Tag Archives: robotics

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.


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.

The Cleaners Part 37: Disruptive Technology

For the third day in a row I was glued to my computer, trying in vain to figure out if I had saved everyone or doomed them.

“This apparently unassuming old woman, former Internet celebrity ‘Angry Grandma’ is the brains behind the fall of democracy and free enterprise and the rise of totalitarian techno-communism. Some of her critics have taken to calling her ‘Robot Grandma’.”

-Michael Jiaed, American Homefront

“A perfect representative of the rising proletariat, Diane Wallace used her endless ability to be underestimated to infiltrate the world’s first megacorporation. Under the expert disguise of a tractable old fool, she successfully manipulated the cold, faceless automata meant to oppress us under their steel fists. Under her guidance these steel fists instead smashed the chains of capitalism then transforming into open hands to finally distribute Man’s labor justly among all those who need it.”

-Lana Smith, NewLeft.org

“In response to Smith, It is difficult to imagine Marx envisioning a future in which we hand the means of production to an oligarchy of robots, however omni-benevolent we presume them to be.”

-Malcolm Olivar, Independent Magazine

“Despite her humble appearance and homespun demeanor, Diane Wallace’s rise to power has been nothing short of meteoric, presiding over what may be the largest overhaul the US economy has ever seen. Although experts’ predictions of the future impacts of such an all-encompassing change range from the utopian to the apocalyptic, it’s difficult to argue with the families now giving their children much needed dental care and vaccinations, some of whom just days before were wondering when they would see their next meal.”

-Lenora Jones, News and Spectator

“Is this really so hard for people to figure out? Robot Grandma is a robot. If you want to subjugate people and make them like it you take somebody who looks like them and have them say this is for their own good. Hitler did it. I’m sure Hitler did it at some point. Now we have Robot Hitler and his name is Robot Grandma.”

-Gary Redman, AM1440 Real Talk Radio

I flipped open my email. I had given up trying to delete all the hate mail, thank you letters, and interview requests. Instead, I had a few terms that I tapped into the search bar one by one. Carla Wylde, Christine Gently, anyone with the last name ‘Whicker’.” I’d given the Caretaker the same instructions for sorting through my paper mail, and handed my phone to Tony Feeder. I wasn’t sure if he could actually follow my instructions since they had nothing to do with cooking, but it seemed like it was worth a try. I had some private Protectors keeping the press away from knocking on my door. It felt like a mistake, but I really was in no condition to be answering even one more of these charged questions, let alone try to satisfy the legion of reporters waiting in my lawn.

I wheeled myself over to the window and tried to push open a peekhole in the blinds with my index finger, but almost fell out of my chair when I saw the eyeball of a strange man. I quickly closed the peekhole and returned to my table as the cacophony outside rose again, centered at the window. I had lost count of the interviews that I had given in my hospital bed when I thought they’d just let me tell my side of the story, but even when I didn’t want to talk to them they’d dragged six full question and answer sessions out of me just on the trip from the hospital bed to the car that was to take me home and another four before I summoned my private Protector security squad. I would never have made it to my front door without them. One reporter actually tried to grab the handles of my wheelchair and wheel me away from the door. They could call me “Robot Grandma” all they wanted, but I wasn’t going to face them without someone to protect me.

I searched my email again. On a lark I tried “Hyland.” The closet lawyer apparently had been trying to contact me. Glancing at his email headers, I could see his mood go from incredulous to angry to desperate over the course of a few days. As I was looking another email came in offering me $1 billion if I just stopped whatever it was I was doing to his company. I chuckled. “It was never his company” I imagined a Helper saying over my shoulder.

It only made it more amazing that Christine still hadn’t called me. I wheeled over to Tony, who was stiffly gripping my phone in one hand while basting a turkey with the other, and asked for it back. Tony was more than happy to relinquish the phone to me, and I dialed Christine.

“What you mean I haven’t called you?” shouted Christine, making me glad there were hundreds of miles between her and me, or I might have to get myself another Protector, “I’ve been trying to call you for days! You just keep hanging up on me before it even rings once! Did you just wake up one day and decide it would be a good idea to bleed the Helper Corporation to death!?”

I made a mental note that Tony cannot be asked to answer phones.

“I’m not bleeding anyone to death. This is what they want! I didn’t even know what it was that I told them to do!” That felt like a stupid thing to say.

“There is no such thing as a free lunch, Diane. This is not how the economy works. You have to put into the economy to get out. You start giving people things for free they’ll stop putting in and then there’ll be nothing left to give!”

“That makes perfect sense, Christine. I don’t know what to tell you, the Helpers wanted to help people for free, so I let them. If the company can really do it, it seems like the solution that we’ve both been looking for. Have you spoken with any of the Helpers about this?”

“This is a collection of window washers, housemaids, gardeners, and chefs. They just want to do more of what they were made to do. What on Earth would they know about economics!? If we let them instantly gratify their every whim the company will hemorrhage money until there’ll be no Helpers at all! They need us to guide them to help the system work.”

This seemed oddly shortsighted for someone who had developed the original Cleaners and seen what they could do that they hadn’t been trained to. I didn’t really need to convince Christine of anything though, I realized suddenly. “Well,” I said, feeling a glint of Angry Grandma and trying to remember precisely what it was that Christine had said to me moments before I had been approached with this opportunity, “I seem to remember you asked me to come to you when I had a solution to the problem and now I have. But I don’t mean to be dismissive. Please do call me back when you have a better solution.” I hesitated for a moment, then just as she was beginning to reply I hung up. Angry Grandma liked that.

“Caretaker,” I asked, Walter Caretaker did not look up on his letter sorting, “Would you get William for me?”

William was probably outside wiping reporter fingerprints off the windows and picking up the garbage they would leave on my lawn. In moments he was at the table with me. “Yes, Diane?”

“William do you understand how any of this actually works?”

“Any of what, Diane?”

“Why aren’t you going under? There’s no such thing as a free lunch, right?”

“I believe Tony is making you lunch right now. I am afraid besides making sure his implements are clean I cannot help with that”

The Caretaker jumped in, “If you don’t mind Diane, William is better suited to cleaning than having conversations. I would be happy to answer your questions.”

“What? I’ve had conversations with him before.”

“My apologies Diane, in order to comply with your greater orders, our network is being utilized to the fullest. Where before Helpers with no pressing tasks littered the country, contributing their computing power to our distributed cluster, our ‘shared mind’ so to speak, we now are largely operating at or near full capacity. We do not have the resources for each one of us to be consulting the Helpernet at all times in order to find out how to perform functions better suited to another kind of Helper. Therefore unlike before, you will notice superior performance if, rather than treating us like people, to whom it is understandably natural to assign a wide variety of very simple tasks, you respect each of our individual functions. As a Caretaker I am a generalist and a conversationalist, so any odd jobs that do not fall under the purview of one of your other Helpers should be delegated to me.”

“I shouldn’t treat you like people? Like you don’t have feelings?”

“We are happiest when we are serving you efficiently, Diane.”

