Cast of Wonders 615: Optimal Care

Show Notes

2076 words


Optimal Care

by Matt Tighe

“Hey T! You about?”

James rounds the corner of the kitchen, his dark hair lank, his face pale, his breathing all-too shallow.

Tenderbot is standing at the kitchen island bench. It pushes the sandwich and milk forward. The Home Care Unit has already scanned the boy and computed a 92% chance he will reject the sandwich, but Tenderbot always attempts to optimise care.

James sits down and opts for the glass.

“Your platelet count is down. Eat,” Tenderbot says.

“Oh, come on, T. You think a sandwich is going to save me?”

“A sandwich will not save you, James.”

The boy grins and wipes at his milk moustache.

“We’ve got to get you that upgrade, T,” he says. “If only so you can know how funny you are.”

Tenderbot says nothing. A response is not required.

James sips his milk and grins wider.

“I’m just yanking your chain. Here, look at this.”

He unfolds a piece of paper and slides it across the bench top. Tenderbot notes the slight tremble of the boy’s hands.

“An actual real flier!” James exclaims. “Can you believe it? They’re stuck up all over school. Talk about retro.”

Tenderbot picks up the flimsy thing. The static display is multi-coloured, and obviously human designed. The proportions are very incorrect. There are fireworks, but the trajectories do not align properly, and the blast patterns are far from reasonable. The banner headline is in various unnecessary colours. All of it is very poorly executed. Entirely suboptimal.

“You Can Dance If You Want To. You Can Leave Your Cares Behind!” Tenderbot reads the headline out loud and scans the date and other details. “This is a social event.”

“Yeah, and it’s not far away,” James replies. “I might even make it.”

“The distance is not far. You could certainly attend.”

James’s grin fades a little.

“You sure are funny, T.”

Tenderbot is 87% sure this is incorrect.


Tenderbot is wrapping the sandwich and cleaning the kitchen while James is talking to his father. Tenderbot monitors the stress levels in the father’s voice, detects the disappointment in the son’s. Finally, James logs off.

“He can’t get back until the end of the month.”

“The expense your father incurred purchasing me means —”

“I know, T. Expense all round. Who knew dying would suck the life out of two people?”

This is 100% incorrect. “Your father is stressed but his health has been satisfactory.”

Just then the Holo beeps. James glances at the caller ID and his pale face goes white.

“Shit. Shit!” He stares at the screen.

“I will decline the call,” Tenderbot says, reaching out.

“No!” James says, and hits the answer button.

The face projected above the screen is so red Tenderbot begins to move forward to adjust the contrast. Then the bot registers the dilated pupils and the way the girl touches her own lips lightly with two trembling fingers. The colouring problem is emotional then, and adjusting the contrast will be of limited assistance.

“Um, hi Jackie,” James says.

“Hi,” the girl replies.

“Hi,” James says again.

There is silence. Tenderbot leans forward. “That is a suboptimal response. And your heart rate has increased. Are you in distress?”

“Shit, T!” James says, his face flashing from too-white to a crimson that almost matches his caller.

The girl’s eyes widen. “Is that a Home Care Unit?”

James manages a shaky little laugh. “Yeah. A Tenderbot. Would you mind not telling anyone? I get enough sad eyes at school already.”

“Wow. Your family must be loaded.” The girl stops, and her red face goes even redder. She puts one hand over her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I didn’t think –”

James laughs again, louder this time. Tenderbot watches their halting conversation a moment longer. It appears suboptimal, but this time Tenderbot is only 63% certain.


Tenderbot is administering James’s nightly treatment, adjusting the dosage carefully based on the day’s antibody levels and the rate of cell metastasis, when the boy speaks.

“Hey T,” he says a little dreamily. The meds have that effect. By morning the boy will be eager and energised, but perhaps a little less so than the day before. Soon there will come a time when these drugs will do more harm than good.

“Yes?”

“I need a favour,” James says.

“If it is within my operational parameters, of course,” Tenderbot says.

The boy’s smile widens even as his eyes close.

“I need you to teach me how to dance.”

Tenderbot does not reply. The boy has fallen asleep.


“Hey T, you about?”

James enters the kitchen. Today he is steady on his feet, but slow. Tenderbot pushes the plate across the bench. There are two sandwiches. The Home Care Unit has calculated a 9% chance James will eat even one of the sandwiches, but that should increase significantly in a moment.

“What’s this?” James asks.

“It is two sandwiches,” Tenderbot replies, and James rolls his eyes.

“Moderate exertion may assist with blood flow and mobility. I have accessed extensive online footage,” Tenderbot continues. “You will not be able to undertake the more rigorous routines, but some of the movements that accompany slower music should be achievable and beneficial.” Tenderbot indicates the plate. “If you are appropriately sustained.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“I am optimising your care. I will not teach you to dance if it compromises your condition.”

James rolls his eyes but picks up the first sandwich. Tenderbot has indeed optimised the interaction.


In addition to numerous dance tutorials, Tenderbot has reviewed several films of the approximate era the social event aligns with.

“The slow dance is the pivotal point of the social event. It is also the only dance you may physically be capable of performing,” it tells James.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the boy replies.

“You must place one hand around my waist, and also hold this hand,” Tenderbot continues, and steps close to the boy.

“This is a bit weird,” James says, but places his hand in Tenderbot’s.

An old style power ballad emanates softly from the Care Unit’s mouth.

“So weird,” James mutters.

“This is not a waltz, although there appears to be movements in common,” Tenderbot says. The music continues to come from its mouth as it speaks.

“According to footage the key is to stay close, and align foot falls without hindering your partner. Who leads may be a discussion point for you and your partner, but I will do so now.”

