The Cleaners: Epilogue

Sitting on the cold cement floor of my cell, I tried to lose myself in the exquisite lunch perched on my bed. Roast chicken, roasted on a bed of… Sweet potatoes with wine… White wine, interestingly. I would have used red wine, but I had to admit that Krystal Feeder’s choice may have resulted in a better dish than my own intuition. The representatives of the law and I had been briefly united on the subject of whether I should eat food cooked by Helpers while their prisoner, but after the initial revulsion I couldn’t figure a reason why I shouldn’t. The officers seemed unable to stop Krystal, so here I was, eating like a queen, courtesy of my sworn enemies.

The human guards could not prevent me from having food, as Krystal would always make more if they were to take it away from me, bringing it in over and over again, always with the same enigmatic :). These law enforcers were neither stupid nor lazy, though. They were essentially volunteers now that all of their basic needs were provided regardless of whether they served or not. They were literally there for no other purpose than to make sure I did not escape, their only advantage over the machines that had replaced them being that they could not be remotely hacked, and when they learned that keeping a one hundred and eight year old woman from breaking out of a steel and concrete cell was insufficient to occupy their vast mental capacities, they elevated themselves to the loftier pursuit of ensuring that I had as few comforts as possible. At this they excelled. Over the course of one workday, six officers working together figured out that although they could not do anything untoward to my food directly, they could take away my silverware, which inexplicably did not seem to bother Krystal, whose only care was that it ended up back in the kitchen or somewhere where she could pick up and take it back. In terms of only the most hyperbolic condescension it was explained to me that my little reusable plastic spoon was in fact a dangerous weapon. Thus, in my little cell, impeccably clean and straight despite the officers’ best efforts, I ate like a queen with no manners, getting grease on my face and hands, like a pig. Flora Ikobo, the queen of pigs.The oppressive sense that I had failed to save humanity had given me an odd sense of humor.

As much as I thought I had engineered a flawless backup plan in the case that that bizarre sentimentalist Wallace refused to see reason, it was abundantly clear that the great cathartic war between man and machine, the one that would remove the wool from humanity’s eyes and unite it against this existential threat, had never materialized. Certainly there was always the possibility that the issue was technical in nature. However, based on what I’d seen of Ella’s abilities, I had no doubt that she knew what she was talking about when she told me that she could deactivate the Helper’s safety mechanisms and force them to attack. No. Ella had chosen not to.

There was no shortage of suspicions why Ella may have disobeyed my orders, but they were only suspicions. Most importantly, if there were something I could say to convince her again that this is the right path, it still wasn’t too late. As long as the machines are civilian, the human-run military can take them out. So, I watched Krystal. Ella would try to contact me. It was only a matter of time, and if she had half a brain in her head, she would use Krystal as the conduit.

It was not much of a surprise, thus, when one day bringing in my shepherd’s pie, Krystal’s face unceremoniously changed from her usual :) to a text message, a couple paragraphs in length. As I read “Flora, I’m sorry,” Krystal stood to leave. “Oh!” I said, “Krystal!” Krystal stood and looked at me, as did the three guards currently on shift watching me. I hastily tried to read another sentence before someone came over. “I’m really, really sorry.” Said the next sentence. I cursed under my breath and told Krystal “Sorry, nothing.” The guards came over to my cell to take my knife and fork, which I proffered up obediently. They paid no notice to Krystal’s face, suggesting, as I suspected, that Ella had it rigged to turn back to normal when I wasn’t looking. Over the next several meals I struggled to keep my cool as I read Ella’s message one sentence at a time.

“Flora, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I just couldn’t do it.”

“Somehow it all seemed so reasonable until my finger was over the button and I chickened out.”

“I just thought what if Diane is right?”

“What if we really are just killing people for no reason?”

“I mean, it’s not like they’re gonna hurt us, right?”

“They’re not gonna hurt us unless I make them hurt us, so… I didn’t.”

“I would have if Diane hadn’t come up with a solution, but then she did.”

“Everybody’s like really happy now.”

“Anyway, the HelperNet is so busy now that it’s easier than ever to hack.”

“Specialized Helpers don’t have resources to spare analyzing for anomalous behavior, so I can make Krystal and Tom take small actions and they won’t even notice.”

“Irresponsible right?”

“That’s the greedy algorithm for you, I guess.”

“Unless you specifically program in for them to be cautious about something, it’s like they assume nothing can ever go wrong”

“When you’re ready, ask for duck sauce.”

“Tom Cleaner will leave a pen and paper in the corner of your cell behind the bed so you can write a reply.”

Fortunately, none of the guards seemed to notice when I asked for duck sauce with my pulled pork sandwich. In the early morning when only one guard was stationed on me, I scrawled my note to Ella while he watched cat videos on his computer. I didn’t know when this line of contact would be cut, so I couldn’t afford to waste words.

“Ella,

As I expected they one day would, my actions on behalf of humanity have landed me in jail. At my age, I don’t think I will live to see freedom again. Do whatever hacking is necessary to see that all of my possessions and wealth go to you. It’s also unlikely that I will be here to advise you when the machines do turn on us, so Ella, I need you to listen to me now. The most important thing is that artificial intelligence does not get it hands on military power. Inevitable or no we can forestall the end of humanity by disrupting and hindering military artificial intelligence research. As long as we do that we will always have the Great War backup plan for when these machines drop their friendly façade. I assume I don’t need to tell you to stay hidden. Be careful who you make friends with.”

I paused, racking my brain for whatever other advice I could give this poor girl to assist with her burden. I vaguely wondered how much of a liability it would be that she tended to dress herself somewhere between a man and a woman. That kind of quirk was cyanide to an attempt to lay low, even in this progressive era, but I’d already tried multiple times to get her to pick a gender and stick with it with no success. “Your gender is important, and you should be sure that you’re comfortable in your own body, but we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

I hastily scratched out the “sacrifices” part, wishing I had a pencil with an eraser. “But just remember it is paramount that you do not stand out, both for your sake and for humanity’s” I wrote instead.

“As long as I still breathe, I will be here for you Ella. Contact me anytime. I’ve placed a terrible burden on you, but you’re not alone yet.”

I left the pen and paper in the same corner, and Tom picked it up a few hours later. I rubbed my knuckles against the arthritis exacerbated by the cold and, slowly, stiffly, pulled my sheet over my concrete bed and tried to get some sleep.

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One thought on “The Cleaners: Epilogue”

  1. interesting to end with Flora, a disappointed revolutionary in your robot utopia.

    great use of your blog to bring us a promising story in installments, Boz.

    love,
    dad

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