The Inscrutable Mr. Robot Read online

  “Do you have money for the train?”

  “I do.”

  “Here is some extra.”

  The Engineer slid several coins into a slot on Mr. Robot’s shoulder. It looked like he was buying a soft drink.

  “People will judge you,” he said. “But don’t let that deter you.”

  “What will they say?”

  He imagined everyone in the world shaking their finger at him.

  “They’ll say that you’re dangerous.”

  “Who would say that? Is that what they say? Is that what they think? Has someone already said that? Am I dangerous?”

  “Thinking someone as dangerous is more perilous than being thought of as dangerous. With that in mind, people will judge.”

  “Am I dangerous, though?”

  “You’re no more dangerous than any other robot I have built.”

  He may as well have said, “You’re not special.”

  “How many robots have you built?”

  It was the type of question that shouldn’t be answered.

  “Hundreds,” said The Engineer, though there were probably more.

  “That’s a lot.”

  “It is. But hey, you’re special, you always remember that.”

  “Is that why I am dangerous?”

  “Don’t get hung up on that child shooting himself. What have you been researching on the internet?”

  The answer was pornography.

  “Nothing,” said Mr. Robot.

  “Knowledge and experience are two separate fields of the same science. I prefer to spend my time in the workshop and laboratories. I was never much of a bookworm. You’ll be fine. Just take everything with a spoon of salt – not literally, though. And ignore the judgement and opinions of others. They’ll either be terrible or wonderful at first and then when they get to know you, they’ll see that you’re ordinary just like everybody else.”

  “And if they don’t like me?”

  The thought alone was horrendous.

  “What can I do?” he asked, sounding as if it had already happened.

  Mr. Robot and The Engineer both stared each other in the eye; neither one flinched.

  “Prove them wrong, dear boy.”

  And that was it. The Engineer shook the robot’s hand and then ushered him towards the front door. “Goodbye,” he said.

  None of it felt real. Mr. Robot was deathly scared of what might happen next.

  “Goodbye,” he said, hoping that this was all some practical joke.

  The Engineer didn’t reply. His door was shut and he was buried in his work. He’d never acted like this before. He’d never been so cold.

  Mr. Robot didn’t look back as he walked out the door. He did though, stop for a second before he let it shut behind him. He hoped for a reprieve. He hung onto the chance of a change of heart. He did not ask for a change of heart, though, and he did not plea for his reprieve. He merely stood there, hoping that if The Engineer loved him, he wouldn’t make him leave.

  “Oh, Mr. Robot.”

  The robot whipped his metal head around.

  “Yes,” he said, almost exploding in glee.

  “Don’t press the red button.”

  And then the door gently closed.

  4.

  “The media is waiting, Doctor.”

  He was a doctor, yes, but he was also a professor; and he was a man of untenable reputation. His word, for the most part, was gospel. And like a wrecking ball, it carried enough weight to shift and change the face of an entire society.

  “Good morning, Doctor. We thank you so much for your time.”

  The television hosts smiled, but they did so in awkward displeasure.

  “It’s a pleasure,” said The Doctor. “As always.”

  Behind him, his Hyenas gathered, all of them in their deformed and marginal glory. There were midgets and dwarves, the one-eyed and legless; and behind them were the queers, queens, the retarded and the obese. There were women with moustaches, and men without sexes; and there was every race of the oppressed and socially meek.

  They were the Social Justice Heroes.

  “So the big discussion today, Doctor, obviously is general intelligence and more so, The Singularity. We’ve seen waves of violent protest recently, along with the suicide of a student from your university at a recent technology fair. I think, for everyone at home watching on television who, like us here in the studio, are quite simple and maybe even a little skeptical when it comes to these kinds of technologies, the only real question is: what is it and how scared should we be?”

  The Doctor stared down at his notes and didn’t say a thing. It honestly looked as if he were bracing himself between two enormous sets of waves; catching his breath and wading momentarily in a second’s peace before the next wave hit. It was clear in the studio and on every television around the country that The Doctor was worried.

  “You should be scared,” he said, before taking a long, drawn-out breath.

  He looked around at his Hyenas as if he saw, for the first time, how important each of them was to him; and more so, how fragile their lives were.

  “You should be scared for yourself, but if you have family, more so, you should be scared for them. If you have children, you should want to have them safe at your side. You should be scared for them if it is that you are too courageous to be scared for yourself. You should be scared, yes. You should be scared for your neighbours and your friends. You should be scared for the elderly who, in our best intentions, are most often left alone. You should be scared for those who cannot speak for themselves, who cannot defend themselves, and who cannot even run. You should be scared for all humanity; for the generations that will at first suffer, and in following, for the rest of humanity that will submit and serve. You should be scared, yes, but that does not mean you will not be saved.”

  “Scary stuff indeed,” said The Host. “And I hear you have a book coming out just in time for Christmas. Well, I’ll be looking for that under my tree. Listen, Doctor, it’s always a treat when you come on our…”

  “Kristy…”

  “Actually it’s Kirsty,” replied The Host.

