He could not in good conscience abandon the group, he felt they would need his creative mind to get them through future dilemmas, and he knew there was no way George would let him back in the dome after a prolonged period of time.  He would fear that Milton might have accidentally exposed himself to some kind of disease or radioactive poisoning. 

The easiest and only solution in Milton's mind would be to have a temporary replacement, and that is what he had programmed the android to be.  Using newly developed technology the company had been working on he had finished the construction of an artificially intelligent robot. 

Its mind was a complex unit of inter-working computers, each communicating with the others and each processing a specific function of the human brain.  The robot Milton would think based upon a set of programmed principles, remember based upon a set of programmed memories, and react as well as learn based upon given environmental stimuli and situations.  It was even programmed to convincingly imitate common human emotions.

Its synthetic skin was made of a flesh colored plastic, carefully painted and decorated.  It had been modeled from a cast Milton had made of himself months ago in preparation for the android’s construction.  Covered in human clothes the creation would look virtually identical to him at distances of forty feet or more, and that is all he needed really.  He had programmed it to stay in the apartment as much as possible and to "continue work" on the android project.  Whenever George called it would simply give a random response from its excuse bank for why it had been so secluded. 

If life in the dome continued to hold steady as it had the past few weeks he was sure he would be back before anything major happened.  All he really wanted was to make sure his beautiful wife and daughter were not still out there.  Twice in the past six months when he had secretly been working outside of the dome, measuring air temperatures and radiation levels, his radio had picked up strange transmissions.

At first he had thought it was his imagination or just a fluke of the weather, but upon further inspection he discovered they were distinct cries for help.  Someone, somewhere far out in the desert that surrounded the dome, was calling out for help, screaming and trying to communicate a certain message that was garbled by static and poor reception.  Milton spent hours trying to filter out the unnecessary noises and make sense of the message, but his efforts were unsuccessful.  The transmissions would remain, however, proof to him that at least something, human or not, was alive and looking for help somewhere outside of the dome.

His cold hands gently lifted the robot from its case and carried it over to the bed.  Soon it would wake up thinking it was the brilliant engineer and scientist Milton Hathaway, ready to fulfill his duties and answer his calls while he was gone.  "I can’t believe you finally exist. You have no idea your worth to me," the words slowly drifted from Milton's lips.  A feeling of awe then filled him and he wondered if the idea that he was really out searching the desert while a robot clone took his calls would ever cross the minds of the others.  He let out a small chuckle.  No, they would never think to imagine they were really talking to a pile of microchips and circuits while I was off being heroic, his mind concluded, as he let the thought sink in.

After a long pause of soaking in the moment he moved his fingers gently over the back of the robot's neck, flipping a small switch.  Now all the creature needed to be turned on was to detect a reasonable amount of sound, something like that an alarm clock going off or a telephone ringing.

Moving quietly in the darkness, he tiptoed out of the room and down the hall, slowly making his way towards the room at the end of the hall.  Once inside he nervously fished out a voice decoder from his pocket and approached the telephone.  His arm moved with great delicacy while he carefully lifted the receiver.  He did not want to even test his chances of waking the robot that slept quietly down the hall before he was ready. 

Holding his breath, his fingers quivered with excitement as he dialed his room number.  The sound the phone ringing in the other room pierced the night air.  A bolt of exhilaration shot down his spine.

"Hello, hello?  Whom may I ask is calling?" he heard the robot say into the phone, its voice a near perfect duplication of his own.

"T-this is, um, George, your boss," he replied nervously, speaking into the voice decoder for which he had set to George Finin.

"Mr. Finin, how nice of you to call, what may I ask is your reason?" it replied quite calmly.

It's polite, and sounds convincing, this is great!  "Yes," Milton paused to clear his elated vocal cords, "h-how is your progress coming on the project?"

"The project is going well.  I should have a prototype for you soon.  May I ask how you those dreams you been having are coming?"

Great!  It knows to change the subject!  “Still the same horrors of mutants and such invading, thanks for asking though.”  It appeared the robot would work just as expected while he was gone, all he needed now was to wrap up the conversation and wait for the machine to go back to sleep.  “So, um, I should probably let you get back to sleep.”

“Sleep?  How can I possibly sleep?  I’ve been so cold and lonely,” the voice replied in a monotone.

