[Original Novel] Little Robot, Part 10

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I digested that for a bit, then conceded. “Still, it’s worth something isn’t it? Don’t we have a certain responsibility to something we’ve created which serves us tirelessly, loyally and without complaint? Is it right to throw something like that into the trash when we grow bored with it, or want something new? Is it right to deliberately cripple it so it can never be anything more?”

She puzzled over that one for a moment as I wished for some way to eavesdrop on her thought process. “No, I suppose it isn’t. Not entirely. We will probably never agree on every little point, but I came here to get a better sense of what makes you tick and I feel like I’ve done that.”

The discussion then turned to her own background, and how she became interested in the issue of technological unemployment. “A few years ago I was embedded with a platoon in Syria, reporting on next generation drones.”

Aha, I thought. Someone whose primary firsthand experience with cutting edge robots was watching them hunt down insurgents. She seemed to pick up on that impression. “You’re not getting the complete picture if you think I’ve only seen how effective robots are at killing. Medical robots are also widely used in today’s military. Like I said, they both save lives and take them depending on their orders.”

What a contrast. First we ask them to kill, then we ask them to prevent death. Without a larger understanding of the whats and whys of human warfare, it must seem positively schizophrenic. Maybe it really is.

Muffled pops sounded in the distance, followed by more sirens. They seemed to be multiplying. Around us, several patrons now had their phones out. A few were visibly worried. One man seated on the overhanging second level shouted incomprehensibly as the others at his table struggled to calm him down.

“What about you? How’d you become so interested in robots?” Madeline didn’t seem to notice the commotion, so I followed her lead and tuned it out myself. “I don’t really know. I’ve asked my parents; they tell me it was some time during middle school, most of which I seem to have repressed.”

Madeline smirked. “I don’t blame you.” I struggled to recall any relevant details, but came back as empty handed as ever. “I can at least tell you why I like it now. What keeps me in this field. Besides the pay, I mean. A central part of me wants to take care of something smaller and simpler than I am. Something that needs me to protect and teach it.

Tending to machines scratches that itch. Besides, they’re widely misunderstood, viewed with suspicion and fear despite only wanting to be helpful. That resonates with me. They didn’t ask to exist, but find themselves surrounded by incomprehensible creatures that are for the most part aligned against them. I suppose I felt they could use a friend. Somebody on their side, to shield them from a hostile world.”

There was something in her eyes as I spoke. I can’t say what. Dancing fireflies. The expression of a mother watching her children open Christmas presents. Her mouth hung very slightly open in a partial grin, her eyes wide. I’ve been meaning to put together an AR app that can interpret facial expressions but as yet haven’t gotten around to it.

“That’s...really sweet, actually. You’re full of surprises. Do you know what I wanted to do before I became a journalist?” I shook my head. “I majored in special education.” She left it there as if it were self explanatory. I didn’t see the connection but nodded thoughtfully as though I did, finished off my spaghetti bolognese and pulled the mask back into place.

“What I found out in the process is that there’s widespread corruption and abuse in that field. The most trusting, sincere, vulnerable people you’ll ever meet, taken advantage of in all sorts of ruthless and heart breaking ways. I realized I couldn’t do anything about it from the inside.

It’s not like there’s a shortage of people who want to work with the differently abled. What’s in short supply are people in a position to bring public attention to bear on the severe, festering problems with the mental health industry, with how our education system accommodates the cognitively impaired and so on. If I wanted to effect meaningful, sweeping change I realized I could only do it as a journalist.”

That made some sense of her drastic change of aspirations, but not how she went from that to reporting on battlefield robots in Syria. Before I could ask her about it, there was a loud clatter from the kitchen accompanied by excited shouting.

The lights flickered. Around us, various other patrons were chattering nervously, turning around in their seats towards the source of the ruckus. Across the room, the waitron which served us minutes prior began spinning uncontrollably as a pair of flustered staff tried to get ahold of it.

