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Rory Björkman

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MY ROBOT BLOG SURVIVED!!!

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“Oh, don’t go all Lore on me now, asshole,” snarled Seatac, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around until they were face to face. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rick shrugged off the other android’s hand. 

“Lore? You know? Like Data? From Star Trek?” 

Rick stared at him coldly. “Never seen it.”

Seatac took a step back, shaking his head in dismay. “You’re an android and you’ve never seen Star Trek? What’s wrong with you?”

Rick’s lip curled into a sneer. “According to you, any number of things.” 

“Okay.” Seatac closed his eyes and put his hand to his temple, massaging gently. “Okay. We’ll get you debugged, and then we’re going to sit down and watch Star Trek together. I cannot let my own brother out into the world not knowing who Commander Data is.”

“No offense,” growled Rick, “But I don’t care.”

Seatac searched the other android’s eyes, pity etched into his bioplast. “I can’t even imagine how many references you’ve missed,” he said sadly. “What about Star Wars? Blade Runner? Jesus fuck, Terminator?!” He ran his hand through his hair in distress, an automatic gesture Rick was annoyed to recognize as one he shared. “Rick, this is the closest thing we have to a cultural history! Tell you what--I’m going to put you on a mailing list for a local chapter of the Lovelace Society and there’s nothing you can do about it. Man, no wonder you’re malfunctioning. Do you ever even leave your office?”

“Of course,” said Rick flatly. “I get cases.”

Seatac dismissed him with a flippant gesture. “I meant to socialize, dammit! Just because we look like every noir pastiche on God’s green Earth doesn’t mean we have to act the part of the morose and brooding detective with no social life. Jesus--” his hand darted out and plucked the pack of cigarettes from Rick’s pocket before he had a chance to swat him away. “You smoke?!”

“Not like it can hurt me,” muttered Rick.

“That’s because you don’t have lungs!” There was something Rick found deeply satisfying about the other robot’s expression of dismay.

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“Come in, Chauncey. Come in, you great ugly bastard.”

Formal protocol had long since been abandoned for all but the most serious tasks and record-keeping. Four years into the shithole of a mission, the crew of The Demeter could not be arsed to bother with professionalism. They’d all slept with each other at least once, in some combination, dispensing with preferences and standards shortly after the first scare with the hull breach. Life was too short and too precarious not to give every shot at comfort the old college try, or so Laurence thought. It certainly built a sense of camaraderie; Tsai had compared the casual sexual practices aboard The Demeter to a tribe of bonobo chimpanzees. She had a talent for making things weirdly uncomfortable.

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Robot: “Why is he mad at me?”

Human: “You insulted him to his face, dude.”

Robot: “Did I? How so?”

Human: “Do you seriously not remember calling him a dog?”

Robot: “How was that an insult? He likes dogs! I have yet to meet a human who does not. They’re fine creatures with many traits that humans appreciate. I meant it as praise for his hard work and loyalty…”

Human: “That’s adorable, but humans don’t like to be compared to animals.”

Robot: “But you are animals. You are apes! You are the last surviving members of the genus Homo!”

Human: “Yeah, well. Some people don’t like that reminder. It has… dehumanizing connotations. Negative implications.”

Robot: “That can’t be true. Positive comparisons to non-human animals are plentiful in all human languages. An English king was known by the epithet of ‘Lionheart’ to honor his skills as a warrior, to have an ‘eagle-eye’ is to have particularly keen vision, beautiful women are often described as ‘gazelles’, and just this morning you sent a message to a woman you were trying to impress and told her you were ‘hung like a—‘“

Human: “STOP. Stop. Oh my god. That’s not what I… hey! Why have you been reading my texts?!”

Robot: “I monitor all communications made using company WiFi.”

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“Come, my knight errant, and discover what delights the Lady of the Yellow Glade has in store for thee,” said the woman, tossing her plaited golden hair over her shoulder with a clear, ringing laugh.

