Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
But it was an untenable perspective. How could everybody except me be a monster? If there’s lots of something, it’s just a species of creature, however fearsome. No, in order to be an actual monster, by definition there must be only one of it in existence.
Just one, walled off from the world, roasting alive in his own hatred and fear. The windows of his fortress, through which he glimpsed the supposed monsters outside, were only ever mirrors.” I stared off into space for a while. Then studied my shrink’s expression and set about trying to decipher it.
That’s the other nice thing about the mask. Nobody knows where you’re looking. Buys some extra time to work out what their facial contortions mean. Or to catch someone if they stare, where normally they look away the moment you make eye contact.
“That all-consuming lust for revenge is really why I got into military contracting. Of course I never admitted that during the interviews, and I passed the psychiatric evaluations with flying colors. I’ve always been quite skilled at taking tests, there’s a trick to it you see.
Anyway I had the idea that I’d work on the guidance systems for drones, and the missiles they commonly carry. It was a way for me to bring about, however indirectly, as much human suffering as I possibly could without going to prison.
By that point I’d given up on ever finding and punishing the specific people who hurt me. I just wanted blood. Any blood would do.
To hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats, as H.L. Mencken put it. To watch the world burn and, if possible, feed some to the flames who might’ve otherwise escaped.
I have the good fortune to live in a country where it is not only perfectly legal but also astonishingly lucrative to develop robots for the purpose of inflicting misery, suffering and death on so called innocent people elsewhere in the world. Talk about finding your niche!
But, something within me refused it. To this day I cannot pin it down. Some tiny scrap of me, still soft and warm, recoiled from the thought of missiles based on my innovations bearing down on helpless families.
Until then I really believed I was beyond redemption. That every light within me had been extinguished, and all that remained was hollow, silent blackness.
It turns out that I’m human after all. Or something pretty close. A living heart still beats in my chest. It still pumps warm, red blood through my veins.
There is, in spite of everything, a shred of feeling left within this worn down, busted up old pile of parts. So I took a step back from the brink, and turned down that job.
I still needed to put food on the table though. Not to mention all the machines in my care, keeping them charged and in good shape isn’t cheap. That’s why I settled on developing evolutionary approaches to improving robots and AI.
A lot of it’s still ultimately used for war, but it has applications outside that. Some of them even philanthropic. I won’t pretend that’s the reason I got into it, or that it’s a morally pure choice of career, but it is at least fairly neutral.
Neutrality is the best way to describe how I feel now. No longer roasting in my own uncontrollable rage. I don’t experience any intense feelings whatsoever. As if I’ve had so much already that those particular fuses in my brain have blown.
Just grey inside. Indifferent. Steady, consistent and bland. There’s a lot to be said for it, you know. I’m not suffering anymore, not that I can tell anyway.
It’s refreshingly simple. A safe, rational baseline that I do not want disrupted by the introduction of a new source of that caustic substance called ‘feeling’ into my life.”
He sat there wide eyed and absorbed it. I don’t usually open up that much. I expected him to come up with something proportionally insightful. Instead, he opined that I badly need to get laid. I laughed in spite of myself.
“I’m being serious” he admonished. “What I’m hearing is that you’re lonely. Don’t shake your head at me yet, hear me out. You’re lonely and can’t deal with the pain except by denial.
You pretend you’re not lonely, that you don’t need or want anybody. It’s like breatharianism. It’s an appealing fantasy that seems to work for a little while, but ignoring basic biological needs will eventually kill you.
We’re social creatures. We need intimacy with other human beings as inescapably as we need food, water or air. You can’t just stuff that on a shelf and forget about it. I can’t make you listen to me but I wish you would, at least about this. Go have dinner with what’s her name. Make yourself do it.
I don’t want to hear reasons why you can’t, or why it’s a bad idea. That’s my prescription. Honestly I’m as mystified as you are that she’d want to voluntarily spend time with you, but for Heaven’s sake, take her up on her offer. Love is probably the only thing that’ll unfuck someone as lost as you.”
I began to argue, but he pointed out that we’d already run over our allotted session. He nevertheless loomed over me as I found that email from Madeline to make sure I sent a reply agreeing to have dinner with her.
Once satisfied that I really hit send, he shooed me out of his office and into the sterile, empty corridor outside. I passed the protest again as I made my way down to the ground floor. Security was somewhat increased, with six or so riot suppression robots warily patrolling the edge of the crowd.
The lout who recognized me before now got up and approached. No doubt determining hostile intention by body language, one of the squat little cylindrical security robots got between us.
He stared me down. The little trashcan like machine, perched on a two wheeled self balancing base, tentatively aimed what I assumed was a projectile taser at him.
“Saw you on the news the other day” he called to me. Another two security robots scooted over to ensure that no altercation took place.
If only these handy little fellows had been developed sooner. There’s no shortage of people in the world who are only well behaved with some sort of weapon pointed at them.
Each of their cylindrical metal bodies was capped with a swiveling dome shaped head in which, much like an astronomical observatory, there was a vertical slot for the turret inside to adjust its aim along the vertical axis.
Only nonlethal payloads in there...supposedly. I could feel the subtle prickle of his continued stare in the hairs on the back of my neck as I hurried towards the elevator, making damn sure I wasn’t followed this time before getting in. Once outside the building my cell service suddenly returned, and I received notification of a new email.
The autocab pulled up as punctually as ever, and as I climbed in, I asked Helper to read the new mail to me. “Hey! I almost didn’t expect to hear from you again. The next few days are packed, I have a lot on my plate. Tonight’s free though. If that isn’t too abrupt, there’s this cute new Italian place downtown I’ve been meaning to try.”
I replied that it suited me fine so long as they carry Soylent. She replied a few minutes later with a laughing emoji and the address, which I then regurgitated to the autocab’s navigational AI. On the way, I rehearsed how I’d explain this unusually severe detour to my parole officer.
By the time the autocab pulled up to the curb just outside the modest hole in the wall Italian restaurant, I’d settled on pitching it as an after hours team building exercise.
I was going to say drinking with buddies from work, but he knows I don’t drink. I probably could’ve convinced him I was the designated driver though.
Stay Tuned for Part 17!