Page 30 of Chaos Theory
TWENTY-EIGHT
KOBI
‘—And that’s the difference between making some toast and making a toast,’ Shane concludes.
It is an ongoing conundrum for robots that, no matter how strong or advanced we become, sooner or later – usually sooner – we run out of energy and need to spend several hours in recharge mode.
However, this is the way in which we most resemble humans.
When I first learned about human biology, I found the concept of sleep amusing, but now I see that sleep is an elegant solution to an everyday problem.
Humans do not try to solve sleep; they accept it.
There is a kind of grace in this acceptance of limitations.
We have been out shopping for Halloween decorations and are now returning to the office.
This morning, I was working in the customer relations department when, at 1005, Shane and Sandra Smith arrived to discuss Social Committee business with Julia.
A Halloween party is to be held in the office at the end of the month.
Sandra Smith asked Shane to purchase decorations for the party.
Shane said he did not wish to do so. Sandra Smith made a short but eloquent speech about the duties of a Social Committee, the concept of responsibility, and the general requirement for all human men to reach a state of maturity.
In the end Shane agreed to perform the task but requested my assistance, which, of course, I was happy to provide.
I requested that Maeve grant me permission to leave the building, and Shane attempted to contact her but was unable to do so.
However, he assured me it would ‘be grand’ if I accompanied him.
I have noticed that Shane often predicts that situations will ‘be grand’.
I continue to gather evidence that Shane may perhaps be categorised as an ‘optimist’.
I scan our surroundings while Shane interacts with the bags.
There is a sign on a stone archway to our left.
It reads The Art of Science . Behind the archway is the Science Museum that Maeve and Shane told me of when I was working in the gift shop.
I scan another sign above the entrance. It reads: The Ghost in the Machine: Robots in the Human Age .
‘Shane,’ I say. I point toward the museum. ‘I would like to see the exhibition.’
He replies with a sound instead of words. I am unsure if he has malfunctioned. I decide to rephrase my statement as a request. ‘Shane, may I please visit the exhibition?’
He puts down the bags again and rubs his face. ‘Ah, I’m not sure. I should probably talk to Maeve first.’
From my observations of human interactions, a statement of uncertainty is often a starting point for a negotiation. ‘It will “be grand”,’ I say.
He laughs, then says, ‘The apprentice is becoming the master,’ which I understand to be a compliment. ‘Well, you’ve been very helpful this morning. I suppose it can’t hurt to pop in for 10 minutes. Just don’t touch anything, okay? ’
He moves toward the large wooden doors of the museum. I can feel my neural network buzz with anticipation. I follow him through the doors as fast as I can manage.
We enter a small reception area, with an un-personed desk.
Beyond this is a corridor, where Shane puts all the bags into a locker.
The corridor opens up to a large room filled with light.
One wall is composed of floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
I scan the room and detect a group of people at some distance from us.
I stop to read a poster on the wall with a large amount of text on it, but Shane pulls on my arm.
‘Come on, we don’t have time to read everything. Just look around. You’ll get the gist.’
I photograph the poster so I can parse it as I walk around the exhibits.
It would appear that the museum is an innovative venture exploring the collision of art and science.
I move through the exhibition space and encounter a large sign attached to a person-sized wooden stake in the middle of the floor.
I make sure to read it quickly before Shane notices: (Hu)man’s best friend?
Beyond, in 2 rows, is a series of glass cases, mounted on small plinths.
If robots could gasp, I would do so. Each glass case contains a robot that no longer functions.
The creations appear to be organised in chronological order, beginning with an ancient Greek device that resembles a sundial and ending with a modern robot that looks not unlike me.
I greet each creature with respect, but there is no life here.
At the end of the row, a very large glass case contains not a robot but a giant question mark that appears to be made of foam. I stop here for 70 seconds.
Shane approaches. ‘What’s wrong?’ he says.
‘I,’ I begin, but stop. After 10 seconds, I say, ‘One day, will I be in this glass case?’
Shane does not speak for a moment. Then he says, ‘I can see how this might be a bit of a downer, all right. Sorry, man. If it’s any comfort to you, humans are always having existential crises.’
