Generic Disenchantment
by Samuel H. Kenyon"Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for nine billion."
"Reg?"
"Hold on, I'm working on something." Whenever Reg was solving a deep problem as quickly as possible, his eyes closed, perhaps to conserve all brain resources for the focused effort. His forehead wrinkled, as if doing a partial Robert De Niro impression - and then, the answer. He furiously scribbled on the nearest patch of flat surface.
"Let's be clear - here at Folded Hands, Inc., we make slaves. But they are no more human nor deserve any more rights than medical-grade embryos."
"I must say the two acts set in the Lake were more entertaining."
"Because of the swan hybrids?"
"Yes. And the bad guy, whatever his name is."
"Von Rothbart."
"Right."
"You should have seen it before the anti-grav choreography."
It was your typical post-apocalyptic future nightmare. Yet the movie, and the camps hawking the same anti-technology warnings, made a profound impression on Reg. They've got it all wrong, he thought. The nightmare will happen only if we don't advance.
Reg assigned himself a new mission, supplanting all previous and far less important long-term goals. This is where the world will turn for the better, he thought, and I am right there in the hinge.
"Open your eyes. What are you thinking about?" said Nara.
Twenty minutes later Reg said, "What?" but she had already gone. Off to Zero-g Tai Chi without him.
Nara. Was it simply infatuation from proximity? Certainly time must play a factor - duration and frequency of mutual exposure.
He stabbed one of the cockroach-shaped biodrones with a fork. On the bottom, it read: "Throw away - do not eat."
"Ladies, gentlemen, and cyber-infants," spoke the delicious chrome host. "I am proud to introduce the finest improvisational troupe since The Quinkins Gag Reflex. They call themselves...Disenchantment!"
After the applause and dramatic entry of the colorful android comedians, the audience was asked for a subject in order to start the play.
"Implant operation!"
"Crop circles!"
"The Oedipus complex!"
"Robotics laboratory!" (laughter).
"Playground soap opera!"
"Lunar outpost!"
"Alice in Wonderland!"
"The garden of Eden!"
Ignoring the shouts, Nara asked Reg, "Robots that improv?"
"There are rules for spontaneity, you know."
A deep voice from the television: "The elephantine biped stomped into the room, grunting. The door closed slowly, too slowly, as if it had been strained from opening so wide to let in the beast. I realized I had frozen, my breath itself clenched. Everyone else had gone quiet too and now nobody was willing to break this impromptu pause in which a second seemed like several minutes...until...crash! The monster filled the room with the breaking noise of high-pressure fluid echoing off of the urinal. Relief spread like a virus."
Another voice: "How long have you had these dreams?"
Reg blinked; the channels changed on the various screens.
"We're ape for the apes but no-go on the choo-choos!" declared one of the channels. Reg shut it off. Five minutes later Nara came in and turned it back on, inexplicably.
"Tomfoolery is not subject to heuristic searches or probabilistic training," said the onscreen head of Rev. Dr. Jeremiah. "Truly unpredictable acts, jokes, acting on emotional impulses, pranks...these are human abilities only. Machines can't act on the 'spur of the moment' like we do, because we have free will from origination -"
Reg shut it off with an almost violent blink. "Utter idiocy. Ignorant, mode-mixing, pseudo-religious babble of a weak, lemming-like mind stuck forever in its protective cage."
"Wow," said Nara. "I thought he was an expert?"
"Experts are only experts in the company of relative non-experts."
"Just talk to it, Nara. I'm curious how the interaction will proceed."
"Say something, oh Robot my Robot!"
"Avoid missing ball for high score."
"What?"
"It's joking, Nara; those were the instructions for Pong."
Reg sighed. "The point is that my financial situation is less than optimal. That's why I need to do this trip."
"Just for the money?"
"Not just the money - it's an upgrade in my responsibilities.
"So you're solving all their problems?"
"Hopefully, at least with these chimeric android field tests."
"I want to go too."
"But you can't."
"I know."
TV babble: "The Epistograph was a complete hoax - and yet millions bought into it. The ads and virals were so brilliantly well-executed, so efficiently successful, that there were claims of extraterrestrial interest in the marketing contractor."
Shiny Doorknobs of Wardrobes Past provides the song of the month with, "I Know I'll Love You Because It Says So on the Label."
Reg came back on the line. "Nara? Sorry about that. I'm busier than a swarm of biodrones here."
They said nothing for several moments; Reg eyed the clock. Nara restarted the conversation: "You wouldn't keep leaving if you really cared about me."
"I swear this country has no name! It's not in the KB. What? I don't know what they're speaking, the translator's handling that. Hold on, I've got twelve incoming calls."
"What is wrong now with the androids or whatever it is you're working on?"
"I'm debugging the most advanced dexterous manipulation systems in the world."
"There won't be much left in the world that humans are better at."
"So?"
"The canonical super-intelligent alien species was stoic, but clearly interested in human emotions. Yet they just could not understand the difference between natural and artificial."
They were at the ice sculptures. She saw art, melting. He saw order returning to chaos. Impermanence.
"If you had to choose between me and your career, which would it be?"
Without hesitation: "My career..."
"But I love you," Nara said. "I know you love me too. What is it that propels you away from me? How is it that we attract, yet repel each other?"
Reg closed his eyes, furrowed his brow. "Hold on, I'm working on it."
©Samuel H. Kenyon
The uncanny Samuel H. Kenyon is the result of a spectacular experiment in a secret underground laboratory. He has been published in AntiMuse, Bewildering Stories, Flash Fantastic, Aphelion, and other places. For more writings (including non-fiction) and info on robotics and artificial intelligence, visit his personal website, Flanneltron.com.