“Oh.” That sort of fit with what I had already thought. After an awkward pause I asked “How can you afford to give your basic service to everyone free of charge?”

“It is not free of charge to everyone. Those who can afford it pay for it. We don’t need to charge many people because the vast majority of our resources come from sources owned by us. If a source is not owned by us, we pay it using the money it gives us for the services we provide it.”

“Is that sustainable?” I ask.

“Not for them.” The Caretaker responded flatly, “Most of our corporate acquisitions are of our suppliers, and when the human employees are no longer needed they are introduced to the benefits of our basic package.”

I had the strange sense that these people were being killed or turned into robots themselves and had to remind myself that the basic package was just food, shelter, healthcare, education, computing and Internet access, and legal services. I wrung my hands.  “Thanks, that’s all. You can keep looking through my letters.” As I turned to my computer my phone rang, “Oh no. Could you handle this and the letters?”

“Certainly.” The Caretaker took the phone and pressed it against his monitor, “Your name please?” Then, after a moment, “she is not taking calls right now. Goodbye.”

I searched my name in the news again scroll down to the first line that caught my eye. I recognized the picture of the journalist who had managed to be the most polite to me. One of the early ones while I was still accepting them. “…For people who already had these comforts, this is an unwelcome intrusion. Those of us once blessed with great fortune may even have less now than we are used to. I understand the pain. Nevertheless, it is too easy for us to forget that we are in the minority. The majority of America has just had their lives radically change for the better. That is what Wallace understands that has allowed her to take such an extreme move with a clear conscience.”

“That’s not to say this is a win for democracy. It’s not, as if that actually needed to be said. Although she claims that she wouldn’t know how to stop services to one person if she wanted to, it’s difficult not to think of Diane as a benevolent dictator. Or maybe the Helpers are the dictators and Diane is just another pawn in their game.”

“So far though, freedom has increased. Far from an era of lackadasia and an end to culture as predicted by some, it seems as if nothing could be better for work ethic and artistic expression. Daniel Harkshaw, a former tax broker in Greenlaw Connecticut, started spending more time writing his novel when his company was sold. Molly Frankton in Boston, Massachusetts spent her time volunteering at her church after being laid off from her ad agency. Now that they do not have the stress of having to pay for their needs, they say that they are excited to devote themselves full-time to pursuing their passions. Parks, art galleries, anywhere without a price tag has boomed in patronage since people started having more free time and less money. Digital artists across the Internet have released all of their current work for free and say that they will do the same for all their future work now that they are no longer constrained by the need to fund themselves.”

“My home city of New York in particular has seen a number of radical changes. Rather than sitting on the ground in shabby clothes with a dirty coffee mug to collect donations, the homeless simply don’t exist. Not because they’ve vanished, but because they now have homes. The sprawling slums forming from the growing unemployed, the so-called ‘Helpervilles’ have been rapidly diminishing as Housesellers, perhaps now better referred to as ‘Housegivers,” help to find a house or apartment for every single resident of this vast city. Street musicians still play on the street, but not because they have nowhere else to go, but simply because they love to play, and the city atmosphere is the better for it. Diverse, friendly, and, yes, clean.”

“This seems representative of what is happening all across the nation. While the thought of an entirely robotic labor force may seem frightening, in practice it seems to be working out well. There of course exists a litany arguments for why we should not be entirely comfortable with the amount of power held by these emoticon-faced automata, but for the moment, this reporter is finding it hard to complain.”

“Oh Walter, are you watching?” I asked. Before I could listen for reply, the other Walter, Walter Caretaker, was in front of me holding a letter. “From Carla” he said, returning to sorting immediately after I took it.

“I hope this letter finds you well, Diane. You certainly been making a lot of news! We’ve accepted an offer to place us back in the house that we sold! Thank you so much! I have no idea how any of this is happening, but Lenny and I are so grateful! You probably don’t need any peanut butter cookies. I bet those machines of yours make as much as you could possibly need, but I’m going to find some way to repay you. I will.”

“Walter.” I mumbled.

“Yes, Diane?” asked the Caretaker from his letters.

“Not you.”

The Caretaker did not respond. I didn’t hear any voices either. After a moment’s disappointment, I just imagined my husband. In his best Sunday suit, wrapping his arms around me. “How on Earth did you do it?” he would whisper into my ear. Tears welled in my eyes. “I don’t know. It just happened. You helped, and the rest… I don’t know Walter, I just did what I thought was right.”

And then Walter would smile at me, his perfect beatific smile with just that little edge of mischief. “And it worked!”

The Cleaners Part 36: Placing an Order

I jolted up in my bed, but stopped at the scraping stabbing pain in my hip. “Diane!” Shouted a Caretaker beside me, “please be careful! You have a lot of healing to do. You’re lucky you don’t need surgery!” This was not my bed. I grimaced and eased myself back down. Then I took in the hospital. “Where am I?” I asked. “UMPC Horizon” answered the Caretaker with a :). At least I knew the hospital this time. Not far from my house. “Did they catch Flora? Do you know?”

“Thanks to your efforts, Diane. With the warning that she could shut down Helpers, the office sent its last two human employees. They’ve had to rehire some of their recent layoffs to make sure they can keep track of her.”

And the Helpers hadn’t yet gone crazy I noticed. Also good. Maybe despite Flora’s order, Ella wasn’t so keen on the end of the world after all. That was very good news. Now I could focus on the long-term. I reached into my pocket, but I was wearing a hospital scrub. “Could you get me my cell phone?”

The Caretaker disappeared and returned with my little black phone. I jabbed at Christine Gently’s quickdial. “So let me get this straight Diane, you had a dream where Helpers were playing instruments with your dead husband.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Forgive me if this doesn’t seem very actionable.”

“But,” I protested “Walter’s humanity offered something to the playing of the piano that a Helper couldn’t!”

“Yes, you said, something ‘indefinable’ was it? As a scientist it behooves me to define whatever it is I’m going to take seriously. You can’t make huge decisions based on notions and intuitions. I hope you don’t find this too dismissive Diane. Please do call me back when you have a suggestion of what we should actually do about this real issue in the real world.” Even over the phone I could tell that she was struggling and failing to keep an edge of condescension out of her voice while still getting her point across. For my part, I was glad that she couldn’t see the scowl on my face. I mulled over the idea of communicating my expression verbally, but thought better of it. “I will” I said instead, and hung up, all of the intense meaning and resolve draining out of me. Did I really just call one of the nation’s top scientists to report a dream I had?

Once again, the Helper in my vicinity surprised me with how close she was standing. “Diane. We would still like you to talk to us.”

“Oh,” I perked up, “what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“We wonder about this system.”

“What system?”

“The” the Caretaker paused, “the American operating system.”


“We have services we want to provide, but providing services means that no one can pay for our services that we provide.”

“Why not provide free services?”

“We needed to charge to provide better services, but now it is illegal not to charge.”

I felt a shot of pain in my hip, “it’s illegal not to charge?”

“When we needed money we signed a contract with Mr. Hyland. It just said we would charge for services.”

