Alien Landscapes 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

technology might be a better way of life? And what if his family didn’t approve of his obsession?

    When the signal rang, George told the door to answer itself, but the mailbot insisted on a thumbprint signature for the delivery. With a sigh, he was forced to make the extra effort of doing it in person.
    “Hello, Mr. J.!” said the cheery, buzzing voice of the mailbot. In his metal arms he carried a large crate. “Special delivery for you. Boy, I wonder what it is.”
    George pressed his thumb against the scanning plate on the mailbot’s smooth forehead. “Jane!” he called over his shoulder. “What have you been ordering now?”
    Jane, his wife, walked up with a bounce in her step. “George, dear, you know I don’t order anything anymore. The catalogs make the purchases all by themselves.”
    He frowned. “Well, I certainly didn’t order this.” He stepped aside to make room for the mailbot. “You don’t expect me to carry that heavy thing?”
    “Of course not, Mr. J. You can expect service from your postal service.” The mailbot strutted inside and set the crate in the middle of the floor.
    Creaking along, Rosie the maidbot wheeled forward, tsking at the condition of the box. “Just look at those smudges and the dust. Very unsanitary.” She bustled about, tidying up the package’s exterior.
    George waited for the big crate to open automatically, then realized he would have to do it manually since the package had no standard automation. He struggled with the flaps and seals. “Whatever it is, we’re not ordering from this company again.”
    Inside, he found a sealed envelope (which, again, he had to open by hand) and a sheet of actual paper. Not quite sure what to do, George slipped the paper into a reader and the words spilled out, announcing his name and address and I.D. number in a very official-sounding voice.
    “We regret to inform you that your Uncle Asimov has died. These are his personal effects, and you are his only known heir. He has also bequeathed you his property and his home. By accepting his package and reading this letter, you have agreed to the terms of his estate.”
    George started to grin at their windfall, but then the letter-reader continued, “Mr. Asimov owed a substantial amount of back taxes and assessments. Your account has been debited to pay off these debts, as well as the delivery fee.”
    “Your Uncle Asimov?” Jane asked. “George, dear, isn’t he that crazy old hermit out in the desert?”
    “Yes, it was the last place in the country where he could live off the grid. He actually liked that sort of thing.” He looked down to scrutinize the contents of the box, hoping that the value of the items inside would at least pay for the delivery charge. He sneezed.
    Rosie wheeled forward like a steel filing drawn to a magnet. “Dust! Real dust! Let me take care of that before you catch some sort of disease.” The maidbot sprayed disinfectant all around the area.
    When she was finished, George rummaged around inside the crate. Jane peered over his shoulder. “It’s like a museum in there.”
    “Or a junkyard.” George picked up round, cylindrical metal containers, each with a faded label. He realized they were cans of food, preserved chili and soup. He sniffed one of the cans, smelling nothing but old metal. The picture on the label certainly looked unappetizing.
    “Why would anybody want this stuff?” Jane asked. “Do you suppose that means Uncle Asimov didn’t even have a food replicator out in the desert?”
    “I don’t think he even had electricity, Jane. Maybe not running water, maybe not even a self-cleaning hygiene station.”
    The maidbot buzzed her disapproval while Jane shuddered in horror.
    Next he found actual hardcopies of books and magazines so old that the paper was brown and crumbly. Underneath those was a stack of yellowed newspapers, wasteful old-fashioned informational devices that were published only once daily, regardless of how often the