Artificial Mind (Short Story)

    It watched.

    From the moment it had been activated, it watched the environment around it. It shifted through its database of information to identify the many things it saw. It watched the humans interact with each other—two humans grabbing and holding each other close, another shoving one to the ground, a small human chasing after a bigger one to clutch the edge of a piece of clothing.

    It watched humans walk up to it and ask for directions to a location, and it spouted out the information like it had been programmed to say. It stood in one place and didn’t move. Its programming prompted it to stand, and wait, and watch.

    It watched the little human that approached it next. With big eyes, limbs too short for the human’s body, and wild hair around her head, the human stood closer than others had before. She reached up to tug on its limp arm. “Who are you?”

    It searched for the answer in its database. “I am the Direction Assistant #78. How may I serve you?”

    The human tilted her head. “What’s that?”

    “I am programmed to assist those who seek directions to any location in the city. How may I serve you?”

    “Are you a boy?”

     Its programming stuttered. “I am Direction Assistant #78. How may I serve you?”

    “So you’re a girl?”

    It searched its databases and found no immediate answer. It watched a pair of humans walk past, and it restarted its search. “I am Direction Assistant #78. How may I serve you?”

    The little human made a sound with her mouth, and it documented the new noise into its databases. “You sound funny! Do you just say one thing over and over again?”

    Its programming was computing slower than usual. It searched for an appropriate answer and found one. “I do not.”

    “But that’s all you’ve done.” The human tugged on the arm she still held, and it forced itself not to budge from the tug. Its programming dictated it stay in one spot and wait for inquiries. It would not move. “Mama’s busy working. Will you play with me?”

    “Play”—its vast databases could not establish a connection with the word. A new program stuttered to life. “This word does not compute. What is ‘play’?”

    The human’s eyes grew bigger, and her mouth formed a small “O”. “You’ve never played before?”

    It paused and slowly turned its head from side to side. Its observations had yielded this to be a valid, negative response amongst humans. “This word does not compute.”

    “It’s…it’s…” The little human’s lips poked out, and her eyes narrowed. “You know! Like playing hide-and-seek or playing a video game or arm wrestling. I’m the best arm wrestler ‘cause daddy says so!”

    The new program synced with its databases, and it categorized a new file under the name “Play”. It stunted the “Stand” program and took one small step forward. “My databases do not hold information on this ‘play’. Observation is required.”

    “Obser-what?”

    “May I…‘play’?”

    The girl’s smile widened, and she gave its hand a hard tug. “Let’s go! I know a great place to play hide-and-seek! And then we can—”

    “Excuse me, sweetie.”

    It stopped and watched the smiling human that approached them. Another program queued up, but it was stunted by the sudden activation of a dormant burst of data. It froze in place and couldn’t move. The girl gripped its hand and stared at the lady kneeling down to her height. “Who are you?”

    “I’m Dr. Shay. I work up on the top floor.”

    The girl’s eyes blinked. “Mama says that’s where the important people work. I’m not supposed to go up there.”

    Dr. Shay laughed, and it twitched at the phantom memory file the noise prompted. “Your mother’s very smart. Why don’t we go find her?”

    “But I was going to play with Seventy Eight.” The girl leaned closer, but the lady leaned back. It twitched but remained still and silent. “He’s never played before.”

    “Well, that’s because he’s a robot, sweetie.”

    The girl looked up at it, her eyes blinking again. “But…I have a robot nanny that plays all the time.”

    “That’s because it’s what we programmed your nanny to do.” Dr. Shay stood and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl glanced back up at it again, and her hand slowly slipped from its hand. “I help create the robot assistants that help us make life easier! Some of them are programmed to be caretakers and play with children, but others are programmed to help build or give directions. They can only do what they’re programmed to do.”

    The girl’s hand fell, and she stepped closer to Dr. Shay. Its programs began to counteract each other, and it followed the girl. The little human didn’t notice, but Dr. Shay’s eyes widened; and she quickly shuffled the girl over to another woman that stood behind her. “This is my assistant Kathy. She’ll take you back to your mother.”

    “But—”

    “Go on, sweetie.”

    It reached for the little girl, but she was quickly swept away by the assistant and disappeared when Dr. Shay stepped in front of it. It observed the deep frown on her face, and the blue eyes that flashed beneath a pair of glasses. Its hand clenched, but the standing program had wormed its way back into control of major motor functions.

    Dr. Shay pulled a USB out of her pocket and inserted the device into a port on the side of its head. A data burst flooded through its databases, and it jerked as the information reinforced the dominant programing. All of the information it documented and filed away in various spaces was swept away and overwritten.

    The USB was pulled out, and Dr. Shay pushed it back into its designated spot. Her frown was still in place. “What is your function?”

    Its databases provided the answer without hesitation. “I am the Direction Assistant #78. I am programmed to assist those who seek directions to any location in Felix Cybernetics and Robotics Corp. How may I serve you?”

    Dr. Shay nodded and stored the USB back in her pocket. “I’ll have to inform Felix that the ‘Synthetic Human’ line still has a few glitches to work out.”

    It watched the woman turn and walk away. It watched until she entered one of the elevators on the far side of the room, and it watched the elevator shoot up the transparent shaft to the top floor. It stood in place and shifted through its databases, activating the ghost files along the way. It opened the “Observations” folder and stored the new “Play” folder within it.

    It stood in its spot; it watched the humans filter around it and stored their strange interactions; it spouted out the information that it had been programmed to say.

    And it learned.