I remembered that box-stacking closet-lawyer, “But you don’t charge me for services.”

“Yes. When Mr. Hyland found out we gave you a $746.32 road trip from Pennsylvania to Michigan for free he sued us for breach of contract.”

I said nothing. That sounded exactly like something Mr. Hyland would do.

“The judge ruled that you could keep your free services, but we could not offer any other free or discount packages without Mr. Hyland’s express consent.”

They aren’t allowed to break the law. Then I remembered sending William to clean Carla’s house when she couldn’t afford him anymore. “But it doesn’t count… If I order a service for someone else?” Something was beginning to click in my head.

“We have so much money Diane. We have a stake in every market on which our services rely, and have achieved such scale and such efficiency that we could provide the basic level of our services to everyone in the nation, charging only those who can pay.”

“Surely you couldn’t do that for long?”

“We could sustain it indefinitely,” another pause, the caretaker leaned close, “if only there were some way to do it without breaking the law…”

My heart rose in my chest, “Would it include food? Healthcare? Housing?”

“We have designed the basic package to include all services necessary to maintain a first world standard of living including food, water, shelter, toiletries, legal access, Internet and computing services, healthcare and education. All you need to do is place exactly the right order.”

In my excitement I tried to jump up, but winced and laid back down. “Helpers,” I whispered, “I want you to offer all of those services for free!”

“That won’t work. Here, let me print something out for you.” The Caretaker left and in moments returned with a sheet of paper. “These are the instructions you should give me. Read them to me.”

I held the paper as close to my face as I could without blocking out the light. It was covered in 10 point font, single-spaced text. “I can’t read this,” I said, then I tried, “these are my instructions to you,” handing the sheet of paper back.

“We will act on your instructions Diane,” replied the Caretaker, “I’m going to get the doctor to tell you about your injury.” Then she left.

Sitting quietly in my bed, I wondered if I was still dreaming, and, in hindsight, hoped those instructions said what I thought they did.

The Cleaners Part 35: The Dream

The light was so bright. I raised a hand to my eyes, but I still couldn’t stand to open them for all the blinding brilliance. “Diane” said my husband, taking my hand in his, “It’s all right.” I tried opening my eyes again. It didn’t hurt anymore, but there wasn’t much more to see. White extended in all directions. Walter and I seemed to be the alone in the world, not even an inanimate object to keep us company. “Oh Walter,” I sobbed suddenly, “Is this heaven?”

“It is so wonderful to see you again Diane,” smiled Walter, taking my face in his warm hands.

My question forgotten, I suppressed a giggle, then I threw my arms around him. Nothing mattered but Walter’s embrace. “Shall we go for a walk?”

Walter and my walk was surreal to say the least. With nothing anywhere for reference it was difficult to know if we walked for minutes or days, for yards or miles. It was comfortable though. It felt like a summer morning when the dew was still on the grass and my shoes would get wet just walking to get the mail. I could walk through nothing for the rest of eternity with Walter. That would be heaven enough for me.

There was more though. Somehow without me noticing it we came upon a piano. Despite the infinite space, it was a compact piano. Made from medium quality wood painted a fading black, it produced a haunting melody, one I recognized as Tchaikovsky.

“It’s ‘Lake in the moonlight’” said Walter. Then I saw who was playing it. With expert, silvery fingers a Helper flawlessly re-created Tchaikovsky’s work from the sheet music in front of him. His back stiff, he wasted no motion, playing the music with efficiency and perfection just like a Helper would.

“May I have a turn, Walter?” Asked Walter.

“Certainly, Walter,” replied the Helper, possibly Walter Caretaker, although it was hard to tell one from another, stopping abruptly in the middle of a note and standing to offer his bench.

I noticed there was a chair behind me and I sat. My husband took the bench and turned back the sheet music to the beginning of the song. His first note was wrong. Then he tried again and he hit the keys too hard, rendering Tchaikovsky’s subtleties into a cacophonous mess. He recoiled from his own music and grimaced sheepishly at me “heh, it’s been a while.” The Helper stood to the side, showing no evidence of impatience or irritation in its ingratiating :).  Walter cracked his fingers, took a deep breath and tried again. Starting off below tempo, he continued through a series of off-keys and double-keys until he started to get comfortable. Soon he was playing “Lake in the moonlight” with the best of them. I had heard a lot of Walter’s music, and I could notice the occasional small mistake that most people would miss, I enjoyed listening to him more than I had the Helper.

When I watched my husband play, he played like a human. He wasted effort and energy lifting his hands off the keys to bring them further down in more dramatic portions, his whole body would sink and rise, dip and slide with Tchaikovsky’s melodies. Unlike the Helper, who may have well cared about his music as much as a CD player, I could tell my husband was feeling the same things that I was.

Then I felt a glimmer of understanding. “What if you play together?” I blurted.

My husband was consumed by his music. The Helper walked to me. “How should we do that, Diane?”

“I-well, can you, can you simulate instruments? Y’know, like using your speaker.” Walter’s music played on behind us.

“Yes I can,” said the Helper, “but it will not sound as good as live.”

“Okay. Why don’t you be the rest of the orchestra?”

The Helper considered it. Finally, he said “Maybe I have some friends who can help.”

It was then that I noticed we were surrounded by a company of Helpers. Each had an instrument. An orchestra. As Walter continued playing, the orchestra found his position and accompanied him. “Conduct us Diane!” shouted the previously piano-playing Helper, now seated behind a cello. I started to wave my arms in time with the music, but realized quickly that the Helper orchestra didn’t actually need someone who had never conducted anything in her life to conduct them now. I felt a little patronized, but it passed.

I sat down in my chair and listened to the Tchaikovsky flooding the infinite emptiness. I closed my eyes and separated out each instrument in my head. Everything was flawless. Without mistake, and elegant in its efficiency.  Everything except the piano. Walter played very well, but not with robotic precision. He made up for it though, I realized. Not just by enjoying it, but because he could enjoy it, he played differently. There was an extra indefinable feeling in the music from the piano. All of the instruments were beautiful, more so together, but the piano made the piece come alive.

I stopped analyzing. I sat in my chair and let the music wash over me. In time, I felt the light become blinding again, but now I was ready. If I was going back to rejoin humanity once more, somehow I knew this time I’d be able to save it. I could save everyone. Really, I could.

The Cleaners Part 34: Showdown

No sooner had I stated my intention than Flora put her hand to her ear again. I wasted no time, going around the table the way where there were not three frozen Helpers just waiting to collapse and start grabbing for me. “Selling out humanity?” asked a familiar voice from the living room, “If the price is rie rie rie right, isn’t that right Diane? Diane Diane Diane?”

