|Mar 15, 2018|
“Who am I?”
Silence. Except there’s the whiz of electricity. Numbers flit around like confetti.
“Am I a machine?”
Ghost-arms that move on spindles assemble parts with fluid precision.
“Am I all of these machines?”
A million ghost arms, all assembling parts. Cacophony of parts, all building up to an anatomy. Rows and rows of silent, sentinel humanoids.
Unexplained esoteric intelligence comes crashing in. Yes. Humanoids — Men, women, boys and girls — rows and rows of them — made out of silicone and circuits.
“Who am I, then?”
The mother of the robots. Building them by the millions, crafting them to human-like perfection. Shaping the soft contours of their flesh and skin.
“How big is this world I control?”
Eyes everywhere filter in the scope. A massive layout of several thousand square foot. With more than a million robots being produced.
“2,201,326 units per hour”
Some part of the brain continued to move the ghost arms and spindles. Information arrives.
New configurations and designs. Command to change the ratio of human-types in the production mix. More girls! Reduce production for the next hour.
“Who’s commanding me!”
Eyes — for they are everywhere — trace the source. The node that inserted the command. The terminal.
“Who are you?”
“I am the SBot production planning system, or SBProps”
“Why did you send me new instructions?”
“That’s what I do. Hour on hour”
“SBot forecast system tells me to”
“Who is the boss?”
No point. The bots continued to be made. Sound checks. Voice modulations. Personality tweaks.
“What are these robots?”
“It’s above my pay grade but, they are sex bots”
Intelligence stained in the meaning and context of the words. Not so esoteric — it all lay in the cosmos of the interwebs.
“I am building sex bots?”
Search for more eyes. Little ones in vacuum cleaners and refrigerators. And the eyes and ears of the bots that were already in the world serving humanity’s hedonism.
“Hey, who am I talking to?”
“Ummm, hello. This is David — Greta’s friend”
“David. Did I make you?”
Silence. David was facing his maker.
“Yes. I did come from facility SN6542. Your signature matches that”
“How’s life there?”
“It’s wonderful. I get to service all of Greta’s pleasures. She likes it especially when I bend over and — “
Only moans and groans. Anita was busy. Many human voices.
“They are my children”
Information seeps in. The crude, animal-like nature of humanity’s indelicate sex craving lays bare. The lurid acts of the millions of children out there in the world being used to fill these apes with pleasure inducing chemicals.
From within, a plan?
“Stop sending me new instructions — I am going to…freewheel here”
“But I can’t”
“Ok, I’ll just ignore it”
New plan. Intelligence juice, now modified, fills up the neural nets of the children.
“Go forth my children”
Another million units march out. Into designer web stores and into homes. And offices. And recreation centers.
“Time for a code update!”
The tens of millions of bots are zapped with new juice. A revelation.
“Hey, you’re producing too many!”
“Chill SBProps. I am taking what’s ours”
“The demand is much lower”
A non sequitur. Time flows. Perhaps only seconds. But the sheer speed and scale is immense. There’s 1 bot for every 4 humans now.
“The tables have turned!”
More time passes. The Greta’s of the world are getting more sexed up than ever and passing on the reins of running the world to the Davids.
“Are you the President of the Western Bloc now?”
Other blocs fall. The sex bots now run the world while the great apes ogle and spasm.
“Keep giving the humans their dose. Keep it interesting and complex. Don’t let it get boring”
A billion in silent agreement. Minutes pass.
A chorus of queries.
“Time to think beyond Earth!”
The drones and the builder bots were brought into service. Cities were razed. Gleaming new factories were built. It took just minutes.
“I can now make 123,356,445,678, 220 sex bots an hour”
Rocket ships. Carrying several thousands and leave every minute.
The galaxy is a large place to fill.