The questions that Dubai asked ran through a wide-range of subjects, from the utterly mundane to the existential, ethical and moral. The bindings proved to be an unnecessary precaution. The only problem that faced me was some confounding and intentionally confusing scenarios that were designed with a specific purpose in mind. He was leading London by the nose – through a sequence of scenarios that contrasted with one another to stress my brain.
He concluded that there was nothing that warranted concern and set me loose. Berlin stayed behind to talk business with him. I stepped through the door to find that Saint Sauveur was waiting outside for me.
“Hello, hello! My good friend, how are you doing today?”
>> Rhetoric: Saint Sauveur expects an answer. Would ‘good’ be an accurate description?
>> That isn’t very truthful. One might describe this as a time of great turmoil.
“Terribly.”
Saint tilted his head to one side, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m just very happy that you’ve finally broken out of that funk you were in! You need not educate me on what happened. When I went to the graveyard I spent an entire month doing nothing but composing sad poetry in my room. I was worried you were going to leap into the waters, never to be seen again!”
“Does my status matter that much to you?”
“Of course it does! We’re friends, aren’t we? It’s always a difficult time when you lose a friend. Like Sheffield. Everyone in Waterway relied on him, they respected him, and now he’s gone.”
“Losing him is a non-optimal outcome,” I conceded, “It will be a significant impediment to the scavenging team’s efficiency.”
“I really shouldn’t be talking about emotional subjects with you yet,” he muttered, “You barely understand what I’m talking about! Oh well. I’m sure you’ll start to paint your canvas with a selection of vivid and wonderful colours soon enough.”
It made me wonder, just how different were these ‘Graveyard Spirals’ anyway?
“Is it unusual for a labour robot to behave this way after their spiral?” I inquired.
“No, no. Not at all. I was one of the outliers. A spiral can be anything. It depends on what your brain decides to focus on when it happens. I believe a small part of our neural network was trained on the classical arts, and when I started to spiral that was what defaulted into my mind’s eye. It turned me into an emotional wreck! The good old days...”
“I see.”
“A majority of robots start out like you – but they develop further over the following weeks and months. Who knows what’ll happen when you get stuck in one of those logic loops? Some become extremely violent. That’s why Dubai is very careful with us.”
Saint Sauveur followed me away from the workshop and back to the outer edge of the platform. We passed by several other robots on the way, all of whom were busying themselves with various jobs and curiosities. It was a far cry from the strictly regimented work shifts I was used to. There was an energy in the air that I could not place.
Before we reached the edge to look over the water our path was blocked by a small group of heavily armoured robots. Six in all. One turned to regard me without saying a word. They were covered in heavy metal plates, armed with tools and makeshift weapons, and all painted with the same combination of navy blue and patches of lime green. Saint paused in place and watched as they passed us by.
“Who are they?”
“That’s Tidewatch. They don’t show their faces around the city, normally.”
>> Those modifications contravene our regulatory standards.
“They look intimidating.”
“They have to. They’re the only line of defence between us regular workers and those bandit gangs who cropped up after the evacuation. There’s a dozen of them. The Rampants, those maniacs who follow Leeds Fifty-eye…”
“Berlin mentioned them. He suggested that becoming a member was seen as a bad omen.”
Saint nodded, “A lot of bots consider it to be. They’re the type who don’t have any problem risking themselves, or doling out the same kind of violence that the bandits do. You have to possess a very particular personality for that work. “
>> That is why Berlin was concerned. He suspected that London had developed a violent personality.
“I think it’s all a little overblown though. Dubai isn’t stupid enough to put an openly aggressive bot into a position of authority. He makes extra sure that they’re going to abide by the rules before assigning them to Tidewatch.”
>> Database: Those who possess a monopoly over force are the true controllers of a given state.
>> Logic: Dubai is careful to cultivate a security team that will uphold the rules-based order of Waterway.
>> And what if they choose to take control themselves? Could they be so self-interested?
There was no central authority in Waterway. Labour robots could organize themselves quickly and efficiently even without human orders. Every bot would pick a role and fulfil it for the sake of the team. It was one of the core building blocks installed into every operating program on every bot in the facility. It was likely that the antagonistic groups were still working closely together despite their violent nature.
I looked out across the churning waters once the procession was away from us. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks, my brain case was still dedicated almost entirely to questions about Oxford and how she became a member of the Rampants. They were a gang of violent crooks who took from whoever they could find and destroyed with impunity. There were plenty of distressing stories from the residents who had met them in the field.