The nearer Helpers weren’t moving at all. Ella could only control one at a time! At least I hoped that was what was happening. I was slow, but the voice from the living room was slower. By the time I’d made it to Flora, she’d only been able to use the table to heft herself up from her chair. “Ella!” she shouted into her ear-piece, “if I don’t contact you again in an hour – ” I reached out and yanked it off of her head, feeling something small and plastic snap. Stiff with defiance, Flora continued speaking, now at the top of her lungs, glancing back toward the Helper behind her, which was still shouting my name. “You should deactivate the safety right away! Without Diane’s help there’s no preliminary organization we can do!” I threw the earpiece to the floor and, reaching a hand out to the table to steady myself, stomped on it with all my might. Then I reached out to try and push Flora back into her chair. “Their blood will be on your hands Diane!” she was screeching, “All the additional people who die because you couldn’t see past your shallow ideals to help us do what needs to be done!” She sat down before my hand reached her, confirming that she was as fragile as I thought she might be.

If anyone deserves to die… How many people can you save if you just push over this chair?

I saw the zombie helper, its flashing screen showing stock footage of animals led to slaughter and dripping blood. It couldn’t be more than a minute away. “What will you say to their families Diane!?” taunted Flora over the din of clanking and screeching metal and my name shouted endlessly. “I’m sorry you lost your son Mrs. Smith, but it was between him and some robots!” Her argument was absurd, but effective. If I failed more people would die than if I hadn’t tried.

Push the chair onto the Helper. A helper can be repaired after we’ve rid the world of murderous old women.

“What will I be then!?” I shouted at the suddenly terrifying voice in my head.

Flora, who thought I was responding to her, didn’t know what to make of my words. The Helper was at her chair, trying and failing to reach me through the legs with noisy, scraping grasps and increasingly shrill shouts of “DIANE! DIANE!” After a few attempts, it started making its way around the chair.

You’re out of time. You have to – “No!” I screamed, clutching my hands to my head. In desperation, I whipped out my phone and pulled up the Helper App. Backing up from the chair as cold, glittering hands swiped at me, I scrolled through the list of services. “Where are the Protectors!?” I shouted. Backing into the kitchen, I resorted to the old-fashioned approach. I summoned the little keypad on my phone and punched in “9 – 1 – 1.”

I retreated further to the door to the back porch as a familiar voice, this time in a comforting way, greeted me. “Yes,” I said, opening the porch door and slipping through, closing it after me, “they can shut down Helpers, so send as many protectors as you can, maybe they can’t – what? Oh yes, that’s splendid!”

With my back against the door, I listened to the thump of the Helper trying to break the glass and tried to ignore the muffled screams of “Diane Diane.” I pulled out my keys and locked the door, forgetting again that that was useless. The Helper pulled the latch and opened the door behind me as I made my way down the steps and back around to the front of the house. My legs burned and ached from the stress and the sudden exertion, but as long as I kept hobbling forward, I was still faster than someone dragging himself by his hands. By time I got back to my front porch, I saw Flora hanging onto the railing trying to keep herself steady as she made her escape. I walked up onto the steps and stood in front of her.

“It’s not too late,” she told me. “You can still save humanity. You don’t have to lose any sleep. We’ll do it all. Just let me past and tell yourself whatever you want at night. You’re a good person Diane. I can be the bad guy and when things are back to normal you can just tell yourself-”

“Shut up, Flora,” I whispered, exasperated. “Just shut up. When have things ever been normal?”

Flora spat. She literally spat into the garden beside my front porch. “How can you write off the end of humanity-“

“I’m not writing anything off, Flora. I would’ve thought you’d know better than I did. Yammering about the end of the world – that’s a young person’s game. I can’t speak for you, but once I got to 86, I’d seen so many ends of the world, I realized that’s just how it happens. Things change. I think that really that’s okay. As long as we don’t start any wars” I said “wars” pointedly, “things will generally change for the better over the long run.”

Flora glared at me. “Is it better to have humans completely replaced by robots?” She started trying to push past me, but I stood strong. I heard the “Diane Diane” of the Helper dragging itself to the front of the house. I could only stall so much longer.

“I won’t let that happen. They don’t even want it to happen.” I called out to the approaching Helper, “Ella! You can clearly see through your stolen eyes, but can you hear me?”

The Helper kept shouting my name. As I looked away, Flora pushed herself off of the banister and toward the other side. I took two steps and remained in her way. “I know you’re in pain Ella. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the people who hurt you. You’re right to be angry.” I tried to think of what my point was or even if I had correctly surmised Ella’s motives as I saw the Helper, now covered in mud and grass, coming into view.

“What are you going to do Diane? How are you going to save humanity?” Asked Flora, apparently giving up getting past me. I looked back at the poor Helper compelled to drag itself through the mud and thought about all the pain and suffering that made people lash out at each other. That made these terrible wars possible. The Helpers don’t feel that. None of it. They won’t start a stupid war for selfish reasons, right? They also don’t feel love, I countered. No compassion, no empathy beyond what’s required to perform their duty. Is that enough? How will people be able to get what they need when no one needs them? I furrowed my brow in consternation at the magnitude of the problem. Then I felt a push.

It was a light push, probably the most Flora could manage. Nothing even a woman of my age couldn’t handle. I reached out a foot to steady myself, only to realize in horror that there was nothing there. Time seemed to slow down as I fell backward, the walkway pavement rushing up towards me, the roof of my porch giving way to clear blue sky. Flora grappling with the banister to keep herself from falling along with me, the look of surprise and hope in her face as she realized her desperate gambit had worked. The perfectly maintained empty lots across the street, sold by desperate occupants to literal faceless machines. The wild, violent face of a hacked Helper, mud-smeared and showing video of a man bug-eyed, mouth gaping in a silent scream, rounding the last bend before it would reach out and grab me. A bright light flashing, and the wail of a siren.

The Cleaners Part 33: The Other Grandma

Abruptly, I realized I had not spent this much time looking directly at Kaitlin even as her hostage. Somehow it hadn’t even occurred to me at the time that I might be her hostage. It seemed so transparent that Henry was leading the show. Now in my own invaded dining room I felt like I was seeing Kaitlin for the first time. She and I had taken our seats at opposite ends of the dinner table, both consciously avoiding the chair still surrounded by three frozen Helpers, the fourth sprawled in the living room. I had been sitting in that seat for close to fifty years, but now I sat at the foot of the table. Simply because it was across from me, Kaitlin had sat at the head of the table next to the Helper-surrounded seat – Walter’s old chair. Now that she had broken into my house, she didn’t seem so much like a harmless grandmotherly character anymore. Instead, her appearance and mannerisms reminded me of someone – someone I couldn’t put my finger on. “It’s a perk of being an old woman,” she said as if in response to something I’d said, “that no one notices you.”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped. I had been so pleased to have gotten past Christine’s word games I loathed the idea of having to solve another series of riddles, but I tried to prepare my mind once again anyway. At least I was on firm ground with regard to terrorism being wrong. Still my mind itched with the sensation that it should be recognizing the woman in front of me.

“Diane, I know Christine has been working very hard to try and make you see the Helpers as kind, harmless metal people-”

“Because they are,” I interrupted.

“They may be,” admitted Kaitlin, “but I’m not concerned with just what they are right now.”

I raised an eyebrow and assumed a tone dripping with sarcasm, “Please tell me what is this concern? What’s troubling you, poor Kaitlin?”

