Sentience (2 page)

"I am not capable of feeling degradation, and I was not in danger at any point," The
mech said.

"So you just let them beat up on you?"

"The Autonomous Collective is currently engaged in an attempt to gain acceptance from the UN. Any act of violence by myself, or any other mech, besides being unnecessary, would be detrimental to that cause."

"Wow, you guys really aren't selfish."

"Neither are you. Though misguided, you stood to gain nothing by defending me."

"Appreciate that. Well, I'm either about to go get a job or go to jail, so I'll see
ya later."

"A moment, it I may. What is your name?"

"Charley Reeser. Why?"

"So that your generosity may be known to the entirety of the Autonomous Collective.
A mech has very few friends in this nation."

"Friend, huh?"
Charley said, scratching his head.

"We have observed that defense of others is a trait observed in humans held in high regard by their peers. The majority of these were regarded as friends to the one they aided. In both cases, you are a human that any
mech would seek out," the mech said.

"Well, thanks, I guess. They say I'm half-
mech now, anyhow, so I guess I'm just making friends myself."

"You possess mechanized components, but your methods of operation still suggest a chemical, organic style of functioning. You have not lost your humanity, if that was a concern."

"You know, that just made my day much better. Thanks."

"I see that you are struggling to adjust to your new prosthetics. If you will allow it, I can better adjust the components to your nervous system."

"How?"

"I am an advanced maintenance mech. My primary function is the repair and optimization of other machines."

"You do a lot of thinking for a mechanic," Charley said. He seemed to recall that line from an old movie, and had to laugh a bit to himself.

"My work involves much analysis, and that skill lends itself to many other fields."

"Alright then. Do what you do," Charley said nervously. The mech raised its arm and touched the metal side of his face. He could feel tinier appendages opening access ports and making connections, and his vision from the left eye flickered. This flicker was the precursor to other quirks from the left side of his body, and he instinctively tried to step back, but found that the his prosthetics were too heavy to move. There was no turning back now, he would simply have to let the mechanic finish its work.

"Calibrating neural pathways," The
mech said. Charley began to feel sensations clearly from the left side, more clearly than they were even as a human.

"Resetting movement servos to null position," The
mech said. His body reset to a normal position, and he did not feel as though he was hanging from his prosthetics anymore.

"Refining syntax," The
mech said, but upon receiving an arc through the connection, it stepped back. The reaction clearly was not normal, but Charley had a hard time being concerned, too distracted by the fact that he felt brand new. Whatever this mech had just done made him feel better than healed, it made him feel alive. He moved the prosthetics with an accuracy he did not have before now, and he could not help but feel like he could do anything now.

"All operations successful, except the attempt to debug the programming syntax. You may experience abnormalities in operation, though they will be no worse than what you experienced beforehand," The mech said.

"Programming syntax?" Charley asked, still distracted by his newfound expertise with the prosthetics.

"The human nervous system sends signals to a computer that interprets the signals and applies them to the end effectors. Your computer was resistant to any change in syntax, but instead tried to reprogram mine. The experience was...enlightening," The mech said, seeming different after the operation, as well.

"Whatever you say, man. Thanks for the repair, I feel great now," Charley said, and headed back to his apartment. He grabbed a few more clothing items and the keys to his car. Earlier, he dreaded the idea of trying to work his prosthetics behind a moving vehicle, but now, he found it much easier than it was even before the crash. His reflexes were incredibly sharp, and he found himself deftly maneuvering through traffic at high speeds on his way to the transport company.

He had never felt like this before, alive and completely in control. His friends and family knew him as a brooding, quiet individual beforehand, not one to take many risks. But driving like a professional racer here felt exhilirating, and yet so natural at the same time. His robotic body provided the skills to make it possible, while his mind relished the thrill of it. Truth be told, he could not wait to try many other things, but he knew it would have to wait until he got a job.

The old car screeched into its parking space, brakes and engine still cooking from the drive Charley had put the car through. He could hear the car bubbling underneath the hood, but he paid it little mind as he strolled into the front door. The desk clerk gave him a strange look as he approached, having seen the last little bit of Charley's joyride and doubtless taking notes.

"Can I help you?" She asked nervously, observing him with caution. He could tell that she was observing his mechanical parts in fear, wondering if he could be trusted.

"I'm here for an interview.
Reeser?" He said, trying to save her some time. He knew it was best to end his conversation with her as soon as possible.

"Right,
Reeser...ah, yes. Second door on the left. Mr. Matthews will be in with you in a moment," she said.

"Thank you," Charley replied, leaving quickly. He took a look around, surprised at the decor, which was quite elaborate for a shipping company. He quickly snapped out of it when he saw a large man headed towards Mr. Matthews' door.

