Read Online Adrift in the Noösphere by Damien Broderick - Free Book Online

here we are. Robot 47D95, instruction mode on.”
    â€œGood evening, sir or madam.”
    I gave a hoot of laughter, and Dad flushed. He was always sensitive about his slightly high-pitched voice, but I reckon the robot was just pulling his leg.
    â€œThat’s ‘sir’,” he said crossly. “Your name is ‘Herb’ or ‘Herbie,’ okay? And I’m Roland FitzSimmons, your new owner.” He went through the rest of the introductions.
    â€œGlad to you meet you,” Herb told us. “I would like to begin my duties now. May I prepare dinner for the family?”
    â€œOh, bless you,” Mother blurted. “Do you cook?”
    â€œI am programmed for fifty-two national cuisines,” the robot told her. “Afghani, American, Australian, Balinese, Caribbean, Chinese, Creole, Deli, Egyptian, Ethiopian—”
    â€œDo you do pizza?” I asked it.
    There was a moment’s silence. “Certainly, Davy.” I thought it sounded a bit offended. “Can someone direct me to the kitchen?”
    The robot moved in a mysterious way, sort of gliding on its branches and twigs. Perdida the cat freaked when it slid into the kitchen, and leaped on to the nearest bench, all her fur sticking out and her back arched.
    â€œThis place is disgusting,” Herb said. “I shall have to clean up first. Please remove the domestic animal.”
    Mother was insulted, but you could see the robot’s point. She just wasn’t very good at this food preparation caper. Marj went and retrieved Perdida, smoothed down her ruffled fur, and took her and Mother into the living room. I stayed in the kitchen door, watching Herb. He kind of flattened out into a turtle, or what a turtle would look like if it had been stepped on by an elephant. More like a surfboard.
    It slid easily over the kitchen floor, and after it was done there was no sign of spilled flour or broken egg shells, and the bits of orange peel I’d dropped in the corner when I missed the trashbin were gone. Herb had...well, he’d sort of eaten everything, I suppose. He extended upward once more and became a bush, then kept extending and became a kind of short tree. His branches swept out across the kitchen benches, sucking up the mess and straightening everything out. It was a miracle of applied science.
    Then Herb found the larder and refrigerator and the stove and the microwave and started on dinner. Awesome! That robot spun around the kitchen like a green whirlwind, opening jars, laying out pans, mixing and blending and pouring and tidying up as it went. Dad and I stared at each other in amazement. Mother came back and looked suspiciously at Herb’s work, and then nodded. She was won over, I could tell. Perdida sulked in the corner of the living room, and slunk under the couch when Herb brought out piping hot pizzas to the dining table.
    â€œCan it do homework?” Marj asked, wiping a thick gloopy strand of cheese off her mouth.
    â€œYou’ll do your homework yourself, young lady,” Mother told her. “But it can help you tidy your room. That will give you plenty of spare time for your studies.”
    â€œCan he sleep in my room?” I asked.
    â€œThe robot will stay downstairs,” Dad said. “It can go into its dormant phase in the closet, since we won’t need brooms and the vacuum cleaner any more. Well, until the trial ends, anyway.”
    â€œI shall sleep on the roof, thank you,” Herb said. “I collect power from the sun’s rays, like a flower or a tree. I am an ecologically friendly mechanism.”
    When we got up next morning, the house smelled wonderfully of hot toast and even hotter coffee. Herb had made breakfast for us all. Even Perdida was purring—Herb had poured her a bowl of milk, and put out some Kat Crunchies in her bowl, after cleaning it. I couldn’t wait to tell the other kids at school about our keen robot.
    That afternoon, I