Post by gwebster2 on Jul 26, 2015 23:20:26 GMT -4
(hello m8s i wrote this short story
not sure if it's good or not)
The room was brightly lit with an rust-colored glow. A lantern or two hung from the ceilings and the walls, casting light on the various papers, sketches and schematics that were scattered across a large table, in a sort of organized chaos.
It was all in place now. For Ziehl, it was like putting the final puzzle piece into a thousand part jig saw puzzle. The thing Ziehl called a "robot" was still lifeless, slumped over into a chair. It was a humanoid, steely device with a long, single visor for eyes. It was elongated, around a foot taller than Ziehl, it's arms and legs thin but made of powerful metals.
The 1800's have never seen anything this advanced before. In fact, most of the basic components making up his device had never been seen by the world before. He had invented a "computer", to tell the device what it knew and what it could do.
This computing device would be inserted into the "robot", and the robot would now possess the knowledge stored inside the computer. The computer, a small, black-grey box the size of a can, was sitting vertically inside the head of the robotic device. It also powered a small light-bulb inside that sat behind red-tinted glass, so as the robot's "pseudo-vision" would be represented by a powerful, but hopefully charming, dim red glow.
Yes, of course there was devices similar to Ziehl's new creation , but none as complicated, none as advanced as the thing he beheld in front of him at this very moment. He had utilized a recent invention, the speaker, to translate the computers thought and observations into human speech.
He wasn't sure what this technology would bring when unveiled, but Ziehl could only imagine good things. Maybe, he thought, countries could settle their disputes by gathering around and watching his creation fight for them.
Maybe they could be servants, eliminating the need for forced, or cheap labor. Yes, yes, only good things.
And then, before Ziehl new it, he had completed the machine. He didn't know what the final action was, but the jigsaw was suddenly completed before his eyes. A beautiful picture has appeared in his room, a picture he had meticulously put together for many years before this day. It startled him, when the red visor flicked on, and the cylindrical head swiftly rotated to meet his eyes with a soft whir.
"What do you call yourself?" The creation asked, suddenly and immediately breaking the palpable silence. It's voice was as it appeared, steely and jagged.
Ziehl stepped back, his hands froze and his tools clattered to the floor.
"Ziehl," He said, face a mix of jaw-dropping awe and jovial grin.
The creation stood up. It was a slow process, the standing, as the creation was just now starting to become accustomed to it's new intelligence. It had no idle movement's, as people did, as Ziehl did. It's arms did not sway gently as people's did. It's chest did not rise and fall, as people's did. It was as still as a statue, it's body oriented forward, but it's head was at a full 180 degrees to face Ziehl.
"What do you do?" Asked the creation.
Ziehl stepped forwards.
"I m-made you," Ziehl said. He stammered, suddenly Ziehl was afraid and he couldn't figure out why. He reached out to touch it. The texture was just as it was when it was just a lump of steel, but it hummed and gently vibrated against it's fingertips.
"What do you call me?" Asked the creation, unaware, or ignoring the touch.
Ziehl was caught off guard, and retracted his hand back to his chest, as if he had been zapped. He hadn't thought of it yet. His mind raced to come up with a name for his creation. The thought joined the chaotic bee-hive that was his consciousness, bouncing around off all of the other ideas. His eyes started to dart around the room, looking for desperate inspiration.
He was abnormally nervous in front of this imposing, seemingly emotionless figure. He wasn't sure how he imagined this going in his head, but he thought he would be in control of the conversation at the very least. Maybe telling his creation about the world. Teaching him words in the English language he had not already programmed into it.
But no, it was nothing like that at all. His creation, which he still had no name for, was intimidating. For all of his genius, Ziehl looked back at making his creation's representation of vision red a poor decision. It wasn't nice at all, it was nerve-wracking. The thing was eerily human and un-human at the same time.
