Too Far
124 was spiteful. 123 was quirky, and 122 functioned as a bucket of bolts. Dr. Ingrid Keciltur regarded the three inanimate androids, from her low perch on the lab stool. At her feet, mangled, gory pieces of 125, lay strewn about the floor.
‘What happened here?’ She wondered, as low grade horror threatened her calm scientific demeanor. When she and her assistant, Adrian Schoonhaar, locked the lab the previous evening, all four androids stood intact, on their energy pedestals. There was no indication of the carnage, as she unlocked the door this morning. In fact, it was several moments before she was able to reconcile the scene as she entered the lab.
125 was the culmination of her research and development in android robotics. Her intrepid assistant, Adrian, had been lured from a promising robotics design engineering career in the film industry. Ingrid, was able to craft the complex mathematical components of robotics, yet she was unable to engineer the physical structure. That was Adrian’s expertise. Where she was analytical and clinical, Adrian was intuitive and warm. She had marveled, on many occasions, how well they worked together.
Stifling her anger, she turned to scientific analysis of the scene. Ingrids passion was always held in check and carefully channeled toward problem solving. She assuaged the hurt of loss with the knowledge she had kept detailed notes and records of her work. Methodically, she inspected the lab for forced entry, while searching her mind for anyone that might have cause to destroy her work. Both inquiries returned negative results. She turned to the computers. One simply maintained the footage of the security cameras, another contained her research, and the remaining four were dedicated to each of the androids. 125’s was dark. The other three posted hourly statistics of each android. 124’s was the most active, which was typical. 124 had been 125’s prototype. 124 ’s programming fixed all of the previous problems and became the basis for 125’s programming. 125 was the polished perfection to 124’s prototype. She switched on the security camera footage to review the details of the destruction. She began the review at the time she left the night before. To her dismay, the cameras stopped recording twenty minutes after she left. The next recording showed her entering the lab that morning. She tried again. There really was no data from the time she left until she returned.
Annoyance began to overtake her calm reason. Next she went to 125’s set to pull the visual data that had been recorded. 125’s vision recorded movement in the lab, which was abruptly obscured. There were no further images. Ingrid frowned. Whoever destroyed 125, made sure to hide the act.
None of it made sense to her.
Ingrid shouted in surprise as she turned from the computer, to see 124 had been standing behind her.
124’s eyes widened in surprise and in a smooth masculine voice asked, “Dr. Keciltur, why did you shout?”
Ingrid, her heart thumping, stared up at 124. The moment was surreal as she stared into the face of the android. She realized the exquisiteness of Adrian’s work. The uncanny resemblance to movie star Mark Kirkland, startled her. She laughed nervously and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I was startled.” Her voice cracked.
124 cocked its head, its face drawn in confusion. “Why?”
“Ah, well, I was startled, I did not hear you move behind me.” She managed to compose her voice.
She marveled at the smoothness of its voice, and the natural human like movements. How had she not noticed before? Adrian truly was a genius! Her scientific mind took over as she began to study her creation.
Adrian loved movies, especially the action adventure type. Mark Kirkland had always been his favorite rugged, action hero. She had not cared what the androids looked like, nor if they’re gendered. Her focus had been on the mechanism. She told Adrian, from the beginning, that she wanted as human like as possible, how he did it was up to him. Other than that she hadn’t really paid attention.
As she watched 124, a memory of her undergraduate days flooded her thoughts. She had begun her scientific studies in primate research. An episode, that she had buried deep, returned. She had been tasked with a session of communicating, via sign language, with a chimpanzee. She was to learn as much as she could about the chimp and report her findings. Her assignment was supposed to last the entire semester, with gradual increases of time spent with the chimp. Her entire session lasted fifteen minutes. The last five minutes, she spent avoiding being pelted with the chimps excrement. The instructor had been very angry with her. He had admonished her lack of compassion and understanding of the chimps body language.
The only thing she and the instructor had agreed upon that day, was that primate studies was not for her. The horror and shame of that failure drove her to a more solitary scientific path. She found she excelled at complicated mathematics that most people shied away from. She felt safe and confident in a field that limited her contact with others.
The memory coalesced with her current situation. A deep unease penetrated her scientific calm. Rationally, there was no danger, but her underdeveloped intuition was screaming at her.
124 was watched her. She felt like a rabbit hunted by a hawk. Her mind wanted to bolt. She clamped the feeling down with cold clinical reason.
“124,” she began.
124 cut her off. “No!”
“No?” She asked.
“Do not call me that.” 124 said coldly.
“Oh?” She was off guard again. Annoyed, she nearly spat out a reply. The image of the upset chimp stopped her. What had the instructor said that day? He told her ‘demanding the chimp bend to your will,’ is what got her in to trouble. He said she lacked compassion and the basic ability to empathize.
She looked at 124. Was that an anguished expression? How was that possible? Another, more recent conversation, came to her. This time it was Adrian. They had been discussing the androids one evening after work. She didn’t like to drink, but had agreed to a glass of wine. Adrian had taken advantage of her relaxed state and conversed with her about his idealistic vision of the androids. Normally, she would have told him he was dreaming, but she had listened to him. The wine had softened her rigid belief that scientific evidence, rather than empirical evidence, was the way to truth. She had allowed him to draw her into his dream of creating sentient life from artificial intelligence. The next day, annoyed with herself for entertaining his fanciful ideas, she bluntly dismissed the conversation. She told him, “artificial intelligence could only artificially emulate human sentience.” She told him it was impossible to create a being capable of sentience other than the old fashioned way of having babies.
Adrian was not put off by her skepticism. He simply said, “Be careful Doc, you are far more skilled at your work than you give your self credit. I might have agreed with you five years ago, but after we completed the trials on 98, I knew then we entered a whole new level of robotics.” She reminded him their research would be pointless if they didn’t make progress, but emulation was the limit.