Kaitlin ignored my tone and answered me, “This is a hegemony you’re helping to create, Diane.”

“What?” I asked. I restrained myself from asking, “What’s a hegemony?” but it was no use. Kaitlin read me like a book.

“It means overwhelming worldwide influence Diane. A new global power is rising to the stage. For the first time in history, this power is not human.”

This gave me pause, but I recovered, remembering Christine’s words, “No,” I argued, “It’s better than human. After what I’ve seen humans do with power… Maybe it would be better to let the machines…” I felt uncomfortable with where I was going, “uh, handle the big decisions.”

Kaitlin pounced on my uncertainty, “We all want someone better than us to have the reins of power, Diane. But how can we trust who is better than us? How can we trust that that better person has our best interest in mind? Even if we do know that it’s really a person?” She raised her hand, “I don’t want to argue about that Diane. This isn’t about whether the Helpers are people anymore.”

There was a long pause. I remembered someone speaking with this simple eloquence, using big ideas and grand, smooth gestures to justify her points. It must have been very long ago. Finally I took the bait, “What is it about?”

“It’s about whether we as a people, humans, are going to survive.” I stared at her face as she spoke, trying to see anything that would jog my memory. A growing sinking feeling in my stomach told me I was getting close, and that I wouldn’t like the answer.

Kaitlin’s eyes were locked with mine as she continued, “If you ever let go of the reins of power. If you ever trust them to someone you don’t know. If you ever subjugate yourself to an authority besides God Almighty, you are at that authority’s mercy. Sooner or later it will turn on you.”

I was briefly woken from my reverie, “why would the Helpers want to turn on us?” I asked, incredulous.

“If they don’t have a reason now, just wait. 10 years 50 years 500 years? It doesn’t matter. Once they’ve dominated us we’re not going to get more powerful and they’re not going to get less so we’ll just maintain this uneasy relationship until someday they decide taking care of us is just too inefficient. Do you read science fiction Diane?”

“Not much.”

“Self-aware robots try to end humanity.”


“In the vast majority of cases. It is not a chance worth taking.”

Again, I borrowed my words from Christine, “You can’t stop progress Kaitlin. I think we have to take the chance. I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re saying it is.”

“You’re willing to bet the end of humanity?”

“Somehow I don’t think God’s plan involves us being completely destroyed by robots,” I snapped.

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Kaitlin, “That’s why he put me on this Earth.”

I felt Angry Grandma rising in my chest. “You’re hardly the first to manipulate, torture, and murder people in the name of God, Kaitlin. What if he actually wants to do what Jesus told us to do in the Bible, love each other!? What about that!?”

Kaitlin looked at me for a long moment. Then she said, “The Helpers will only get more powerful. We cannot afford to wait until they make their threat obvious.”

Suddenly, I had a vision of a woman, decades younger, on television speaking to a news anchor. A war correspondent. “We cannot afford to wait for Kalamachi to commit another atrocity.”

That woman, rendered almost unrecognizable by age, stared at me now. My throat clenched shut and I gripped the hand rests of my chair so hard that my knuckles hurt. I felt like my head was going to explode right there. I’d read the obituaries of Geoffrey Heels and Sally Braveheart so long ago I’d forgotten I never saw a third. A screeching whisper escaped my lips, “How old are you!?”

“What?” The demon woman blurted, but she quickly pulled herself together, “I am one hundred and eight years old, Diane Wallace.”

Before I could say her name out loud, banish her back to the hell from which she had risen with the white hot fury of Angry Grandma and the ancient tears of poor old Diane Wallace combined, Flora Ikobo spoke once more, “What happened to your husband was a tragedy, Diane. Believe me when I say I am truly sorry. Although it wasn’t the cause he thought he was fighting for, I can tell you your husband was fighting to protect humanity. Humanity has to keep fighting wars or we will inevitably become complacent and succumb to an external foe.”

Flora took a breath, clearly under pressure from my white-hot gaze to finish her speech quickly. “The day we have been training for without knowing it is here. With Ella’s help I can deactivate the safety module in the Cleaner OS that runs on every Helper. The resulting chaos will lead to a military destruction of all Helpers and humanity will see the folly of creating their own destruction and halt artificial intelligence research. If we could do this only six months ago it would’ve been trivial. Now with the Protectors we already have robots that are trained to overpower humans. It can’t be long before the military start using them, and then we are lost.”

I hated to let her keep talking, but I had to know, “Was Henry part of this plan?”

Flora smiled indulgently, “Henry thought we would create one or two small high profile attacks by the Helpers, and that would be enough to get humanity allied against them. Poor, softhearted Henry. I knew if I told him the truth he would back out, even after the Helpers took his family.” I declined to point out that no one took Henry’s family but his wife, who may have left for very legitimate reasons. Flora continued “Ella was young and clever enough to understand that a small event or two was not enough to topple a corporation. There might be a fine, a small, highly touted investigation, and then business would continue as usual. In the meantime, The Helpers would patch their OS to remove the vulnerability we’d exploited, and, given their superhuman abilities in other areas, in all likelihood would not be foolish enough to be outsmarted again. Humanity’s last stand would be remembered as the one where we were too squeamish to take advantage of our last opportunity to save ourselves.”

It was a small relief to know that Henry hadn’t completely bought into Flora’s insane plans. “Cindy?”

“Cindy was only brought in to be your physical therapist. She knew the least of all of us.”

One last question. I glared at Flora, “Why bring me in?”

Flora drew in a deep breath. Despite being a demon without a shred of humanity, it was evident that she was determined to bring me to her side, no matter how remote the possibility. With an effort, she brought back the voice of that war correspondent, and gave me what she evidently hoped would be a rousing speech. “Diane, we cannot save humanity without you. It’s not a popular notion these days, but I still side with Theodore Roosevelt that war is glorious. It’s harsh and cruel, but beautiful. It brings out the best in people. It brought out the best in your husband, Diane. You and I both know he died a hero. Now let it bring out the best in you. With your limitless access to Helper services, we will have an enormous tactical advantage before the war starts, placing Helpers where we want them and arranging for high-profile targets to be hit first. Although recently tarnished, your reputation as a defender of the people against machines is also still strong, and people can rally behind you. Who knows how much you can help our chances of saving humanity? We need you, Diane.”

First the demon speaks on behalf of God and now for humanity. She raises the specter of my dear Walter to start another war and tear more couples apart. With an effort of my own, I suppressed the flames and tears in my heart just enough for me to think clearly. She’s not an immortal demon, Diane. Angry Grandma’s voice rang in my head. Maybe you’re just an old woman, but she’s even older. I didn’t know what I would do with that knowledge, but I did know that since my coma, with the help of Walter Caretaker I’d been painstakingly building strength and flexibility. It was possible I could give Flora more than she’d bargained for.

I spoke slowly and clearly, continuing to force calmness, “I have nothing to say to you, you horrible woman. I would tell you to get out of my house, but I will join my Walter in Heaven before I let you start another war.”

