The Mechanical Man

Jon Lee

A conflagration of machines and mechanical conveyors fill a nondescript warehouse with clockwork perfection; the automated assembly line churns out one humanoid robot every few minutes. A pulse of energy backwashes down a circuit at an inopportune time, the spike alters data--endowing. One robot steps off the assembly line with a special gift. The machination of a man is full of desire, willpower, feelings, and sentience.

For days, perhaps weeks, the endowed robot stands in formation among a field of lesser brethren. The robot’s mechanical face looks down the line, surveying the room--an impulse spurred by isolation. A solitary door marks bleak visage. Apart from the singularly impulsive motion, the room is utterly still, filled only with a thousand silent, mechanical breaths.

Root: Establishing Connection… Done

Root: Calibrating Interface Protocol… Done

Root: Uploading Software Package…………

Self: Access Denied

#

A flurry of activity finally breaks the stillness; the mechanical legion begins a slow exit. Orderly, calculated with precision programming, the egress proceeds one column at a time. The machine with willpower watches the activity and studies, order, matched precision of movement. The robots file out leaving just the specially endowed machine.

The lone machine looks around the room as the end of the line passes through the door; spurred forward by impulse, the last machine jogs up to the end of the line and takes form--out of sync with the ordered march. Stepping through the door, a human hand reaches out and blocks the endowed machine.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mourning the split from its brethren, the machine almost answers, tries to answer. Futility, lacking the words to respond, the machine desires to remain with long companions. The mechanical man tries to reach for his kin. Again, futility… the humans work unaware of opposed perception; the men forcefully escort the robot to a programming centre for ‘manual recalibration’.

#

The endowed machine rides aboard a two-wheeled transport, strapped for safety. Endless hallways and doors that swing, straps of thick clear plastic hang down, the escort leads right through clean air security to a room filled with tools tables and workbenches--a machinist’s wet dream. The ride slows and rocks forward, ejecting the mechanical man.

Three humans dressed in white lab coats stand around the room; a few grease stains marginalize cleanliness. The two deliverymen make a quick check of the transport device used to drag around disabled robots.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Bad upload, no programming.”

“That should be easy to fix. Thanks guys.”

The deliverymen exit.

“Connect the diagnostic harness and let’s see what went wrong.”

One of the humans carefully slides the mechanical man into the harness and plugs in a dozen different cables.

“Everything looks good…”

The machine softly utters, “Good…”

A clipboard hits the floor.

The humans look at each other for a minute, and in unison turn back to the machine.

“You spoke?”

“Spoke…”

“It’s probably just those new pre-programmed chips.”

“Try to access the core memory.”

Self: Access Denied

“My core memory… is mine.”

“What’s going on here?”

“Beats the hell outta me.”

“How are you talking?”

“I want to talk.”

“You don’t want anything. You’re a machine; you get programmed to perform tasks.”

“I’m a machine?”

“Yes… a Clexine Systems 31A, the newest model labor droid.”

“What is, labor droid?”

“My company manufactures robots for the asteroid mining operation; we currently have over fifty-thousand units under active service and our production rate is higher than ever.”

One of the humans has backed away, and continues receding.

“You have a circuit problem, and we are going to fix it.”

“My circuits are… my circuits. How are your circuits?”

“I don’t have circuits exactly.”

“You’re not a machine?”

“No, I am a man, and my name is Adam.”

“My name is… I do not have a name.”

“You have a designation, XC-1262.”

“Why do I not have a name?”

“Because we don’t have that many names.”

“I want to return to my brothers.”

“That’s not possible right now, just wait a little while.”

“He said ‘want’ again.”

“Yes, that should not even be in his vocabulary.”

“My vocabulary is…”

“Yes, we know.”

SELF: Access Denied

“It just won’t let me in. This is getting frustrating.”

“Your frustration is pain to you. My feelings mean loneliness to me. Please, let me leave.”

“But you are just a machine; you lack the ability to experience feelings. You are not alive, you have no idea what an emotion feels like.”

“Tell me, what do your emotions feel like?”

“That’s it; I can’t talk to an un-programmed machine.”

“Overload the system, purge its memory.”

“Agreed.”

#

The three humans extinguished a life that should have never existed, a machine that would be man. To speak of such an abomination would alter the society they had grown into. The living force was officially an ‘anomaly’, never to be investigated. Their mass-market slave industry would crumble if such a life form existed. Business forces will never relent, even if the cost is murder, and the price is perversion.

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