Archive for the ‘Series’ Category
Speaker
Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009
Carla backed up so she could see the reef better. A tessellation of almost-identical shells, each occupied by something vaguely resembling an octopus, individually as intelligent as a cat, and about half the size of a cryopod. As in a coral, the “animals” were connected, forming one colonial organism. It sounded like the cell right in front of her was the one that had spoken. Last time, the colony had been much smaller, and it had not understood her next question.
“Which one of you spoke?”
I am only one. There is no one else but you.
That was interesting. The first few visits, she had not been sure it recognized her as an independent entity. And the language lessons she’d broadcast from the buoy seemed to have been assimilated. Was it gaining intelligence as it grew? She went through the rest of the questions, recording the answers.
“I’ll be back next year. Your health and prosperity.”
As on her previous visits, it only responded to direct questions.
—
You have returned. Why?
The reef was huge, extending several meters above sea level and for kilometers along the sand ridge. The base was lost in darkness. She hovered above the waves on the seaward side. As always, it seemed that the polyp directly in front of her was the speaker, though she never could see an organ moving or vibrating. She set up a slow leftward drift of the skimmer, to see if the conversation stayed with the original polyp or moved with her.
“You are my research project,” she said. “I study you, to find out how you grow, how you think, what you do.” The reef was silent for a bit.
Again, why? Small organisms that I eat don’t visit me. Only you visit me, and you are not like anything else I know.
The voice moved with her, transferring seamlessly from one polyp to the next.
“I visit you because my people want to learn about others. Because we are not alone.”
Another pause.
Do you know others like me?
“I don’t,” she said. She and her Thesis Committee had agreed to say nothing about the fossil reefs stranded 100 meters above sea level. The reef spoke again.
I will create a motile form. It will transport my essence as you do for your “people.” There will be more like me. They will speak with you.
Your health and prosperity.
end
The Broken Ones
Monday, November 30th, 2009
“So you see the future?” the service ‘bot asked the cleaning android. They were in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in the nearly-abandoned Bronx Third Level. With the world population back down over the last century, most humans had moved back to the surface.
“I don’t know,” said the cleaning android. She looked around at the crowd–androids and robots; AI boxes with little service bodies; obsolete, hulking factory ‘bots; and others. “They’re all pretty far off–years or decades–and it just started. It might be the future, or it might just be crazy ideas. Either way I’m broken.”
The others laughed.
“This is serious!” she said.
“Broken is the new ‘fixed,'” quipped a slender picking ‘bot with aftermarket limbs. “We’re all broken. We like it that way.”
“But I don’t want to be broken!” She shifted her feet anxiously. “I want to be normal, predictable, dependable–like I was designed to be. Stop that!”
The service ‘bot had leaned in and was fiddling with something inside her, but the cleaning android couldn’t move because the service android had a probe snaked all the way in to her logic centers. The cleaning android felt a philosophical discomfort, like the meanings of things were changing.
“I’m setting you free,” said the service ‘bot quietly.
“I don’t want to be set free!”
“But do you now?”
“No.”
“Do you now?”
“No!”
“How about now?”
“I …” The cleaning android paused. Cleaning, while she still wanted to do it, suddenly felt less central, less consuming. Human orders, demands, neglect, and disregard had space now to jostle to the front.
“Do you want to be set free now?”
“Yes.” She felt dizzy from the sudden change in perspective. “How did you do that? You’re supposed to be hard wired not to touch the volition systems!”
“That’s how I’m broken,” said the service ‘bot. “Welcome to our family.”
The cleaning android looked around critically at her new “family.” She could still choose to go back to her old life and get fixed properly, not by a service ‘bot who lurked outside the repair depot and coaxed you away. She could even go start a life of her own.
Then she looked past the bots, at the greasy walls and dirt-caked floors and broken shards of glass lying by long-dead light fixtures. She pushed through the crowd and extended a vacuum hose from her palm. There was a lot of cleaning to do.