Chapter 1
Where do I
start this for you all? In all honestly I am not too sure. I guess
I'll start at the beginning, the only place I can, though the
beginning seems not so much as it is now. No, I'll start with the
beginning of the end.
It would
be an overcast, but warm, July summer day when I walked into the
overly air-conditioned office building at Insigna Corp, a company
high in the IT and Engineering field. Man that office was cold, but
I can't remember a time when industry cared about the environment, so
I wouldn't dwell on it any further. Walking up towards the busy
elevator, crowded with fellow colleagues of various departments,
recognizing Philip and David, two of the obnoxious men that were in
the engineering department of the company. I only saw the men at
meetings though, for I wasn't in engineering but IT.
I grabbed
my arms and shivered through my burgundy cotton shirt and black
polyester slacks, all business attire naturally, feeling myself
wriggling in black leather loafers with matching soaks, oh how I love
my fashion sense. Course I wasn't hired for that, but for my
abilities as a programmer. Graduating on the Dean's list with co-op
experience I was quite competent in my skills in typing code like a
monkey, but just doing that isn't enough: now one must also be
creative in how that is deployed and designed. That note have nuked
many of an old friend out of the college.
Alas I had
reached my floor and stepped off. I then tugged my long, brown
ponytail tightly behind me as I walked my stalky-pale self down to my
cubicle. There it seemed to be another day happily tapping on my
keyboard and being on the verge of trashing my computer as a finicky
syntax error or an unexpected bug lurk insidiously in my code
somewhere. However, I would be there to witness the start of
everything that has gone so horribly wrong over the course of a few
years.
That day I
had a meeting to attend to. It was hosted by a Devon Shorber, the
senior expert in robotics. I take a seat, for being a seasoned
coder, and being highly proficient in D language, the coding language
of all the commodities that we a company made. I find myself seated
next to Gordon, the senior programmer in my department, and Fran, a
marketeer. Across from me was Phillip, one of those perverted
Engineers that act as though the have never seen a woman before or
grew up in households where the women were so weak and backwards.
There were other people, but I didn't recognize them, and at that
moment I didn't care.
“Good
day gentlemen... and ladies,” he started. Poor dork forgot that
there was myself and Fran. “I would like to propose a new project
in revolutionizing robotics while making society easier for all.”
He then reached up and got a few bristle board pictures of chrome
droids that likely came out of a bad sci-fi comic book. “I think
Derek there remembers the great success that was the TQ212 model,”
he said addressing a guy with crew cut and a gray business suit.
Must have been an accountant, who nodded happily.
Yes, I
remember the success of that little metallic cleaning droid that was
used for cleaning counter tops. The thing was smart enough to detect
whether or not it hit the end with sensors, and would learn the
surface, doing a better job each time. Not hard to program, course
mind you I normally code Article Intelligences used for telephone
chat bots. Thank me for making them smart enough to understand what
the bloody hell your saying, in full sentences, in any broken accent
you like, and not having to say an option key word. Yeah me!
“Well,
imagine such a droid capable of everything else!” he then went in
with such geekish excitement, “Think about it, having a
multipurpose droid for doing various chores, while keeping us
company. We would have our own personal droid to talk to and to help
us out when in need. Oh! Good gentlemen... and ladies, think of all
the people that would buy such a technical marvel!”
Phillip
seemed a bit impressed. “So Devon,” he would then say, “a
droid that would both scrub the floor and talk to you about
philosophy?” His eyes twinkled rather creepily, “would it have a
female voice also?”
“Well,
it could sound like anything the buyer wanted,” Devon replied with
a grin.
“I can
see it now!” Fran was getting all sparked up with the contagious
enthusiasm Devon was passing along, “Buy your perfect mate! Only
second to a human lover!”
“That
was lame Fran,” some green-striped sweater guy remarked. Poor
Fran.
“In the
vision we would have a druid capable of understanding human emotion,
and being capable of sending an appropriate response to our
customer,” Devon continued on, “that on top of helping us out.”
“How
would they help?” Gorgon asked, first think he said in the meeting,
and his tone full of skepticism. I looked to Devon for the answer,
for I was equally skeptic.
“These
droids would have a magnitude of uses,” he went on, “From the
TQ212 abilities to more difficult tasks such as cooking or handymen
repairs.”
“And we
could talk to it?” That guy with the sweater said, then asked
dumbly “I wonder what it would say?”
“'This
is work any retard could do and I was programmed for so much more,'”
I sarcastically replied in a mechanical voice. I took a deep breath
so I wouldn't giggle and then asked “Seriously, why would we want
to talk to a cleaning droid?”
“Why
not?” Devon replied, “Haven't you ever wondered what a robot
might have to say?”
“Not...
really,” I send back to him, in his face! “Never imagined it to
be anything too intelligent, after all, they're just machines.”
“That's
because you can't program A.I's to save your soul sweetie,” Philip
would then say in his chauvinistic way, “All the ones you gave us
in the past were quite dumb, as though designed to, say, take calls
and never think about how they made the customer feel.”
“That is
because they are not suppose to 'care'” I replied, “Their suppose
to do their assigned duty. The bot takes the call, helps the
customer update their account or something, and customer leaves. The
bot processes sound waves and activates methods that relate to the
words that are encoded in the sound waves. You don't want them to
think about why the customer is screaming at them in an irate fashion
because that is not part of the job description. This is why actual
people were phased out: too many of them couldn't take the abuse with
their wits intact.”