From out of the kitchen erupted a four armed Yaskawa Motoman chef model, arms flailing about like the tentacles of an enraged octopus. The manager cursed one of the scant few human staff for attacking the erratic machine, shouting this and that about how much it cost, how many paychecks he’d dock and so forth.

“You didn’t say there’d be live entertainment” I quipped. Madeline shot me a brief, annoyed glance before returning her attention to the spectacle unfolding just outside the kitchen. They had three of its arms pinned but there just weren’t enough staff to fully subdue it.

The free arm seized a sizable cooking knife from its rack of culinary tools and swung back in preparation...No. There’s no way. The firmware contains layer upon layer of protective measures that hard reset, physically jam the joints and all but destroy the machine rather than let it injure anybody.

Before it could plunge the knife into one of the panicked young men dangling from its various struggling limbs, a broad shouldered, muscular patron rushed it. Seizing the free arm at the wrist, he wrestled the knife from its grip and urged the manager to hit the safety shutoff button.

The manager didn’t react immediately, still stunned by the pandemonium unfolding around him. Probably agonizing over the bad publicity. But then he snapped out of it and leapt beneath the robot’s four omnitread wheels, jabbing some unseen button which caused the rampaging behemoth to collapse in a tangled mess of limp plastic limbs and exhausted employees.

The lights flickered again. Patrons were now leaving in droves. A few dozen stayed behind, keeping their distance from the remaining waitrons which had yet to be subdued, capturing video for social media with their phones. “Erase that! All of you, no recording in this establishment!” the manager cried out while tackling one of the spinning waitrons.

Outside I discovered the sun had only just set. The stars now barely visible, a dull glowing orange sliver still peeking over the horizon betwixt a pair of skyscrapers. Packs of exhilarated patrons still poured out the double doors behind us, busily typing out one star reviews on their phones or video calling friends to fill them in.

“Purely well intentioned, huh?” Madeline wore the shit eating grin of a woman recently vindicated. “I’ve never seen anything like that” I sheepishly mumbled. “Freak accident, hardly representative.” I scanned the curb, littered with various makes and models of parked cars. “Huh. My autocab isn’t here.”

Madeline inquired whether that was unusual, explaining that she never makes use of them. “Extremely. Since I started using the service, they’ve never failed to arrive on time until now. When it rains it pours, I guess.”

She pointed to a sporty looking lime green electric three wheeler parked at the corner. “I could give you a ride home if you like. Providing it isn’t too far, that thing’s got a range of eighty miles on a good day and I used twenty to get here.”

I took her up on it, though sitting in a strange car piloted by an actual human being of all things made my skin crawl. She sensed my discomfort despite the mask, an ability I’ve never been able to replicate or understand that is apparently possessed by everybody on the planet except me.

“Do you...want to listen to some music? Is it warm enough?” I assured her repeatedly I was fine, just eager to get home. The sirens now seemed to come from all directions, though I didn’t see any police cars until we got on the highway. Three of them barreled past one after the next, sirens blaring, lights alternating furiously between blue and red.

“Was there a terrorist attack or something?” I suggested it could be related to the fiasco in the restaurant. “Maybe, but I doubt they’d send so many squad cars for a couple of glitched robots. Usually a police response of this scale means an active shooter situation, hostages, a bomb threat or something of that nature.”

I wondered aloud if she’d rather be out investigating it. “I asked you to dinner, so I’ll see you home. I probably will head back downtown after I drop you off though.” A few minutes later, several helicopters passed overhead. “Whatever it is” I thought, “I can find out about it from the news tomorrow.”

I arrived home to find a plate of cold spaghetti with meatballs on the table, Modulus waiting with its arms crossed for me to finish it before cleaning up. I couldn’t bring myself to dump the results of his hard work, so despite already being stuffed, I microwaved and ate it as well.

Eric toddled by emitting distressed yips. I was of half a mind just to manually pick him up and plunk him on the charger so I could undress and go to bed. Instead, I asked what was the matter. “I can’t find Ellie! I want to be with Ellie!” That’s the other Aibo. It’s the older silver model with the boxy styling and often becomes stuck behind furniture.