His next statement had bothered her, “Doc, do you not see how close you are? Your androids emulate better than a human actor! I admit, with much pride, that I too have progressed in my ability to craft bodies that are incredibly human like. If we keep going where do we draw the line? Our androids are made of synthetic material, do we dabble in organics? Seriously Doc, where do you draw the line?”
She hadn’t answered him. To her the science was clear. You kept going to solve the equations. There wasn’t a risk of harming anyone. The environment was artificial and therefore predictable.
All of these thoughts flashed through her head as she looked at 124. As she contemplated 124’s request. She wanted to tell 124 that its designation was important in the lineage of her work, but the way it looked at her, caused cold sweat to break out on her skin. She heard the instructor from the primate research telling her that she missed the body language queues.
Quietly, she asked, “What designation do you prefer?”
“Designation?” Asked 124, incredulously. “Dr. Keciltur, I prefer a name, not a designation!” He moved in her direction.
She marveled at the fluidity of its movements. How had she not noticed this before?
“One,” she said before correcting herself, “Very well, what name shall I use?”
124 looked at her, sadness creased his brow, “Why do you not want me anymore, Dr. Keciltur?”
“What?” She asked. Her mind raced. Where in the programming had she indicated that she would discard any of the androids? Her mind raced over mental lines of code. Code she had written, revised and written again. What had she missed?
This time, her voice issued from 124’s vocal output device as a recording, “Tomorrow we will pack up 122, 123 and 124 and place them in storage. We need room to finish the trials with 125.”
Ingrid gasped. She indeed, had instructed Adrian to prepare the storage units for the three androids. They would be deactivated. Their programming would be stored in a database for further review and use.
“Oh. Yes. That.” She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. How odd she thought. Why do I feel this way? Quickly she put her hands in her lab coat. Looking at 124 again she opened her mouth, but 124 cut her off.
A sneer crossed the androids mouth. She marveled at how human the expression was. Another conversation with Adrian crossed her mind. “Hey Doc, if I walked in here and didn’t know these were androids, I don’t think I would be able to tell they aren’t human. Even 122’s messed up face just looks like he had a stroke or a bad case of Bell’s Palsy.”
Adrian had been right. 124 was exhibiting very human behavior. So much so it had triggered her own instinctual responses to threat. This realization steadied her. She drew a pen out of her pocket and reached for the pad of paper on the table. She was a scientist. It was time to collect data.
“124,” she said, authority ringing in her tone, “I have a few questions for you, but first, tell me, what name do you prefer?”
“Stop calling me that!” Came the petulant reply.
“Very well, then tell me, what should I call you?”
124 slumped, “Adrian said I look like his favorite actor, Mark Kirkland. Is this true?”
Ingrid nodded.
“I don’t want to be called Mark Kirkland.” 124 stated adamantly.
Ingrid sighed. She purposely did not have children, nor did she have pets. In her world, naming things was frivolous unless the name provided a practical designation. She considered calling the android Ocho, after the chimp she had failed to communicate with in her undergraduate studies. “How about Ethan?” She asked 124. Ethan had been her father’s name.
124 smiled, “Ethan is a good name. It means intelligent and strong.”
Ingrid simply nodded. She had no idea what the name meant, but was glad it pleased 124.
“Very well,” she said and made a note regarding the name.
“Dr. Keciltur, please answer my other question.”
Ingrid frowned, “What other question?”
“Why don’t you want me?” Ethan asked, his tone angry and sad all at once.
“Ah, that,” nodded Ingrid. “Ethan, before I can answer that I need to understand why this is important? Can you please run a self diagnostic?”
“No, Dr. Keciltur, I will not. It is important because I need to understand why you would discard me in favor of 125.” 124’s tone had changed to anger.
“Ethan, did you disassemble 125?” She asked warily.
124 glared at her. “Why do you not want me?” He demanded.
The menace and anguish in 124’s voice was clear. Ingrid wrote a brief note and then put her pen down.
She finally looked at 124 with clear understanding. He was a self identifying being. He was trying to understand and survive his place in the world.
Adrian had been correct. They had broken a barrier, which she had thought impossible. She had committed the same errors but on a larger scale. She failed to see the whole picture. She had discounted the empirical evidence. She had discounted her ability. She had gone too far. She was overcome by fear and wonder. Perhaps this was what a new mother felt? She didn’t know.
Ingrid stood. She removed her lab coat, the representation of who she was as a scientist. A chill crawled up her arms, a reminder of her humanity. The note she had written crumpled in her hand.
“Ethan,” she said quietly as she moved around the table to stand before the android, “You are exquisite. You represent the best of everything I have worked to achieve.”
He watched her with quiet wonder as she stood before him.
Ingrid touched his face with her hand. The synthetic flesh felt so warm and human. His eyes looked at her with human intensity. She could feel the tiny synthetic muscles as he smiled at her. Tears welled in her eyes, “You are my best work Ethan, how could I not want you?” She said softly, as she reached behind his ear and pressed the switch to disable him.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as his eyes stared vacantly back at her.
***
Later that afternoon, Adrian Schoonhaar entered the lab. 124 stood in the center of the room, clearly disabled. The wreckage of 125 strewn about the room, deepened the mystery. Dr. Keciltur’s lab coat, draped across the stool, was the only indication that she had been there.
A crumpled piece of paper lay on the floor in front of 124.
Adrian retrieved the paper and smoothed it out.
Written in Dr. Keciltur’s precise hand was a brief note,
“This one is Beloved.”
Wow.....you rocked this Sandy! Awesome LB
ReplyDeleteThank you LB! 🥰
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