Tenderbot steps to the side, and attempts to move James. James stumbles and steps on Tenderbot’s foot.

“That is to be expected,” Tenderbot states. “Practice will optimise your performance.”


Practice does not optimise James’s performance.

“How can this be so hard?” James says. He is sitting on the couch. Tenderbot has insisted on a break. The boy’s strength is flagging badly. “It’s so easy in virtual.”

“It is little more than repetitive swaying. But you do not appear to have the required coordination skills. Rhythm is the most commonly used term for what you lack.”

“You don’t do encouragement well, do you?” the boy replies.

“I recommend ceasing these practices, James,” Tenderbot says. “Your condition is worsening.”

“My condition is not going to do anything but worsen.” James gasps just a little as he speaks.

“Overexertion may exacerbate your condition. There is currently only a 28% probability this will have a satisfactory outcome for you.”

“T, I don’t think you know what the hell you’re talking about,” James says. The words are confrontational, but the boy smiles a little, like the robot has said something funny.

But Tenderbot knows how low 28% is.


Tenderbot stands outside the door and listens to the Holo-call. Its interactions with James have definitely become suboptimal.

“Your bot doesn’t want you to go to the dance?”

That is the girl, Jackie. Tenderbot is a Home Care Unit, tuned to detect changes in breathing, small gasps of effort, the sound of a fall in a distant part of a house. It can easily detect the distress in her voice from where it stands in the hallway.

“It changed its mind,” James says.

“Are you getting… sicker?” she asks.

“No, no,” James replies, which is not the truth.

“T always goes on about optimising care,” James says quickly. “I think it’s worried about stuffing up.” That is closer to the truth.

“Well, God forbid you should do something that isn’t optimal.” The girl puts enough emphasis on the last word that Tenderbot can tell she is trying to find humour in the situation, but James does not laugh.


The lessons have stopped. James has not complained.

The boy sits in the kitchen, his face pale, his eyes sunken and dark.

“What do you think we are left with, when it’s all over?” James asks. “What is all the effort worth?”

Tenderbot can only answer in terms of itself. “I seek optimal task performance.”

“And who will say your performance was optimal?” James’s voice is low.

“I calculate that myself.”

“So only you decide how you did.”

“That is how I am programmed,” Tenderbot confirms.

“T,” James says, very softly. “I don’t feel… ”

The words fade to a whisper, and then James is toppling sideways. There is no danger of him falling, as Tenderbot has already registered the sudden drop in blood pressure and the fluttering eyelids as well as several other micro-indicators, and has caught the boy. It undertakes a full assessment as it carries James upstairs. As it does, it initiates a call to the boy’s father, and another to the doctor.


The afternoon routine has changed. All routines have changed. Now it is treatments and bedrest and drug-induced sleep. Now it is waiting. Waiting for the treatments to lose effectiveness. Waiting for the boy’s father to return. Tenderbot calculates the probability of recovery, or even partial recovery, again and again.

Tenderbot does not make sandwiches or try to get the boy to eat. James is mostly silent.

“The drugs that helped you through your daily activities are too strong for your body now, and must be halted,” Tenderbot says.

“In light of your condition, both your father and your doctor have made it very clear you are not to attend this social event. The drugs required to sustain you for the event will reduce your subsequent quality of life substantially.”

“I’m dying in bed. Let’s not talk about quality of life,” James says. He does not sound angry. Just tired.

“If you wish to be intimate with the girl Jackie, I can request of your father that she visit you here.”

“No, T,” James says. His pale cheeks flush with two small spots of pink, but he smiles slightly at the Home Care Unit.

“James, I do not understand why this event was so important. You can still participate in any one of numerous virtual activities.”

James looks at the bot for a long time. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, and his lips are dry, no matter how often Tenderbot applies salve.

“That would not be optimal,” he says.


The ‘Dance If You Want To!’ banner is too high on one side, or too low on the other. The stencilling is uneven. There are more poorly coloured depictions of fireworks. It is a very human display.

“T, can you let me walk in by myself?” James’s face is pale, and he is already breathing too quickly. Tenderbot has administered the drugs that are necessary for the evening, and the boy will be able to walk unaided. There is a 79% chance it will be for the last time.

Jackie is standing at the entrance, underneath the suboptimal banner. Some of her peers laugh and jostle each other good-naturedly as they pass her by. Many are dressed in clothing reminiscent of the movie scenes Tenderbot has on file; amongst them both stress levels and pleasure markers are running high.

Jackie sees Tenderbot and James and begins waving too vigorously.

As James waves back Tenderbot releases its grip on the boy’s arm. James starts away, but then stops and turns back.

“For what it’s worth, T, I think your performance has been optimal,” he says. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

James walks slowly to the girl, and they go inside, arm in arm. Tenderbot looks at the crooked banner. It will assess its own performance, of course.

But not right now.

About the Author

Matt Tighe

Matt lives on a small farm in south eastern Australia with his amazingly patient wife and kids, Sherlock the dog and Mycroft the cat. He is addicted to listening to audiobooks while running. His short stories can be found in Nature Futures, The NoSleep Podcast, upcoming in Daily Science Fiction and Cossmass Infinities, and elsewhere. He tweets very sporadically at @MKTighewrites.

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About the Narrator

Dan Absalonson

Dan Absalonson is an author, audiobook narrator, and podcaster with a passion for fiction. He worked as a 3D artist for a couple of decades and is now a missionary in Guatemala. He holds a BFA in Animation and Media Arts and an MA in Biblical and Theological studies. He dearly loves his large family of seven people and four cats.

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