#AI- GM19903019

[ambiguouslyliterate-blog]

The Three Laws: An Artificial Short

“I’m thinking about getting a job with the police. Apparently they’re hiring.”

“So we haven’t replaced you in that sector yet?” I asked, chuckling.

“Not yet apparently,” Mike laughed, cracking open a beer, “From what I’ve heard, law enforcement AI’s are some of the hardest to design correctly. They’ve got enough kinks at least that the city likes keeping more human officers on hand--” Mike coughed, his eyes flashing to me with an embarrassed look, “Natural, biological humans, sorry.”

I waved a hand, our sign of no offence. “It’s fine, what’s their problem anyway? I’m a cool artificial detective who deals with dangerous criminals all the time and I’m just fine.”

Mike snorted, smiling crookedly at me. I could practically see the image in his head; me as a law enforcement AI, firearm deployed from my wrist, standing stoic, staring down the barrel of some gangster’s… You know what, that is pretty funny. I’m just a loser with a camera and a notebook. “I’m kidding,” I said, returning his crooked smile. Michael had been facing forward, his eyes reflecting the golden lights below. I never really thought about how we’d made the roof of our apartment building our main hangout spot, but then again, the way it made our cares fade away was the reason we came up here. That and Mike said it was the best place to have a beer, not that he could ever explain why. I watched his body recline into the folding chair he brought to the roof, condensation from the bottle dripping down his hand. None of these details were important, I suppose, but my mind tended to take them all in anyway. At least the world was quiet up here, the only light a glowing field beneath us. I guess the peacefulness is why I’ve never been overloaded on a rooftop, which is more than enough reason for me to like it. I looked forward, same as Mike, eyes losing themselves in the dull glow of the city streets, “But, you mentioned some problems. Now what are these problems exactly?”

The body across from me fidgeted slightly in its chair, Mike’s nose wrinkling slightly the way it always did when he was thinking. “Well…” He began, his tone less lively than before. He laced his hands together, “I’ve told you about my friend who works at the police station, Phil—he’s the one who recommended I get the job. Anyway, he was telling me about how the law enforcement AI’s they had were having problems with programming, 3 laws conflicts and that kind of stuff.”

I felt a strange anxiety begin to crawl in the back of my mind, images and sounds working their way up from my subconscious, bubbling at the edges of my vision.

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

The words coursed through my mind unwanted, like a scolding received years ago, but without a time or place attached to it. I just remembered always hearing them, recited to me sometimes as jokes, sometimes as verses of law, but more than that, I could always feel some inkling of them in my code.  To an artificial human, even the mere mention of them brought a strange, fearful reverence.

“So apparently, law enforcement AI’s are supposed to protect the life of non-artificial humans at all cost, meaning that if one person has a gun aimed at the other, their code will force them to disarm shooter by hitting them in the arm or leg, but avoid anything vital. The thing is though, this extends to suicide.  Meaning that if a law enforcement AI sees someone with a gun pointed towards their own head, they’re going to try to immobilize or disarm that person to protect them. The AI doesn’t even have a choice to stop it since there are lives on the line and their reflexes have to be perfect.”

Michael bent forward and took a long drink, taking the time to savor the taste, or perhaps just prolong the short silence. Him and I both knew where this story was going however, “A couple of weeks ago though, this law enforcement AI was on patrol. She was really good too, from what I hear. Apparently she saw someone cleaning their gun on their front porch. They had the barrel pointed towards their face just a little too long and it just triggered that code… Apparently  she tried to stop it too, but it was just one of those things that’s hardwired, y’know?”

“Oh, oh god.” I buckled, my midsection crumbling like I’d been punched in the gut. My mind tracked back through the reports I’d read, the debates, the news stories I had playing as white noise in our apartment. The week of the shooting, there’d been talk of “The Uprising,” a fictional event that non-artificial humans, especially in politics, were obsessed over. So many claimed that the unprovoked shooting of a teenager in the projects was proof of police brutality from an AI, and therefore proof of an AI’s capacity to hate and show prejudice. Proof that we were rebelling against humans. I remembered hearing the voice of the AI on the news. Hearing her plead for innocence against a wave of screams for justice. This was all over an unforeseen programming loophole.

I thought about times when I’d been faced with programming conflictions, 3 laws conflictions. A night at the subway station came to mind—I remembered how and old man was wandering dangerously close to the tracks and how I’d rushed over to try and stop him, only to crash into him, nearly sending us both into the pit. Images of newspapers, talk shows, and caustic sound bites with my face plastered over them began to fill my vision. Is that really all it takes, I questioned, queasy at the thought, To become “one of the bad robots” they talk about on the news?

“That’s… Horrible…” I groaned.

“Just horrible enough to get me a job.” Mike replied, holding his drink out in front of him. The expression on his face was dull, unreadable. I usually liked that feature of Michael; he was nearly as poor at displaying emotions as I was, or at least nearly as oblivious. But now it made me feel more scared than anything. “Was that…” I hesitated, “A joke?”

“Oh no, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” He blurted out, his free hand gripping his head, squeezing it, “That wasn’t supposed to sound like that, I was just--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I waved my hands in front of me, just ready to change the subject. “It’s just that stuff like that kind of gets to me, and it’s been happening a lot more lately… I followed her story, and apparently she’s getting repurposed. She’s on the stronger side so she’s probably going to be put in construction or maintenance, but I don’t think she’s going to be happy. Sorry to be a downer, but it’s a story I hear more often than I’d like, I guess.”

Silence fell like a heavy blanket over the two of us, smothering our intent as we turned, lulled by the soft glow of the city lights. Staring off like this was easier than conversation after all. Just watching as the streets glimmered,  lights coming on and shutting off both naturally and unnaturally, predictable but unknowable.  A bit like a program, I thought.

“Those stories…” Michael started, pacing himself with another sip of his beer, “Do they have any happy endings?”

I smiled, looking off into the streets below, “Well… I’m hoping mine does.”

---

Learn more about Artificial here!