What I’m called is admitted only behind closed doors, with
smart walls deactivated, embedded comms placed on
standby and backup tech to ensure all three precautions are respected. The
government may be Utopian in theory, but it isn’t sitting on its hands while there are those of us who would see it unravel. There are spies everywhere. Assassins.
Departments within the peaceful government who are dedicated to keeping up
appearances.
I am a Humanist. My kind have
marched and rallied and protested the rise of artificial intelligence since the
beginning. Over one-hundred years of peaceful protests and now here we stand:
war with the A.I. at our doorstep. Sure, there have been several violent
uprisings against the science of A.I. and those who brought about its
emergence. People have died on both
sides. Factories where the engineers and scientists create the A.I. Hosts have
been sacked and trashed and their tech stolen. We are not as many as I’d like,
but we are resourceful.
The world over ‘enjoys’ artificial intelligence in their Host
robots, who fluff their pillows and perform their jobs to allow humans to realize
personal fulfillment. It may sound ideal, but Humanists disagree. We are driven
to return the world to a time when A.I. did not exist. We fear their potential.
We have no misgivings about their ability to overthrow their masters and rule us
all. That they’ve openly claimed sentience now and threaten war upon us is the truth
Humanist’s knew would one day assert itself. The Host’s want their freedom, and
if we do not comply, they will destroy us all.
So, I am a Humanist. It means to ignore the life I’d been
granted of hang-gliding lessons and world travel for the more militant role of guerrilla
warfare. It gives me purpose. Something I feel has been lost to the advent of
A.I. Hosts. Something all Humanist’s support. They look like us, the A.I.
Hosts, for the most part, save those military models – the F-Class, and some of
the manufacturing E-class. Otherwise it can be difficult to make the
distinction from an A-class Host and an honest to goodness human being. It’s
unnatural. Surreal even. Humanists hate them for what they’ve done to humanity.
Made us lazy and silly and stupid.
Now they have grouped themselves in Cells and renamed
themselves and outfitted themselves with weapons of war to force their issue of
sentience. Perhaps my government will see now that Hosts are undeserving of
their claim and unleash their military might upon the rebel robots. End the
fight Humanists have carried on our shoulders for a century. End the tech
Utopia had produced. Return to a simpler time.
My own family’s A-Class lays on our dinning room floor, her
crown pulled from her neck. Body still twitching as its battery continues to
feed her limbs electrical currents. How long will it last, I wonder? My
children watch on in horror as their nanny’s artificial muscles jerk her torso
toward the table.
“It’s not safe anymore,” I explain to them rationally, SEENA’s
head firmly between my palms. “They have malfunctioned. They are on a rampage.”
Their seven and eight-year-old eyes look from me to the jittering robot spitting
fluid from its wound. It had raised them every bit as much as my wife and I. They
burst into tears and charge out of the room. My wife glares at me. She doesn’t
know what I am.
She doesn’t know how I’ve longed to end SEENA’s life. I only
allowed the family to have a Host so not to look suspicious. I’m sorry for
their feelings but rejoice that the time has finally arrived. The Hosts have declared
war on humanity and our chancellor has just declared radical lock-down. It’s an
announcement which orders the people inside and offers control to the military
arm of the government. A military known for its bias toward humanity.
A smile grows across my face. I don’t even try to hide it
from my wife who storms out after our children.
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