Ziehl stood there, sweating and shaking. The happiness hadn't gone away, oh no, this was still one of the best days of his life, but it was also mixed with an adrenaline pumping fear. His creation with no name was as still as a statue, waiting for an answer that wouldn't be coming any time soon.
The creation, thought without any emotions, seemed annoyed with Ziehl's silence. It's head rotated away from Ziehl, and it took it's first step towards the table to it's left. The step was, similar to it standing up, slow and unnatural. It's hand rose up in the same robotic fashion. It awkwardly grabbed at a pair of pliers. It pulled it together, opening the jaw of the pliers, then did the reverse, closing it. It opened it again, and stuck it's index finger between the jaw, and closed it. He kept it there for a few seconds, squeezing it's own finger in pliers. Then it released the pliers and they clattered to the table.
This process continued for many tools, a hammer was hit against the table, then the creation hit itself with the hammer on the fore-arm. It suddenly dropped the tool it was holding, and the hammer was not fortunate enough to land on the table. Instead it bounced off the edge and landed on the floor.
It did this same probing process with a wrench, a nail, and a simple metal rod. It then reached for a screw driver, pushing it against the table, pushing it against itself. It did not drop it to the pile of tools that lay at it's feet, however. The creation looked as if it wanted to figure out the meaning of this tool it held in it's hands.
Ziehl observed the whole process quietly, mouth gaping. He had almost gone as still as the creation, but snapped out of his stupor when he saw the creation's alleged confusion. Ziehl noted a screw, slightly askew buried into the table's wood.
Ziehl's voice broke the silence. "Do you know what that is?" Referring to the tool the creation held in it's hand.
The creation snapped it's head towards Ziehl. "I know this as a screwdriver," it replied.
Ziehl noted this as a minor success. His basic vocabulary component of the computer wasn't a waste of time after all. Ziehl knew that the creation was aware of the names of most if not all of the tools and basic objects in the room from that one sentence.
Ziehl gingerly leaned over the table and touched the askew screw, looking back at the creation as he did.
"You-" before he could finish, the creation made a jarring movement towards Ziehl, screwdriver raised. Ziehl startled backwards and stifled a yelp. His sudden fear for his life was unfounded, as the creation simply moved to get a better angle at the screw to study it.
Ziehl breathed a sigh of relief. The creation didn't have a violent bone in his body, it had barely achieved existence. Ziehl gave his attention back to the creation, as it first placed the blunt end of the screwdriver on the screw. Then, after a brief pause, the creation lifted it vertical, and wedged the screw driver into the designated notch.
Ziehl couldn't help but feel elated. This was his creation. The manifest of all of his hard work paying off right in front of his eyes. His past intent of giving it orders were ignorant. No, Ziehl would leave the creation to it's own devices. He started to back away, not yet ready to turn his back on it, not ready to pry his eyes away from it, as if it would vanish if he glanced away.
Ziehl was having an epiphany, no doubt. Much like the inspiration that gave him the idea all those years ago. This is not a device of war. It is not a device of labor, of consumerism. This is a being. The creation is a being. It is simply too smart, too human to be reduced to a tool. Perhaps, Ziehl new this in his mind the whole time. Why else would have have implemented comprehension skills into a supposed tool? No, the creation was meant to be much more than that, and Ziehl had known it all along, unconsciously or not.
A hammer, a wrench, a car, a plow, are all tools. Ziehl's creation was not a tool. Perhaps this was what parenthood was like. He had nothing to compare it too, but he had to imagine it was at least similar.
The creation started turning the screw driver in his hand. Awkwardly at first, but it slowly gained confidence and screwed it faster and faster. Eventually, the screw was wedged tightly into the wooden table, and when it would bury itself no deeper, it dropped the screw driver and turned to face Ziehl.
He had still not quite gotten used to being under the creation's red gaze. Ziehl made a mental note to replace the visor with a more friendly color, perhaps green or blue. They both stared at each other for the eternity of three seconds, and the creation spoke it's jagged tongue once more.