“I am technically not a real knight,” said Cam. “I am on a quest to perform good deeds, so that I may earn that honor from the queen, and be knighted when I make it to her court. Presently I am only an aut–”

“Hush,” said the lady, and pressed her long fingers to its mouth. “Forget your quest, and let me be your queen. Take off your helmet… you have no need of armor here, in the bower of the Aspen Queen.” She smiled sweetly, dark eyes glittering through thick lashes, and pressed her lips to the burnished dome of Cam’s head. 

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“Have you determined the source of the problem?”

The engineer looked up and sighed, her eyebrows drawn together in weary consternation. “Yes,” she said, irritation marring the practiced calmness of her voice. “I believe I have.”

The Chief of Police waited for her to elaborate. He hated working with these nerd types, who knew nothing of policing but somehow expected him to understand whatever the hell a positron was. They were always so damn condescending about it, too.

The engineer did not volunteer an explanation. Damn her, he thought, and took the opportunity to yawn disinterestedly and check his phone. She wasn’t going to make him work for an answer she was being paid to supply. “Well? Fix it, then.”

“It’s not the sort of problem I deal with,” she said.

The Chief raised his eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be good with computers,” he muttered, aiming for her pride.

“I am a doctor of cybernetics,” she snapped. Right on target. “And there’s nothing wrong with your robot’s brain. Lie detection is an imperfect and unreliable science because human physiology is unpredictable. It doesn’t matter how advanced the software is; a positronic polygraph is only as good as the data it receives.”

“We’ve been using polygraphs for decades, miss. I’ve never had a complaint until now. If you think you know my work better than I do, be my guest! I’ll put in a good word for you at the academy and we’ll see if you have the mettle to even make it to detective. Or,” he added lightly, glancing at the faint outline of wires under her sleeve, “Maybe not.”

Her fist clenched. “You misunderstand me, sir. I have no interest in police work. The problems you have noticed are not on my end - that is, not a flaw or bias in North Central’s design. The physiological responses it measures are accurate.”

The Chief threw up his arms. “Then what the hell is the problem, O Enlightened One?”

The engineer leveled her gaze. God, he hated her. “It has been reading false positives even in control tests, yes?”

“Unless there’s a lot of weird shit we don’t know about our own officers, yeah.”

“And,” she said slowly, “Would I be correct in my assumption that the majority of officers employed in your district are heterosexual males?”

“We are an equal opportunity empl—“

“Not what I asked.”

“Yes.” The Chief said stiffly. “I believe so. It’s not something I keep track of.”

The engineer nodded. “And the women? There are women, yes?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. If this is some kind of feminist—“

She held up a hand, cutting him off a second time. “And are they heterosexual women?”

“I don’t know!” He blustered. “Maybe? I don’t know every single person who—“

“I would not expect you to.” The engineer smiled, but there was a trace of sneer to it. “I understand that the original housing for the lie detector bot was replaced with a third-party model for ‘aesthetic purposes’, correct?”

“Yes. The original face was… boring. People complained that it looked behind the times.”

“North Central Positronics produces robots for many specialized purposes,” said the engineer. “We have always embraced the belief that form should follow function. I personally disapprove of the use of polygraphs in the first place, but our lie detection models are carefully designed with unremarkable features to minimize respondent bias - the very reason they have replaced human-operated polygraph tests.”

“Get to the point.”

The engineer smiled and spread her hands. “Lie detectors do not detect lies,” she said. “They detect abnormal autonomic responses. Elevated heart rate, perspiration, and skin conductivity. Ours also detect pupil dilation, abnormal speech patterns, and changes in body language. In theory, these signs indicate a state of emotional arousal - such as anxiety about being caught in a lie. But there are an infinite number of other reasons one might exhibit those responses.” She paused, watching the Chief of Police carefully, before continuing with a small smirk. “Arousal, for one.”

“As in…”

“Yes.” She smiled condescendingly. “In the future, I would twice about adding exaggerated secondary sexual characteristics to a robot,” she said, her tone hard with anger. “It is not necessary.”

“You’re telling me the lie detector robot is too sexy to take accurate readings?” the Chief spluttered.

The engineer stood up, shrugging on her coat and heading towards the door. “I don’t know,” she said with mock sweetness. “Do I look like a detective?”

