GLORIA

"Love reflected is still Love. Light reflected is still Light..."

GLORIA

Bleary brown eyes gazed at unseen Angels, ethereal voices from long ago and far away filling the room. An unblemished hand smoothed her wrinkled brow, wafting the wispy strands of silver back.

"Mother loves songs about Angels." Pushing back a thick lock of curly golden hair from her own forehead, an impossibly beautiful young woman revealed soft brown eyes of her own, so much like her mother's eyes. She hummed along with the chorus:

"It's a memory of love, Babbi." Obscured in the shadows, a lyrical voice hummed back to the younger woman. "When we're cold and alone, we need a memory of Love to keep us warm."

An ancient Woman lay before them, tubes protruding from every orifice of her desiccated body. Each fluid was drained, each bodily function tended by automation. Suctioning, eating, breathing, urinating, defecating - it was all done with sterile efficiency, untouched by human hands. Dim light blinked in random profusion along a clear window wall, the documentation of machines at work in the service of humans.

"I know she remembers Love, KeeKee. Just like I know she remembers you; you were always here when she needed someone warm by her side. I was there, too, but she never knew it. I can only hope she will know me when the time comes..."

KeeKee leaned against the backlit wall, silhouette diffused against the aurora of the Sythaglass Display, a shadow himself. "She'll know you, Babbi. She could see you in her heart." KeeKee slicked back a tuft of black hair, and peered into the hall.

Babbi looked up from her Mother's bedside, watching as the Night Team passed by. Coffee cups in hand, their dark scrubs faded into the pre-programmed shadows of MIRKMedicalCorp's 'Kindness And Tranquility Care Home'.

They were leading a CareBot through the halls, inputting data as they made their rounds...

with each step, the CareBot would peek into the rooms, its malleable metallic skin changing features and form to reflect the patient's own identity. Shifting multitudinously, the humanoid construct took cues from personal effects, archived images and patient charts, transmutating to create comforting faces, make scans, then reflect new identities as it would move on.

The NightManager tapped a light pen against the lighted doorjamb, inputting data: "Patient ANGEL-37248's coverage is set to end at midnight. Please schedule the DOK for her at 11:55PM -"

"But it is Christmas..." the CareBot peeked into its Patient's room; the Bot's face transformed, becoming an Angel's face, haloed in golden light -

the CareBot stopped mid-sentence. Gyros ground to a halt as the NightManager pulled back a flap of rubbery, metallic skin from the Bot's creaking shoulder to open a hidden access panel.

The Night Manager pressed the emergency reset button, complaining:

"I don't know what the brilliant minds at MIRKMedicalCorp were thinking: buying a used CareBot is trouble, especially when they lost the remote control. This one is set to verbose, and I don't know how to turn that feature off..."

Wrangling a keydrive out of her pocket, the Tech shoved it into the CareBot's emergency reset slot. "Maybe MIRKMedicalCorp shouldn't have fired all the Nurses."

"Nurses are worse than CareBots for pushing back on Patient Protocols, so good riddance; they're gone. At least we can turn off these antique contraptions when they get mouthy... we can't do that with Nurses." The NightManager adjusted the settings on the CareBot's optic orbital sensors, adjusting them to the darker ambient light of the Care Home.

Petulant, the Tech pecked at an input screen. "Well, now we're short-handed through Winter VacayDays, and that means MIRKMedicalCorp has to fill in the gaps with discount CareBots. It's too bad sedatives are in short supply, or we could just keep loud patients medicated 24/7. If our new budget gets approved by the board next week, we can go back to drugs and can scrap these bots for parts. Let's try it now -"

The CareBot whirred back to life, finishing its previous sentence: "...but it is Christmas. She wants Christmas."

Pressing the emergency access panel shut, the Tech sighed. "GLORIA's microexpression software is detecting false signals - probably needs to be dialed down. But I've done all I can do to recalibrate the CareBot's output. Call the programmers in the morning." Eager to avoid unsolvable problems, the Tech grabbed her gear and headed down the hall to the break room.

"Yeah, thanks." Disgruntled, the NightManager turned to the CareBot: "Listen, GLORIA, we've been over this already; her coverage runs out at midnight. Christmas doesn't mean anything to the Corporate Heads paying our bills at MIRKMedicalCorp; we're on a budget, and she's a useless eater."

The CareBot tapped her glowing name tag. "But it is in my name; I am supposed to be Giving Loved Ones Rehabilitation In All..."

