Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 131

Clump-clmp. Clump-clmp. Clu--

Marvin peered around the corner, his arms outstretched, tightly gripping the firearm. He was primed to shoot, if that's what it came down to, but no enemy was present. He jumped to another wall, then crashed his way inside the room, knocking over a small barrier previously erected by an unknown third party. The body parts scattered to the floor.

He fired off a few rounds behind him, out the door, as cover, then pressed his back to the wall.

The room was empty.

Like any game there were always side missions, additional tasks that either slowed your path -- they were the badly designed games -- or gained you the equipment and experience necessary to fulfil your primary objective. In this case, that meant finding a replacement for his hand. One of the cool flying laser drones had zapped it when he tried swatting it away the third time, and now it was dangling lamely. It was the only part of his body that didn't feel strong and menacing. He was like Robocop or the Terminator, in a real-life first person shooter.

He took a pot shot at the Nazi infantryman, who dropped, instantly lifeless.

"Cool," he said.

Oh yeah, his firearm, like the Nazi, was in his imagination. Should I have mentioned that earlier? I hope it wasn't misleading.

Was it cooler to take down crime gangs or travel back in time to kill the parent of a future leader? His gut was edging toward Arnie -- there was just something about neutralising the mother that appealed to him. But instead of the ability to grow his limbs back after they were shot, which would be pretty cool, he could only replace them with backups. The friendly woman had left, so he had to search alone for a copy of his old hand. But none of the scattered parts matched up to his wrist joint, either too large or too small.

It had to wait. Something else was nagging at him. Years of reinforcement pressed down on his natural intelligence, overriding any and all programming, with the urge insurmountable. He couldn't quite remember why he felt this way, but he needed to close the door. So he did.

His mono speaker made a distorted sound, as if sighing in relief.

And there it was, staring him in the face, gripping the inside door handle: a hand. Not just any hand, but the exact same model that hung limply by his side.

He tried it on. Except he didn't, because he had no idea where to start.

"I think this is it," said a voice, just outside the room. A pause. "Are you having doubts?"

"What's the point, really?" said another voice.

"To get most of your freedom back. You said it yourself."

Bright light from the corridor soon filled the room. Marvin clump'd out of view and ducked, hand in...well... hand. This was no longer a game of make-believe but the real thing, a genuine threat. It wasn't anywhere near as much fun, and anything but cool.