by C. Martens
“Wait, we don’t need to see another demonstration of carnage. It’s a useless waste. These machines are valuable,” protested the Brit. “Let’s move on.”
“This is different.” Jonathon gazed at the man directly, even challenging. The attitude was strange and uncharacteristic based on his earlier subservience.
“Would you care to make a bet on the outcome?”
The Briton hesitated. “What are you saying? Is this robot different than the others?”
“Just watch,” Jonathon said with a smug look. “I’m sure you’ll be impressed. In fact I’ll make it even more interesting.” He raised his wrist to his mouth and whispered.
While the obstacle course robots continued their demonstration, another of the newer bots fractured off of a group and joined its comrade in the gladiatorial field. The house robot hesitated, as though reconsidering its approach. Suddenly it shook its arms out, and they divided. It had four arms. The Sheik and Bilal exchanged glances. Then they both looked at Jonathon.
He shrugged. The lab coated technician looked sheepish, almost embarrassed, but also full of pride. This was his baby, and he knew it was going to impress the people before him.
“It’s the evolved model, designed largely by the new bot brain. We asked it to design a model that would look like the old house robot as much as possible. The arms were its own idea, and it even came up with a new alloy for its internal skeleton.” Jonathon smiled grimly. “Just watch.”
It was no contest. While the new robots had decimated the older models in seconds, they were no match for this camouflaged model. Soon it stood upright amid twitching, detached pieces and slowly faced the humans.
“Now you’ll have a chance to meet the bot and ask it anything you want. The new brain is amazing. It’s even better than we hoped. It is a true artificial intelligence.”
Jonathon motioned the gladiator bot to stand in front of them. He used only hand motions, a fact not lost on the investors. Each of them moved forward to inspect the faux house bot. They found nothing but a few scratches to give evidence of the combat.
“Ask it questions,” invited the scientist proudly. “It will answer in your native language if you speak in that language.”
The Sheik caught Bilal’s eye, signaling silently to listen before speaking.
“What is the speed of light?” asked their well-dressed companion.
The robot turned its head to look directly at the man. “In a vacuum the speed of light is exactly 299,792,458 metres per second. That, of course, doesn’t account for fluctuations in a natural environment where gravity, obstacles, and some other factors might influence the final figure between points.”
The tone of the bot was calm and friendly. It spoke in a British accent identical to the man that posed the question.
Several other questions followed, all from the same source. The Brit switched to an impeccable French, and the bot answered questions in a perfect accent. The two Arab Royals remained silent, listening intently. The man with the fine clothing continued, and tried to trip up the robot by intentionally misrepresenting facts. He was corrected softly, even in apologetic terms. Once he asked a question that was not intended to be in error, but the robot expanded on the fundamentals until the Brit conceded that he would have to check his facts. Jonathon looked confident, and the Arabs both thought it unlikely that the robot was in error. But the Sheik Akil was unsatisfied. Finally the Englishman ran out of questions.
The Sheik considered his intended query. Although the question could be considered blasphemy to ask of a mechanical device, he was filled with curiosity by the acumen of this metal creature. He had to ask.
“Is there one God, and is His name Allah?” asked the Sheik in Arabic.
The Prince Bilal started and looked closely at his uncle. His uncle must be mad. If the Imams ever heard of this they would be furious, even with a High Royal. Nevertheless, Bilal was curious and focused closely to hear the robot answer. This was the only question so far that was not scientific in nature.
In a finely accented Arabic the robot spoke. “The question you ask is not a matter of knowledge, but belief. I believe there is a God, and in conjecture, probably a single entity based on both possibility and probability. If there is a single God, it matters little what that God is called, so Allah would do well.”
As the Arabs were the only two capable of understanding the response, they were the only ones startled by it. They expected the robot to decline the question, to perhaps ask for clarification, or to announce bluntly that there was no God. But the device surprised them.
Sheik Akil looked askance at his nephew. It was the nephew’s turn to query the mechanism.
“What is your name?” asked Bilal in English.
The robot hesitated. It was a noticeable moment and unusual in the questioning. Never before had a question stumped the artificial creature.
Finally, the robot responded. “I do not have a name. I have a designation. My serial number i….”
“No,” interrupted Bilal. “What is your name?” He looked hard at the robot. “If you haven’t been given a name, then you may choose one yourself.” The Prince Bilal paused, studying the being in front of him. “I give you permission…choose a name.”
The words were put together in exactly the right way for the robot to not only understand but to act upon. Akil was impressed. He hadn’t expected his nephew to be so perceptive and useful.
“Then I will choose a name.”
The artificial almost seemed to take a deep breath. Perhaps it was that the men surrounding him took the breath, but it seemed to be the robot.
“I will choose the name, Abdiel.”
The name was strange, but what would they have expected from a self-aware robot? And most assuredly this device was self-aware. But why had the robot chosen a name that had significance? Both of the Arabs understood where the name came from.