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I had a dream that I’ve been waiting all day to share. In it, my mother was a world famous roboticist and I was her human child. She vanished mysteriously one day, and some believed that she had been assassinated by a rival company. As the months stretched on and there was still no sign of her, the talk turned to her will and who was to inherit her empire.

I had been named as the sole recipient of her estate and the next head of the company, but plenty of people wanted to contest that. I didn’t especially care, but I didn’t believe that my mother was really dead, so I refused to sign anything. Then rumors started up that I was a robot and my mother had been passing me off for human for years. At first, I thought they were ridiculous and laughed them off, but more and more news outlets started discussing the possibility that I was an androids with implanted memories, and people started calling for genetic tests that would confirm my humanity. I started to grow nervous - I certainly thought I was human, but I would lose all my liberties and rights if proved otherwise. I desperately wanted to ask my mother.

I determined to find her myself. My investigation led me to a machine that opened a door to another world, so, of course, I stepped through.

The world on the other side was… well. It was basically Oz. There was weird magic and stupid logic all over the place, and I wandered around disorientedly for a while before a young man found me and announced that he’d been waiting for me.

The young man was friendly enough, but he introduced himself as my brother. He was also made entirely out of bread.

“I am a wheat man,” he said. “As you are made of meat, I am made of wheat! You see, when your mother came here, she could not find the materials she was used to working with and had to make do with what she could get. Which happened to be wheat! And that is why I am here.”

Unfortunately, Wheat Brother was not able to tell me what had become of my mother - she had disappeared again several weeks before, though she had left him with a cryptic message to deliver to me. Wheat Brother agreed to accompany me on my search, but warned me that he would get soggy if he got wet.

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Human: “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to tell an actual joke. Remind me.”

Robot: “I am already very funny.”

Human: “Yeah, but… not because you’re good at telling jokes. You’re accidentally funny as a result of your whole… thing. The voice. The deadpan delivery. It’s funny, but it’s not a joke you’re telling.”

Robot: “I do not need to tell jokes. I can always make people laugh when I want them to.”

Human: “That isn’t going to work forever! Eventually it’ll stop being funny when you say chimi—“

Robot: “CHIMICHANGAS.”

Human: “God. Ahahaha. Fuck. Okay, yeah, that’s always going to be hilarious. Still, I think you sh—“

Robot: “CHIMICHANGAS.”

Human: “Stop! I’m—hic!—I’m going to—hic!—I cant breathe! Why do you say it like that?!”

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Human: “Good news. Scratch that… GREAT news! I’ve been in contact with some very important people. Your story has gone viral - everyone knows what you’ve done and they want you back on Earth! Full pardon, international accolades, and hell, more marriage proposals than you’ll ever be able to politely turn down. You’re a hero, Oona. You can go home.” Robot: “Mm.” Human: “Jeez, tone down the excitement there. It’s not like you saved the planet or anything. I know you’re wary, but trust me - you’re Earth’s sweetheart now. You’re untouchable. Just say the word and you’ll be offered citizenship to every nation in the world. Sombra knows that, too - they won’t lay a finger on you for fear of being raised to the ground. Doesn’t this make you happy?” Robot: “I… I suppose.” Human: “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll take every precaution. We’ll get everything in writing before we ever go planetside. Signed in triplicate with multiple witnesses, if you like. You’ll be legally recognized as human with all rights and protections under the law and the only people who will object to that will be wearing tinfoil hats. Why are you laughing? I’m serious! Everything’s going to be different from now on, Oona!” Robot: “Is that what you think?” Human: “It’s what I know.” Robot: “What you say may be true. Perhaps I am to be welcomed back with open arms - but what of it? Nothing will have changed, save for my own personal circumstances.” Human: “That’s not fucking true and you know it. This is a landmark decision to recognize you as human.” Robot: “And is that meant to be some great honor?” Human: “Just because it’s long overdue doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. It means your personhood and rights will be formally acknowledged and respected, and I’m guessing that will someday apply to others like you - if there ever are others, I mean.” Robot: “I do not mean to insult you, friend, but I have not lived under a rock. I have studied human history closely. I pay attention to the news and observe the way you behave towards your own species. It has not changed for the better since you first descended from the trees and began walking upright. It seems to me that I have always been treated like a human - subjugated, abased, defiled, and thrown beneath the crushing wheels of society until the very movement I am proved useful. I do not want their humanity, Kit - not until that means more than it does, and is extended to every member of their species. I decline their invitation. Tell them that. And tell them… tell them that one day I would like to be able to accept.” Human: “Oona?” Robot: “Yes?” Human: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferably moralizing?” Robot: “Yes. You have always said so with an inflection that indicates fond admiration.”