Cold and lonely?  What’s it talking about?!  I don’t remember programming that in!  “W-what do you mean?” He replied, his voice now filled with fear and uncertainty.

               “I miss my wife and daughter.  They’re out there, somewhere in the desert.”

               Oh course!  It has an “emotional” center!  It must be processing memory files and generating the appropriate human response!  “I-I’m sorry to hear that Milton, but cheer up, things will get better.”

               “I don’t see how they can get any better,”

               “J-just trust me, and k-keep this to yourself.  You wouldn’t want to upset the others.”

               “You mean the bunch of ya-hoos that now passes for the human race?  The group that was chosen above all others while the rest festered and died?”

               This is not good.  It’s being too aggressive.  I have to reason with it somehow.  “Listen, everything will be okay.  It gets to all of us, but that kind of attitude wont get us anywhere.  Just concentrate on your project and everything will be okay.”

               “Okay, I understand,”

Not as convincing as I’d like, but I know it works, it’s best to end this call now.  “Well, get some sleep and you’ll be better in the morning.  Good night.”  Milton hastily spat out before quickly and quietly hanging up the phone.  Breathing in a deep sigh he looked at the clock on the wall.  Since it was night it would knew to go back into sleeping mode.  A drop of sweat shot down his neck, soon he would be outside this hellish prison and out under the naked Australia sky, searching for the ones he loved.

After a few minutes pause of waiting for his robot creation to fall back asleep, Milton quickly, and without second thoughts, rushed down the hall, bolted down the building’s staircase, and ran out into the quiet streets.  Awaiting him was a vehicle he had spent part of the day packing.  He had long memorized the password for the entryway in and out of the dome, as he buckled up, he knew he was now on his way.

               The night air cut across his skin as he rode through the darkness.  Between his legs roared a fuel-efficient jet-black motorcycle, one of many he had had stock piled in the city during its completion phase.  It was his hopes that the bikes would become the wave of transportation in the future, something that now looked to be a true reality.

               As he rode his eyes cautiously combed the horizon, his mind haunted by the strange radio transmissions he had heard months before.  Something had to be out here somewhere in the desert.  Whether it be human or not it was still a sign of life, a sign something had survived and was trying to stay alive in the new world man had created.

               Maybe it’s a small colony, a group of survivors that have banned together.  The rocky terrain around him seemed distant and alone.  Maybe it’s my wife and daughter, camping out somewhere, hopelessly broadcasting and hoping for an answer.  Milton then reached back with his right hand and felt his right jean pocket, making sure he still had the radio he brought with him.

On his back and in the trunk of the motorcycle were many large bags, filled with at least two weeks worth of food.  This was a serious search and rescue.  If someone was out here, he was going to find them.

As he rode on, he thought about what might happen while he was gone.  Would it still be the same place when he got back?  Would anyone have changed?  Would anything major happen?  God, I hope that robot replacement doesn’t mess anything up.  Its responses seemed so genuine though.  Almost like it really was thinking, like it really did care.  I felt like I could actually hear-

Suddenly Milton’s ears were lit up with the sound of the bike’s engine struggling.  Oh my god, the machinery isn’t handling well in this environment!  It then screamed a sharp hiss before exploding into a ball of fire and sending, sending pieces of the vehicle flying everywhere.  Milton felt his body fly uncontrollably through the air as the debris around him flipped chaotically out of his view.  His limbs fluttered, gripping at the sky, gripping in vain, hopelessly trying to shelter him from what would be his inevitable collision.

His last thoughts were those of his family as his body crashed into the hardened orange surface.  In the midst of the mayhem he had managed shelter his radio from the blunt of the accident.  After impact its settings remained on, though his fingers had reactively set the device into broadcasting mode.  In the seconds following the collision he felt a wave of pain shoot through his body, his neck had snapped in half, and with the assistance of the wind, he realized everything as he watched in horror as his head was slowly blown from his robot body.

As the morning sun arose over the domed city, its inhabitants quietly arose, weary of the day that awaited them.  All of them of course, except the new Milton, who arose with a rather noble idea, an idea that would give him the chance to search for his loved ones, the idea to build a robot replacement, one that would tide the others over while he went out and searched.

The End