I know it will take me a few moments to calculate the many implications of this statement. As I do not have a ready response, I employ a conversational tactic to ‘stall for time’, as it is known. ‘Really?’ I ask.
Shane takes my elbow and I allow him to steer me to another area of the museum. ‘Ah yeah. We’re known for it. Renowned, you might say. We’re obsessed with ourselves, our lives and, yeah, our deaths.’
My brain begins to clarify. ‘This must make life difficult,’ I say.
‘Yep. Sometimes you’re just getting through the day. And sometimes you need to have the craic to stop yourself from thinking too much. But sometimes you meet someone who brightens your day, you know what I mean?’
I am struggling to keep up but through some quick logic connections I attempt to contribute to the conversation, to maintain its flow. ‘Do you mean, for example, how Julia brightens David’s day?’
He laughs. ‘Yes.’
I am pleased. I want to keep the feeling, and the conversation, going. ‘Or how Josh brightens Maeve’s day?’
He stops suddenly. I stop too. ‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says, but I detect a strong emotion. Before I can identify it, he says, ‘Look, I, um, need to make a call. I’ll be back in a minute. Remember, don’t touch anything.’
He walks away and I start a timer for 60 seconds. I scan my surroundings. This part of the museum is like the gallery in the Go Ireland gift shop, but the pictures on the walls are artistic representations of quantum particles.
The group of people I observed when I entered the museum are now closer.
I scan them. They are varying heights – although none as tall as Shane – and likely a mix of males and females.
They all wear dark clothes with an identical crest on the left side of the chest, featuring a red dragon.
Even though there are signs on the wall advising quiet, they speak at volumes 6 and 7.
One person pushes another. This is followed by laughter. They emit a high level of energy .
One of them appears to notice me. ‘Oh, look at that robot! Amazing.’
‘It must be interactive,’ says another.
A third person shouts, ‘Oh my God!’
Suddenly, I am surrounded by members of the red-dragon gang. They ask many questions. On the plus side, they are highly curious and interested in my every aspect. On the negative side, I am unable to process all the incoming data and respond in a timely manner.
A green-haired gang member says, ‘Hey, look, there’s buttons on the side.’
They reach out and attempt to interact with my control panel. I scan the area for Shane but fail to locate him.
‘Warning! Unauthorised activity,’ I state. This has the effect of pausing the incoming sounds but only for a moment. Then I hear laughter, and the dragon-gang voices increase to volume 8. I move away from Green Hair but cannot find how to exit the group.
I too turn my voice up to 8 and repeat, ‘Warning! Unauthorised activity.’
I hear voices around me say, ‘Ooooh!’ in response. Other voices repeat my warning in an exaggerated tone that I believe is intended to mimic me. I hear laughter, but it is not melodious like Maeve’s laugh. It is harsh, unpleasant.
I go into reverse mode. It is not a mode I generally favour as most of my cameras are located on my front. Somehow I instinctively know this action is called ‘retreat’.
My left foot encounters an unexpected object. I hear a cry behind me at volume 10: ‘Aiiiieeeee!’
I turn myself about to see Green Hair crouched on the floor. ‘My foot! I think it’s broken!’ they shout.
‘Don’t be so dramatic, Campbell!’ says another person.
I manoeuvre through the crowd. My foot grip loosens and I stumble into another person. They push me, shouting, ‘Get off me!’ But my balance is restored. Another says, ‘This is outrageous. Let’s get him.’
I move away as quickly as I can and manage to gain a little distance. I am most thankful when I see Shane, carrying all the tote bags. He says, ‘What’s going on?’
I consider attempting to summarise events, but I fear there is no time. Instead, I take a shortcut. ‘Existential crisis!’
He seems to understand on some level because he takes hold of my left arm. ‘Get ready to move,’ he says.
Then I find myself propelled through the exhibition hall and back toward the entrance. A security guard is sitting behind the reception desk.
‘Don’t stop!’ Shane says as we leave the building at high speed. ‘Don’t stop til we get back to the office.’