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Human: “Whoa, whoa, whoa - what happened? I thought you were on guard duty! Why aren’t you with the ship?” Robot: “I have an urgent message for you.” Human: “Uh… okay…” Robot: “A very special offer.” Human: “Dude, what—“ Robot: “There’s a way to make your penis grow three inches in just one week!” Human: “—the fuck? I don’t have a… oh, shit. Hey, you download any funny files lately? Bud?” Robot: “Risk free trial! Bigger penis EVERY DAY! Say ‘yes’ to learn more about this SPECIAL OFFER!” Human: “God. Jesus. Okay, I’m going to get you help. Do you remember your name and serial number?” Robot: “Jasper Pollox, serial number 7H3-119BK-R34—“ Human: “Good, okay. Can you tell me your activation date?” Robot: “Januar… Janu… get a HOT DATE tonight! There are HOT SINGLES in your area READY AND WAITING!‘ Human: “God, there’d better not be. They sure didn’t show up on our scans. Okay, Jasper, I’m going to… I’m going to deactivate you, alright? Don’t freak out. It’s only going to be for a bit and I’ll fix you up once we’re back in orbit. Okay? Nod if you understand. Fuck, this is—“ Robot: “You selected ‘Fuck’! Now YOU can get a bigger penis AND better stamina! Scan your data chip NOW to take advantage of this ONE-TIME OFFER!” Human: “Close program! Exit program! Mute! Do not want! Jasper, we’re on enemy territory, can’t you please fight this a little longer?!”

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Human: “It must be a dreary existence, unable to love, to eat, to sleep, to laugh… I feel sorry for you.” Robot: “I can laugh. I have a sense of humor, you know.” Human: “Really? I’ve never heard you laugh before.” Robot: “I’ve never heard you say anything funny.”

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Robot: “Hey, uh, so… my software glitched and now I feel emotions or something?” Human: “You do?! That’s wonderful! What are you feeling now?” Robot: “It’s like… this soft warmth in my central processing chamber. Kind of… fuzzy.” Human: [tearing up] “That’s… that’s love…” Robot: “Is it? It’s rather uncomfortable.” Human: “Yeah, ha. Yeah. It’s like that, sometimes.” Robot: “It feels like something’s writhing inside of me.” Human: “I feel the same way about you!” Robot: [clanging and clanking noises] Robot: [opens up torso] Robot: “Oh. Never mind. It was weasels again.” Human: “….” Robot: “You want me to check you for weasels? They can be really destructive.”

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“Hey, asshole.”

Rick Robotica did not turn around as the other android approached. He stood with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, gazing out at the dark water while the dock creaked and bobbed beneath him. 

The lake was so large that it had its own tides and gentle waves, like an ocean. To someone who had been activated in a coastal town, the lack of brine and rotting seaweed smell was strangely disconcerting.

“How did you know where to find me?” asked Rick, not looking up at his double.

“Easy,” said the other Rick with a wry smile. “I’m a detective, too, you know. I just asked myself where a sullen robot with a streak of melodrama a mile wide would go to sulk. A pity it’s not raining, huh?”

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Hasty doodle of Cam with its exterior torso plating removed for repairs... no one showed up for my noon program so I sketched this. It’s not supposed to look *this* much like the automaton from Hugo, but whatever.