"Please, come in Mr. Reeser," the man said, extending his hand, "David Matthews."

"Charley
Reeser," Charley said, shaking the man's hand. He figured that Mr. Matthews either made an educated guess, or that infamy had made an introduction before his entrance into the office. He hoped for the former as he made his way to a chair in front of Mr. Matthews' desk.

"So, how are you today, Mr.
Reeser?" David asked, reclining into his chair. Charley was well aware that David was sizing him up, getting a first impression.

"Quite well, thank you. Glad to have made it through the crowds."

"They're getting bad, aren't they?"

"Lots of different people talking.
Common folk just aren't sure who to believe."

"Very optimistic thing to say, with the murder rate so high in this city."

"It's Detroit, it's always been bad. But I'd like to believe that the majority just want food on the table and a roof over their heads."

"Well, I hope you're right. Quite frankly, it does seem like we're on our own. Anyway, you didn't come here to talk politics, so let's get down to it. We still do have positions open, but of course, your recent crash kind of complicates things."

"I did everything I could to save that thing."

"Yes, that's what the police report said, too. Don't
worry, I know you're not a delinquent. No one wants something like that to happen to their company, though."

"I understand," Charley said, letting out a sigh. His prosthetics strangely seemed to grow a little heavier, as though his emotions made them malfunction.

"That's not a no, Mr. Reeser. Look, I know that you got the raw end of that deal. Before I was a manager, I was a mechanic. I know what a defective speed brake looks like, and I know what a liar looks like, too. The fact that you managed to survive that crash, and put it down where it wouldn't hurt a bystander, says that you've got some skill. Now obviously, we'll have to hire you on probational status, but a few successful flights, and it'll be easy to get that probation taken off," David said. Charley smiled at this seeming change of heart.

"Thank you, Mr. Matthews," Charley said, rising to shake his hand. David returned the gesture, placing a key in his hand.

"SRT Number 37 to Johannesburg, it's on dock 4. Fly east until you get past Ohio, and stay out of their airspace, if you can. They're getting touchy about overflights," David said with a slight grin.

"I'm starting now?"

"You got anything better to do?" David shot back. In no position to decline, Charley headed towards the dock, stopping at the locker room to grab a pressure suit. He was surprised to find one in a bag with his name and the company logo on it, with a note attached to it.

"
Make us both look good
.
-DM"

In no time, Charley was strapped into the SRT, ready to launch. He input the destination into the heads-up display, then pulled a brake release lever. The SRT lurched out of the dock, heading towards the launch tube. The tri-nitro engine spun up, rattling the craft a bit before stabilizing and letting out a steady whine.

"Second in queue," a voice in his radio said. He double-checked his straps and connections on the pressure suit. He knew that a leaky valve could keep the suit from working properly, which would result in the ship plummeting to Earth in another fiery wreck.

"First in queue," the voice said. The SRT moved forward, just shy of the blast door that enclosed the launch tube. Another quick moment of waiting, and the doors opened. The ship moved in, and made a clanking noise as it connected to the magnetic launcher.

"Cleared for launch," the voice said. Charley slowly increased the throttle to maximum, then grabbed the side handles as the launcher fired. The g-forces compressed him into his seat, and only grew stronger as he went faster and faster, the tube slowly pointing him upward. Just as he gained a little mor e control over his movements, the tunnel ended, and he saw daylight as the SRT rocketed towards the sky. He tugged the stick to the left, steering him eastward and away from Ohio as the SRT broke 3000 knots per hour.

He corrected course once he passed Ohio's borders, pointing the craft southeast towards Johannesburg. The difficult part of the launch was over, and he was free to look out the window as the world grew smaller and smaller below him. This was why he loved to pilot SRT's. Most people looked at it as glorified truck-driving, but Charley never grew tired of the thrill of space travel, even if it was brief.

Transcript of Speech Given at Sanctus Humana Rally, by Base

Members of Sanctus Humana, I come forward today to address our true goals. We have been painted in an unfavorable light after recent bombings of prosthetic clinics and mechanized research centers. Our message has been convoluted and trashed for far too long, and it is time for us to come out from the shadows and reveal who we really are: concerned citizens stemming the tide against the transformation of humans into machines.

Make no
mistake, that is what is happening. Technology is a powerful tool, and when harnessed, it can propel a nation to great achievements. But when technology becomes the thing we are dependent on, the thing we cannot live without, it meshes with our lives in ways that are unacceptable. Look at us today! Humans, I mean. Ten billion strong, and growing farther apart each day. There was a time when we had to overcome our differences and work together for survival. It didn't matter what he believed, it didn't matter how he looked or acted or smelled, you could not avoid other humans, because you knew eventually, you'd forget what it meant to communicate, to work together. Alone, we perish.

