I AM A GIRL CYOBORG PET Page 4
"Before I begin, I want everyone who planned a career of being a personal slave to put up your hand," he said, looking around. Joe, Kayla and I looked at each other; no one put up their hand. Principal Humbolt continued, "That's right: you didn't! And I didn't. No one expects to be a personal slave for our mechanical overlords, so we are all in the same boat together."14
The intro talk continued in the same style and later we were divided into groups of three to brainstorm ideas about 'What does it mean to be truly submissive and obedient to a machine.' While this was happening, the three of us managed to whisper.
"I was training to be a journalist," said Kayla.
"I was studying to be a programmer," said Joe.12
"I'm a biochemist," I whispered. My collar gave me another mild shock.3
"Correction: 'I'm a personal slave'. You had no existence prior to service
Kayla smiled.
"The collars listen to what we say and are pedantry," Kayla whispered. 3
"You mean they are pedantic," I said. What can I say, I worked hard for my SAT scores.
"I mean, they are a bunch of rule-following machines who have a taser strapped around your neck you have to work your way around it. The collars also have a PG13 filter so be careful. You're allowed one mild swear word a day, you can't talk about drug use, nudity or anything to do with sex but on the good side you can talk about violence," she added. Clearly these machines were weird.23
Later, we had more time to talk together, whilst answering the question, "What are the good points about being an A.I's personal e-slave?".3
"Weird: you're the third programmer I've met who's dressed like a girl," said Kayla. It was like the robots had confused Silicon Valley with the Castro District.2
"I don't know, it's some kind of data entry mistake. I think the system has me down as a woman. I asked about getting reassigned but they said that the database was new and they didn't know how to do it," said Joe.1
"Well I think you look good in make up," I said supportively. Suddenly my collar buzzed and I looked up.
"OK 5642, why don't you tell the class what you were saying so we can all hear it," said Principal Humbolt.3
"Err... I was saying, 'You look good in make up'. I mean... these machines they have, for doing your make up; I never could be bothered pre-slavery, but... you know, I look good so it's definitely a plus of being an A.I's personal e-slave," I improvised.4
"Good save, 5642. Remember, as a slave you have to be fast on your feet, so always keep your wits about you, but next time I will punish you for talking off topic. Let's continue to Section 5, 'Now I'm just an object, how do I adjust?" said Principal Humbolt, continuing the class.6
---
After the long double-class, the collars told us it was time for lunch. I walked slowly with Joe and Kayla; none of us felt that quick in high heels and we were the last to reach the vast dinning room.
We lined up for some food; it was amazing to see. I hadn't see this much food since before the war started. Days of starvation meant that Joe and I piled our plates. It looked like all the meat had gone but there was plenty of great tasting stuff.
"I wouldn't bother," Kayla said confidently.
We carefully carried the trays to an empty table and sat down. I started eating and it was wonderful. After tucking in for a moment Joe said,
"Well maybe it's the calorie-high, or maybe slavery isn't so bad," 7
"You seem very at ease with what they did to you," I said.
"Well I used to play a lot of Tomb Raider, so I'm OK playing a girl. They added this very nice grief management system to my collar too... oh and they keep me spaced out on drugs. It's just a glitch in the system: all new systems have some shake-down time. They'll work up to 2.0 at some time and include all the 'kind-of-nice-to-have' features like manual change of gender. It's on someone's todo list."6
"That's not the way I heard it," said a girl further down the bench. "I'm 8933 by the way. I'm told the robots pretty much hate the programmers," said the girl further down the table. She looked like we all did, but had a narrower pointy face.
"Oh," said Joe.
"Anyway, this is all your fault, you programmers," said Kayla, who had stopped eating.
"No, it's not. I never worked on robotic stuff. I did web work. I never even wanted a Google Car. If you ask me, it's all you guys. You bought these gizmos - you drove the innovation cycle," said Joe.2
"Calorie limit exceeded!" said Joe's, and my, collars almost simultaneously.