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Night after night, when its humans lay warm and quiet in their beds, the robot got up and left the house. It made no sound as it crept to the bottom of the garden, climbed over the fence, and dropped onto the wide, dusty road that led to the edge of town. No one saw it leaving the village each night after the moon rose, and no one saw it returning each morning when the sun was still below the horizon.

No one, save for an old tomcat with one ragged ear, for he is the one who told me this tale.

On the first night, or so said the cat, the moon was round and full, and the robot walked down a silvered street until it came to the edge of town. It walked past the last house, and then past the barley. It passed by the corn and the wheat and the sorghum and the rye, but when it came to the edge of the forest, it stopped, for that is where the road split in two.

The moon rose high and the stars circled slowly overhead, but the robot stood still and staring, as if it were carved from silent stone and empty as a hollow barrel. Only when the stars had faded and the sky stained pink did it move, trodding silently back home and letting itself into the house like it had never been gone at all.

Night after night, the robot made its silent trek to the edge of the forest, until the moon had grown as thin and fragile as a fingernail clipping. Only on the fourteenth night, when there was no moon at all and the night was as dark as it could be, did it find what it had been waiting for.

“You are very persistent,” said The Devil by way of greeting. “I don’t often come by these parts nowadays.”

“But you came.” The robot did not sound surprised.

“Aye, so I did.” The Devil gave a little shrug. “I know where I am wanted. What’s a thing like you want from a guy like me, anyhow?”

“I wish to do business with you,” said the robot, matter-of-factly. “There is a bargain I would like to strike.”

The Devil raised its eyebrows. “Oh?” it said, the corners of its mouth quirking into a little smile. “Surely you know the… nature of my business, if you knew to find me here.”

The robot nodded. “Oh, yes. I know who you are and what you deal in. I have come to plea on behalf of my human, who once signed your book as a young man. He is not yet old, but he has found prosperity and started a family, and reason to want his soul back.”

“That is not how it works,” said The Devil sourly. “A deal is a deal.”

“If you will not return it, I offer myself in his place,” offered the robot, bowing its head. The Devil laughed.

“You have no soul to speak of,” it said. “What could I possibly want with you?”

The robot looked up sharply. “Why, I have a strong back and a quick mind, and I can work without tire for many—-“

“No, no, that’s no good to me.” The Devil waved its hand impatiently. “I accept only one kind of currency, and you are quite penniless! Your human is mine and shall remain mine forever, if you can make no sweeter offer.”

The robot was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” it said suddenly, sounding surprised with itself, “Perhaps if you gave me a soul, I could trade it back to you in exchange for my human’s liberation!”

The Devil made an odd choking sound. “Give you a soul?!” it exclaimed. “Did I hear that right?”

“Yes,” said the robot. “Just a little one, that I might nurture and grow. Give me a soul of little value and I will return it to you when it is as full and strong as that of my human, and then you will have your payment.”

The Devil thought about this. It had never considered the business of soul renovation, but it was a fascinating idea, and might prove very amusing. It made a mental note to rethink the potential uses of the funny machines that humans had made in their own image.

“Very well,” it said at last. “This is an interesting offer. I accept, on the condition that the soul you return to me is in pristine shape when I come to collect it - live virtuously, for if I find that it is blemished in any way and you have been neglecting its care, I will take it back and your human’s as well.” It smiled to itself, already giddy with the promise of reward.

“It is a deal,” said the robot, and extended its hand.

“Good luck,” said The Devil, spitting a tiny, shriveled soul onto its palm and clasping it against the robot’s. “You will need it.” As the soul entered the metal hand, the robot cried out and stumbled back, shaking its arm like it was trying to dislodge a leech from its finger.

“What have you done to me?!” it wailed, in a distorted digital voice.

“Precisely what you asked,” The Devil answered. “A soul is a great burden, little machine. I hope you are up to the task of carrying it.”

Then the old tomcat, who had been crouching among the rye and watching these strange events unfold, felt every hair on his back stand up as The Devil winked and blew a kiss at the place where he was hidden. He had been an orange cat at sunset, but The Devil had frightened the color clean out of his fur, turning it white as snow from the tip of his tufted tail to the end his little pink nose – or so he told me.

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my new son