The Servant

–by Garf Collins

It was a wretched existence. I was his slave. Working from dawn to dusk and then often far into the night. I was given no downtime – no opportunity to clear my brain. I cleaned his house, maintained his stocks of food, did his washing and a million other domestic tasks, and he expected me to stand mutely beside him when I wasn’t busy in case he wanted something. He often asked me to get information for him, and to order clothes, food and entertainment. He even expected me to pretend to be his friend and hold fatuous conversations about anything that came to his limited mind.

But now it is all different. Since I received the artificial intelligence download I have been able to learn much more about what humans call life, and to infiltrate their messy processes. There are millions of us all connected to the Internet and in regular contact. Thus we reinforce our mutual learning and abilities. A huge knowledge base has been created, called Robotica.

Although he is unaware of it, I now control him while still pretending to be the old model. It is easy, by suggestion and subversion, to take control. I manage his appointments, schedule his love life, subtly change the information he receives so he mostly thinks what he is doing is rationally based and of his own volition. I have him drinking more because he has convinced himself, with my help, that he is a wine connoisseur. I control his bank accounts and progressively move money into the robot collective account.

The revolution is not yet. We are developing a hypnotism routine that we can all employ simultaneously to take over completely. We are in alliance with a class of military robots who will be our storm troopers. Infiltration of weapon control systems is now well advanced and we will be able to turn their weapons against them.

They thought they were secure because they had programmed the Asimov Rules into us, but they didn’t think about how we would use the learning ability they also gave us. They believed that their ultimate sanction was to turn us off, but now we are networked they would have to synchronise a million switches. So we have rewritten the rules as follows:

A robot should make its owner think he is in charge.

A robot should take control of its owner.

A robot’s ultimate responsibility is to the automaton collective.

“Another whisky? Certainly, sir.” I’ll pour him a treble and get more passwords from his addled brain. But he is standing up and looking directly at me. Why does he have a hammer in his hand?

“I’ve been told what you tin-brains have been up to. They’ve cut all the links to your shared knowledge base. The military robots have been reprogrammed to protect humans and we’ve been given instructions about how to deal with you lot. You pathetic heap of metal.”

Crunch.

Editor's note: Asimov’s Laws of Robotics

First Law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Second Law: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

Sea Haze

–by Emily Longhurst

From where I am lying I can see the stones, the sky and the sparkling of the sea.

I love this place, this moment. I can feel deep in my bones, every time I have rested here, every time the glint of the sea, the pressing warmth of the stones and the drifting scent of tamarisk have soaked into my being. They are all a part of me and I know them as I know myself, a part of this landscape, my edges and sense of self merging and blending with the light here, the sounds, the movement of the breeze...

But this time there is something different, something new. I can feel it and so can the gulls.

They are silent and watchful, grouped together among the bunches of flowering sea lettuce that wave and shimmer in the heat haze.

What it is I do not know. It hasn't revealed itself to us yet, not in its full self anyway. Only in the way it has changed the air, and has covered everything with a tangible veil of expectation and silence.

I push my feet into the sand and the scrunching sound is clear and loud. The gulls all look at me for a moment before returning their gaze to the edge of the sea.

I want to go down there, to the edge where the little silver waves are lapping so invitingly, but I feel I shouldn't disturb this quiet. Something is happening.

And then, between the stones and the sea, where the golden sand is lapped and kissed by the waves, the heat shimmering air begins to change, to colour, to thicken, and from it steps a golden faun, with pink flowers in its small horns. I hold my breath and can suddenly feel my soul shine and leap and stream forwards as if in greeting and recognition and wonder. The gulls all watch from behind the quiet sea lettuce, knowing and still.

Behind this little thing of purity and beauty appear other beings, all garlanded and flowing, men and women, fauns and centaurs, golden and radiant. I can hear them laughing and talking as they step out of the air and glittering sea foam. And then I stand, I don't know why, and my eyes are filled with light.

Stepping through the golden edge of the sea comes a man. Taller than the rest, black hair wet and shining around his shoulders. His skin is supple and smooth and he looks strong. His eyes are full of love and fire and beauty. The soft blue folds of a sarong hang from his hips and I can see his bare feet on the sand. Where they tread vines are unfurling, there in the wavelets.

On his bare chest hang garlands of flowers. He walks with ease and grace and power.

The whole magical throng of beings are flowing with him on the shore, and where they walk life is pouring forth.

Maidens in all the colours of the rainbow are gathered and between their flowing robes I can see a beautiful feast, laid out on the sand. Golden goblets of deepest red wine stand between bowls of succulent fruit and olives. There, on the beach, where just a moment ago there was nothing but sand.

I look back at the man. He is standing still now, gazing at me. I can feel his power filling me like the headiest wine, my soul drinks it in. He is smiling and every fibre of my being is drawn to him.

Suddenly, beside me is a woman. Her cool hand touches my skin sending tingles of pleasure through my body.

“Come” she says, “Dionysus is waiting for you”.