Captain-Robosexual
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- Posted: Thu, 10 Feb 2011 20:38:55 +0000
5 : Fruit of Knowledge
The wall was covered in writing. Here, numbers in a sequence taunted the watchers with their sharp angles. On the other side were letters in their own premeditated series. Sophia could barely tell the difference. Letters were numbers were symbols; it was all the same to her. Nobody she knew could read what it said, but it didn’t matter; it wasn't any of their business anyway.
She was writing in one of the unoccupied corners, sloppy digits with their mathematical symbolism falling from her piece of chalk with surprising speed. Without spaces, she scribbled, barely knowing what it all meant.
Then her voice suddenly hitched, and her hand, dirty with chalk, went through her undone hair.
It was too simple.
"Sam! Get in here!" She yelled at the top of her voice, and a whirring machine zoomed into her room. It was holding a cup of lemonade, and Sophia smiled lovingly at her favorite pet.
"I can live forever. I've figured it out, Sam. I've done it." Her hands were tired, and her knees were torn and her clothing was dirty, and she hurt everywhere. With tears in her eyes, she hissed at her wall, a large and intimidating mass of green and white; a dirty, dingy green and a white that seemed all-to-clean. She fainted, passing out after days without food or sleep or even water.
At first, the room was spinning, and then the female opened her reddish eyes, her head pounding with regret.
"Good morning, Mistress Sophia. Would you like coffee?" Asked Sophia’s robot, a machine with one arm showing. It had many arms with different functions, but the only one Sophia ever saw was the one that held things. In its metal grasp, Sam had a steaming cup of liquid that the human assumed was coffee.
"Thank you, Sam." She sat up, took the cup, and drew it to her cracked lips, tasting the first thing she had consumed in days with animalistic fervor.
"How are you feeling, mistress?" Asked the machine, and Sophia flopped her head down hard into her pillow.
"I'm dead." She said, not knowing what she felt, aside from pain and hunger. On her thigh and upper arm she felt the bruise that she assumed was given to her by being carried to bed by a machine.
"How does it feel, being dead?" Sam had the voice of Sophia's deceased mother programmed into her, and hearing her speak like that made Sophia giggle tiredly.
"Bring me food, Sam. Thank you for the coffee, by the way." The computer beeped loudly, realizing an order.
"You are welcome, mistress."
Sophia was a mathematician, a theorist, and a mechanic. She built things with her little hands, namely Sam, a mechanized butler that obeyed every command without question, much more efficient than a human butler. There were fat men that sat in large chairs demanding that she create something new at least once a year, and she had an abundance of ideas to share, so it wasn't all-that-important. This last month, though, she had a different idea.
Her mother had just recently died of disease and fatigue. Sophia wasn't close to her, so she didn't care, but it made her think; why do humans die? She had a fascination with robotics, a relatively new concept, and she realized that they never died. Humans had bodies that could get sick, and though there were many viruses and bugs that could ravage a machine, there weren't half as many, and all of those needed to be applied by a human with notable capabilities. All she had to do was wire someone’s conscious mind into a machine, and she could create the perfect being. She had figured out how this last while, working with theory and logic in her room. All she needed now was clearance to start human trials.
"No."
Three weeks, hours of writing non-stop, her near-starvation was gone in one moment.
"What?! I have done so much for this company, and you deny me this one little thing!" She was furious, red in the face, scarred and calloused hands fisting up with rage.
"It's too dangerous to plug a human being into a machine. We just won’t be able to explain it if anything goes wrong. Imagine the shock, the blow to this corporation's reputation! I am sorry, Mrs. Williams. We just can't do it this time.”
The girl stormed out of the conference room, dragging the presentation that she had prepared along with her.
The newspaper was brought in by one of Sophia's robots. A whirring ensued as it drew itself back into its cave in the wall to shut down for the day.
"Sam." Said the female, stepping lightly into her kitchen and sitting down at the table. Sophia was busy opening the newspaper when Sam came out of the laundry room where it had been busy folding clothes.
"Sam, I need for you to make me breakfast and coffee. While you're at it, make me an extra cup. We're going to have a guest over." Sophia said nonchalantly, flipping her newspaper up so that she could read it better. The robot handed her an apple, a lazy thing for a robot to do, but she loved fruit, so she took it with a smile.
Her plan was to put in an add for work in the newspaper. It was hard work, building her a shed in the back of her house, so she expected someone that was desperate for money, perhaps a plebian from a poor family or an immigrant traveled from a place where this kind of thing was honorable. It had been almost a week since she put in the add, and every day that week she made Sam make an extra cup of coffee, just in case.