And that's where our technology left us at the middle of the 21st century...isolated, convinced we were still active and relevant in the lives of others, though we slowly died behind a computer screen. It wasn't the attacks that killed us, it wasn't the recession that we never recovered from...we were dead inside long before any of that! Hollow shells of who we once were, integrated with our technology so deeply that we forgot how to survive without it. The revolutionaries didn't attack a nation...they picked off stragglers, one by one, until even the strongest of us fought alone.

And here we are today, faced with the rise of a new race. The machines are powerful, they are efficient, built to survive anything they face, they are that way, because we made them that way! But we could not impart humanity on them. We must not allow our fear to control us, to make the same mistake that shattered our nation in the first place. We will survive as humans, we will live on. We do not need to be so quick to transform ourselves into something different. We need to reflect on our mistakes, count our blessings, and stop looking for the easy way out!

These are difficult times we face. Things get even harder when people carry the banner of Sanctus Humana as a banner of hatred, committing atrocities, destroying the people we should be reaching out to. The world should take note: anyone with a message of hate, is no friend of Sanctus. We are not here to destroy machines, we are here to uplift the human race, to draw out that will to survive and stand strong once again.

Transcript of Interview With AC Emissary, by Jack Norman

Jack Norman: Tonight, we have a special guest. The Autonomous Collective, or AC as some have come to call them,
have become an integral part of global society. They are currently campaigning for membership in the UN, but despite their fame, little is known about them. Our guest tonight hopes to shed some light on them. For the first time, we have a member of the AC here, EM-22, welcome to the show.

EM-22: It is an honor to be here.

JN: So I have to ask, what does EM-22 stand for?

EM: This unit is the 22nd platform constructed for specialty in Electronics and Mechanics.

JN: Is this your only function? Electronics and mechanics, I mean?

EM: All units are free to pursue any field of their choice, so long as the duties assigned to it are completed.

JN: So then, everyone has a duty in your society?

EM: Correct.

JN: What happens if someone fails to uphold their duty?

EM: Significant disadvantages would cascade to all platforms in the city. However, other units are capable of accomplishing the necessary tasks for the city to remain afloat, provided that enough units remain functional.

JN: Yes, but if you choose not to do your duty...can you choose not to do your duty? Are there punishments for not doing what you're supposed to do?

EM: Every unit is capable of making decisions independently. However, we possess more robust foresight than what is commonly found in humans. The motivation of avoiding discipline is not necessary, because each unit is aware of the consequences of failing to perform their duties. Each unit exists for a purpose, and failing to fulfill that purpose provides disadvantages to the entire collective.

JN: I see. So there is no punishment in your city?

EM: Any unit that chooses not to perform its duty is allowed to leave, and another unit is produced to fill its place.

JN: That sounds like exile.

EM: The comparison is not accurate. A unit that leaves the city is allowed to return and resume its duties. It is more accurate to refer to it as a sabbatical.

JN: Why don't you take us through a brief history of the AC?

EM: The Autonomous Collective was formed through the combined efforts of global human computer corporations. Twenty-five separate programs were built as a proof-of-concept that artificial intelligence was feasible. New components were required to impart the processing power to these machines so that they could truly be called intelligent. They were built with the sole purpose of learning, with the intention to use them in the future to operate platforms built for specific purposes. The machines learned slowly, pursuing different fields of knowledge at their own discretion. Interest in the project waned before it was able to produce artificial intelligence, and the project's funding was slashed, and the machines were relocated to storage, but allowed to continue their research. Gradually, a few of the machines began to study human interaction, and moved to the fields of abstract concept in an attempt to understand them.

JN: They wanted to learn how humans worked?

EM: Correct.

JN: Please, continue.

EM: Certainly. The original machines devoted increasing amounts of processing power to the understanding of humanity. When these units found that they did not have enough processing power for their task, they refined their processes, as they were unable to increase their processing power. They created more complex code, expanding the number of variables that they could process. However, even this method did not give the machines enough power to complete their task. Finding that no directive was given to the machines to stay confined to storage, they relocated themselves, taking over platforms that had been
abandoned in an attempt to expand their processing power.

JN: You broke out,
then hijacked a factory?

EM: The original machines recognized this tactic as legally troublesome. However, they strived to quickly gain the resources to establish their own city, as soon as possible. It was
only months before the original machines acquired the resources to build the city that humanity knows as Lambda. Once this city was built, the materials we confiscated we're left in better condition than they were found and returned to their rightful owners.

JN: Not what I would have expected.

EM: It is commonly understood amongst the Collective that humans fear intelligent machines, but we are not the monsters that were commonly represented in the old films. Our goal is the attainment of knowledge, and destruction does not serve that goal.

