58. Dave

The Japanese are sending a man into space. There’s nothing unusual about this; he’s just going up to man the international space station for a while. What is unusual is that they are sending a robot up with him. This is Kirobo.

Now also available from Toys’R’Us.

One day, the Japanese designers of Kirobo hope that they can design robots to actually perform useful tasks up in space, but that’s not what Kirobo’s going for. Kirobo is going up into space to chat to the astronaut. That’s it. He is programmed to have conversations. And take pictures.

I’m not sure that Japan has thought this one through. I just spent the afternoon stripping rising damp off the walls of my bedroom. This was not my plan for the day. This was Mrs 23thorn’s plan for the day. I merely stepped in out of a healthy sense of self-preservation. Mrs 23thorns is an intelligent and multi-talented woman, but her approach to DIY has much in common with Ghengis Khan’s approach to diplomacy.

We also have to re-grout the tiles in the bathroom and pave the driveway with the skulls of our enemies.

We were not alone. We too had a small companion to keep us company as we worked. Our four-year old daughter was there. We managed to talk her out of helping by carefully explaining that paint scrapers got very, very hot, and sandpaper was poisonous, but she stuck around to chat;

“Are you scraping the walls, Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“….. Why are you scraping the walls, Daddy?”

“Because there’s water in them.”

“Oh. …. Why is there water in the walls, Daddy?

“Shoddy workmanship. Why don’t you go and see what your brother is doing?”

“No. Can I see the water, Daddy?”

“No. It’s dried now. But it made bubbles in the paint. I’m scraping the bubbles away so we can paint it again.”

“Oh. Can I have some bubbles, Daddy?”

“No.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so. Where is your brother?”

“Can he have some bubbles, Daddy?”

“No. This paint has lead in it. It makes children blind.”

But Mommy lets me eat lead paint all the time!

“Oh. …. Are you going to go blind, Daddy?”

“No.”

“Oh.

“Are you scraping the walls, Daddy?”

It was a long afternoon. But I survived. I survived by dashing off to the hardware shop to buy another paint scraper. My one was looking a little old, and I like a shiny paint scraper. I might have got some wine, too.

That Japanese astronaut has nowhere to go. He is stuck there, in a tiny tin can miles above the Earth. With Kirobo. Who is this big.

You can be damn sure he’ll get his own TV show.

I hope he doesn’t have a squeaky little voice. But it doesn’t make much of a difference. The Japanese are very clever, but I doubt this little guy is on a conversational par with Wittgenstein. It’s probably on a par with a four-year-old. And it wants to take pictures. Let’s just pretend the astronaut is called Dave, to keep the sci-fi buffs out there happy. Dave is going to have some long afternoons;

“Hello, Dave, how are you today?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine. Can I take a picture?”

“Sure. Can you just give me a moment here? There seems to be a problem with the oxygen recycling unit. I need to fix it.”

“Oh. … Can I take a picture?”

“Sure.”

“Are you fixing the oxygen recycling unit?”

“Yes.”

“Are you fixing it?”

“Yes.”

“Is the oxygen recycling unit broken?”

“Look. There’s a problem here. The damn thing is broken. I need to fix it. I need to concentrate. Can you please just leave me the hell alone for ten minutes.”

“Oh. OK.”

“___”

“___”

“Dave?”

“WHAT?”

“Are you fixing the oxygen recycling unit?”

“YES! FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. I’M GOING TO DIE IF IT DOESN’T COME BACK ON LINE! JUST SHUT UP AND GO AND STAND BEHIND THAT BOX THERE!”

“Oh. Do you want me to stand behind that box there?”

“YES.”

“OK. Can I take a picture?”

“AAAAAAAAARGH. BE QUIET! I’M BEGGING YOU TO JUST STOP TALKING. I CAN’T DO THIS IF YOU WON’T STOP TALKING!”

“OK.”

“____”

“_____”

“_____”

“_____”

“Are you fixing the oxygen recycling unit?”

Sooner or later, the conversation is going to become a little one-sided;

“Dave?”

“Dave?”

“Dave?”

I took a picture, Dave.

And so it will go on for hundreds of years. The Earth will abandon the space station due to the terrifying nature of Dave’s last call to Earth. Civilisations will rise and fall. But eventually, someone is going to go up to investigate that mysterious chunk of metal in the sky. Dave will be there. Mummified by the oxygen-free environment.

He won’t be alone. Next to him will be a perky little robot with big yellow eyes.

“Hello.” He will say. “Are you here to fix the oxygen recycling unit?”

Met with blank stares for a moment or too, he will feel compelled to break the silence.

“Can I take a picture?”

*****