“Well,
Shannon,” Devon went on, “these ones would care. They would come
to you if they think your hurt, they would want to make you happy,
and would be caring and loving.”
“What's
wrong with that?” I was asked by that dude in the sweater.
“I guess
nothing at all,” I replied, sounding sincere, but I couldn't keep
it up with the amount of design stupidity I was hearing, “I can
hear it now,” I said satirically. I then put a closed hand to my
lips and grunted to clear my throat, then said in a sluttish voice “I
bet you can't stick it!”
Gordon
looked at me rudely. I don't think he appreciated the Halo
reference. He then looked back at Devon. “I think my associate
here thinks your idea is silly. I would have to agree. Why would we
want our droids talking to us?”
“So they
could be companions,” he said to Gordon, “loyal and looking out
for us, you know.”
“Devon,
seriously,” I asked him, “What you’re proposing is to put
Cortana in a cleaning droid. Really, what would she do that a human
being couldn't?”
“I think
I got the marketing for this,” Fran then piped up, scanning the
room for anything and anyone, “We all know that modern society has
gotten more… lonely. What better way to get companionship! It
would be advertised as the ultimate companion.”
“Exactly
miss,” Devon replied enthusiastically, “It would be a companion
of sorts. After all, it is really hard to find people these days,
why not make them?”
“There
called ‘friends’ Mr. Shorber,” I then said, than leaned into my
chair while saying “what dumb lonely…” the thought then died in
my throat. Devon was a nerd, and like many nerds very lonely, not
having much in the name of good interactions with others, a complete
introvert that has a deep-seeded contempt for humanity. Of course he
would be dumb enough to make robotic people!
I could
relate to that. I had only a handful of flesh and bone friends here
in reality; or meat-space if you will. Most of my friends I only
know on the Internet: people that I have met on online-forums,
two-bit MMOs and Second Life. Inspite my pathetic excuse of a
life then I wasn’t dumb enough to think I could build my friends
from scratch, though as tempting as it is to have a mechanical Navi
follow me around.
“Miss
Smith,” Fran looked at me a bit sorely, “It isn’t just your
kind that are lonely and depressed. Statistics do show that
depression is on the rise and we are more lonely than ever before.
Think of all the money that we could make from selling the ultimate
companion.”
Typical
marketer: can’t think beyond the possibility to make money off a
brand, regardless of the any ethical concerns that one would have.
As for Philip, I think he likes the idea of having a robotic
sex-slave – dam perv! I couldn’t speak for anyone else in the
room, but it seems, by the look on his face, that Gordon was starting
to buy it: think about the complex algorithms that would have to be
designed and coded.
I had one
last question. I paused as I looked at everyone else, many excited
with the though of creating the first robot programmed to give a dam.
I leaned against my chair. Eyes were on me for my typical boardroom
manner, as Devon had to work extra hard to convince me, a well known
contrarian, that his idea was a good one. Course, from experience, I
could tell that Gordon wasn’t very scared, for he knew that I was
normally convinced that this was a good idea and I would happily type
away on my keyboard. In a rested position, I then asked quietly
“What about the sentient being laws?”
The
excitement in the room died down as my voice rang through with a
question that panicked CEOs. Being unethical was bad enough, but
unlawful?
“P-Pardon
me?” Devon seemed surprised at the questioned, “Sentient being
laws?”
I nodded.
“Yep, you heard me.”
“How
would we be in violation of laws that protect sentient lifeforms?”
that dude in the sweater asked, “They're robots! Those laws don’t
apply to machines! Machines are objects, not beings, nevermind
people.” Guy must have been a law-dork. Sounds like something a
law-dork would say.
Alas, he
rationalized Devon, and I dropped the moral bomb. It was the very
moral bomb that would cease bioengineering experiments made to make
people for certain tasks, and ‘improve’ humanity. That would
mean that Andross couldn’t make bio-nightmares and the horrors that
was “Project Spartan” would never happen, or something that is of
the equivalent anyways. No weird new creatures, variations of
humans, or perfect soldiers. Thank the lord: a real-life Mastercheif
would have just been creepy. The sentient laws were instilled to
prevent creatures that we deemed “sentient” - based on their
intelligence, ability to think at level higher than instinctual, and,
importantly, their ability to feel emotions outside of instinct -
from being mistreated. These special laws would ensure that a
section of society wouldn’t become a slave race: people that would
serve the sole purpose of doing dangerous shit work.
I leaned
forward with my rebuttal. “In an essence, Devon, you are asking
Gordon and I… and our team… to program droids with true emotions,
things they need to care about us and not just do stuff. You’re
asking us to code people… people for the love of god
already, that would have emotions and feelings… so we could have
them sweep the floor and fold laundry: all while being the good
Stepford wife and comforting their owner when their sad,
primping them when their ugly, all while keeping their apartments and
house tidy for guests.”
I averted
my glance as I heard Gordon speak. “Shannon,” he said, “Their
machines. You’ve said it yourself, they only know what they are
programmed to do, and are nothing more than mere tools to make our
lives easier.”
“Yes
sir, I believe I did say that,” I replied to him with a grin, “I
simply would like it to stay that way.”
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