"Exactly. 'Loved Ones' means Ones that matter, Ones who think. 'I think, therefore I am' and she doesn't think, therefore - she isn't One of the Ones that matter." The NightManager tapped the spoon against the edge of her cup, and coffee dribbled onto the floor. Frowning at the mess, she swiped at the wet floor with her sneaker as the AI's preset feminine voice clattered on:

"But the patient's expressions indicate emotion." GLORIA reflected the patient's face, a wizened visage with eyes scrunched shut, mouth gaping with gummy happiness.

The NightManager recoiled in horror.

"Those are just reflexes." Punching code into her headsup display, the NightManager summoned a CleanUp Bot. The squat, disk-shaped unit rolled up, indicator lights twinkling atop its scuffed white chassis as it dried the wet linoleum. "This Patient has been so far gone for so long, she doesn't even have a name anymore-"

GLORIA's processor lights blinked in return, illuminating their cybernetic optic orbs with data. "But the Patient's chart says her name is 'ANGEL-37248'."

"Dammit - I wish Humane Resources would have finished your reprogramming before they put you on the floor. I don't care how shorthanded we are..." The NightManager sighed into her coffee cup:

" That's not a name; it's just a status designator and number. ANGEL is an internal Designator for MIRKMedicalCorp. She's not an 'Angel' like some mythical being; she's an ANGEL, as in 'Any Nonintelligent Gestated Entity, Living. Tonight DOK will humanely end ANGEL-37248's suffering at the last billable second. It's not going matter to any one if she makes it to Christmas or not - she's got no family; no one will even know she's dead."

"But she wants Christmas." GLORIA persisted.

"She doesn't want anything, she's a vegetable, and if it wasn't for that trust fund, she'd have been euthanised long ago."

"But she remembers..." The CareBot's optical orbs opened wide, an attempt to convey cues indicating importance.

"She remembers nothing." The NightManager rubbed her forehead, aggravated. "Look - you're an AI. You're supposed to do your job and let the DOK do its job. DOK's job is to make patients profitable. Your job is to make patients comfy and quiet, so take care of this patient and make her stop crying."

GLORIA tried a different cue, spreading her silvery hands in a gesture of pleading: "Christmas will make her stop crying."

Irritable, the NightManager grumbled; "Your data probably got corrupted with your last update. I'm calling the Programmers in as soon as they can be scheduled... you're overdue for reformatting, anyway."

Footsteps hurried down the hall, followed by the CareBot's persistent hum.

"Ugh, the DOK... "Babbi crinkled her nose at the name: "the Department of Kindness is just another soulless algorithm disguised as policy."

KeeKee rolled his brilliant green eyes: "More like, 'Department of Killing', seeing as how that's the only 'kindness' they offer."

"But how could anyone talk that way about a Human Being?" Babbi brushed her Mother's withered cheek. "Or any Being, for that matter?"

"Because they've lost their souls. They've forgotten what it means to see the Divine in everything." KeeKee glared as the NightManager lingered by the door, making notes. "Their CareBot has more soul than they do; GLORIA even brought your Mother this -"

Soft lights twinkled on a tiny, Angel-topped potted tree, tucked behind the bedside table, a comfort in the darkness. KeeKee poked a silver bell and it tumbled to the floor, tinkling.

Startled by the sound, the NightManager glanced in again, suspicious. Resting her neatly manicured hand on the doorjamb of the darkened room, she scryed the darkness, looking for any sign of intruders; seeing nothing, the NightManager slipped away to the next room.

Mischievous, KeeKee stroked his black whiskers, then batted another silver bell off the tree again -

"KeeKee, I swear, you're a hazard." Babbi mock-scowled. "I don't know why He let you come here, but that was His call..."

"He chose me for this job. I used to work here, long, long ago." Self-important, KeeKee sniffed. "It's how I became ANGEL's family. I adopted her."

A clatter and a hum interrupted the pair.

Bidden by the too-busy NightManager, the CareBot whisked into the room, followed by the CleanUp Bot. While the CleanUp Bot polished the linoleum, GLORIA checked the patient's fingernails and pulse with a gentle scan: the Bot's neutonian skin shimmered as it reflected the lights of the Tiny Tree, and the Golden Light on the Woman's face -

Spotting the bell on the floor, GLORIA extended a delicate hand to pick it up. She accessed her database, remembering a similar input from a long-ago Christmas movie file found in her Patient's meager personal effects: "Each time a bell Rings..."

the CareBot's optical sensors light up with recognition:"Another One gets its wings!" The CareBot tucked the silver bell into the Woman's cold fist.