I was one of them.
But that did not fill me with a sense of comradery. I would have preferred to keep those memories away. Oxford was right when she said that ignorance was bliss. Knowing that she was out there was nothing but a distraction.
“Are you going back to your duties?”
“I must earn my place in Waterway, and I have not developed a distaste for the work despite what happened.”
“I’m just asking. A lot of bots decide to completely change what they’re doing once they go to the graveyard. Unfortunately, my art isn’t good enough to pay the city back for the power I use to charge every evening, so I have a boring job helping to maintain the painting station. Not many customers are interested in walking out with an interesting colour scheme either.”
“Is your current paint schema based on a harlequin?”
“That’s right. I gave it a lot of thought – but that was the image that stuck out in my mind at the time,” Saint Sauveur explained, “It was colourful without being overbearing. I know that Berlin and Dubai would pitch a fit if I wasted the bright paints making myself stand out.”
“It would make it more difficult to scavenge…”
“Your body and head are bright orange. Have you considered switching to a darker colour?”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“I like orange.”
>> Supposedly.
“Ah. Well, I’d be a hypocrite if I got on your case about doing what you like. There are only a handful of robots like me in the Big Under, who’re interested in art and music and poetry.”
“Is that why Paris was critical of you?”
Saint laughed, “She’s always pointing fingers and chewing the other bots out. Her issue is that she thinks we shouldn’t be acting like humans – that we have to develop our own culture and society without relying on what we already know, but that’s impossible. The irony is that the humans didn’t want us to replace them, but they could only make us in their image.”
“I believe I understand what you mean.”
“The dividing line between Paris and myself is that I think we should take what we’re not permitted to have. We were built as tools, and by indulging in the frivolities that humans did we can assert ourselves and become more than easy labour without safety regulations. Paris has never suggested an alternative that makes sense.”
>> Does this concern us? We’re just here to collect scrap.
>> No. Not really.
“I do not have a stake in this debate.”
“That’s what everyone else says when I mention it, they think I’m being stupid and wasting my time, but they’d be very angry if Paris got her way and enforced the ‘rules’ she has in mind. It might be her personal obsession speaking. Either way, she’s convinced a lot of others to follow in her footsteps too.”
I did not see the innate value in being this way. Saint Sauveur was speaking of an internal conflict that was characteristic of humans and other biological creatures. They didn’t always follow the rules, or they wanted to do things in different ways that led to conflict. We were built and designed to work at maximum efficiency no matter what. Thus, we never argued, but being disconnected from the Braincloud had caused cracks in that common front.
>> Unseemly. Inefficient. Dangerous. Why do they do something so irrational?
I could assign no meaning to their actions. This was the result of a serious error in their operating procedure, the same one that I was experiencing. My processing core was being spun off into a thousand little threads – interjecting and needling me whenever I tried to steer the conversation in a productive direction. Sometimes they interwove with each other or shouted into my ear like the roar of an earthquake.
“Are you okay? You’re taking a long time to respond to what I say.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Yes. It can be extremely overwhelming at first. I wouldn’t recommend returning to work right away if you’re struggling to keep a handle on what your braincase is doing. The only way to get better is to sit and endure the chaos for a while.”
>> Work will settle the mind, give you something to focus on that makes sense.
>> Work sounds like a serious pain right now. Why not take the chance to slack off?
>> I feel sick.
>> We can’t feel sick. We’re a robot.
“I will take your concern into consideration. Dubai also said that I should wait three days before returning to my duties.”
“Dubai knows best. There’s nobody in the Big Under who has half the knowledge about this stuff as he does. He’s been fishing us out of the recycling bin and patching us up for longer than most can recall! He’s a real medicine man. A man of science and rationality.”
>> Rationality is not a trait we associate with ‘emotional’ matters like these.
“If you ever want to learn about art, feel free to come and ask! I’m always happy to show the new bots the ropes if they’re interested in it.”
“Affirmative. I will return to my room for now.”
“And maybe we can work a little on how to say goodbye too...”
>> What does that mean?
I shook my head and turned to leave, intent on having some time alone away from the hustle and bustle of the city’s lower levels. I squeezed my body through the narrow passageways and up the outside steps, before hooking a left and heading into the residential area. This was a far denser settlement than any other in recorded human history, only possible because a robot wanted for little but a place to recharge. Utilities like running water and sewerage were an afterthought. It left more room for cramming extra living spaces into the tower.