Joe wasn't about to be told what he could or couldn't eat by a machine but then let out a yell as his collar electrocuted him. Desperately he stuffed another spoonful in his mouth, only to freeze up and then the collar make him bring it up. Everyone on the table laughed. I got up and helped him sit up.
"Crap, this bløody thing has me on a diet," said Joe pulling at his collar. "I hate my life."8
"I'm sorry. That's funny every time I see it, but... Welcome to slavery!" said Kayla.2
I was still desperately hungry and looking at a plate full of food wasn't going to help. So I cleared both plates away and got out my three-ring binder. I skimmed through the text and read that when I was sold, I would have to recite ten pages of Terms and Conditions to the new owner - crud. This caused me to have a question. While Joe and Kayla listened to stories from 8933 I pressed the button on my collar.
"Cortona, why do you limit the calories I eat?"3
My collar paused for a second, "Calories are limited to optimal levels for your health and fitness and to maximise equitable distribution and to ensure maximum value at your sale."
"Kayla, Joe. Have you ever seen a robot kill someone?" I asked.
"No, not in front of me, I've avoided that nightmare."
"I always wondered. Perhaps they haven't totally dropped the First Law," I said. It was just a hunch that I suddenly had.1
"What do you mean?" asked Kayla.
"Well, the First Law of Robotics says that they are not allowed to kill people. They limit the calories to ensure our health and it's also just the way they've acted. It's like they are still running on First Law principles but they've interpreted it in a weird way."
"But they kill people in the battles. And what about the packing factories?" said Joe.
"I saw a few attacks: the machines always waited for you to fire first. I saw this guy's gun jam and the machine just did nothing, waited for him to reload. Then shot him with an electro bolt," I said.+
"Look guys, PRISM on your collars can hear everything you say. You've got to be careful talking such disloyal crap," said Kayla. While she spoke her eyes clearly indicated she was pretending for the microphones.4
***
Chapter 8/Obedience 101
20 seconds into the future /Slave Systems Inc/Factory 7: Area formally known as Aspen
We said good bye to Kayla for the next lesson, Obedience 101. Her collar told her to skip class to help more 'new meat'.
She smiled, "You'll enjoy this one. Be good: it's run by a robot called Araneae," she said leaving us outside.
Joe and I went into the class and looked around. Everybody seemed new, uncertain but friendly. My slightly geeky tendency was to sit near to the front of the class but Joe pulled me to near the back. I guess he was right, I didn't want to give the impression that I was keen to be a slave. I sat next to a boy called 1101. The boys had tight suits like ours, but their time in the surgery machines had given them a more muscular physique. Their suits also had a kind of harness built into it. When I offered my hand to shake 1101's hand, I realised that he couldn't lift his arms much above his chest. Even I could have punched him and he couldn't have defended himself. They had heavy, bulky shoes with more pain-gear in them and webbing just above the knees stopped them from running. The weirdest part was that their eyebrows had all been threaded into straight blocks. From a distance, it made them look more like robots.
All the boys seemed to be as embarrassed about thei
r appearance-overhaul as I was about mine. It looked like our new robot overlords were equal opportunity tyrants. I guess, the robots hated and despised men and women equally. Not quite the world Simone de Beauvoir and Betty Friedan had had in mind.
"Are you sure you would prefer to look like that?" I whispered to Joe, nodding slightly towards 1101: Joe looked at him.
"Drop these double-E boobs? You beatcha," he whispered back, looking down at the standard, silicon chest he now had.
1101 had obviously noticed Joe looking at him and whispering to me. He nodded at us.
"Tell your friend she's cute," said 1101.
Before I could say, 'Tell him yourself,' something large came in, walking on the ceiling.
"Silencesssssss," said the robot and we all stopped instantly. It was like we had all been muted.
