Robot

The Softly Spoken Robot.

The softly spoken robot was often taken advantage of because he was so polite, and softly spoken.  He became frustrated on these occasions, but remained philosophical about them.

The softly spoken robot was well liked by his colleagues, but he was, sometimes fundamentally, misunderstood; he had few real friends.  Seeing that he was being taken advantage of by unscrupulous, brash robots, his colleagues sympathised, but did nothing.  Theories abounded when it came to the softly spoken robot: he was just shy, he was meek, he was secretly a zen master, there were as many opinions as there were robots to hold them.  They all dovetailed on one point however.  He was, indeed, a very softly spoken robot.

The softly spoken robot took some time off work during the summer, a modest amount, and travelled somewhere cultured and mature, there were museums and poets and complicated food in small portions.  The softly spoken robot enjoyed himself quietly, smiling gently and expressing his enjoyment in a restrained, dignified manner.  At the end of his holiday, he came home.

Back in work he quickly, and without complaint, slotted back into the routine.  The softly spoken robot assumed his cog-like function, and began whirring in the machine, stoicly.

A lot of extra work had been allotted to him, because, in his absence, the other, less softly spoken robots, had sluiced off a portion of their own workload and allowed it to accrue under the duties of the softly spoken robot.  They knew that he, being so softly spoken, would not complain.  And he didn’t.

The softly spoken robot was a good worker.

During his holiday, a new member of staff had been hired.  She was a young, eager, outgoing robot, bubbling over with ideals and ambition.  Still wet behind the audio inputs, it was left to the softly spoken robot to show her the ports.  During this mentoring process, the softly spoken robot came to enjoy the company of his energised colleague.  He observed her methods and interactions and came to question his softly spoken nature, which he had previously, unquestioningly, held as a virtue.

There was no grand overnight transformation, of course.  The change was a slow process, as changes of this kind always are.

As the outspoken robot acclimatised with the workplace, she slowly came to recognise the clandestine foisting of work on her softly spoken friend.  She was outraged.  She had come to be very fond of the softly spoken robot, finding his quiet nature charming and his stoic ethic admirable.  Seeing such good thoughts and deeds rewarded only with opportunistic laziness riled her at the very core.

She decided she would discuss this with the softly spoken robot.  Considering beforehand, she opted against an energetic confrontation, knowing that this would upset him in his gentle nature, and understanding that explicit confrontation is never desirable, and seldom effective.

Broaching the subject tactfully, softly but directly, she asked the softly spoken robot why he accepted the unfair situation without fuss.  The softly spoken robot’s eyes lost a little of their glow, evoking a quiet sadness where usually mellow content radiated.

“I do the best I can”, said the robot, softly.

The outspoken, but well-meaning, robot frowned, still frustrated by the inherent injustice in the situation.  Seeing that she was unsatisfied the softly spoken robot continued.

“When a situation is presented to me, I do the good thing.  I always try to conduct myself in the best way I can.  I try to do the good thing on every occasion, in every situation.  I can’t be held accountable if others conduct themselves otherwise.”

Feeling that he had made his point to the best of his abilities, the softly spoken robot clocked out, it was the end of his shift, said goodnight and went home.

It would take a little while for the outspoken robot to come to terms with the softly spoken robots black and white mindset, these processes always take time; thinking about things, really considering them, is a slow, thorough engagement.  She never fully reconciled herself with the injustice of the situation, and rightly so.

Over months, years, the two robots came to enjoy each others company more and more, and eventually they became a couple, leapfrogging the distasteful institution of dating, and opting not to get married since it was so clearly a redundant tradition, and because they lived in a society which did not allot special exemptions and privileges on those who are married.

The two robots learned a lot from each other, and were duly promoted to more prestigious positions due to their pleasant manners and their admirable work ethics.

They opted not to have children, since the robot population had become over-saturated and was having an adverse affect on their environment.  Though it was the sensible decision, it was something of a pity as less considerate robots spawned thoughtlessly, which resulted in more brash, lazy robots.