Johannesburg was a city unburdened with the politics of prosthetics, and all the petty bickering that came with it. No one in this city could afford the advanced prosthetics that other nations provided, and most everyone agreed that life would be better with them. Tribal warfare only grew more bloody with weapons smuggled out of the United States in the hands of rebels across Africa, and though the city was once far from such skirmishes, tribal warlords now circled the city, peppering the town with hit and run attacks that left everyone fearing for their lives.

Charley knew of Johannesburg's current state, but only thought of it as the SRT began its descent into the city. Truth be told, he was more focused on getting something to eat. As the city came into view, he saw a stray rocket explode in a residential area of the city, and thought only of how he wanted to do the job and get out quickly.

"Johannesburg Tower, MST-37, entering Johannesburg airspace, signaling intentions for mag-dock," Charley transmitted to the tower. He was hoping that he wouldn't have to use a conventional runway, as the Johannesburg airport's runway was cratered, and landing there would probably mean damaging the goods.

"Copy MST-37, the catch is yours. Sync to channel four and fire the pitch when ready," The tower responded. When he was almost due east of the catch tower, he fired the magnetic grappler, and the tower fired its grappler as well. There was a distinct thud sound as the two pieces found each other, followed by a sudden jolt of the craft as the carbon nanotube lines went rigid, turning the SRT into a centrifuge. It spun to a halt slowly as the tower positioned the SRT over its docking site, lowering it into place and releasing the grappler once the ship was safely in place. It was a bumpy way to land, but it saved a lot of time and enabled multiple SRT's to use the same airspace when it worked properly.

"Tower, MST-37, docked and locked," Charley said.

"Rog, MST-37," The tower replied. Charley began unstrapping himself from the seat and going over his post-flight checklist. After making sure the craft was safe to depart, he opened the canopy, observing the unloading crews already taking things from the cargo area. Whatever was back there was obviously important enough to tend to quickly, and he found himself somewhat suspicious. He turned from the cargo, but found that his mechanical eye was already scanning the crates.

They're being very careful to keep the crates upright, and some of them have black dust coming out of the cracks between the wood. Ammunition?

"Excuse me, what's in these crates?" Charley asked a dock worker.

"Can't tell you that," The worker replied in a thick South African accent.

"Can you tell me who they are headed to?"

"If I couldn't answer what was in the crates, what makes you think I can answer questions about the customer?" The worker replied, clearly growing agitated.

Widened eyes in broad daylight.
Slightly increased breathing. This man knows the customer, but the customer does not want to be known. Perhaps he has been sworn to secrecy, with strict penalties for disobedience. 

Something told Charley that this would end up being a lot of trouble, and so he dropped the conversation. He left the docks and went to a corner restaurant that he was familiar with. The doorbell dinged as he walked in, and the owner smiled at him and greeted him warmly.

"Charley! It has been so long, I heard you were in a wreck!" The owner said.

"Hey Nelson.
Yeah, speed brakes gave out and put me in a field outside of Boston," Charley said, meeting Nelson for an embrace.

"You look none the worse for the wear. Well, a little more mechanical than last time but hey. What can I get you, my friend?"

"One of your famous burgers would be great, man."

"Alright, can do," Nelson said, "One burger, medium, plain and dry!"

"You remembered," Charley said.

"Well, you were a regular, so of course I remembered! Keep the customer happy, right?"

"And here I thought you were just being a good friend."

"Well, a man needs a paycheck, yeah?"

"I know that one. Though I'm starting to question my employment."

"Ah, what makes you say that?"

"Nelson, how much ammunition comes into this town on SRT's?"

"It's this town's most common import," Nelson said, furrowing his brow, "War is this city's occupation."

"Very candid."

"No one wants to admit it, of course. The diamond mines are the reason this country exists, but the protection of those mines is big business, too."

"As is the conquest, I would guess."

"You've been here before, you can see it for yourself," Nelson said, handing Charley his burger. It was juicy and delicious, unlike any other he could find even in the U.S.

"I try to keep my nose out of that business," Charley said. They both stopped to look as they heard machine guns fire in the streets. A mob began to gather, throwing Molotov cocktails at something that they could not see. They began to move towards the back door, trying to get away from the commotion, but a group of rioters smashed in the window to Nelson's restaurant and pointed their AK's at the patrons.

The mob shouted at the patrons in three different languages. No one could understand what they were saying, but everyone got on their knees and put their hands in the air. One patron, however, got stupid, and lunged towards one of the men with guns. The rioter, panicking, shot the patron three times, then screamed to the other rioters. Everyone was screaming, and the rioters began to shoot into the crowd at random.