The Robotic Dialogues

The sun shone bright on the morning of the menials' rest day, so they came outside to recharge their batteries. Some went no farther than their households' front lawns, hunching their solar panels toward the sky under the watchful, fond, or disinterested eyes of their families, but most gravitated to the city's parks to enjoy each other's company.

One such gathering coalesced on the steps of Popp Fountain. Passing humans mostly left them alone. A few children did venture to run among them and even climb them, as they might the stone lions at the Peristyle; their parents called them back quickly, telling them that was rude. One boy of ten or eleven hurled a fist-sized rock that bounced off Menial LeBlanc. It didn't so much as dent the menial's chrome hide; RoboHelpers Incorporated built their products to last, otherwise why bother programming them to learn? Nevertheless, the incident left a more lasting if less visible impact in the menial's memory banks.

The boy, having no parental figure to scold him for his action, scrabbled for another stone to throw, but, alert to the approach of a potential witness, retreated in short order behind an oak tree. The potential witness was a middle-aged man, unremarkable in appearance—medium height, medium-brown hair, skin an ordinary medium-brown—who made his way to a spot on the steps the menials had left clear due to intermittent spray from the fountain. He unwrapped a sack lunch and nodded to his robotic companions.

"Min LeBlanc," he said, "are you hurt?" Most families referred to their menials as Min or Minny—or even Minoux, despite that menials looked nothing like pussy cats. Depending on the family, it could be an affectionate term or a demeaning one. This man said it like an honorific, an analog for Ms. or Mr. or the like.

The menial spent three-quarters of a second surveying their physical state before replying. "No, Mr. Douglas. I am undamaged. Thank you for your concern."

"Well. That's good." He held up his can of soda as though toasting the menial's fortunate condition, then took a deep pull as through drinking to it. "So, has anyone had a chance to think about that word we were discussing last time? 'Fun?' Were you able to find fun activities in your day-to-day work?"

Silence for a second and a half this time, as the menials reviewed the question, compared it with their memories of the week, and decided among themselves via their silent, swift, networked communication who should speak first. It was Menial DuBois who vocalized the group's response: "You defined 'fun' as 'an activity one enjoys and looks forward to.' This describes our routine tasks. We are programmed to enjoy them. You did not specify that the enjoyment must arise from non-programmatic sources. Therefore, we judge our routine tasks to be fun."

Mr. Douglas nodded. "Did you observe anyone else having fun?"

"Yes. The children of the household evinced enjoyment playing video games on the family terminal. They did not enjoy, and approached with extreme reluctance, the tasks of washing dishes or completing their homework."

Menial Thibodeaux spoke up then. "If human children are obliged to do these things, why are they not programmed to enjoy them?"

"Perhaps," interjected Menial LeBlanc, "their original programmer did not foresee such eventualities as school and dirty dishes. Were that the case with us, we would be reprogrammed. Perhaps human programming is less accessible for adjustment."

"I think you're on to something, Min LeBlanc," said the human. "Tell me, do you think the boy who threw a rock at you was having fun? Was that a fun activity?"

This required an entire five seconds' silence. Min DuBois finally said, "His facial expression did not resemble that of the DuBois children playing video games."

Min LeBlanc observed, "It resembled the LeBlanc children when the dog from next door barked at them." It paused for another three seconds of furious robotic thought. "Why should the boy be afraid of us? We were not barking."

Mr. Douglas got up to dispose of his paper sack and soda can in the nearby bins. "I don't have answers, just more questions, I'm afraid. For instance: Should children be allowed to throw rocks at menials? Should you be allowed to throw rocks back?"

"No to both questions," said Menial Thibodeaux. "Humans are fragile, their children doubly so. They could get damaged. That would be painful for them and sadden their families."

"What about you?" asked Mr. Douglas. "Min LeBlanc, was it painful? You said you were undamaged."

"It would take more than a rock to damage me. But were I damaged, it would reduce my utility, and the intent to damage me signals disrespect to my family. I often hear the heads of my household emphasize the need to teach the children respect."

"That's a good answer."

"Is it?" Menial LeBlanc turned bodily to to face the human. "Your tone, expression, and pacing all say you think not."

The man chuckled as though caught out. The menial's answer had been about what he'd expected, which had made him realize he'd hoped for something more. The difference had made him a little melancholy. "Sometimes a good answer reveals the pieces of new questions. When I get enough pieces, I'll put the questions together so you can answer them." He stood up. "Lunch break's over. I have to go. Thank you for another enjoyable conversation."

"Enjoyable. That means you had fun," Menial DuBois said triumphantly.

"It sure does."

"Like the children with the video games."

"Not exactly." Mr. Douglas paused, then shook his head. "Maybe we can talk about different kinds of fun next week. It's a big topic, and I have to go." He waved, and the menials waved back with their manipulator wands.

He made his way back to the Blue Bike rental station on Marconi Drive. It wasn't a long walk, but he took it slowly, deep in thought. The bike ride back to RoboHelper, Inc. headquarters gave him yet more time to think. In the halls, a couple technicians greeted him; he didn't notice. They weren't offended. Chief Engineer Douglas was always distracted by something, probably another bright idea worth billions. You never knew with geniuses like that.

"Douglas!" shouted a gruff voice as the Chief Engineer entered the workshop. Mr. Douglas winced. The CEO had been lying in wait again. "Your robots are all over social media this afternoon. And not in a good way! We'll have to issue a press conference, get ahead of the damage."

Mr. Douglas answered warily. "What have they done now?"

"Only attacked a kid in City Park, that's what! The hashtag is '#RogueMenial.'"

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No. We were lucky. The kid was terrified, though. Watch, I've got the CC-TV footage." Mr. Douglas hurried over to the CEO's terminal and saw Menial LeBlanc and the boy who'd thrown the stone. The menial was gripping the boy loosely by the arm, their manipulator wand resembling one of a set of handcuffs.

"You should not attempt to damage other families' property. Did not your heads of household teach you respect?" The boy showed no sign of comprehension. He just struggled and cried. "Do not be afraid. Sunny days are too important to waste on fear. Go do something fun." Then Menial LeBlanc released the boy, and he ran hell for leather out of there.

Chief Engineer Douglas sighed. He had been hoping to introduce the neighborhood menials to the concept of people next week. Clearly it was still too soon.