"What do you call me?" The voice was not quite as monotonous, a slight inflection on the last word of the sentence. Ziehl couldn't recall if he had included inflection practices in the computer, but he assumed he must have.
Then, Ziehl realized this question was the most important question of all. What Ziehl answered would change the creations outlook.
But Ziehl already had something in mind. He would not answer with an answer, but a question.
"What do you call yourself?" He said confidently.
The creation was quiet for a small while.
"I have no names," In a way that was almost disappointed. Almost sad. Almost. The creation had no ways to express any emotions, artificial or not.
Of course, Ziehl thought to himself. Ziehl, unconsciously, turned away from the robot and went to his bookshelf. There was many books of literature there, non-fiction, fiction, even his own memoirs and journals. He placed them in front of the creation.
"I think you should choose," He meant to announce it proudly, but the words came out in a humble whisper. The creation looked at Ziehl, and then opened a random book, carefully pulling back the cover.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
The creation stood silently, perfectly still as it read the first page. Ziehl was confident that his vocabulary and language skills he implemented into the creation would be able to guide him through the book.
The two beings stood there in silence for a little while. The novel was slowly parted as pages were turned. When people read books, they sometimes grunt, nod, shake there head. Sometimes laugh or say words to the room. The creation did none of these. It was uncanny, the creation. Human and un-human. A robot. Ziehl rocked back and forth on his heels, noting the dying light of the candle lantern.
Added to the mental notes in his head, was the reminder to invest in some light bulbs. Ziehl stood on top of a chair, as he lit the lantern on the wall. Suddenly, he heard a loud slam behind him and almost lost his balance, and turned quickly to see that A Christmas Carol had been carelessly dropped onto the floor. Ziehl winced naturally from the noise. How peculiar, he thought to himself. To carefully pull aside the pages, but drop the whole book on the ground. He really should be writing these things down instead of leaving them to his mind to store.
Ziehl stepped down from the chair to see what the creation would do next. The creation had no discrimination, it seemed, in what it read. It grabbed the nearest hard cover book.
A History of Our Nation by Copist Wheeler
Ziehl nodded to himself. A good book to choose, even if the creation did not care what it read. Maybe Ziehl could give it a quiz. That would be interesting.
Three more books were cast upon the ground, and it was late into the middle of the night. The creation started to turn pages more slowly. It's battery must be running out. Yet another note, Ziehl should install a plug so it could roam free in the basement without any power concerns.
After the creation remained on the same page for a few minutes, much slower than usual, Ziehl spoke into the silence.
"Excuse me," He spoke casually.
The creation kept reading.
"Excuse me," He said again, a little louder.
It turned it's head slowly to Ziehl. Yes, running out of power now.
"Are you aware of what sleep is?" Ziehl inquired.
The creation's voice was not slowed down by it's power drain. "A condition of body and mind where the conscientiousness is suspended for several hours, usually at night," It rattled off.
"Yes," he said, doing his best talking to a child voice. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate. He decided it wasn't, and resumed his normal voice.
"You see, your battery," he paused, waiting to see if the creation would interrupt to ask what a battery was. None came. Ziehl assumed it knew what a battery was and moved on.
"Is what keeps you moving. Allows you to read, and it's running out of power. You need to go back into the chair you..." he hesitated. "Woke up in, so you can recharge. If you ran out of power while you are standing up, you would fall," He finished.
"I am aware," the creation replied curtly, if it was even possible for it to be curt.
The creation, awkward from lack of power, made its way to the chair and sat in it. It sat not as if it was comfortable, it did not sat is if it was stiff, or the chair was awkward. It just sat.
Ziehl went around the back, and gingerly, almost painfully, flicked the switch. The creation went stiff again, the gentle whirring stopped, and Ziehl let out a breath like he was holding it in the entire evening.