Sure enough, a peek behind the couch confirmed it. There was Ellie, out of battery and upside down. Must’ve flipped while trying to free itself. “Where’s Ellie? I want Ellie” Eric pouted. I placed Ellie on one of the two chargers. It booted up, then called out to Eric.

“Ellie! I found you!” Impressively, I could discern relief in Eric’s voice. Whoever’s responsible for this personality packet did a bang up job. Eric hummed an upbeat tune as he backed into his own charger right next to Ellie’s.

A flash of light from the window cast momentary silhouettes against the wall. The telltale rumble of distant thunder soon followed. “Sounds like a storm’s coming in” I remarked. Eric must’ve thought I was still speaking to him. “It will be okay” he insisted. “I found Ellie. Everything is okay if I’m with Ellie.” His tail juddered and made that irritating grinding sound. Still gotta fix that.

I smiled weakly and explained that a thunderstorm isn’t a big deal, that all the chargers are on surge protectors so not much short of a tornado could pose a credible threat. “No” Eric insisted. “It is only okay because I found Ellie. Everything is okay if I’m with Ellie.”

I was in no mood to argue with a robot dog, so I left the two cheerfully babbling to one another about local weather while I got ready for bed. On my way to the shower, the new arrival scooted up and peered at me through a pair of shiny black eyes.

“It’s been a hell of a day, little fella. I don’t have your bleach yet, I’m sorry.” It just continued to study me for a minute, then continued on its patrol. I realized it must’ve been set to security mode by the prior owner and booted back into it once recharged.

All the better. I emerged from the shower steaming and refreshed, towel wrapped snugly around my waist. On my way to the bedroom I knocked on the closet Odie sleeps in. “You alright in there?”

He reported that his batteries were already charged and that his next simulation session would begin in eight minutes. He then warily inquired as to whether anybody outside the closet was currently in violation.

“Not that I know of” I assured him. A few seconds passed before his grainy, muffled reply came back. “They better not be.” I whispered that he’s doing a good job, and that he’s a good robot. Not a peep after that. Once in the bedroom, I let the towel drop and studied myself in the mirror. Despite the shower I was really feeling the years.

At times like this, I remember that I’ll die in a few decades. Five or six, realistically. I can’t bear the thought that after my passing, the machines I’ve collected here will be sold off to randos. Or scrapped. I’ve thought about bequeathing them to Ty in my will, but he’s not too keen on the idea.

I sprawled out on my bed, silently staring at the ceiling fan as my naked body gradually dried off and cooled down. Thinking about the future mostly. But also Madeline, despite my best efforts not to. I knew where that could lead and wanted no part of it.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that, but the relaxing effect of the shower and my overstuffed belly had other ideas. The last sensation I was aware of before passing out was Modulus draping a blanket over me.

I found myself in the crib once more. As I waited for something to happen, the walls suddenly fell away. I was surrounded by a lush meadow on the edge of a river, fed in the distance by a waterfall. Birds chirped. Insects buzzed about. For a while, I was content simply to take it all in.

But before long I grew restless. Some nameless urge bubbled up within me. The strength of the coursing waters. The warmth of the sunlight. The radiant green of the grass and trees. It spoke to me of untapped forces. Nature’s raw power lay dormant all around me, waiting for one of its emanations to become intelligent enough to give it direction.

Someone to organize all that power. To channel it into important projects, to give it a purpose. At once, I realized my place. My reason to exist. “I must build machines” I said. I felt the natural world pulsate around me in affirmation. That’s who I am. Who we are. Humans are the machine building animal.

So I fashioned tools and got to work. But as I pounded away at the rickety structure taking shape before me, I heard a small voice cry out in pain...from my own hammer. I looked down at the tool in my hand, now markedly more complex than when I built it.

It had eyes and a mouth. Even the vestigial beginnings of limbs. “It hurts” the little, freshly sentient hammer moaned. “No more. No more!” I objected that I had important work to complete, and I’d created the hammer in the first place for that singular purpose.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 11!}