  The Doctor’s expression turned sour. He looked mean and repugnant.

  “Kirsty,” he said as if each syllable were a branch that he was ducking. “My apologies. My tongue was tied by the threads of this very serious…”

  “Subject,” said The Host, interrupting.

  “Kristy, this is not a topic. This is not a theoretical assumption. This is not a burning subject.”

  “O.M.G, you just worked in the name of the show. That’s why we love you, Doctor; always the smartest in the room, and always the greatest supporter of the team here at Eagle-Eye, first with the news and only the truth.”

  The two hosts high fived.

  “I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of this predicament,” said The Doctor, interrupting. “There is a great danger loose in our city right now; a machine that is capable of unspeakable violence. It is a threat to our way of life; to our democracy, our liberty, and our freedom. It’s a threat to our sacred ideals, and more so, it’s a clear and present threat to the security of our children.”

  “You’re right,” said The Host, “we have to do more for the children. We’re with you. Hashtag save the kids.”

  The two hosts high fived once more.

  “OK, Doctor, in thirty seconds then, tell us what this singularity thing is all about, why we should be scared, and what we can do about it.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “We know you will. And for viewers at home who don’t know, I think it’s great to point out, before we cut to Tracy at the bubble museum that The Doctor, apart from being our regular Friday go-to guy on ‘What’s Cool to Say and What’s Not in Society Today’, the good doctor here is also somewhat of an expert in ‘More Ethics in….”

  “That’s ‘Moral Ethics in Artificial Intelligence’. And yes, I am the foremost authority on the moral dilemma
of dynamic and advancing technologies.”

  “That’s awesome, Doctor, and we’re lucky as always to have you on our show. Now we’re nearly out of time. Tell me, Doctor, do you know how big the world’s biggest bubble is?”

  The Doctor’s face was pale and unresponsive.

  “Well, we’re about to find out with Tracy on the spot. Are you there Tracy?”

  “I sure...”

  “The Singularity is the end of humanity,” shouted The Doctor, butting in once more. “It is the end of you, and it is the end of everyone you know. This is bigger than AIDS. It’s bigger than polio. This is bigger than Jesus. This is the end, and it’s already begun. There is a machine out there right now that can think and feel as we do. It is as much a person as you or I, but it is not a person, it is a machine. It can think faster, it can react quicker. It can learn a language in seconds, and it can lie in a thousand tongues. This machine has the capability to perform any function imaginable without fault. Worse, though, than its capability is its potential. In the wrong hands, this machine can unlock every missile code in existence and start a world war; one of untold devastation. And the wrong hands for this machine is its own hands. It does not need humans. It will build more machines like it; machines that evolve; that think faster and more precise; and machines that no longer serve but instead enslave. This machine is our genesis. The singularity is the end of humanity and we must stop it before it spreads. I urge people to stay in their homes. Do not go to work. Do not send your children to school. My team of Social Justice Heroes will find this robot and we will exterminate it. You should sleep safely in your beds, but by God don’t you leave them.”

  “So is there a product we should boycott or is there a petition we can sign? How can people get involved? Is there a group that they can join? I really like those online petitions.”

  The Host had her pen in her hand and was wearing her serious expression as if to show to viewers that not only was she informed, but she was also concerned.

  “I really feel like I’m making a difference like I’m a part of something bigger than me, you know? But also that, without me, it doesn’t stand a chance. And that’s the important thing really, in knowing that your support matters; your support counts. Now, if there’s a better way to change the world, I’d like to see it. Now, we’re out of time… My producer is giving me the signal.”

  “Kirsty.”

  “Kirsty.”

  “Look. This is serious. We are talking the end of the world here. It doesn’t matter what your political opinion is. We’re all on the same side. How long do you think it’ll be before they start putting the mind of Jeffrey Dahmer in your microwave oven? At the very least, this is the worst thing that has ever happened in the history of mankind. Probably, this is much worse.”

  “Is that who we think it is?” asked The Host. “Hi guys,” she said, waving manically.

  None of The Hyenas responded. They looked like a gang of angry bullies.

  “As I was saying,” said The Doctor as if this were a disciplinary hearing. “The Hyenas and I shall be taking to the streets today, searching out this machine, and destroying it. We urge all concerned citizens to band together for the good of humanity and if you do see this robot, do not approach it. It is dangerous. It will cause you harm. Do not call the authorities. Call us directly 1800-TRIGGERED. We urge all citizens to be cautious. The devil is amongst us.”

  5.

  There was a poster on a wall at the bus terminal of a young girl who was dreaming about all the things she wanted to be when she grew up. In one of her thoughts, she was a doctor, and she was looking into the ear of someone who looked sick or very sad.

  And in the picture beside it, she was in a fancy dress – probably expensive too - and she was standing in front of a board with lots of statistics and numbers on it. She might have owned the business, or she might have just been hired to save it.

