Inhibitions

INHIBITIONS
by Robin Joy Wirth


Targ’s head was making a screeching noise, not unlike squealing tires, but the noise was continual.
He had begun an internal diagnostic, but so far he had no idea what was wrong.
As he passed a gun shop he suddenly veered off the road, right through the shop’s large window, uncaring about the bars which blocked his path as he had twenty times the strength of a man. He barely scratched a metallic arm as he forced his way inside.
“Sorry to crash through your window, sir,” he said as his wayward body continued to act with a mind of its own. “I am experiencing some sort of malfunction. I should be able to determine what it is soon.”
“Put that gun down!” the man protested.
“I am unable to comply, sir,” he told him as he loaded the weapon. Then his body took him back out through the window and headed down the street.
“Diagnostic complete,” said his computer. “Your behavioral inhibitor chip has been dislodged and must be replaced. You must return to the nearest maintenance station as soon as possible.”
“How am I going to do that when I have no control over my actions?” Targ wondered.
“Perhaps you can convince someone to help you,” suggested the computer.
Targ went into a store and aimed his gun at the cashier.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but could you switch me off and get me to the nearest robot repair station?” he asked politely as he waved the gun around. “You’ll have to sneak up behind me without me seeing you, I’m afraid. Slight malfunction of the behavioral inhibitor, don’t you know.”
“I’ll have my brother do it,” said the woman behind the counter. “Your sensors haven’t seen him, so he may be able to pull it off. I don’t suppose I could get you to quit pointing that gun at me, could I?”
“Unfortunately my body is not under my control,” he said.
“I really can’t think very highly of you when you’re aiming a pistol in my direction,” she said. “Do you think you would stop if I gave you the money?”
“No, no, don’t do that!” he objected. “If you did that, I might end up leaving because I got what I wanted, and then I’d never get turned off.”
“I’ll call my brother and tell him to come in through the front door,” she said. “You have the standard off switch on the back of the neck, right?”
“Indeed I do,” he assured her.
“Hello, Rick, I need you to come do me a favor,” she said into the phone, then turned away from Targ so he couldn’t hear the rest.
About a minute later Rick came in and shut the robot off.
“Whew! That’s a relief,” said the cashier. “Poor thing, I hope they’re able to fix him.”
“Well, I’ll get him over to the repair station,” said Rick. “You have a nice day, sis.”
“You too, bro,” she said, and shook her head as she watched her brother haul the robot away.