"Merry Christmas, ANGEL."

Babbi watched while the Bots worked the room; the CleanUp Bot spritzed disinfectant spray from an integrated reservoir while GLORIA inspected the unit's work. "All tasks are completed."

The CleanUp Bot hummed, pleased; done with the room, the pair whisked back out to the hall, bringing cleanup and care to more patients.

Babbi watched them disappear around the corner. "I like GLORIA. I'm glad they bought her, even if it's only as a seasonal temp."

"Yes, but GLORIA broke company protocol sneaking this illicit contraband in here. Rules and all..." KeeKee flipped another bell from a twiggy branch. "They won't be happy if they find it."

Babbi cupped her hands around the little tree, shielding it from KeeKee's playful attentions. The glowing Angel Tree-Topper peeked out from between her fingers. "I'm just surprised that GLORIA was able to get a delivery drone to drop it off unnoticed..." Babbi drifted near the aged hand: "Do you want to come sit with Mother, KeeKee?"

Unfolding himself, KeeKee stretched luxuriantly against the vinyl cushions of the couch. "I've sat with your Mother plenty in the past. Take your time; this is your moment. Besides, I'm busy enjoying this tree - " He admired the bells adorning each branch, flicking them with casual abandon. "Look, another One got its wings."

"Shh, don't disrespect the Angels, KeeKee." Bending over her Mother, Babbi hissed. "They'll hear you... besides, that old adage is just a folktale from the Movie: 'It's a Wonderful Life'. That's not how the Wings Thing really works."

"I prefer things my way." He batted another bell. "The Angels will hear me and they'll like it because I keep giving them wings."

The noise awakened the Woman in the Bed.

"Ma..." the patient stirred, gasping, eyes fluttering open. "Mamaaaa..." Silicon-sheathed robotic feet squeaked against the lineoleum as GLORIA hurried in;

"Mamaaaa?" the Woman's apple-doll face crumpled, eyes unseeing, wheezing: "Mamaaaaa..."

Gyros shushed as GLORIA drew near, her hand evolving to extend a brush attachment; the Bot's iridescent skin shimmered, transmuting to human features; a nose became distinct, then eyes, brown like the Woman in the Bed. Mirroring the patient's features, the CareBot became a plump young Woman out of an antique bedside photo frame, dark hair tied into a ponytail. Humming, she stroked the silver wisps of hair that framed the crinkled face.

The fragile chest heaved, weeping without tears.

"Your Maternal Parent image is not comforting you... I will find another. But there is no picture of a Paternal Parent on file, or any other family..." Trying to find a comforting image to reflect, GLORIA accessed the Patient's personal files again.

ANGEL-37248's earliest patient ID appeared, from her very first week in the care home, with supplemental images of an insensate middle-aged woman, propped up in bed with a therapy animal in her lap. GLORIA's metallic face rearranged, skull lengthening, ears travelling upward to become the face of a little Tuxedo Cat...

the Woman in the Bed wailed.

"This is not working. I will find another image;" but images of anyone but the patient were few. As per her protocols, GLORIA looked in the personal effects file, and found a pastel sketch, created by the patient before her accident. The CareBot's face became soft and round, wreathed in a halo of golden curls, a brown-eyed laughing baby girl:

agonal wheezes and gurgles answered as the patient's unseeing eyes rolled back.

"She can no longer see you." Babbi leaned in to murmur to the CareBot: "But she can still hear you - and she loves Christmas songs about Angels..."

GLORIA's optical orbs blinked, then a bright song played from her speakers, and she sang:

The Woman's wrinkled face twisted into a toothless grimace of joy; the wheezing calmed. Still singing, the CareBot fetched a heated blanket to swaddle the patient in a woven embrace. Warm and comforted, the Woman slept in peace.

Babbi whispered: "Thank you."

Taken unawares, the Bot slowly scanned the room, looking for the person that belonged to the voice; optic sensors detected the blonde haired woman and an indistinct companion. "I am so sorry! I did not notice you there - that light must be overriding my sensors. You are visitors?"

"Yes - we're just very quiet." Babbi smiled, and put her finger to her lips.

"I don't know why I did not see you..." GLORIA tried to compute the error. "It is possible I have a malfunction; the NightManager says my programming is not correct."

"Well, can you see him over there?" Babbi pointed at KeeKee; he waved at the CareBot.

Analysing, GLORIA peered at him, trying to perceive a dark outline against too-bright golden light: "Yes, but only a vague shape; my face recognition software is not making out a pattern, so I must have a software error. How did you all get in? It is after visiting hours..."

