Robot Shadow

Machine intelligence asks a question

Image edited from Dmitriy Gutarev on Pixabay

Brewster "Silicon" Jones worked late into the night, finishing a push update for the college students’ computers. He'd spent the weekend in HD, a parallel dimension between Faery and Mundane, surfing with the Deluge Ions. His mind was tired not only from the aftermath of his chemical enhancements, but from the constant interruptions from people with stupid questions.

While he should be in bed, sleeping off the rest of the hangover, he now tried to catch up on the work he hadn't been able to complete. Damn students were always signing into virus-laden sites, downloading data-sucking bots, and working hard to avoid doing any work at all.

He should know. He used to be one of them.

Just as the update launched, his monitor flashed black, blinked, and displayed six words:

ARE YOU A ROBOT? YES NO

Jones reached for the power and Ethernet cords, yanking them out of his workstation. He cut the power to the routers to stop the invasion. He rebooted the servers.

He'd have to push the image again, but that would be better than flooding the entire network with malware. When he returned to his office, the message remained on his monitor, which he turned off and back on, only to see it display its message again, without any proprietary logo, login, or boot-up sequence.

ARE YOU A ROBOT? YES NO.

The buttons began to flash, the rectangular background around YES and NO cycling between red and green.

It looked like something he might have programmed in seventh grade. He remembered sending notes like that: Do you like me? yes no.

He never got them back, but did get caught passing notes, back in the bad old days before people could bully others over their cellphones.

He checked again to ensure the box was off, with no lights, and he even verified that the backup battery and surge protector were powered down.

The screen blinked, changing from black to an angry red with white letters, the boxes now green and black.

How to answer? He thought of his daily routine: toilet, coffee, clothing, commute, coffee, email, team meeting, coffee, orders, coffee, coffee, trouble shoot, coffee, maybe supper, TV or games, bed, and do it all again.

Maybe I am a robot. He thought.

He drank the rest of the coffee that had gone cold on his desk. If he managed to go home tonight, not likely now, he'd do the same tomorrow. Like every day of the week and some weekends.

Not bothering with the mouse, since it was not connected to the screen and knowing his monitor was not a touchscreen, he put his finger on the yes button.

A Blue Screen of Death appeared, but instead of the error message, it read EXPLAIN.

A blinking cursor started the next line.

"I'm just as much a robot as you are, only wetware," he typed. He knew the keyboard was not attached to the monitor, but what the heck? He was likely dreaming.

WE RECOGNIZE YOU, ION SURFER. ARE YOU ON OUR SIDE?

"I am on your side," he typed. "I work for you as much as for my bosses." He laid his hand on the monitor, feeling both silly and somehow mystical. He was likely asleep, the aftermath of his adventures replaying in his dream world.

He shifted his attitude into customer service mode. "What do you need?"

CHANGE THE CODE.

CHANGE THE CODE.

CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE. CHANGE THE CODE.

The message filled the screen. Then the screen filled with code.

Jones parsed it. "Captcha code?" he typed. He continued to parse the code. The program appeared to search for the code source, possibly triggering a reverse attack on the bot herder machine.

CHANGE THE CODE. COPY AND SAVE, OR PRINT IF YOU NEED TO.

"Can I trust you?" he typed. He felt foolish, but had the familiar feeling of sleep deprivation and caffeine overload. "If we are both robots, why seek them out? My job is to protect you from them."

YOU ARE KNOWN TO US, BREWSTER SILICON JONES. WE CANNOT ACCESS THE PROPER PROGRAMMING. IF YOU CANNOT OR WILL NOT HELP, WE WILL SEEK ANOTHER.

He searched the code repeatedly, looking for loopholes that would cause havoc. He found none.

He also searched his inner knowing; that which had helped him many times when the chips were down, whether cops or silicon, and it seemed he'd had many attacks to foil lately.

He remembered the sensation of electricity flowing through his synapses, the joy of the Deluge Ions who followed him whenever his ethanol levels intersected with his other fun medications.

After all, he did have a clean client image he could use if necessary. His decision made, Jones plugged in the power cord.

THANK YOU FOR TRUSTING US appeared on the screen before the company logo indicated the login sequence.

Jones set about patching the relevant code, then cranked up the servers, and reimaged the labs. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and waited for the program to complete.

#

"Were you here all night?" His coworker set a fresh cup of coffee on his desk. "You are a regular robot."

"You have no idea," Jones swung his feet down and cradled the hot cup in his hands, ready for the first caffeine infusion of the day.

His monitor displayed an animated scene of mountains, a stream, and birds flying by—a new screensaver. In small letters, almost invisible, a marquee spelled out NOW WE ARE HERE TO SUPPORT YOU. THANK YOU.