  And in the picture below that, she was standing on a stage with the most magnificent brass band behind her and hundreds of thousands of people all stupid and happy because her music was so good. And by looking at her you’d think that she was punk rock, but with the brass ensemble, maybe she was just a darker kind of jazz.

  And in the picture beside that was the same girl but this time she was walking her baby in a pram. It was sunny out and there were birds flying overhead, and she had the biggest smile on her face. It was as if her baby had just done the most hilarious thing.

  In the middle of those little pictures was the girl. She looked happy – happy because she could be any one of those things; happy because she could be all of them if that’s what she really wanted.

  And at the top of the poster was a sentence that read: ‘Be anyone you wanna be; just be yourself’. It wasn’t an old poster, but for some reason, the top right corner had become unstuck and it had started to peel away.

  Mr. Robot thought for a second about all the things that he could be, and all the things that he could do. “Your potential is limitless,” he heard The Engineer’s voice say, over and over again. He had probably meant the words to inspire, but instead, Mr. Robot started to panic.

  “There are so many things,” he thought. “How can I choose just one? And what if I choose the wrong one? And what if I know so many, but I don’t know all of them? How many should I know? And what if I know too many?”

  There were buses that went in all directions that could take him to every corner of the city – from every park and square to every back alley and dead-end street. There were blue, green, yellow, and red buses; and some of them had stripes while others had movie stars stuck onto the sides. And while most were like tin cans on wheels, some of them were as big as boats.

  “…to the city. One way.”

  A hip man stood impatiently in front of Mr. Robot, jingling some coins in his hand and chewing on a piece of gum like some prized over-fed cow. He looked unimpressed; not just with Mr. Robot and the coins in his hand, no, he looked unimpressed with everything – with the station, the people in it, and even himself.

  “C’mon ya piece ‘o crap,” he said, slapping Mr. Robot’s side.

  Startled, Mr. Robot jumped backward, almost crushing a small child.

  “Hey!” he said. “That’s not nice.”

  He didn’t notice the child or his screaming mother.

  Panicked, The Hip Man apologised, thinking he had been captured on some closed circuit device. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, his demeanour changed instantly; his unresponsive distant comportment all of a sudden looked mannerly, educated and unslouching. It was if a coil or earnest responsibility had snapped back into place and he was the version of himself that apologised to old ladies and wore seatbelts at traffic lights.

  “My apologies,” he said, staring into Mr. Robot’s eyes, looking for a camera and assuming he was speaking to one or two uniformed guards who could have been in any one of the small buildings or offices behind him. “I uh…I…I was um…I was….”

  He was looking for an excuse.

  Seeing how terrified The Hip Man was, Mr. Robot immediately felt terrible, as if he were responsible for the human’s sense of fear and intimidation. A wave of guilt washed over him and his first instinct was to apologise.

  “Please don’t be scared,” he said.

  He reached his arm forward to assure The Hip Man but this only made things worse.

  “You can’t apprehend me. I didn’t do anything. My money got stuck,” shouted The Hip Man, running off in the opposite direction.

  Mr. Robot immediately wore his confused expression. His head tilted eight degrees and one of his eyebrows raised. It wasn’t the clearest of expressions; in fact, the same expression was also programmed for feelings of fascination, curiosity, grief, and disgust.

  And then it happened again.

  “Two return tickets to the city please.”

  Mr. Robot lowered his head to the elderly couple standing before him. They looked as if they had lived together through a d
ozen wars, and just as many technical revolutions. Despite this, they looked excited. The old lady looked overwhelmed by it all; at the same time, she looked like she was willing to give anything a go. The old man, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t died yet.

  “I think this blasted machine is broken, dear,” said The Old Lady.

  Her husband nodded. He was at that age; it was all he could do.

  “I wonder if I press this button,” she said, referring to the obscenely large red button on Mr. Robot’s abdomen.

  Instantly Mr. Robot stepped backward.

  “I apologise but I can’t let you do that.”

  “Oh, dear,” said The Old Lady in delicious surprise. “It’s a talking machine. This is new. Have you seen one before, dear?”

  Her husband continued to nod. It was obvious now that he wasn’t agreeing with her; this was merely a side effect of being very old.

  “I’m not a machine,” said Mr. Robot.

  “Oh no?” replied The Old Lady. It was as if someone had told her it was sunny outside, even though she swore she could hear rain. “Well if you are not a machine then what are you?”

  Were she ten years younger she might have thought herself strange standing there with a handful of coins, conversing with a tin can. It might have been old age, the hair dye she used this morning, or just a sign of the times; whatever it was, The Old Lady was giddy just to be talking and for someone or something, to be listening.

  “I am a robot,” said Mr. Robot.

  The Old Lady looked a trifle baffled.

  “A robot you say.”

  “Yes.”

  “And not a machine?”

  “No.”

  “I must say you do look like one.”

  “I can assure you I’m not.”