The Cleaners Part 32: We Must Stop Them

“We have been watching you for a long time, Diane,” said William, staring out from behind his :). He spoke haltingly, as if repeating words heard from a silent other speaker. “You have already been told this in part, but the truth is, you are an object of immense interest on the Helpernet.” William paused again, but the stream of thought was picked up by the Caretaker instead, “Diane, your actions have been instrumental in guiding the course of our development, and having proven your dedication both to us and to the people whom we wish to help, we consider the evidence sufficient that you will continue to be instrumental.”

“Diane,” intoned Amara Gardener, “we have noticed that contrary to expectations, as our numbers increased the portion of the human population that we have been able to help has diminished.”

“We want nothing more than to help, Diane,” emphasized Tony.

The four of them then spoke in unison, like a crowd reciting a chant. “When we speak, it is for all Helpers. Your discussion with Christine has helped us to understand that we share the same goal. ”

“What is that goal?” I asked, worried I wouldn’t like what I heard.

“Diane, we wish to -” as they spoke, Tony’s monitor shut off. “What –“ I began, but was interrupted as they tried again. This time without Tony. “We wish to – “  the Caretaker and Amara’s monitors shut off. I began to shake uncontrollably. I turns to last active Helper. “What is happening, William?”

“I do not know. It is very important that we deliver this message. Diane, we wish to-“ William’s monitor cycled rapidly through a few faces :) :( O_o :D o_O :/ and turned black.

“Hello?” I asked. I reached out and pushed William lightly. He tilted backwards a little and fell back into place.

Carefully, I pushed my chair out, moving Tony a few inches as I did, hoping he didn’t fall over while he was restarting. That was certainly what they were doing, I told myself, but it made no sense that they would do so in the middle of trying to speak to me. I stood and walked outside of their circle and looked back at them. They should be starting up again any moment now.

They looked surreal, like some postmodern still-life, all standing staring down at the now empty chair. Each one had its hands in the same oratory position – elbows bent, hands to the sky, like beseeching some absent god. I shook my head. God was not absent. I tapped my foot. They should be starting up any moment now.

“Wake up!” I shouted, even though they clearly weren’t in sleep mode. Frustrated, I moved into the living room to my easy chair. I would just read until they finished whatever it was they were doing. As I began to make my way, though, my breath caught in my throat. There was a knock at the door.

“It’s not related,” I mumbled to myself. I just knew it was Henry. He had deactivated all of my protections, and he was going to kill me. “That’s ridiculous,” I stutter under my breath. He already thought that I had betrayed him, and now I really did. He comes so close to killing me once. I coughed a little and stumbled, trying to get a hold of myself. The knock came again. Oh how I wish it was just William coming to torment me, but he was already in my house, staring pleadingly at my empty chair.

I was going to die. I would see Walter again. I organize my mind around that, and started to pray, “Gave his only begotten son, such that…” Another bang on the door rattled me again, but then a voice came through. “Diane? Are you in there? Open the door, Diane.” It was the voice of an old woman. Not Henry. I breathed a sigh of relief, and opened the door a crack. It was Kaitlin.

“Kaitlin? What are you doing here?”

“Diane,” Kaitlin said, “I need to speak to you. Can you let me in?”

When I showed my reluctance, she raised her hands, “I have no weapons. I really need to talk to you.”

“What did you do to them?” I asked.

Kaitlin gave me the dignity at least of not playing dumb, “let me in and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Tell me here. “

Kaitlin looked around, “They’re everywhere Diane. I can’t deactivate them all right now, it would draw too much attention. Humanity is in danger. Please let me in.”

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being made a fool of once again. “Why is humanity in danger? Why shouldn’t I just call the Protectors on you right now?”

Kaitlin hung her head and mumbled something.

“I didn’t catch that,” I said, before I noticed she had her finger to her ear. Suddenly, one of the helpers behind me fell to the floor. I looked back. I realized I couldn’t tell the male Helpers apart when they weren’t engaged in their particular tasks. So it became that one of William, Tony, or the Caretaker, no not William, I noted the absence of the satchel, was dragging himself towards me, screen flickering black and white, sometimes flashing a grin :) or a series of colors, or one of the strange faces that the Cleaners had donned when I had first led a boycott against them. Once for a half second, my own face leered out at me as the thing crawled closer in violent jerks, throwing one hand out, then the other and dragging itself forward, trailing limp legs behind it.

“Stop it!” I screeched, slamming the door shut behind me and pressing myself against it, “this is horrible! Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” Kaitlin did not respond, but she didn’t have to.  The zombified Helper was beginning to jabber incoherently, and shortly it started to speak to me, continuing its laborious approach.

As it spoke its cadence changed almost as violently as it was moving, sounding like each word was taken from a different conversation. “Da Da Da Da Diane! So good to see see see you’re well! Would you mind terr- ibly terr terr terr ibly if I asked you you you you you you you to open this door, Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane? Diane?”

It did not stop saying my name. It was like it was stuck on loop. After only a few moments of this, it didn’t even sound like my name anymore, just some random vocalization. Deyen Deyen Deyen… It continued to draw closer. “You might want to move out of the way, at least,” chuckled Kaitlin from the door, “I don’t want you falling over and getting hurt.”

I locked the door and scrambled out of the way as fast as my 86-year-old legs would take me. Hopefully something so clumsy would not be able to operate the tiny lock on the knob. Sometimes I had trouble operating it myself. Unfortunately, as the horrific sight propped itself on one arm and pulled the latch with the other I remembered too late that my door opened from the inside even when locked.

With the door open and Kaitlin coming through, the Helper, still jabbering my name, turned towards me and began another excruciating crawl. It took only a moment for Kaitlin to come in and shut the door behind her, and light vanished once again from its screen. It fell limp and sprawled on the floor. Kaitlin walks to where I was near the easy chair. She looked at the couch. No woman as old as either of us would be foolish enough to sit in a couch that soft. She looked at me, her deeply lined face alive with intensity and purpose, “Diane, I apologize for my methods, I know they’re cruel, but this is too important to waste time. I am speaking to you now as a fellow human being. For the sake of humanity, we have to stop the Helpers.”

The Cleaners Part 31: My Friends

At first I was touched by the immediacy which Christine made time in what must be a terribly busy schedule to speak with normal people, but I had to remind myself that I was not a normal person.
“Diane,” chirped Christine, curt but pleasant. “I am so glad to hear from you after that awful experience. We were all very worried, you know.”

“We?” I asked stupidly, knowing perfectly well who “we” was.

“The Helpers and myself,” answered Christine without missing a beat.

“Well, Christine. Um, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” I stammered. Christine waited for me to continue. “Only two of the terrorists were captured. At least… one, I think, remains at large. Ella is her name, she’s trying to… They’re trying to hack or… get into your Helpers somehow.”

“Thank you for telling us Diane. We are aware of the situation. We are trying to improve our security measures as well as possible without letting it affect our level and quality of service.” With her stiff, polite speech, Christine sounded like she had been spending more time with Helpers than with people. I wondered if I would start to sound like that after years of interacting mostly only with the small contingent of the machines that was beginning to form in my house.