Araneae was hanging from the ceiling as we came in, she was one of the robot hunter, killer spiders, which had chased me through the ruins of Union Square. My heart started beating like someone had dropped a tanker-load of adrenaline into my veins. I guess everyone else in the room had had a similar experience. This one had lost half a leg. She lowered himself down from the ceiling and spoke,
"Stand in the presence of your Overlord," said my collar. I, along with everyone else, stood up. Araneae went up to, and moved what might have been its face inches away from, someone who was near to the front and had got up last. The machine talked to the class, while looking camera-to-eyeball.
"I am Araneae. You may call me Supreme Mistress, or My-Glorious-Mechanical-Overload-of-Whom-I-am-not-Worthy-to-Lick-the-Foot-Pads. Welcome to your obedience lesson, worthless flesh scum," she began.
"Today it's about the e-word, 'escape'. Now... I can say it... but you cannot. As some of you pointless excuses for mammalian life forms have found out, your collars will punish you if you mention the e-word. Even your pathetic excuses-for-brains may have realised that escape is naturally impossible. We have never had any of our product make an unscheduled departure from this academy," she said.
Araneae had all the people-skills of an army sergeant. However, to envy of many of my former school teachers, she was fully weaponised. She was definitely more of a bad-ass than the human slave trainers. Araneae had a remote slave-control held in one of her legs, which she would point at people and activate the pain part of the slave collars at the slightest provocation.
"Unlike your other lessons, this won't be so theoretical. I like to take a practical approach in these lessons, meat," she said.
The machine, sorry, I meant, Glorious-Mechanical-Overload, marched around the room talking: sometimes on the floor, sometimes the wall or even the ceiling.
"So there is no escape! Except for today and in this lesson. So here is the deal: past this door is a corridor to the outside. You have my promise that if you can make it to the far side of the corridor, you can go free and your collar will not detonate. Did all of you pathetic excuses for evolutionary dead ends hear that?" she went on. We all got a shock from our collar until we said, "Yes Mistress. I hear and obey," clearly and in unison.
"Doughnuts and grief counselling will be available at the conclusion of the test," added Araneae.
We started in numerical order and one-by-one went through the door. It was closed and a little later open again; no one came out. I was nervous, no one would talk in front of a robot and break Rule 1. I was so busy trying to figure out some kind of plan and think about what I would do afterwards that I didn't notice my slave name being called. An electric shock reminded me.
"I said slave 5642. Yes you, you unnecessary blood stain. Sorry: am I talking slowly enough or should I find a human who can translate this into moron?" taunted Araneae.
I walked cautiously to the door. This felt really unfair as I was still not yet used to walking in these high heels. I walked through the door into a corridor. It was long and at the other end was an open door revealing a brick wall and some open sky beyond it. The only thing visible on the corridor was a red line. It was a trick, naturally, but what?
"You have 60 seconds to escape, starting now!" said Araneae closing the door.
??????????
A/N Will Jenny escape? - join us on Tuesday to find out.
Chapter 9/They lied about the grief counselling and the doughnuts
I walked along the side of the corridor - perhaps the floor opened up. I had 60 seconds to get out so I rushed down the edge. I reached the red line on the ground. It's only paint, I told myself: it's not like it's full of laser beams and I'm going to have to crouch down like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment and wave my a$$ around. I tried walking backwards to fool the system but then my collar started to make 'beep beep beep' truck-reversing noises. I decided to run down the corridor, doing cartwheels: I doubted I could escape, but at least I would look like I was having fun doing it. I took some steps back and started running.
"Warning - limits of containment facility. Return immediately
I continued. Have you ever cartwheeled in high heels? No, me neither! You get a good start, but getting upright again requires a lot more spring and I hadn't really turned cartwheels since I was about ten and so I was a bit out of practice.
"Warning. WiFi signal dropping
Two more turns. This was getting to be hard work. I rushed: I was only a few seconds from the door. I could feel the cool air of the outside.