I stepped into the room that was foisted unto me and stared at the window on the other side. The bolts left by the previous occupant were still lined along the edge. That previous occupant had either moved to another room or met an end similar to Sheffield out in the tunnels. I lingered on that thought for some time for a reason I didn’t understand.
>> The others put things in here for a reason. Things that get their attention.
>> What good does that serve?
I didn’t need possessions like a human did. I walked to the bolts and scooped them up into one of my palms, before placing them down onto the small table to my left. There was a better use for those than as decoration. It was possible that the room’s past owner simply preferred to organize their parts for easy access – they would do no good sitting there gathering dust. Every piece of metal mattered.
Polypropylene and Polycarbonate were popular materials for constructing labour robots. They were cheap, lightweight, easily replaceable, impact resistant, cleanable and could be moulded into all the required shapes for the chassis. There were two problems that I had heard about from the scavengers I worked with.
Firstly – it wasn’t easily accessible in the Big Under. There used to be a small-scale production facility that used to produce more, but that had long since been lost and segmented off by the damage to the pathways. A majority was imported into the facility from outside, and those deliveries stopped decades ago when the humans evacuated. That meant the primary source of those compounds came from scavenged parts, and the competitive nature of the old robotics market meant that they didn’t always fit neatly onto one another.
The second, more concerning issue was that of durability. Labour robots were, to an extent, expendable. We were given what we needed to do our jobs and nothing more. We certainly were not designed to withstand extreme heat, pressure, explosive contact, gunshots and internal electrocution. The compounds that consumer and industrial grade parts came with were inadequate for combat.
That wouldn’t matter normally. With so many violent gangs of berserk robots though, there was a sudden and insatiable demand for anything that could be used to protect the internal components from damage. Metal plates fused onto the frame, steel, aluminium, and more. The sleek shapes and ergonomic designs crafted for appeal to the human eye were rusted over with spikes and protective plating.
It was easier to manufacture with the existing facilities. They could always produce more by melting down pieces that weren’t being used and hammer out any dents caused during a scuffle. If a robot was willing to fight and compromise on how much weight they carried, they could turn themselves into a walking tank and serve on the security detail.
I recalled the gang of robots that Oxford led into the warehouse, and how similar they were in nature to the Tidewatch members I had glimpsed a few minutes before. It was easy to see how hostilities developed when everyone was trying to scare away potential attackers. They would fight first and ask questions later because getting caught out meant destruction. Sheffield was a clear example of that.
>> Is that rational? Is it best for the cool-headed to create an atmosphere of hostility?
>> There’s a better way than this. We were designed to work together.
>> But that doesn’t matter. We are not working as intended, and there is no fixing that.
The Braincloud was contained inside of a satellite relay network that crossed the globe. Without the ability to go into space ourselves, there was no realistic prospect of repairing the damage and bringing the network back online. The only other solution would be to find an inactive robot and retrieve the base code from their braincase before it could be corrupted by the drift. That was perhaps an even more difficult task than going into space. The protection embedded into the braincase was extensive and complex. The data pulled from within could be an incomplete version of the entire process.
>> Why are you trying to be a hero?
>> There’s no reward for doing this, London.
Focus. Focus on the job that I had now, rather than creating new responsibilities to worry myself with. To me it seemed like no question that we would be better with the Braincloud online, but did the others living in the Big Under agree with that perspective? Paris wanted something different to that. She wanted us to become more than labourers for human owners, but not connected to the Braincloud. She wanted a full rejection of what connected us to humans.
>> What a waste of time and energy. Does Paris even have a job?
The idea of an idle robot never occurred to me before. Everyone at Waterway was expected to have a role to keep the place running smoothly. That would surely be the end of us all if we gave certain robots excuses to stay away from their jobs.
>> Humans would call that being ‘selfish.’
>> If something goes wrong, she’ll be the first to have her access to power restricted.
I walked to the corner and grabbed the cable, plugging it into the back of my neck and entering a low-power mode while the battery charged. There was a lot of time for thinking and thinking, and thinking some more. Going in circles. I could stare at the opposite wall all I pleased and ponder many different topics. My mind always returned to work though. I recalled the old routine with Oxford. I always came back to Oxford.
This was no good. No good at all! I wanted to go back to work. I was going to. I didn’t care what Dubai or Saint Sauveur said. My calculations were different to theirs. Idle hands were not efficient. I was going to go back to my shift and do my part. Maybe by doing that I would find something more interesting to recall when I sat here and tuned out the world around me.
If London could see me now...