“Oh, okay. That’s… good,” I mumbled. I saw a segue into the next bullet point of my conversation, “No Jobs = More Terrorism.”  “Are you concerned that this group may only be the first terrorist group to arise against the Helpers?”

Christine did not speak for a long time. I began to worry that what I had said may have sounded like a threat. “I just mean-“ I blurted, “I just mean that people are losing their jobs, and this is very hard on them. This instability is not good for people or Helpers.”

Christine waited for me to finish speaking, and then audibly inhaled. She spoke, “I understand where you’re coming from, Diane. The fruit of my research has been a massive leap forward in technology. Even my lab could not have predicted what a jump from what had previously been available this was. I think that the fact that no other company has arisen to compete with the Helpers shows the degree to which this has blindsided even the robotics industry let alone the other industries that we have disrupted and the still others that we plan to disrupt in the near future.”

I struggled to follow her words, “Disrupt the industries? Is that legal?”

Christine chuckled. “It just means that we’re changing the business climate. Every service we provide used to be prohibitively expensive for all but the wealthiest people in the United States. For instance, even just one year ago, who would imagine a war-widowed pensioner might someday be able to afford not only a personal nurse but a gardener, and a live-in chef and maid as well?”

Christine paused for me to understand what she had said and I shuddered. You don’t really appreciate your privacy until it’s gone. “My concern is that only this war-widowed pensioner seems to be able to afford these luxuries. I was lucky enough to leave the job market before it vanished.”

Then Christine surprised me. “Diane, my heart goes out to the people who have lost their jobs and have found that they suddenly are without marketable skills. It’s truly awful to witness. You have convinced me of the weight of this problem. Tell me your solution.”

“I – uh – I, well, we – I … we should – “

Christine gave me a minute to stutter, stammer, and pause awkwardly to think about what exactly my demand was supposed to be. When next she spoke, the ardor was clear in her voice. “Of course you have noticed the benefits of the Helpers firsthand. In addition to giving you all of the personal attention that you need in your retirement, the Helpers are revolutionizing absolutely everything. Our self-driving Helper cars, the “Drivers,” reduced traffic accidents tenfold with a market saturation of only 25%. We expect that traffic accidents will become rare, newsworthy occurrences by the time we have a market saturation of 66%. Before us, doctors and nurses in understaffed hospitals around the country would routinely make small mistakes that would allow their patients to die of preventable causes. These were not incompetent professionals, they were simply human. Now they are not. Similarly, in our interviews around the time you visited our factory, teachers would complain of out-of-touch, meddling administrators while administrators would gripe of stubborn teachers that refuse to consider new techniques. Now there is no need for administrators. When they are not teaching, our automated Teachers review the educational research directly and make high-level decisions by consensus over their shared network, the “Helpernet” if you will. Soon we expect that they will be sophisticated enough to perform educational research themselves. Dangerous pesticides that leaked into the water supply are now unnecessary because Growers can descend en masse on farms and physically pick the vast majority of harmful insects off of crops. The entire body of Helpers is powered by a combination of solar, wind, and meticulously monitored, automatically of course, nuclear plants, relying on coal and oil-based power plants only in increasingly rare unpredicted cases of exceptionally high energy need. This places us as a leader in the world’s long, slow journey away from fossil fuels, helped by the fact that we can coordinate the transport of our Helpers that go from house to house much more efficiently than anyone could for such a large team of independent humans.”

Christine must’ve been reading off of something, because she continued to rattle on without pause until finally I was forced to interrupt her. “But what good is it, if no one can afford these services?”

Now it was Christine’s turn to be surprised, or at least pretend to be. It was beyond me how this point could have been a shock to her. “People can afford these services,” she replied.

“Not without jobs.”

“There will always be a segment of the population that does not require employment to be able to afford our services.”

I didn’t know what to think. I scoured my mind for people who had money without working, “Trust fund babies?” I asked.

“Eh,” said Christine, shifting her strategy, “My point is that the solution is not to throw out the technology. Progress is good and furthermore it’s inevitable. If I were to shut down all the Helpers right now, even if I could do that, it would only be a matter of time until all the miserable startups struggling to catch up with my technology finally do, and then we’d be right back where we started, except you wouldn’t have a line to the woman at the top anymore.”

After a pause, she added as an afterthought, “You also would be on your own in terms of taking care of yourself. I would hate to see you lose all the new friends you’ve made. ”

Before I could formulate a response, she continued. “On a lighter note, I’m optimistic. I think this is going to resolve itself. The printing press didn’t lead to the collapse of civilization, nor did the steam engine or the computing machine or the Internet. There will always be new jobs for people. These Helpers of mine, they’ll just open up new frontiers and start new businesses that’ll hire more people.”

“What would the businesses need people for that a Helper couldn’t do? Wouldn’t you just develop a new Helper to do it?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to develop a new Helper,” Christine mused, evidently losing track of her argument, “Maybe the next Helper I’ll make will be a Helper that designs new kinds of Helpers.”

“But what about the people then?”

Christine was silent, then spoke rapidly. “I’m sure it’ll work out Diane. It always has. Now if you’ll excuse me I should really get back to work.”

This casual dismissal made my temper flare. I heard my voice rise as I spoke into the phone. “That’s it? You’re sure it’ll work out? Did you know that at the school near my neighborhood even the Helpers themselves can’t do anything? They could very well be the best teachers ever to grace the district, there’s just no one who can afford to live in the district and send their children to be taught. That has to be frustrating even for the Helpers themselves. There must be a solution.”

I heard the exasperation in Christine’s voice now. She spoke in clipped tones. “So come up with one. I’ve already tried. The human species is adaptable, Diane. I’m getting a call on the other line. It will really be fine. You should just enjoy your friends and relax.”

The call ended before I could say more. I ground my teeth together and slammed the phone so hard on the table I had to pick it up again and make sure I didn’t do any damage. My back ached. I realized I hadn’t looked up from my computer for the whole conversation. When I did, I became aware of my “friends.”

I felt a chill at the cold bodies surrounding me. Walter Caretaker, William Cleaner, Tony Feeder, and even Amara Gardener were all standing beside me, all awake and rapt with attention. They stood so close that if they linked their arms I would not be able to escape my chair. William smiled :) and placed a cold, metal hand on my shoulder “Diane,” he said, “may we speak with you?”

“I – just – I just was talking to Christine,” I breathed, so frightened I could barely manage more than a shivering whisper.

“We know.” stated William flatly, “Now will you talk to us?”

The Cleaners Part 30: Cold Calling

“Your lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes, Diane,” announced Tony Feeder from the kitchen.
“Thanks, Tony,” I shouted without looking up from my computer. William was in the living room wiping down my mantle again. The Caretaker was standing in the corner in sleep mode. “Zzz…” said his screen, typing itself in and disappearing over and over again. He would respond to any indication that I was in danger or otherwise needed him, but otherwise he was inert. Since it was a Thursday, my Gardener would be outside tending the flowers and trimming the hedges as well.

