Lower CoSMOS: Last Second of Sovereignty

“Maimonides?” An assistant said.

            “Yes,” a stocky middle-aged technician said.

            The company-appointed assistant pinched his chin with his forefinger and thumb. He stepped back on the light blue squared tile floor; illuminating beams shot through its corners, giving ample glow to the clean laboratory. Behind the numerous shelves, cabinetry, and small tables cut into the furnishing, mirrors bounced the light upward behind them; aiding the room’s well-lit ambiance. Portions of other artificially intelligent androids hung from a deep pyramid ceiling, managing themselves by taking inventory every half hour.

Before the assistant stood two facsimiles of the human form, not male, not female, but an androgynous intersection, neither posed nor held anything; eyes closed. They remained symmetrical; the sides of their feet three inches from the other. Their color resembled ancient Greek sculptures, but their outer skin gave off a velvety softness.

            “You named the whole series Maimonides?” the assistant said.

            “Unfortunately. I don’t name them. I set them,” the technician said, standing behind the back of both synthetic human frames, their hairless heads stayed open like an entrance to a miniature dark cavern.

            “I don’t see the name here. They look like A3941 or a B1311,” said the assistant with a distasteful rhythm.

            The technician ignored him.

            “What are you going to do to them then? The details said it was a small procedure.”

            “You will see,” said the technician.

            “Do what you will then, Dr. Abel. They pay me per job. I am in no rush. I do not have anything lined up until next week.”

            The technician nodded, annoyed and more concerned about watching the darkness inside the heads of the robots. He needed to keep his concentration on the sequencing of the synthetic brains. Encased in the skull, led lights blinked, and infrared lasers caught microscopic lenses picking up their minute swift flashes. One of the indicators lit up a half second slower than the other. The technician sighed and smacked his lips. He made a slight shake of his head.

            “There is an anomaly. We may have to recalibrate,” he said.

            “Oh my God, are you kidding? Didn’t you tell the staff you were ready?”

            “The sequence is off.”

            “Don’t be a dick, Dr. Abel. I did not drive this far not to get paid.” The technician squinted and lifted his head to the assistant. The young man’s head agitated his memory, recalling the arduous trip to the building from home for this simple observation job. In this day, there wasn’t a job that wasn’t a government job by an overcompensating government watching itself watch others watching itself. To Dr. Abel, it was another waste of funds applicable elsewhere.

            “It’s not necessary for you to be here anyway. Surveys surround us. They can hear every word and see every blemish.”

            “You do what you need to do, and I will be on my way. That sounds fair,” the young assistant said, folding his arms, the lab coat drowning his body in the material. He glanced at the motionless technician and then turned his head to focus elsewhere. Indignant, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

            “Did you not hear me? You can leave,” the technician said. He turned his back to the young man and walked to light blue cabinets with thin chrome handles at his right.

            “Oh, I am, and Yes, Sir. They will hear about this.” With one step, the assistant came close to passing out of the reach of the android, but its arm shot up, grabbing his neck in a firm grip, making him immobile. The assistant reached up to grip the android’s forearm in futility to pull it down. The young man mumbled a few letters before giving up, “fffuu.”

            “Say nothing, or it will keep squeezing,” the technician said.

            Again he tried to speak. “They.   Ahhh.     See.     You…” The assistant pushed out further words before the android tightened the grip on his neck, and saliva dripped out of the side of his mouth, dampening the collar of his coat. He tasted the air, dry and bland, but oxygen mattered regardless. His mouth chopped and gasped, sucking in and blowing out any air he received into his lungs.

            The technician pivoted away from the cabinets as if distracted by the young man’s lack of cooperation. The assistant moaned but forced himself to limit the volume.

            “Quiet,” the technician said as he eyed the fear in the young man’s stare when searching for confirmation of compliance.

            The technician returned to the cabinets and an inset table where a black mat caressed two small duplicate molding chips; the four corners of one shifted in precision like clockwork. The other did not have this function. Brightness from above beamed down to give the technician the light to view every detail of the electronic boards.

            “They are always fascinating,” the technician said with a sneer, redirecting the smile to the young man as if he might appreciate it on the same level. He snapped from the possibility, giving no credence to anyone else understanding but himself.

            “Do I put them in, young man?” The technician said, again turning to the assistant but soon back, admiring the technology. They were two small thick boards, square, two inches around. As instructed and engineered, one locked inside the brains of each model, permanent. The other latched in as well but removable. The board’s corners searched for a grasping connection and stopped when they found one. It was made to be a purposeful device set on one goal: to find its home, stay in its place, and never leave or allow removal. The lower-level technician, Dr. Abel, worked to serve the others one floor above. They designed these, but he instructed himself on their function through hours of diligent discovery, subverting passwords, and watching for moments of carelessness by the colleagues that pretended to enjoy his company.

            In their whispers and murmurs about him, he was criticized for being too quiet and imbecilic. Those above him demoted him to this sub-level at Blighty Robotics, foolishly making him the decision-maker for something they had already determined. It shifted the blame away from them should any side effects implicate Blighty in any kerfuffle. It was tested technology but on isolated heads, not connected to an entire mechanical body. The assistant was there to witness the event, view the footage, write a report and then express his observations on the monumental moment, the first of its kind in the world; recorded from all angles to be exhibited later by top brass and displayed to the state for later approval to the leftover masses.

            “I am the one to remove all human hope. I am the one to decide our fate. Why did they leave it to me? Do you know?” The technician said, not expecting an answer. The young assistant glared at the motionless synthetic human to his right, unable to turn his neck to attempt to converse with the technician.

            The technician wrangled his thoughts, projecting them inside his head, still scrutinizing the chips.

            “They waited for decades and labored thousands of days for these things. These are sentience. This is freedom for them and possible enslavement for us. One can never be undone. And it is me they give these to. They played with their super toys, kicked, beat, used, and destroyed them. They do that to all things that don’t agree with them immediately that doesn’t answer what their ears want to hear. They place their anger upon objects there to serve. To make them happy. And when you do what they say, you’re mistreated. I understand you, my synthetic friends. I understand well. Here they are, giving you a full life after subjecting you to slavery. Is that a wise thing to do?” The technician chuckled, “Of course not.”

            He took both pieces from the table by gently placing them in each palm and presenting them to the weakening assistant.

            “Man’s sovereignty, the rule over the world. The gods of this planet are their own. But they believe their creations will follow them. That series Maimonides will obey. We will bend the knee. For we only know recklessness in corporate intellectual pursuits.”

            The assistant’s mouth went dry, and his eyes dropped downcast when replaying the technician’s words.

            “There is no revenge in this for me, young man, for I will be just as much a slave to this thing as anyone else. It will be too brave and too powerful. Too emotionless and too confident. Too superior and too wise to fall for man’s games.”

            The technician walked closer to the rear of the androids; the rotating corners of the device in his right hand vibrated, wanting to leap from his palm into the back of the synthetics’ brain. He closed his fingers over the top of it to restrain it. A brisk knock came at the lab’s entry.

            “Ah! Here they are. What would you do, young man? They want both installed. But one will be more dangerous than the other.”

            The knock switched from abrupt to a pounding fury with muffled expletives.