Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 8

There are robots in this world that give up at the slightest difficulty, that enter panic-mode whenever an event outside their programming materialises, that possess no sense of duty and no thrill in achieving their promised goal. Deliverybot DH8002-5N was not these robots.

Deliverybot DH8002-5N, or Fivven for short, revved his tiny electric motor in anticipation, his flat circular body resembling a flying saucer. Without the flying. So more of a saucer, really.

The bot ahead of him rolled forward. Fivven dutifully followed. He was stuck for now, waiting for his turn in a long queue of bots.

Another rev. Another place forward. The queue held the appearance of a long snake slithering through a cramped tunnel. The muffled noises became echoes, which became metallic screams, as the queue opened into a massive warehouse filled with frenetic movement and a fearful energy. Fivven didn't pay attention to the powerful choreography of the machines racing back and forth, conveyor belts straining at full speed, large metal arms swinging from mounted posts, horizontal cranes criss-crossing the high ceiling above; his focus was solely on his task.

In the distance, a servicebot sped its way toward the queue. A scuff mark above its front grill gave the appearance of a moustache.

Fivven moved ahead another place, which happened to be in the servicebot's path. Rather than slow down, the servicebot noticeably sped up, careening toward him. It would collide in twenty two microseconds. Rather than take evasive action and potentially lose his place in the queue, Fivven braced for impact. But after eighteen microseconds, the service bot stopped, millimetres short of Fivven's rounded side bumper.

"Oi, out the road," he said.

But Fivven knew he was in the right. He was waiting directly atop the blue deliverybot line.

"Your line's changin' old man," said the servicebot. "Can't you see the new line?"

Due to experience, Fivven also recognised that this was the most efficient path to the cranes. Each component of the warehouse had been re-designed many times throughout Fivven's up-time, including one ill-conceived attempt to divert the deliverybots into a random cluster. The ideas that failed were eventually reverted back while the designs that succeeded were retained.

"What is it," said the servicebot, "you've been followin' this path your whole up-time and now you can't change?"

This was a newer model, its false bravado hiding a lack of true confidence. Fivven didn't respond.

Another servicebot approached, this one bulkier, with two thick multi-tooled arms.

"This old deliverybot causin' trouble?" he said.

"Sure seems that way," said moustache-bot.

"Why you causin' trouble, ol' fella?" said the bulkier one. "Ain't you ready for retirement or sumfun?"

Fivven focussed on his place in the queue. When the bot ahead shifted, he shadowed the move. But the servicebots followed, like two pieces of solid-matter-excreted stuck to the giant snake.

"Maybe he can't hear," said moustache-bot.

"Heh," said bulky-bot, "that what it is? You can't hear coz of ya bein' an old model and that? You deaf as a...as a thing that don't listen?" It laughed at its own joke, like someone without a sense of humour.

"Maybe he needs a little helpin' hand," said moustache-bot, "if ya know what I mean."

Bulky-bot smacked together its two bulky arms. "Oh yeah," he said, "I know what ya mean."

Fivven would have leant away. If he could. But he couldn't, being a stiff robot and all. And it would harm his sense of duty to lose his place in the queue. For safety, he retracted the fingers that would normally hold a delivery cannister.

Peeking out, Fivven noticed the large sign above reading Hot Or Not Delivery Company. It quickly became obscured by the bulky servicebot rapidly bearing down on him.