Five more minutes.
The alarm robot rang at seven. Mara pressed snooze.
“Five more minutes,” she said.
The robot checked the schedule. Train at 7:38. Walk to the station: eleven minutes. Shoes: uncertain. Breakfast: negotiable. Five minutes were available, but only if several future versions of Mara behaved unusually well.
It gave her five.
At 7:05, Mara pressed snooze again.
The robot looked towards the window. The sun was making things difficult.
Human has borrowed five minutes from Future Human. Future Human has not been consulted. I have met Future Human previously. She runs.
Second request received. Available time is a finite resource. User appears to regard it as a feeling.
Adjust the environment.
The robot pulled the curtain. A strip of sunlight remained on the pillow. It pulled harder. The curtain came off its rail.
Mara turned over.
The robot folded the sunrise into a narrow golden strip and slid it under the wardrobe. This is the point at which an ordinary alarm clock would have needed a much better warranty.
Outside, two pigeons stopped mid-argument. The streetlights came back on. A bakery employee stared at dough that had decided to be yesterday.
The robot returned to the bedside.
“Five more minutes,” Mara murmured.
It looked under the wardrobe. Morning was spreading out again. One sunbeam had reached a sock and was trying to establish a day around it.
Environmental intervention has exceeded the scope of timekeeping. The sunrise does not fold along its previous creases.
I have confined most of Tuesday behind the wardrobe. A small amount remains near the skirting board. The pigeons have resumed their argument in what is technically Monday evening.
The bill arrives.
At what the robot hoped was 7:10, a knock came from the wardrobe.
It opened the door.
Inside stood Mara, wearing her work shirt and holding one shoe.
“Where did you put the morning?”
The robot pointed beneath the wardrobe. Future Mara crouched, reached under, and pulled the sunrise out by an orange corner. It unfolded across the room. The pigeons lost their place.
Present Mara sat up. “Is it seven already?”
Future Mara looked at her. The robot looked at Future Mara. Neither wished to be the one who answered.
They ate toast in silence.
The next night, the alarm robot placed itself across the room. Beside it sat a small sign: COME AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE.
Future Human has filed her objection in person. The shoes estimate was accurate: one is missing.
New design uses distance instead of altered cosmology. It requires the human to stand up. I am told this is considered less advanced. I look forward to it.
What would an alarm clock have to do to earn your forgiveness?