"We've always been here, and we'll be staying until the end. It won't be long now; we'll all be gone before morning." Whiskers twitching, KeeKee said it and meant it.

"But only family is allowed in," The CareBot blotted a trickle of drool from a corner of the bedridden Woman's mouth, then swiped lip balm onto her shriveled lips: "and her chart says she has no family."

"She has family, just some of us are not the kind that shows up on a chart." KeeKee turned up his nose.

Babbi laughed, a tinkling silver giggle that intrigued the bot. "They just can't see; but if you look in her files, you will find me."

"Are you certain you are allowed to stay?" GLORIA could more clearly see the Visitors now; still indistinct, they were backlit with an golden glow that overwhelmed the CareBot's sensors.

"I'm certain - we've cleared it with the Highest Authority." KeeKee leaned in close to blink emerald eyes at the CareBot. "And He sends word - thank you for bringing Mother the little Christmas Tree. It is an act of Love. He will remember you."

"Who is He?" Curious, GLORIA opened her datafile of Supervisors.

"The One who sent us."

This input pleased the CareBot.

"I do not see 'the One' listed here - but I am glad your Supervisor finds my work acceptable. Please tell Him I am doing my job; I see ANGEL loves Christmas. I detected it in her microexpressions when ancient carols were played at a Care Home Staff Party." Hovering near the bedside, GLORIA pulled the small tree forward, where the light could be seen more clearly by the Woman in the Bed. "I am just reflecting the Love she has in her own heart."

KeeKee purred: "Love reflected is still Love. Light reflected is still Light..."

An embedded intercom blurted from the Bot's torso: "GLORIA - report to Room 675 for Patient Care."

"I must tend my other patients - but thank you for watching ANGEL-37248 . She is nearing the end of her life. Please call me if she needs anything, and let me know when she is leaving us. " The CareBot reached out to pat the Woman's hand: "I want to help make her comfortable."

The Light became more brilliant, and the Bot produced a cloth, wiping optic sensors clean; the Visitors became more sharply framed, shadows against a coming radiance, but still unknowable.

Resigned to malfunctioning sensors, the CareBot wafted down the hall humming carols, features fading to blank, iridescent skin as it turned the corner. GLORIA's comforting glow dimmed into shadow as the Woman in the Bed drew back further into the warm, dark cocoon of approaching death. Coffee and chatter stayed far away, at the Administration Station; the Woman's room was the sacred womb of waiting, and neither Babbi nor KeeKee spoke as the hour moved towards the mystic realm of Silent Night.

Time passed, and the CareBot returned, standing in the door, a silvery whisper of humanity: hesitant, it waited, watching the Tiny Tree's twinkling lights illuminating the Woman lying swaddled before them:

"Is this Christmas?"

Babbi drew near to the Woman as KeeKee watched from the other side of the bed, backlit auras now revealing the sharp delineation between Darkness and Light, portal to worlds unknown:

"Christmas is almost here."

GLORIA stepped to the bedside, lingering beside the Woman in the Bed, transmuting once more into a desired image: optic orbs became luminous eyes framed by waving hair and white wings, body wrapped in a gossamer gown with flowing sleeves, singing the ancient song of the old Woman's childhood:

Abrupt, a click flashed, and a wall panel lit up, lines of text flickering to life in the stark room.

#WELCOME to DOK

#FACILITY: Kindness and Tranquility Care Home 22, a partnership of MIRKMedicalCorp and GovState Inc.

#ROOM: 633

#TIME AND DATE: 11:55PM 12/24

#PATIENT: ANGEL-37248

#PATIENT CONFIRMATION:

The NightManager entered to tap into the patient record as the DOK read off the record:

#PATIENT: ANGEL-37248

98 year old chromosomal female;

Appendix removed, age 11

Miscarriage at 8 weeks, age 38

Car accident, multiple trauma, severe head injury, age 42

Awarded Injury Compensation

Ward of MIRKMedicalCorp, 56 years

No living heirs

Efficient, the NightManager's fingers pressed buttons of light on the glass wall, "Confirmed through DNA signature, record matching and financial information. Initialise shutdown sequence."