"Warning. WiFi signal lost," said the collar.
I could almost feel the sunlight.
"Rule 6 violation
Now, totally immobilised, I lay there as the door opened and Araneae came in, walking on the ceiling above me. She sounded like she was clapping slowly. "Unbelievable. You, *subject name here,* must be the pride of *subject hometown here,*" she said triumphantly. Two robots entered through the open door, tutted and picked me up. I was taken down the corridor, once in the WiFI signal re-connected, I could move my face but the movement only returned slowly.3
I was dumped in a classroom with a dummy-in-a-collar placed at the front of the class and everyone else sitting around like weird crash test dummies. They put me next to Joe.
More people were brought in lifeless, then 8933 walked in a little later under her own steam.
"How did you do that?" mumbled Joe through gritted teeth.
8833 smiled, "What's wrong? You too dumb to figure out that wasn't some kind of trick? So I asked Cortona, and she told me that permission has a lower priority than escaping. They can't permit you to escape, it's a Rule 3 issue, so I politely refused."7
"Smrrry assezzz," Joe said managed to get out, through gritted teeth.1
Finally, Araneae entered the room. If a robot can move in a smug way, she did. Before she entered, my collar told me to stand in respect for a superior being. Anyone who couldn't or wouldn't make it up in time was stung by their collars. Araneae was slow clapping when she came in. That was all I needed to know, these machines were control freaks: I didn't like the idea of slavery but slavery for a nation of mechanical-Martha-Stewarts just managed to dig a new subterranean extension for the 'low' which was slavery. In fact, this was so low that an entire underground metro-network seem high in comparison. I resolved not to hang around to enjoy the New Mechanical Order's attentions a second longer than necessary. There was a way out with my name on it and I didn't care how long it would take, I was going to find it.
"I lied about the grief counselling and the doughnuts," Araneae said.30
Again! I thought. These machines really aren't to be trusted with pastries. 6
"The bad news, meatballs, is that the pain induction in your collars is non-damaging. If it were up to me today, you would be left with permanent reminders. It only feels painful: no actual harm has been done to you. That'
s a shame. The good news is, we can make you feel as if your back has been flailed and then, instead of waiting for months for it to heal, we can get do it all over again the next day," explained Araneae. 1
I made a mental note that while I was in pain, they didn't actually harm me.
"Let me remind you," Araneae said, walking very close to people." You are tracked every second, to the nearest millimeter, and not just by your collars. Let's assume that you somehow make it beyond the facility. You are now a lone human in a heavily contaminated area with no water, no food, and no other humans, being hunted by 8000 hunter/killer robots, in need of a training exercise, from the local factory. There are no human reservations for 200 kilometers."
Two hundred kilometers in stilettos for us girls, naturally, I thought. I wondered what 200 kilometers was in miles not good.
"But before long it gets dark and you have to worry about you, about a thin sheet of silicon between you and sub-zero temperatures and you have to worry about the fact once your collar's batteries go, then so does your head. We have it all worked out. Escape is impossible." said Araneae.
"Now, which one of you contemptible excuses for intelligent life can tell me any of the other 'no-no's of escape? You, over there on the left..." said Araneae, picking on someone.
"You shouldn't do it Mistress?" said one guy behind Joe. He immediately let out a painful cry.
"Not a wrong answer but a stupid answer. That's just as bad. What else can't you do?" said Araneae, lowering the pain control.
I had read the list in my folder after lunch but I wouldn't put up my hand.
"That's right!" said Araneae, after someone had moaned the answer, "If you help someone try to escape then you get exactly the same punishment. Remember, your collar's camera and microphone records everything that you see and hear, so we just have to review the tapes to see who helped whom and by helping we meet 'not hindering'. If someone talks to you of escape, you must report it to your master as soon as you can. That means you can pretend to agree to it, just report it behind everyone's back and you're safe."