Jonathon seemed approving, though puzzled. He invited the three guests to follow him as he indicated that the tour was now going to start around the edges of the huge room. He spoke into his hidden mic, and the room went silent. The bots still running the course returned to their formations and went dormant. There would be no distractions.
Looking back as they moved to inspect the further demonstrations, Bilal invited the robot named Abdiel to follow along. It trailed the Prince closely, perhaps four feet behind the humans.
The head scientist was mildly surprised. These new synthetic brains were always amazing him. He was beginning to believe that a bonus was in order. All of the security and secrecy on this project was paying off. Even though he was just a salaried grunt, he had seen some monetary gains previously that made it clear that performance mattered. Now he was conditioned to expect big money. The Sheik was silent but was thinking similarly. If this mechanical being panned out as he expected, the man would have worked himself out of a job. Besides that, money would not matter once the Sheik was convinced that the robot was fully capable of replacing human labor. That was what they were here for, to see if humans had become obsolete.
Each of the areas that they were led through demonstrated a different capability. The bots were chosen at random by the spectators and were efficient and skilled. They worked as fast as a human, with no necessity for any rest. They were stronger, more resilient, and would never ask for a raise. Through the entire process of walking around the room, viewing each demonstration, the men became convinced that the bots could mine their own ore, smelt and forge, design and fashion, and inevitably build another of their kind. Besides that, they were fully capable of working the ground for agricultural purposes, understanding and utilizing animal husbandry, using wood, ceramics, metals, and fabrics, and other materials as humans could, and if they did not know how to do something, they could learn. They demonstrated an ability to anticipate needs and actions.
The men were not only impressed, they were uncomfortable.
“What would a creature like this do if it became
upset, or more properly perhaps, unhinged?” asked the Brit. “Man wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Jonathon assured them, “The monster you imagine doesn’t exist. There are fail-safes and redundancies of fail-safes. The machine cannot revolt. It isn’t possible.”
The only question that limited the elation of the investors seemed to be the power source for the bots. After some limited success over the years, vanadium batteries had seen some early use but had ultimately been replaced with other technology. The bots were now back to using vanadium batteries of a new design, and Jonathon was expecting to replace that technology with a miniature radioactive power source in the near future. The vanadium batteries could be charged by solar energy, but it took time with the small surface area devoted to the compact solar array. Alternately they could be charged off the power grid, which took significantly less time, as vanadium could charge and discharge almost immediately. But the radioactive alternative would allow a bot to function for a year at a time, a much better alternative. The man in the lab coat assured the three that the technology was close, and then he made a fatal error. He revealed that the human engineers were not involved in development. The robots were designing their power source themselves.
The Sheik was suddenly very attentive. He asked a few questions about the time frame involved, and what other aspects were pertinent, and soon he knew the time had come. Human labor was obsolete now. It had happened. The time had come to initiate the plan.
Small talk followed for the most part, and Jonathon was instructed vehemently to maintain security. His bonus depended on it.
Strange that these men want to hide this mechanism from the world, thought Jonathon. It’s going to revolutionize the human endeavor. Soon there will be robots cultivating the earth, and man can live a life of ease. He had no idea how close to the real intent of the plan he was. The only difference between his vision and the one that Sheik Akil envisioned was the numbers of the population that would be benefiting.
Preparing to exit the demonstration room, Sheik Akil hesitated.
“Jonathon, how many of these present robots are there?” He indicated the one that had shadowed them at Bilal’s invitation.
“Thirty, so far,” the man replied. “We could have several hundred in a couple of months if we got the go ahead.”
“I would like to evaluate this machine more closely,” said the Sheik with his brow furrowed in thought. “I would like to take this machine now.” The tone made it more command than request.
Thinking fast, and really having little problem with the idea, Jonathon agreed. The bot could pass for a normal house robot in almost every way.
They said goodbye at the door of the demonstration room.
Bilal’s Uncle Akil proposed that he take the robot home with him.
“Test it, make it do things that you would expect only a human to do. And get back to me within two weeks. I’ll be waiting. Now go, I have things to discuss with my friend here.” He indicated the Englishman.
Bilal turned to the already waiting car, motioning the bot to follow.
The remaining two men turned to each other.
“It looks like the time has come,” said one.
“It does,” opined the other. “We’ll have to call the meeting.”
They were in agreement. One offered the other a ride home in his new jet, but they both had airplanes waiting. They would see each other in less than a month.
To the people involved, the meeting would be fruitful.
Chapter 3
As breakfast disappeared from his plate, the Prince ruminated over what he would say to his uncle about the event last night. The Sheik would be expecting a communication. In fact he was probably growing irritated that Bilal had not called yet. But Uncle could wait. The Prince needed to bathe and prepare himself for the day.