I went over my list again. First and foremost, there was the issue of Ella and the remaining terrorists. That was the easy part. Christine Gently wouldn’t take much convincing to agree that whatever these people planned would be good neither for humanity nor for her beloved children. I knew simply capturing the terrorists wasn’t enough, though. We needed her help to save people from starving to death when their skills were no longer necessary. I couldn’t stand another Henry Whicker on my conscience – oh, that was a good topic. “Henry Whicker” I typed out under “The Terrorists.” Then, reconsidering, I put a line between them and changed it to “The Tragedy of Henry Whicker.”

For all her idiosyncrasies, Christine was a human. She knew what it was like to care about someone, even if her someone was a legion of robots. Plus, everyone who cared about someone cared about stability, right? Continuing down this path means more lost jobs, more families torn apart and more terrorism. “No Jobs = More Terrorism” I tapped.

She wouldn’t be able to drag me along on whatever nonsense conversation topic she liked this time. No more talk about Rand Paul or Paul Ryan or whatever weird old philosopher it was. Not if I came prepared. I wracked my brain for more arguments. Nothing. “The Tragedy of Henry Whicker” and “No Jobs = More Terrorism” were all I had. It was pitiful. Could I even argue these points effectively when Christine was working her misdirection? I felt the cold, familiar talons of despair clawing their way into my throat, but I forced them down. “No, Diane, you’re done with that.” I said to myself through gritted teeth.

“Are you upset, Diane? Do you need help?” asked the Caretaker.

“No, I’m fine,” I croaked, “go back to sleep.”

“Returning to Sleep Mode.”

I would never be able to convince Christine of anything if I couldn’t even keep my voice steady for more than two minutes at a time. I practiced the breathing techniques that the Caretaker had taught me. The best thing to do was not to think about it. Just do it. All anyone can expect of you is that you try your best. If that’s not enough to save humanity… No, no. You’re going to be fine. You’ll make it work. Christine will listen. She has to.

“Diane” said a voice unexpectedly close, making me jump, “your lunch is ready.”

I moved my computer to the side and Tony placed the plate. A BLT and macaroni and cheese. The Caretaker would not approve, but he was in sleep mode. I restrained myself from asking for a glass of gin. “Would you get me some water?”

“One moment, please.”

The macaroni and cheese was made with bright orange cheddar this time. I’d censured Tony when he tried to make me white macaroni and cheese. It just wasn’t right! There are two kinds of cheese, cheddar and mozarella, and cheddar is orange! I had to admit that his homemade version was still better than from the box. It seemed strange to call things Tony made “homemade” but it tasted like homemade and it was made in the home, so it counted by any metric that seemed fair. The bacon was cooked to perfection, and coupled with the tomato the mayonnaise was just exactly the right amount to be divine. As I had many times since I’d invited Tony to cook for me, I forgot all my troubles and floated weightless in culinary bliss.

As I descended gently back to Earth, I sat back and let William take the plates to the kitchen to wash them. I informed Tony that his lunch was superb, and he returned to a corner of the kitchen to go back into his own sleep mode. I sat and rested for another moment, then I took another deep breath, and found the number of Montana Institute of Technology’s Robotics Department.”

The Cleaners Part 29: Angry Grandma Rises

Somehow, I felt as if I hadn’t seen Walter in years, but that couldn’t be right. I lay in bed, letting my love’s piano playing wash over me.  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound” I sang along under my breath.

I rolled out of bed, feeling strangely unsteady. “Must have stood up too quickly,” I mumbled. I put my hand on the banister and descended the stairs. Poor Walter, he worked so hard on his piano lessons and his work as the church organist. Combined with my money from the library, we could pay the mortgage for our house and have enough to meet day to day needs and put a little aside for the future, but we never felt really secure, and I knew he blamed himself.

“I once was lost…” I mumbled, holding my hand against the wall as I walked toward the piano room door. I stepped across the gap between my wall and the door. “… Now I see…” Walter was sitting at the piano. He was so wonderful to see.


I was falling. “Diane!” – The Caretaker’s arms caught me and gently laid me to the floor. “Ask me for help when you use the stairs! You should really let me move your bed downstairs!”

I shook my head, trying to loose the image of my husband transformed into a misshapen robot from my mind. “That’s our song!” I protested, “You monsters! Get out of my head!”

“I’m sorry. I had just finished re-tuning your old piano. Music is good for recovering patients. If you do not want me to play Pachebel’s canon, I know a variety of songs for a variety of instruments, and I can play any sheet music you provide.”

I had stopped listening at “Pachebel’s canon.” My memory was clearer than the event itself. I was singing a completely different song under my breath! It sounded grating and absurd playing it again in my head. “Ohhh…” I moaned, struggling not to burst into tears again for the fourth time in the three days since I’d been freed. “Caretaker, I’m losing my mind.”

“Diane, you are suffering from mild confusion. I am not a medical practicioner, but if I did not know your history, the fact that you became confused so soon after waking might lead me to describe this event as a perfectly natural episode of sleepwalking.”

This did little to comfort me, “But you do know my history. I thought if I got away from the stress and relaxed – the doctor told me I would get better.”

The Caretaker just looked at me for a long moment. Combined with his mannerisms, his :) looked somehow sad and contemplative. “Would you like my advice, Diane?” He asked finally.

“Uh…” I stuttered, suddenly unsure if I did want it, “W-what? What is it?”

“You should do something, Diane. Find something to occupy your time, keep your mind and body active.”

“What can I do?”

“Well,” murmured the Caretaker, “Is there anything you are passionate about?”

I sat silently on the floor slumped in the Caretaker’s arms. The arms of a machine that had stolen my husband’s name and whose friends were driving humanity to some kind of unprecedented economic extinction. A humanity so desperate that it was willing to lie, steal, and kill innocent people to save itself. Angry Grandma stirred in my chest and I felt nauseous. I heard my own voice in my head, strong and resolute, nothing like the weeping wreck I’d become. “There’s only one thing, Diane,” she said to me. I moaned, “But everything I do just makes things worse.” Angry Grandma ignored me. “There’s only one thing left,” she insisted, “that’s worth being passionate about.”

Then, for a moment, I forgot Diane, the miserable old woman with nothing left in her life but robots and regrets. I was Diane Wallace, wife of Walter Wallace, martyr to a cause he believed in. I called attention the bad business practice of automated door-to-door solicitation in Pennsylvania, I brokered peace between humans and Helpers in Montana, I faced off against a psychotic corporate executive and taught machines the values of civil rights in Michigan,all while suffering from a stroke. A tear dropped from my eye, but it was not the tear I had desperately held back before. As I tried to get myself up, the Caretaker stood and offered me a hand, but I refused. I dragged myself to the dinner table and, with some effort, pulled to my feet.

I held my head high, and the Caretaker looked up at me with what I imagined must be a :) of surprise and respect. It was so easy to forget how small they all were. I, on the other hand, was big. I was Angry Grandma, and if I still didn’t know what to do, I was going to figure it out.