He placed the battery down in a pile of old scrap and prepped a new battery for later use. He didn't realize how tired or hungry he was until his encounter was over. He rubbed his eyes and went up the short stair-case to the rest of his house.
not sure if it's good or not)
The room was brightly lit with an rust-colored glow. A lantern or two hung from the ceilings and the walls, casting light on the various papers, sketches and schematics that were scattered across a large table, in a sort of organized chaos.
It was all in place now. For Ziehl, it was like putting the final puzzle piece into a thousand part jig saw puzzle. The thing Ziehl called a "robot" was still lifeless, slumped over into a chair. It was a humanoid, steely device with a long, single visor for eyes. It was elongated, around a foot taller than Ziehl, it's arms and legs thin but made of powerful metals.
The 1800's have never seen anything this advanced before. In fact, most of the basic components making up his device had never been seen by the world before. He had invented a "computer", to tell the device what it knew and what it could do.
This computing device would be inserted into the "robot", and the robot would now possess the knowledge stored inside the computer. The computer, a small, black-grey box the size of a can, was sitting vertically inside the head of the robotic device. It also powered a small light-bulb inside that sat behind red-tinted glass, so as the robot's "pseudo-vision" would be represented by a powerful, but hopefully charming, dim red glow.
Yes, of course there was devices similar to Ziehl's new creation , but none as complicated, none as advanced as the thing he beheld in front of him at this very moment. He had utilized a recent invention, the speaker, to translate the computers thought and observations into human speech.
He wasn't sure what this technology would bring when unveiled, but Ziehl could only imagine good things. Maybe, he thought, countries could settle their disputes by gathering around and watching his creation fight for them.
Maybe they could be servants, eliminating the need for forced, or cheap labor. Yes, yes, only good things.
And then, before Ziehl new it, he had completed the machine. He didn't know what the final action was, but the jigsaw was suddenly completed before his eyes. A beautiful picture has appeared in his room, a picture he had meticulously put together for many years before this day. It startled him, when the red visor flicked on, and the cylindrical head swiftly rotated to meet his eyes with a soft whir.
"What do you call yourself?" The creation asked, suddenly and immediately breaking the palpable silence. It's voice was as it appeared, steely and jagged.
Ziehl stepped back, his hands froze and his tools clattered to the floor.
"Ziehl," He said, face a mix of jaw-dropping awe and jovial grin.
The creation stood up. It was a slow process, the standing, as the creation was just now starting to become accustomed to it's new intelligence. It had no idle movement's, as people did, as Ziehl did. It's arms did not sway gently as people's did. It's chest did not rise and fall, as people's did. It was as still as a statue, it's body oriented forward, but it's head was at a full 180 degrees to face Ziehl.
"What do you do?" Asked the creation.
Ziehl stepped forwards.
"I m-made you," Ziehl said. He stammered, suddenly Ziehl was afraid and he couldn't figure out why. He reached out to touch it. The texture was just as it was when it was just a lump of steel, but it hummed and gently vibrated against it's fingertips.
"What do you call me?" Asked the creation, unaware, or ignoring the touch.
Ziehl was caught off guard, and retracted his hand back to his chest, as if he had been zapped. He hadn't thought of it yet. His mind raced to come up with a name for his creation. The thought joined the chaotic bee-hive that was his consciousness, bouncing around off all of the other ideas. His eyes started to dart around the room, looking for desperate inspiration.
He was abnormally nervous in front of this imposing, seemingly emotionless figure. He wasn't sure how he imagined this going in his head, but he thought he would be in control of the conversation at the very least. Maybe telling his creation about the world. Teaching him words in the English language he had not already programmed into it.
But no, it was nothing like that at all. His creation, which he still had no name for, was intimidating. For all of his genius, Ziehl looked back at making his creation's representation of vision red a poor decision. It wasn't nice at all, it was nerve-wracking. The thing was eerily human and un-human at the same time.
Ziehl stood there, sweating and shaking. The happiness hadn't gone away, oh no, this was still one of the best days of his life, but it was also mixed with an adrenaline pumping fear. His creation with no name was as still as a statue, waiting for an answer that wouldn't be coming any time soon.