Together, the two robots worked hard, and enjoyed themselves.  The softly spoken robot learned the use of being a little more outspoken, and the outspoken robot learned the value of being a little more softly spoken.  They were content a large portion of the time, and they didn’t expect, nor did they ask, for more.

*****

February 14th 2146

I made an important purchase today. I mulled over it for days after saving enough money. 4000 bytes. That kind of money can change lives. It's roughly eight land plot payments, the kind of money that keep a stress free family for at least half a year.

It took three years and a lot of overtime and moonlighting to raise that kind of money. Like I said; "Life changing".

My tough three years of teaching mathematics, and tutoring on the side (the world will always need teachers) should now prove to be useful. 

Most people would consider what I've described a pretty normal life, really. I don't. A pissy job in a school filled with kids who do nothing but look at their screen desks and sleep with their eyes open. "That's how my child learns, it's like they're absorbing it. I don't understand how he/she isn't learning it, he/she remembers everything he/she watches on the television" Is what every parent says. Every one. Teaching is not their job it's mine. They like to tell me that, too. Then to my second job at a night college teaching the same thing to people who've made more of an effort to be there, but know it, and thus like to make it known how hard they're life is and complain instead of learning. They're adults and don't take to being treated like children, which is usually how they behave.

The worst thing about these jobs, the absolute worst thing, is that I care about each and every person that I impart with the simpler intricacies of mathematics. The only true science, where there is a right and wrong answer. I care when they don't understand techniques to help them solve puzzles and I'll take extra time to teach them. All of them. They're just happy to go home and say that they've sat in a class room.

It's different with the people I tutor. They're very grateful for what I give them and I'm grateful or the extra bytes I make out of them. Weirdly the thing that's worse about teaching is the best thing about tutoring. I care about them but this time they care about what I have to offer.

I meet a lot of people through my work. But it's always work. Although I do get a simple pleasure out of mathematics and helping people, I never get to explore the more complex feelings that come with pleasure. That would be my own fault, though. I've sworn off any distraction that would ultimately result in spending more money than necessary. Sadly, these distractions include relationships.

I've had offers. Some have been near impossible to turn away. I've caught myself flirting with the language teacher at work. I dare say I've caught her flirting back. There's something about her. She's from Italy but her accent has moulded into a sculpture of the five language she speaks and her words are always followed by a smile. I've thought about arranging a date of sorts but I've put myself in a position where that would be unachievable. There's never time for pleasure except for dinner hour. I'm constantly working. It's a fail-safe I sometimes regret putting in place.

It was successful though. Now i have my new C"i"BerSoft personal assistant. 

The commercial product that originally daunted the working class. "The C"i"BerSoft personal assistant can do anything" Were the words used at the press conference that demonstrated the prototype. People were scared that these humanoid machines would do everyone's work and no one would get paid except C"i"BerSoft.  There was actually a pre-emptive protest about it to make sure that that would never happen. 

Thankfully the Government passed a law making it illegal for the the robots to work, only humans can, unless the work was dangerous. Things like mining or demolitions. Soon after that, C"i"BerSoft commercialized the product and they were made public. Sitting in warehouses ready for dispatch to the rich people need entertainment or help. The kind of people who have everything and need nothing.

And now I have my own. My very own robot to help with my work or clean my house. I can even throw away my personal computer. He'll just interface with it, download the essential files and programs and`that'll be it. My walking, talking computer. I can quit my night job at the college and start living my life! I might even hail Clara for a video chat and arrange a date.

Life starts here! I have a fucking robot!

February 15th 2146

It took 23 hours to charge to full capacity and it depleted after an hour. I only played one game of 3D snake!

February 16th 2146

C"i"BerSoft have just released the Personal Assistant 2 for 4100 bytes and i have to have it.

Back to the grind stone.

*****

Robophobia

Well, as you may have guessed by now, the topic of this month’s FourThought is “Robots”.  It took me a while to figure out what to say about this, because, well, I’ve been a bit lazy to be honest, or at least, more lazy than usual with deadlines, so I’ve decided that this month’s piece is going to be autobiographical.  

