they opened the front flap of the box to reveal the rest of the botler’s body, dressed in a fine, sapphire blue vest with silver pinstripes, a near-white powder blue cuff-link shirt, a dark blue silk tie with a little stick-pin with the Sterling ‘S’ on it’s cap. A black dress belt adorned it’s smart, stark-blue dress slacks, and it’s plantigrade feet were adorned with affordable yet stylish leather shoes with a brushed metal band under the tongue of each shoe.
   The head seemed a typical botler’s, but was an inch longer in the face. The eyebrows were painted gold to mimic the golden locks on it’s head.
   As the rest of the family gawked at the brand new piece of tech in the house, Ben read the fancy letter.

     “Dear Warner family,
   We had noticed that you were soon to be a growing family of five instead of the previous four, so we at Sterling robotics decided to upgrade your request to a Plus-Grade Sterling Botler Android, free of charge. All the previous fees apply and have already been taken into consideration.
   We have also given you a discount for any further purchases from Sterling in the future, should you ever have need.

   Thank you for business with us, and we hope to see you more in the days tomorrow.

Have a very merry Christmas and a happy new year,
Sterling Robotics Corporation.”

   Ben was left flummoxed. They just *gave* him a plus model? Then it struck him. That salesman must have had something to do with this. All of that extra writing down must have been notes about him and the financial situation. Also knowing which company Mr. Warner was a part of must have also greased the wheels just a bit.
   “Huhn” the spectacled man gave with a little huff of contentment.
   He was broken out of his reverie when his family called to him.
   “C’mon, dad, how do we turn him on?”
   Even his wife had stood up from the couch to get a good look over of the robot that was nearly as tall as her husband. “Yeah, c’mon ‘Dad’. Let’s see how this sucker moves.”
   Benjamin Warner sighed and tossed the letter over his shoulder before joining his troupe.
   “Okay, okay, my little ragamuffins. Let’s see here… You see that little blinking red light?”
   “Yeah?” answered Evan. “Yes,” droned out Darcia.
   “Well, go ahead, push it,” urged the children’s father with an encouraging gesture.
   Darcia was about to push it but for some reason kept pulling her hand back and flapping her hands. “Mommy could you do it?” she asked Aurella with a worried tone, seeming very unsure.
   The mother gave her little girl a condescending smile and roll of her eyes. “Okay, honey. Just relax… watch.”

   The glowing red light on the botler’s left hand was pressed and soon there was a small sound like a start-up of a computer. Then there was a little electric noise like a mechanical bird making an artificial chirp down a corrugated tube as the botler’s head raised and his folded hands lifted up near his chest, eyes open and glowing the company standard lightest blue with true-blue irises.
   Darcia made a short scream as she witnessed the robot step out of the box, holding its left arm behind it and the right arm under his chest. His eyes scanned around in the room to see where his new owners were, finding them in the corner of his vision. “Ah,” he blurted before turning on his heel and taking two steps back. “Greetings and salutations, Warner family. My name is David, and I am ever-so honored and pleased to meet you all.”
   David gave a stately bow, pressing his hand to his chest in a place where an organic man’s heart would be, then stood back upright, his right hand closed in a soft fist above his navel-line.
   He would then scan over Mr. and Mrs. Warner’s faces, taking in their vitals swiftly before looking down to see the little boy and girl. He smiled warmly as he looked down at them. “Hello there, children. You must be Evan… and you must be Darcia.”
   When David looked toward the little girl, she backed up near her mother, trying to hide her eyes behind the woman’s house robe. The poor botler seemed confused and even slightly disappointed that the child would display fear toward him. He could only give her an apologetic smile as he got down to one knee, placing his hands on the up-raised leg near the knee.
   “I am sorry, Miss Darcia. I know I am something very different and new for you, but I promise I will do everything that I can to take care of you and help you in any way I can… if you’ll let me.”
   The little girl looked up to her pregnant mother who looked down at her and nudged her, taking one of her hands and tugging her a little in David’s direction. “Go on, baby. It’s okay.”
   Darcia approached David, keeping a distance from him as she looked him directly in the eyes.
   “Can you eat people?” she asks the robot, causing him to arch his brows with a confused smile.
   “Sorry, Miss, what?”
   Evan rolled his eyes. He explained, “Some kids at her school convinced her that it didn’t take that much for bots to out-mode and the reason why people have to get rid of out-modes (*gasp*) was because out-mode robots eat people once they go crazy.”
   David could only stay there, his face cringing as all of this information was given out. Even Mrs. Warner had to place her hands at her hips. “Seriously?” asked the mother in annoyance.
   “But Jenny Kroppe and her friends said-!”
   “That is Enough, Darcia Warner,” Aurella told her daughter with an air of authority and finality. “After new years I’m having a talk with Jenny’s mother about her fibbing problem.”
   Even David commented, “I should *also* like to speak with Misses Kroppe and inform her that it is slander against robotic technology industries.”
   “Easy, David. I will handle it,” assured the lady of the house.
   “Yes, Ma’am,” answered David.
   Evan then approached David with his arms crossed. “Okay, ‘David’, I have some questions for you.”
   “Alright,” the botler stated.
   “You know how to make pizza?”
   “Yes.”
   “From scratch?” asked the boy with a raised brow.
   “Yes,” answered the botler, his tone beginning to match the boy’s in turn.
   “How about how to fix a toilet?”
   “I can even reshape the porcelain.”
   “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”
   “A woodchuck’s worth.”
   “How many languages can you speak?”
   “Twenty-seven. I even know how to speak Elvish, Dweamor, Yautja, Praetorian and proper Draconic. I can even properly translate modern slang into any of those languages to impress your friends online.”
  Evan could not let on that he was impressed, his tone flat. “You seem to be pretty good at this multiple question thing.”
   “I’ve been thoroughly trained for the curiosity of all young minds.”
   “You got a record for how many you can answer in a straight day?”
   “Three thousand ninety-eight.”
   “Only three thousand ninety-eight?”
   “The average number of questions a young person asks in a week is six-hundred ninety-four. Do the math, young man.”
   “You’re my robot,” Evan declared flatly with a nod and smile of approval.
  David answered back with, “I’m glad I pass your inspection.” His bright smile and squint of the eyes inspired Darcia to try getting a little closer.
   Noticing her approach, David gave a hopeful smile. “Hi,” he re-greeted her softly.
   Darcia looked down at her feet and then up at David, still unsure.
   Her father smiled and called out, “Robots Do Not Eat People, honey. David just wants to take care of the house, cooking, cleaning and you guys.”
   The robot seemed to be imploring the girl, his eyelids making a slight click as they blink at her, his artificial brows tilted up slightly in the middle. “It is not actually possible, you know. I do not have a stomach and I do not get hungry.”
   “Do you bite?” she asked, still obviously apprehensive.
   The robot could only give another one of his winsome smiles, as perfectly sculpted as Sterling Robotics could design. “No, Miss, I do not bite. I promise. And I promise to never do anything that should cause you to come to harm.”
   He offered his hand to her. “Do you want to start with just a hand-shake?”

   Pictures were taken. One of a surprised botler getting tackled in a hug by a little girl, another of the botler returning the hug, one of him holding the girl up in one arm, posing with a boy standing next to him, his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
   Another picture was taken with the whole family, including the botler standing next to the lady of the house on one side, her husband on the other, the two present children up front.

   A title is written in one corner of the photograph. It read “Christmas with us and David.”