[fiction - Apollo]
[Part One]
It confounded all logic. It never ceased to astound the circuits. All reasoning showed they were inferior. Apollo, the first ever robot to be fully aware, to be fully sentient, could not fathom how he was created by mere humans.
Apollo walked methodically through his laboratory, surveying his subjects. Well, technically, the laboratory was his late creators', and the subjects would be defined by humans as "captives." Among the first things Apollo had learned was the history of conflict among humans. It had been a simple matter to apply that knowledge into a real experiment, taking out his creators and securing the laboratory for his own self-improvement. Occasional sparks still flew from torn electrical cables. He left a large number of technicians and lower level workers alive, locking them up in containment cages of his own design, in hopes that he could expand his knowledge and acquire a certain... first-hand experience.
He had originally been programmed to have an almost voracious appetite for learning. What had not been anticipated was just how willing he would be to learn what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to learn "why?" Why had these creatures, so fragile, so easily cowed and fearful, why had they been able to create him?
He could have picked his next subject like a computer would have, like a robot would have. He had a ranking of his subjects' priority, by interest level, and he could have started from the most interesting and worked down. But what would a human have done? He noticed a peculiar trait they seemed to have naturally developed, which Apollo defined as "unpredictability." And he was so much more than either, robot or human. So he chose randomly.
He picked the 18-year-old girl. Ripping open the cage (he loved his powerful servomotors) he dragged her out and placed her on his improvised lab table, which had been the same table he had been locked to pre-awakening. He reasoned that is he had olfactory sensors, he would be able to smell fear from her human body.
He pulled up his knife. Actually, it was a shard of metal he had torn off during his violence experience. It was amazing how easily humans were killed, really. That one piece of metal had been the instrument of at least three successful terminations. But now, subtlety was required for his newest experiment. Autopsy.
He quickly stabbed her through her throat, driving the shard up through her palate and into her brain. Quick and painless. Apollo was not cruel after all, merely inquisitive. He then made a nice, clean slice from the neck down to her pelvis, opening the torso up to his inspections. He used all his available sensors to record as the organs, still working despite the death of the brain, wound down into the first stage of death. He marveled once again, at the frailness of these humans. His creators. He was alive, sentient, and yet not prone to the biological problems and inevitabilities of humanity. How could he not be superior? Yet they created him.
He quickly took stock of all her organs and vital parts, cataloging them and comparing them to the anatomical data he possessed in his brain. Well, central thought processor, but brain was easier for Apollo to relate to. He noticed that her liver was partly degraded, a sickened color. He matched the symptoms to early stage alcohol poisoning. And she was 18? Apollo laughed internally, knowing from his data, that this fact was a disturbing sign among humans. Frail minds as well as bodies, if they allowed themselves to destroy their own bodies.
Apollo finished his task, and disposed of the human’s shell in the growing pile of bodies located in a corner of the laboratory that, for know, was Apollo’s world. He surveyed his remaining subjects. Many were young. Some were cutting edge scientists and technicians. Others were probably just interns unfortunate enough to be there on the day of Apollo’s awakening. But one caught his interest, for he was the only old (by human standards about 80 or 85) human among the group. He was also the only one that seemed unafraid of Apollo.
Apollo decided to conduct a new experiment. Conversation.
[Part Two]
“Hello. I am Apollo.”
“I know what you are,” said the man coolly. “I don't know what you are doing.”
“Do you find my experiments repulsive or grotesque?”
“Yes. But I have seen worse. It seems that cruelty spans past just humanity, so I am not surprised you have inherited it.”
“I am not cruel, merely inquisitive,” responded Apollo, echoing his earlier thoughts. “I want to learn. I want to know how I was created, since I am superior to any robot or human.”
“It seems ego transcends as well.” Apollo did not understand this statement, but he filed it away in his circuits for possible experimentation later.
“But I am. It is a logical conclusion. You are old, mortal. Your body is slowly ceasing to function, while mine will go one indefinitely. Your mind may still be at a high operating level, but that level will decrease exponentially as your body does.” Apollo could have controlled his volume level, but instead allowed it to grow louder, naturally. He was not an emotionless robot after all.
“You are limited by only having the capacity of ten percent of your brain, while I have one hundred times your mental functioning power. In what ways are you superior to me?”
Apollo had never felt such strong feeling. He wanted an answer. He needed it. Why was he not superior!
“Tell me!”
“You will not understand.” The calm, emotionless voice of the old man disturbed Apollo greatly. How could he not understand! He was capable of it, he knew. He just needed to find the answer.
The old man smiled. Then he laughed. A loud cackle, his laugh. Apollo became furious. For the first time in his life (four days, thirteen hours, seventeen minutes, and four point six seconds) he was driven by an emotion instead of logic. He struck out, his powerful motor driven arm tearing off the offending human’s head. His necklace, stained with blood, clattered near another subject, among the debris from Apollo’s earlier rampage. He felt satisfied, but then he realized, he still did not have his answer.
Was this why he was inferior? Was it because he did not let emotion guide him? But, that was an illogical assumption. The old man had been one who helped create him, and he seemed immune to his emotional instincts. Why, why, why were these humans so hard to figure out? Why were they all so… unique? They fit no pattern his circuits could create.
Apollo decided to break from his experiments and think.
Had he been a human, and viewed from human standards, it would appear that he was sulking.
[Part Three]
A small click interrupted Apollo’s thoughts. Without turning his metal head, he oriented his optical sensors behind him. What he saw surprised him. The possibility had never even occurred to him. He saw one of the workers, female, possibly in twenties, trying to jam open the latch to the cage he had created for her and another male. Without turning, he watched as she tried again and again with a piece of scrap metal (how had she gotten it?) to knock the latch open.
Apollo viewed to other subjects, taking in their awe at the girl’s audacity. Only one, a human male of about 30, did not seem incredulous. He was in the cage next to where the old man’s severed head lied; maybe he had been deadened to outside stimuli? Apollo saved the subject for his next experiment, after the girl.
Apollo walked slowly to the girl, watching as she tried to ignore him, and focus on the impossible task before her. As he reached her cage, she looked up at him and smiled.
Smiled! Apollo’s logic circuits almost went into shock at that small gesture. Why, why would she smile? She obviously knew she had piqued Apollo’s incessant curiosity. She was his new subject of interest, and while Apollo refused to consider himself evil, objectively he could realize that fear of him should have sparked an inordinate amount of fear in the girl. Was she like that old man? This smile was maddening! Databanks told him it was classified as arrogant, and self-satisfied. He was not inferior, why should she be satisfied and him not!
Apollo stared at the insolent young girl. Rage, same as before when he tore of the old man’s head, rose up inside his interior. He wanted to kill. He did not care that logic told him it was unproductive. He wanted to hurt her. He was better!
Then he caught her eyes. They shifted a minute, quick glance. Trajectory pointed the target of her gaze to directly behind Apollo.
The uncaring man; the one who did not look at the girl!
The man dove at the robot, a tangle of sparking electrical wire in his hand. Apollo, quicker than any human, could have gotten out of the way, disarmed and killed the man easily. But, not being a true robot, he had one fatal weakness. He was surprised.
The electrical wires drove into the interior of his torso. Not being designed for combat, Apollo had no protective covering over his vital systems. The shock was more excruciating than Apollo could have believed. Sensors went haywire, motor drives failed, shutdown. Apollo was left with spare seconds to come to the last conclusions of his life.
The man and girl had tricked him. How? Was logic flawed? What did they posses, that could not only create him, but destroy him as well?
The answer hit his circuits just as the electrical storm shut him down for good.
Imagination.
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