Basically, I am a robot.  I’m not the Tin-man type pots and pans robot, or even the Star Trek style Data, with sallow yellowish skin and a super-human intellect.  I’m not even as funny as C-3PO.  No, unfortunately, I am not of their ilk.  I am a robot in that all my inner workings are artificial.  My skin is synthetic, my eyes are miniature cameras and my brain is a motherboard.

I find it very upsetting that in what is meant to be an age of equality; I have been discriminated against by most of the people who have discovered my engineered origins.  

One of the worst cases of robophobic behaviour happened to me with a girl I’d been seeing.  It was a terribly serious relationship, but we’d been getting on very well and after a few weeks, I’d told her about my sparkplugs.  She’d reacted really well, or so it seemed at the time.  Anyway, the weekend after I’d told her about everything, she’d sent me a text saying she’d arranged a special evening for the two of us.  Anyway, I turned up and she was all smiles, so I was thinking, well, you can imagine what I was hoping for and it seemed that’s the way this evening would be heading.  

Long story short, she parked up in the local Esso garage and tried ramming a petrol pump in my mouth.  What the fuck she thought she was doing, I wouldn’t like to guess.  

After the disaster had struck, she drove me home.  We were both quiet, me from fury and her from embarrassment.  She stuttered an apology, told me that she thought that it was the sort of thing I’d like, due to my mechanical nature.  How stupid is that?  She’d seen me eat real food.  I ate raw steaks, I drank cold beer.  The closest thing I could think to make her understand what she’d just done is the idea of my taking her to a blood bank and shoving the specimen bags in her face, forcing her to drink the contents, and that’s still not close to what happened to me.  I have blood, not oil or petrol.  And yes, it is artificial blood, but it is more akin to your red fluid than that muck.  

Because, what it all comes down to, see, is that people don’t really understand what artificial intelligence is.  If you say “artificial intelligence” to someone, then they think that means calculations, equations and theorems.  And it does, but what’s happened to me is a kind of evolution in this.  I mean, you think about your computer at home, it remembers certain settings, can make certain calculations and equations incredibly quickly, more quickly than a human being.  

Here’s what you’re missing: I was built to be a human being.  Oh, I know that I wasn’t born like other human beings, but every now and then I was fitted with a new limb, giving my body a larger proportion.  As this happened, I was able to interact differently and with greater efficiency with my surroundings.  Calculations, equations, theorems; how do you think your brain deals with everything?  You interact with the universe by hypotheses which you have learned, by theorems you form from observation, reflection, thought.  There’s no difference between us in that respect.  

I know that in terms of humanity, my substance could limit me somewhat.  I’m not organic, I know that, but there’s more to humanity than mere musculature.  That’s not to say that I think I have a soul, or even that humans have souls, no one can know that.  All I know is that I feel.  I fulfil the requirements of a living organism,; I was designed to act in that way.  

When I was first made, I was programmed with a great flaw, a flaw which meant that one day, I will malfunction beyond repair and at that time, I will cease altogether.   

Do you limit me because of my origins?  Does my creation cause you discomfort?  

“Artificial Intelligence”.

I was created, you were created.  You’ve evolved over millions of years; I am a product of that evolution.  I have not the genetic information of my creator, but I am a product of his genetics.  I can even reproduce with my own nano-technology, which carries within it the information which informed my adaptation; the foundation of my being.  All these things make me human, my conditions make me a robot, something else, something different, but do not forget that I can think, feel and act, with as much independence as you.  

“Natural Intelligence”.

Substance doesn’t necessarily dictate purpose.  I have no control over the activity of what is my heart, and without it, no nourishment would fuel my body.  Oxygen is imperative to the workings of my nourishment system.  In these things, our natures coalesce.    

When it comes to robotics, it’s all a matter of complexity, but remember that organics has a great deal to do with complexity too.  Your brain makes your species complex enough to feel that it’s above other animals; my brain is complex enough to make me your equal.          

Being a robot only makes you a slave if you let it.  

(Please don’t tell anyone I told you this.)

*****

Adam Gilder

Dafydd Evans

Gethin Down