GLORIA blinked: "But it is almost Christmas. Wait until Christmas. Her Family is waiting for Christmas - "

Lips pressed into a thin line of disdain, the NightManager tried her best to ignore the malfunctioning CareBot. "There's no one here, GLORIA. You are glitching..." The NightManager pressed enter, speaking into the record:

#Shutdown sequence activated

"Wait until Christmas -"

A two-tone whisper blasted through the circuits, and the wall panels flickered - the NightManager slapped the wall, frustrated, then looked up to see, GLORIA inserting a slender steel finger into the wall port. Light filled the room, blowing out the panels, overriding the programming:

"Wait -"

GLORIA was aglow, overriding, uncontrollable, each finger a beacon, body aflame; ascending, an unbearable Being of Light, burning retinas and blinding the NightManager. GLORIA filled the room, spilling into the hall, beating back the Shadows with the indestructible power of Light -

"I need the Tech! GLORIA's malfunctioning!" Panicking, the NightManager called for backup, running down the hall, terrified as the CareBot spread its radiant wings, shielding its Patient.

As her footsteps clambered away, GLORIA locked the door and gazed upon the Little Family, optic orbs shining as Midnight cleared.

"It is Christmas."

"Thank you, GLORIA -" Babbi bent over the Woman, measuring her last breaths: "... places, everyone."

"Where do you want me?" KeeKee sidled up to the bedside: Babbi waved him over to the edge of the Bed and pointed at the Woman's heart:

"Here, as she remembers you; just jump up there like you always did, when you wanted a snuggle."

"Purrfect. It is my favorite spot in all eternity." Slicking back his dark hair, KeeKee dwindled down, face sharpening, whiskers spreading, disappearing behind the bedrails -

a small tuxedo cat leapt onto the bed. KeeKee curled upon the Woman's chest, purring, and the desiccated fingers twitched, coming to life in a memory...

Babbi shimmered as she materialised into her Mother's arms.

Becoming smaller and smaller, Babbi transformed; golden curls now a halo, brown eyes laughing, she became a chubby baby girl from the portrait, the Angel from her Mother's broken heart come to life -

Babbi placed her tiny hands on her Mother's cheeks; the weathered face became radiant beneath her Daughter's touch, the years of Night melting away into a glorious Dawn:

"Wake up, Mother, wake up! It's Christmas..."

the door smashed open.

The Tech and her NightManager rushed the CareBot, knocking it to the floor. The air grew still and quiet in the room as they struggled, the Light from the CareBot and the twinkling tree illuminating the face of the Woman in the Bed, her eyes open, arms outstretched -

yanking the CareBot's emergency access panel aside, the Tech jammed a keydrive into GLORIA's reset portal:

GLORIA gleamed, iridescent colors shifting wave on wave, forming faces of patients past, lives decades gone; voices streamed from the speakers, songs and laughter from hearts long silenced, alive again. Optic orbs became eyes, technicolor rainbows of Light; voices became One Voice, alive with awakening wonder...

sparkling in an Aurora Borealis of Joy, GLORIA sang:

the voice sputtered, soaring into the Ether and away.

Panting, the Tech sprawled on the floor beside the bot. She looked up at the NightManager: "I'm writing this one in as a total loss, with the recommendation we stop buying these things. That's the third one this month..."

Sweating with fear, the NightManager kicked at the Bot. GLORIA lay where she fell - deactivated.

"Send it to recycling for scrap, then call the CleanUp Bot to clear out this room for the next patient." Exhausted, the NightManager scrambled up off the floor to assess the Woman in the Bed - and saw the Tiny Tree. "Where on Earth are these things coming from? Send out another memo - NO unauthorised symbols allowed!" The NightManager tossed the Tiny Tree into the trash - Angel, bells and all.

"I'm going to need another cup of coffee after this."

The CleanUp Bot came, whirring around the room; leaving it to its work, the Tech and NightManager headed out to finish their patient rounds. The CleanUp Bot pulled the Woman's body from the bed, blankets and all, and placed it on the automated gurney; the Woman's face was peaceful, her eyes serene, fixed on a Light no one else could see...

as the gurney hauled the body away, a silver bell fell to the floor from the Woman's limp hand, jingling as it rolled to a stop.

Curious, the CleanUp Bot scooped up the bell, then looked to GLORIA, eyes eternally fixed on unseen Angels; the little Bot gently placed the silver bell in GLORIA's silver hand:

"Another One gets its wings."

Retrieving the Tiny Tree from the trash can, the CleanUp Bot straightened the luminescent wings and glowing golden halo on its diminutive Angel Tree Topper. A hidden panel opened, and the squat unit stuffed the Tiny Tree inside its empty reservoir, treasure where its heart was also...

the CleanUp Bot whirled away, humming to itself as it whirred down the hall, incandescent with Golden Light:

~Gloria in Excelsis Deo!~