The huge mirror in the bath caught the Prince’s eye as he entered. It invariably did. He was always impressed with his own beauty. Thirty-two, but looking to be in his middle twenties, Bilal knew he would be attractive his whole life. For now, though, he relished his early manhood. He wore his dark hair short as he also wore his heavy beard. His skin was even and a rich golden shade often shared within his family. His eyes reflected not only his intelligence, but a common trait within the royals, a sense of deep and abiding self-entitlement. Bilal recognized the look but misidentified it as an expression common to superiority. He knew himself as one of the Elite, and never imagined that he could be otherwise.
After the Prince’s bath, Abdiel performed his daily manicure and pedicure. It was relaxing and helped Bilal gather his thoughts.
The opulent office next to the lobby, filled with a dark, heavy desk, chairs, and a large library table, as well as cases of classic reading, would afford him the proper setting for his communication with his uncle. The desk offered up a monitor from its center, and waving his hand over the surface, Bilal initiated the call.
Shadowing the Prince from one room to another, always as unobtrusive as he could make himself, Buru made sure he could always reach his employer’s side in an instant. As the office was entered through one door by the Prince, Buru stationed himself next to the other door, leading to the entryway. He did not see Bilal carefully closing the great doors behind himself, so Buru did not realize that by positioning himself at the open doors that the Prince overlooked, he would be eavesdropping on something, a conversation that the Prince would rather not have been overheard.
Buru’s long shift was nearing an end, and he was thinking about home. His Shona relatives in Zimbabwe would be expecting him soon, and he would bring them everything he could. Even as the nation became industrialized by the investments that the Chinese made, he was making sure that his family had every opportunity possible for Africans within the new economy. The money he made was being invested in several of his nephews and two nieces as they made their way through an education that had not been possible only a short time ago. The weight of his responsibility was immense, but Buru was exceptionally strong.
One of the burdens he carried was that he had to deny his faith in order to work for the Prince. It would not do to have the Prince on his knees, bowing to Mecca five times a day, and have his security detail join him. While the Prince worshipped infrequently in private, the public worship was when security was an issue. Buru had claimed to be Christian and denied understanding Arabic in order to get the job. So he remained on his feet during worship because of his family. He would do what was required.
Now the voice of the Prince, speaking in Arabic within the office, rose to distract him from his thoughts.
“But of course, Uncle. Of course I made sure that the men were well compensated. And they knew nothing about where the bottles were going. They left with smiles on their faces. Very grateful smiles.”
The Prince hesitated, and Buru had a chance to contemplate some of the things that he had managed to gather in previous exchanges. He knew there was a great secret that even the Prince’s own security was not being entrusted with, but so far he had not figured out what that secret was. Most of the royalty managed to delude themselves that servants lacked the intelligence to make connections, and they were paid well enough to ignore any they made by mistake, but any good security man would gather information. Sometimes information could save their lives, and making connections was always an interesting diversion in an otherwise largely boring profession.
“Yes, Uncle, I have been very satisfied with the robot. I remain confident that it can replace a man. In fact, with a few more I could part with several more of my support staff.” A hesitation, listening. “Yes, yes, it understands everything with little explanation.”
The new robot has made for some interesting speculation, thought Buru, because it’s obviously part of the secret plan. The whole security team was speculating on what it was capable of doing.
The Prince lowered his voice slightly, “In fact, I’ve begun to think that it may be a mistake to inoculate the security people.
”
Suddenly Buru was fully focused. What is this? What does a robot have to do with the vaccines that were given because of our international travels?
The Prince continued, “Yes, I know that it might be premature, but when they fully understand what is happening, they may revolt, Uncle. I know we picked unmarried men, but some have relatives that won’t survive. The plagues will wipe them out, and the security people may turn on us.”
The revelation clicked in Buru’s mind. Suddenly pieces fell into place. If not for his training, his impulse would have been to confront the Prince. Shaken, Buru held himself back. He would discuss this with the one person with whom he shared information. Andy would listen and provide a sounding board so that Buru would not jump to any conclusions. Even though he was shaken to his core, he managed to refocus. This was important.
“Yes, Uncle, I know we don’t want to save everyone, and I know that’s the point. Yes, Uncle, yes, I understand.” Bilal paused. “In the end I know we will weed them out anyway.” He laughed, mockingly. “Yes, it is too bad the one targeting males didn’t work out completely, but we will still have our virgins, Uncle. Be well.”
Apparently this ended the conversation. The Prince Bilal had inadvertently voiced the pieces of Buru’s puzzle that filled in the gaps and were necessary to put him in the crosshairs.
§
Rushing to the elevator as his replacement closed the door behind him, the Shona security man brushed past the guard that would stay at the elevator landing. He needed to catch Andy before he left the building. There was a better than even chance that he would. Andy often took a few moments to touch base with the soldiers in his arsenal, putting a personal touch to his command. This was one of the things that made him a good leader. Although the men could count on him to be as serious as possible in deadly situations, they also knew he was a human being with their best interest at heart.