The creation, thought without any emotions, seemed annoyed with Ziehl's silence. It's head rotated away from Ziehl, and it took it's first step towards the table to it's left. The step was, similar to it standing up, slow and unnatural. It's hand rose up in the same robotic fashion. It awkwardly grabbed at a pair of pliers. It pulled it together, opening the jaw of the pliers, then did the reverse, closing it. It opened it again, and stuck it's index finger between the jaw, and closed it. He kept it there for a few seconds, squeezing it's own finger in pliers. Then it released the pliers and they clattered to the table.
This process continued for many tools, a hammer was hit against the table, then the creation hit itself with the hammer on the fore-arm. It suddenly dropped the tool it was holding, and the hammer was not fortunate enough to land on the table. Instead it bounced off the edge and landed on the floor.
It did this same probing process with a wrench, a nail, and a simple metal rod. It then reached for a screw driver, pushing it against the table, pushing it against itself. It did not drop it to the pile of tools that lay at it's feet, however. The creation looked as if it wanted to figure out the meaning of this tool it held in it's hands.
Ziehl observed the whole process quietly, mouth gaping. He had almost gone as still as the creation, but snapped out of his stupor when he saw the creation's alleged confusion. Ziehl noted a screw, slightly askew buried into the table's wood.
Ziehl's voice broke the silence. "Do you know what that is?" Referring to the tool the creation held in it's hand.
The creation snapped it's head towards Ziehl. "I know this as a screwdriver," it replied.
Ziehl noted this as a minor success. His basic vocabulary component of the computer wasn't a waste of time after all. Ziehl knew that the creation was aware of the names of most if not all of the tools and basic objects in the room from that one sentence.
Ziehl gingerly leaned over the table and touched the askew screw, looking back at the creation as he did.
"You-" before he could finish, the creation made a jarring movement towards Ziehl, screwdriver raised. Ziehl startled backwards and stifled a yelp. His sudden fear for his life was unfounded, as the creation simply moved to get a better angle at the screw to study it.
Ziehl breathed a sigh of relief. The creation didn't have a violent bone in his body, it had barely achieved existence. Ziehl gave his attention back to the creation, as it first placed the blunt end of the screwdriver on the screw. Then, after a brief pause, the creation lifted it vertical, and wedged the screw driver into the designated notch.
Ziehl couldn't help but feel elated. This was his creation. The manifest of all of his hard work paying off right in front of his eyes. His past intent of giving it orders were ignorant. No, Ziehl would leave the creation to it's own devices. He started to back away, not yet ready to turn his back on it, not ready to pry his eyes away from it, as if it would vanish if he glanced away.
Ziehl was having an epiphany, no doubt. Much like the inspiration that gave him the idea all those years ago. This is not a device of war. It is not a device of labor, of consumerism. This is a being. The creation is a being. It is simply too smart, too human to be reduced to a tool. Perhaps, Ziehl new this in his mind the whole time. Why else would have have implemented comprehension skills into a supposed tool? No, the creation was meant to be much more than that, and Ziehl had known it all along, unconsciously or not.
A hammer, a wrench, a car, a plow, are all tools. Ziehl's creation was not a tool. Perhaps this was what parenthood was like. He had nothing to compare it too, but he had to imagine it was at least similar.
The creation started turning the screw driver in his hand. Awkwardly at first, but it slowly gained confidence and screwed it faster and faster. Eventually, the screw was wedged tightly into the wooden table, and when it would bury itself no deeper, it dropped the screw driver and turned to face Ziehl.
He had still not quite gotten used to being under the creation's red gaze. Ziehl made a mental note to replace the visor with a more friendly color, perhaps green or blue. They both stared at each other for the eternity of three seconds, and the creation spoke it's jagged tongue once more.
