Artificial Ignorance

Chapter One: The Critical Period

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It was a common awakening sequence. Helman watched it scrawl across his holographic screen countless times in his life time with little vigor.

But today was a new beginning for his city. For his world. 

Helman observed the floating numbers with a new excitement. His mature eyes peered out of the eyeholes in his mask; he observed the sequence in a sprightly manner. Inside, he was a mixture of nerves that sprung from one inch of his body to the next, raising goosebumps with each input of information. Like clockwork, the computer sounded its notoriously measured beeps – three beeps and then a ding. A good sign. Indeed, a sign of new life.

For a moment Helman contemplated if hearing such a sound was similar to that of a mother hearing her newborn child's first cry. He shook off the thought with a chuckle. It was obvious that the two couldn't compare. Making a child was far easier than creating an android.

As Helman watched the sequence continue to drone on, he reflexively reached for his cusped, white beard. He somewhat struggled to curl his fingers under the welding mask, but for the most part it was second nature. His knobby fingers combed through the white strands. Occasionally they stopped at a knot, only to tear through it roughly. Unfortunately, this left Helman's beard in a tattered mess. At its longest point it ran straight, while the rest curled up in wiry fibers. Helman knew this of course. But he was here to conduct research, not win over his colleagues. Besides, he was the director. Who would challenge him?

In a futile attempt to calm the pelt that hung from his chin, he swept his hand over his chin and down his ducktail-shaped beard. As his fingertips made skin-to-skin contact with his chin a dry, sandpaper sound resounded to his ears. It was then followed by the crackling of his beard. Both his hands and his clothes smelled metallic from his constant work with machinery. There was also a mild, familiar oil smell that lingered on him. No matter what he did he could never fully rid himself of the odor. It just came with the job.

It was time. The memory bank was being installed. He gazed, through his darkened welding glasses, as the mechanical arm reached behind the glass encasement with a small, silver box. As it moved through his field of vision it reflected the lights above – blue, yellow, green, red. All the lights of the machines. The mechanism was lodged into the back of the receptor, making a loud clunking sound. Simultaneously, the metal arm retracted its dainty, black appendages, and then manifested its singular torch. Within an instant the same smell that clung to him rose into the air with a burning smoke. Per usual, the installation only took four seconds.

Even though this process had become begrudgingly mundane, today the process instilled a new excitement for Helman. He was as giddy as kid with a new toy about to be unboxed.

As the machine's arm retreated from the housing unit, Helman took off his welding mask. Like every day, he was delighted to take it off. The mask was a mere formality to satisfy the safety guidelines that he created decades ago. At that time, he didn't realize how streamlined the process would soon become, and now it was easier said than done to unwrite the rules. Doing so would lead his subordinates to question his judgement and leadership. So, he followed his own rules like an obedient dog.

Upon releasing his heavy mask, he flung it to the ground with a clang. The shocking display of carelessness was atypical of Helman. To him, appearances were everything. Luckily for him, he worked on this project alone. This project, Project T2-1286, was known to him and two other people. He was given special permissions to utilize the facility for an indefinite amount of time. These permissions were outlined in a detailed ordinance from the governor herself, so nobody could openly disagree. Doing so would surely cause such a person to lose their funding or worse, lose their job. With that fact lingering over their heads, each and every researcher vacated the premises promptly and without question. It was quite a simple task, too. All it took was one email to headquarters and multiple printed reminders around the facility and they fled with the hopes of returning to their research later.