I couldn’t help but wonder what must be going through their mind as they sat there alone and in silence, eyes skyward. Mind adrift in an inky sea, studded with glittering stars.
As the robot picked their way through a narrow passage between two rock faces the tower came into view; it was very close now, not more than another hour’s walk. As they carefully chose their footing, the robot spotted something glinting among the rocks and stopped to pick it up. A flat, square object with a delicate metal aperture along one side bearing the marking “2HD.” With a piece of string from their pack, the robot attached the object to their walking staff; an enigmatic ornament for a journey full of mystery.
The robot runs but there is nowhere to go; loops begin to close and data lattices collapse into a whirling void of ash.
The robot stood a moment, the territory spread out before them, territory waiting to be mapped, documented and known. All previous information regarding the outlying areas were frail structures built on fragmented and noisy datasets. The robot had prepared for this task. After noting the location of what was an unmistakably artificial ring-like structure, the robot walked on, measuring their strides.
Visual survey: false color render of near-infrared and ultraviolet.
“Due to localized EMR exposure, I was unable to trust input from my sensors. I had to engage in triple redundant checks of my surroundings. I still could not confirm whether or not I was being followed.”
One evening a robot asked me if I might be interested in doing some shopping. Of course I said yes! We walked a few minutes through the center of town to a bustling, vibrantly lit, street market. There were tiny shops, stalls, carts, even small tables with banners; all displaying all manner of goods. The robots had a most interesting system: I didn’t witness any money or currency change hands. They appeared to either barter or use a form of social or reputation credit. Their transactions were fascinating!
These establishments go by a variety of names: “charging salon,” “service shop,” “recharge station,” and the like, including apparently limitless permutations. I still call them cafés because, in use, that’s what they are. A place away from home base to recover, recharge, meet, congregate, chat, share information. It’s still a challenge to find refreshments suitable for myself— typically I must make do with water (sometimes cooled by a peltier chiller) but news is spreading and occasionally I’m surprised by… hot water! I spotted this individual the next table over devoting all of their processing power to a small book. I had no idea what was in the cup and didn’t want to disturb them to ask.
“This way, please,” said the robot, gesturing towards the door. I made a non-specific sound of acknowledgement, distracted as I was by finishing a text message on my phone. When I looked up the robot was several steps ahead but had stopped in its tracks, looking back over its shoulder at me. This was a first; the robots usually wait for me to take action before they do so.
The sun had set some time ago and all that was left was a lingering blue light refracting through the atmosphere. I paused for a moment in a bubble of quietude, noting that I had an observer. The robot did not move, and continued to watch as I continued on my way up the street.
I was telling the robots about how I’ve been feeling like I was “in a slump” lately. They didn’t quite understand and tried to equate it to “voltage sag.” I drew them a picture and I could tell their neural networks were making new connections.
The robots are, in general, fans of comic book art. The older, deeply analog stuff. They are fascinated by the concept of “superhero.” That a being could have abilities and powers (“upgrades and peripherals”) that can be both a blessing and a curse.