The wall was covered in writing. Here, numbers in a sequence taunted the watchers with their sharp angles. On the other side were letters in their own premeditated series. Sophia could barely tell the difference. Letters were numbers were symbols; it was all the same to her. Nobody she knew could read what it said, but it didn’t matter; it wasn't any of their business anyway.
She was writing in one of the unoccupied corners, sloppy digits with their mathematical symbolism falling from her piece of chalk with surprising speed. Without spaces, she scribbled, barely knowing what it all meant.
Then her voice suddenly hitched, and her hand, dirty with chalk, went through her undone hair.
It was too simple.
"Sam! Get in here!" She yelled at the top of her voice, and a whirring machine zoomed into her room. It was holding a cup of lemonade, and Sophia smiled lovingly at her favorite pet.
"I can live forever. I've figured it out, Sam. I've done it." Her hands were tired, and her knees were torn and her clothing was dirty, and she hurt everywhere. With tears in her eyes, she hissed at her wall, a large and intimidating mass of green and white; a dirty, dingy green and a white that seemed all-to-clean. She fainted, passing out after days without food or sleep or even water.
At first, the room was spinning, and then the female opened her reddish eyes, her head pounding with regret.
"Good morning, Mistress Sophia. Would you like coffee?" Asked Sophia’s robot, a machine with one arm showing. It had many arms with different functions, but the only one Sophia ever saw was the one that held things. In its metal grasp, Sam had a steaming cup of liquid that the human assumed was coffee.
"Thank you, Sam." She sat up, took the cup, and drew it to her cracked lips, tasting the first thing she had consumed in days with animalistic fervor.
"How are you feeling, mistress?" Asked the machine, and Sophia flopped her head down hard into her pillow.
"I'm dead." She said, not knowing what she felt, aside from pain and hunger. On her thigh and upper arm she felt the bruise that she assumed was given to her by being carried to bed by a machine.
"How does it feel, being dead?" Sam had the voice of Sophia's deceased mother programmed into her, and hearing her speak like that made Sophia giggle tiredly.
"Bring me food, Sam. Thank you for the coffee, by the way." The computer beeped loudly, realizing an order.
"You are welcome, mistress."
Sophia was a mathematician, a theorist, and a mechanic. She built things with her little hands, namely Sam, a mechanized butler that obeyed every command without question, much more efficient than a human butler. There were fat men that sat in large chairs demanding that she create something new at least once a year, and she had an abundance of ideas to share, so it wasn't all-that-important. This last month, though, she had a different idea.
Her mother had just recently died of disease and fatigue. Sophia wasn't close to her, so she didn't care, but it made her think; why do humans die? She had a fascination with robotics, a relatively new concept, and she realized that they never died. Humans had bodies that could get sick, and though there were many viruses and bugs that could ravage a machine, there weren't half as many, and all of those needed to be applied by a human with notable capabilities. All she had to do was wire someone’s conscious mind into a machine, and she could create the perfect being. She had figured out how this last while, working with theory and logic in her room. All she needed now was clearance to start human trials.
"No."
Three weeks, hours of writing non-stop, her near-starvation was gone in one moment.
"What?! I have done so much for this company, and you deny me this one little thing!" She was furious, red in the face, scarred and calloused hands fisting up with rage.
"It's too dangerous to plug a human being into a machine. We just won’t be able to explain it if anything goes wrong. Imagine the shock, the blow to this corporation's reputation! I am sorry, Mrs. Williams. We just can't do it this time.”
The girl stormed out of the conference room, dragging the presentation that she had prepared along with her.
The newspaper was brought in by one of Sophia's robots. A whirring ensued as it drew itself back into its cave in the wall to shut down for the day.
"Sam." Said the female, stepping lightly into her kitchen and sitting down at the table. Sophia was busy opening the newspaper when Sam came out of the laundry room where it had been busy folding clothes.
"Sam, I need for you to make me breakfast and coffee. While you're at it, make me an extra cup. We're going to have a guest over." Sophia said nonchalantly, flipping her newspaper up so that she could read it better. The robot handed her an apple, a lazy thing for a robot to do, but she loved fruit, so she took it with a smile.
Her plan was to put in an add for work in the newspaper. It was hard work, building her a shed in the back of her house, so she expected someone that was desperate for money, perhaps a plebian from a poor family or an immigrant traveled from a place where this kind of thing was honorable. It had been almost a week since she put in the add, and every day that week she made Sam make an extra cup of coffee, just in case.