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The Press Conference

BROOKE BOREL

I was inspired by Samori’s satirical dystopian science fiction, which shows a future of a robot-ruled America. I used elements of her story as a starting point to imagine the press conference that would accompany a new announcement by the robot government.

“Thank you for coming. First order of business: the new rules.”

Spicerbot 7.0 gripped the podium with flesh-colored, rubberized pincers. Click click went the cameras in either eye, making a record of the journalists in the audience. There were three.

“As you undoubtedly heard in the president’s address last night, rule 171 is a change to the nightly curfew,” Spicerbot’s words came in clipped tones, cameras flitting from face to face. “It is now seven o’clock instead of eight o’clock due to Daylight Savings Time.”

“Is there any truth to the claim that it’s really because of anomalies in the timing of the sunset?” asked the first reporter, a middle-aged woman in a faded lime-green jumpsuit.

“No comment,” Spicerbot replied.

The woman arched a shaggy eyebrow. “But Daylight Savings Time hasn’t existed for twenty years,” she countered. “Care to comment?”

Spicerbot paused, and a fan at its left temple began to whir. “Daylight Savings Time has always existed.” Click click click went the cameras. The woman frowned, then scratched on her notebook with a stubby pencil.

“Is it true that the wolves will be let out earlier, too?” asked the second reporter, his tiny brown eyes peeking through an unruly white forelock.

“You know I’m not going to answer that,” Spicerbot said. “Now, onto the rumors about the president’s alleged software upgrade. These are exactly that: rumors. The president already has the best operating system money can buy. I repeat: The best. Money can buy. There’s no need for an upgrade.”

The third reporter, a skinny man with his feet propped on the empty chair in front of him, asked: “How’s the missile rollout coming?”

“Thanks for the question, Gary,” Spicerbot said. “Come by the office this afternoon and I’ll give you a scoop.”

Spicerbot shuffled some blank papers on the podium and, with a metallic clearing of the throat, said, “Now, that concludes today’s press briefing. Thank you all.”

The woman in the jumpsuit and the man with the white hair jumped up. “What about the new rule 172?” she shouted, at the same time that he cried, “Won’t you clarify the new tax penalty—is it true about the consequences?”

Spicerbot’s cameras went click click click and his fan went whir whir whir. After some time came the reply.

“No comment.”