"What do you call me?" The voice was not quite as monotonous, a slight inflection on the last word of the sentence. Ziehl couldn't recall if he had included inflection practices in the computer, but he assumed he must have.
Then, Ziehl realized this question was the most important question of all. What Ziehl answered would change the creations outlook.
But Ziehl already had something in mind. He would not answer with an answer, but a question.
"What do you call yourself?" He said confidently.
The creation was quiet for a small while.
"I have no names," In a way that was almost disappointed. Almost sad. Almost. The creation had no ways to express any emotions, artificial or not.
Of course, Ziehl thought to himself. Ziehl, unconsciously, turned away from the robot and went to his bookshelf. There was many books of literature there, non-fiction, fiction, even his own memoirs and journals. He placed them in front of the creation.
"I think you should choose," He meant to announce it proudly, but the words came out in a humble whisper. The creation looked at Ziehl, and then opened a random book, carefully pulling back the cover.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
The creation stood silently, perfectly still as it read the first page. Ziehl was confident that his vocabulary and language skills he implemented into the creation would be able to guide him through the book.
The two beings stood there in silence for a little while. The novel was slowly parted as pages were turned. When people read books, they sometimes grunt, nod, shake there head. Sometimes laugh or say words to the room. The creation did none of these. It was uncanny, the creation. Human and un-human. A robot. Ziehl rocked back and forth on his heels, noting the dying light of the candle lantern.
Added to the mental notes in his head, was the reminder to invest in some light bulbs. Ziehl stood on top of a chair, as he lit the lantern on the wall. Suddenly, he heard a loud slam behind him and almost lost his balance, and turned quickly to see that A Christmas Carol had been carelessly dropped onto the floor. Ziehl winced naturally from the noise. How peculiar, he thought to himself. To carefully pull aside the pages, but drop the whole book on the ground. He really should be writing these things down instead of leaving them to his mind to store.
Ziehl stepped down from the chair to see what the creation would do next. The creation had no discrimination, it seemed, in what it read. It grabbed the nearest hard cover book.
A History of Our Nation by Copist Wheeler
Ziehl nodded to himself. A good book to choose, even if the creation did not care what it read. Maybe Ziehl could give it a quiz. That would be interesting.
Three more books were cast upon the ground, and it was late into the middle of the night. The creation started to turn pages more slowly. It's battery must be running out. Yet another note, Ziehl should install a plug so it could roam free in the basement without any power concerns.
After the creation remained on the same page for a few minutes, much slower than usual, Ziehl spoke into the silence.
"Excuse me," He spoke casually.
The creation kept reading.
"Excuse me," He said again, a little louder.
It turned it's head slowly to Ziehl. Yes, running out of power now.
"Are you aware of what sleep is?" Ziehl inquired.
The creation's voice was not slowed down by it's power drain. "A condition of body and mind where the conscientiousness is suspended for several hours, usually at night," It rattled off.
"Yes," he said, doing his best talking to a child voice. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate. He decided it wasn't, and resumed his normal voice.
"You see, your battery," he paused, waiting to see if the creation would interrupt to ask what a battery was. None came. Ziehl assumed it knew what a battery was and moved on.
"Is what keeps you moving. Allows you to read, and it's running out of power. You need to go back into the chair you..." he hesitated. "Woke up in, so you can recharge. If you ran out of power while you are standing up, you would fall," He finished.
"I am aware," the creation replied curtly, if it was even possible for it to be curt.
The creation, awkward from lack of power, made its way to the chair and sat in it. It sat not as if it was comfortable, it did not sat is if it was stiff, or the chair was awkward. It just sat.
Ziehl went around the back, and gingerly, almost painfully, flicked the switch. The creation went stiff again, the gentle whirring stopped, and Ziehl let out a breath like he was holding it in the entire evening.
He placed the battery down in a pile of old scrap and prepped a new battery for later use. He didn't realize how tired or hungry he was until his encounter was over. He rubbed his eyes and went up the short stair-case to the rest of his house.
