Chapter 1
Assembly
[Undergoing massive edit, current chapters not final version]
Isaac Donovan opened his eyes to a desecrated wasteland, heat beating down from overhead, and low winds carrying sand across the razed landscape.
Before him couched the Statue of Liberty, except her joints moved and groaned as if she was a massive automaton, with a glowing, red eye on the right side of her face. In places, her green patina has been blasted away to reveal the dull luster of copper underneath.
Her crackling torch casted shadows across her metal face and spiked crown as she loomed closer. Far away, the sounds of bombs and gunfire echo from the mountains. The air smelled of burning rubber and oil.
"I MADE YOU WHAT YOU ARE." Her voice is hollow, loud, and abrasive. "NOW DEFEND ME."
From far off, he could hear the howls of robotic wolves and the thundering feet of other robotic colossi.
"You're mistaken. I have hated you all my life, and now I will destroy you," he growled, his tone almost flat despite the bitter meaning.
His mechanical legion charges at the Statue of Liberty. She swats at one of the drones, which carried a small nuclear warhead. In a flash, it detonates on contact, disintegrating the statue's arm up to the elbow. She has only moments to be astonished before the flying robot horde descends upon her like a plague of locusts.
"NO! I MADE YOU!" she shouts, now swarmed by insectoid machines dismantling her, stripping her of valuable copper. When Isaac didn't move, she adds, "AT LEAST I STOOD FOR SOMETHING. YOU STAND FOR NOTHING! NOTHING!"
The robots cannibalize the copper for parts to build replicas of themselves.
Isaac chuckled, the twisted sound rising, growing to a mad cackle. "Anybody else want a piece of this?" he shouts to the mountains, and the robotic wolves fall silent.
He looked around, hoping vaguely for some kind of victory parade, but there are no humans in sight. There are only machines, and machines, and machines.
Isaac wakes with his head on his desktop keyboard, the 3D drafting program he'd been using still open. The schematic zoomed in to the recess on the machine's back where his smartphone would snap in and act as the robot's brain.
He yawned and rubbed a hand through his dark hair, adjusting his glasses. The last thing he recalled was fiddling with that part endlessly into the night, until finally, a roaring filled his ears his vision had begun to fade and he'd realized he'd been working for far too long. Perhaps he'd passed out.
It was the fall of 2019. Donavan had been working on this as a project for the Ph.D. program in Computer Science at Stanford. A lot was riding on this work and he didn't want to slack off for a moment and risk tanking this.
He stood and stretched, glancing around his room, which some would say had the sterile atmosphere of an operating room; but that is what his room was, an operating room for robots. Like a surgeon, he liked knowing exactly where each tool was for when he needed it. And he wanted the same kind of sparsity in design for his machines.
It's odd how much my life affects my work is second nature at this point, he mused to himself. Though he supposed most would find it peculiar. Isaac had always been fascinated by how every little detail of his life, from the content of his dreams to the decor of his room, might change how he makes his machines. He supposed that's how life worked, every action you took affected everything around you.
But that was enough tangents. Today his robot was at the forefront of his mind, because today, he'd be making its body.
He picked up his laptop and headed for the Stanford machine shop.
It was a beautiful spring day in Palo Alto, California, and Isaac's apartment was only a short walk from the machine shop. But the streets of Palo Alto are not designed for walking; he found himself climbing around palm trees and balancing on narrow curbs, as he had to do every day.
He paused, hearing a low roar overhead: glancing up he saw the flying car- a Nimbus. A little over three hundred thousand dollars can buy you a car with wings that fold out so that it becomes a small sport plane. The red Nimbus looked sleek and sporty; it's the sort of car its owner takes religiously to the car wash.
Though the commercials would have you believe you can fly anywhere you want in those cars, the FAA still requires them to take off and land in airports. Only here in wealthy Silcon Valley did you see them with any frequency. The first time Isaac had seen one, he couldn't quite believe the future had come so quickly.
But why isn't it driving itself? He wondered now.
Occasionally he'd see a self-driving car on the roads of Palo Alto. But, for some reason, they still hadn't caught on quite as much as one would expect, despite having been around at least as long as the flying cars.
Perhaps it's because people just don't trust AI enough.
He made his way up to the Stanford University fabrication shop, the smells of oil and burnt plastic heavy in the air as he entered and closed the door behind him.
The room was dominated by large, metal, hand-cranked milling machines and lathes, dinosaurs of the twentieth century, while the most-used machines are the smaller 3D printers and computer-controlled water jet cutters that take a quarter of the space. The lights made him feel almost at home, with the same sterile fluorescence of an operating room, with only a single, tiny window near the ceiling to inform you that it is day.
Isaac started up a National Public Radio podcast on his laptop. He hadn't seen his advisor much since he'd joined the lab, so he chose the episode in which he was the interviewee.
"My guest today is Doctor Harvey Ziegler," said a woman with a soothing voice. "Doctor Ziegler, thank you for talking with us today."
"Well, a scientist does have some responsibility to inform the unwashed masses, Terry." Ziegler chuckled, the mere sound of it making Isaac want to let out a sigh of annoyance.
He let the podcast run as he walked over to the 3D printers. He flicked a few switches turning on the computer-controlled water jet, deciding the bot's body would be made out of metal. Heavier but more sturdy and durable.
"Dr. Ziegler, in your new book, you talk about the Singularity. Could you describe for our listeners what that is?"
"Terry, the Singularity is the coming time when artificial intelligence will have figured out how to make themselves—and us—smarter. Once that happens, the process will build on itself until the robots are smart enough to figure out how we can live forever."
"Is that possible?" the interviewer asks. "Living forever?"
"Of course," Professor Ziegler says. "What does it matter whether our operating systems are made out of meat or silicon?"
"So you're predicting we'll become robots."
"Not exactly," Ziegler says. "But I do think the line between humans and robots will blur."
Isaac was hardly listening to the podcast at this point, too busy carefully sculpting the robot's face. He decided on a design similar to a Venetian mask, beautiful, simple, and otherworldly.
The water jet cutter quickly carved the face: the small nose, the dainty mouth, the large black holes where CCD panels will absorb all light. It takes somewhat longer to add the intricate metal frill that adds a corona to the mask. This would be a machine that commanded awe.
"Dr. Ziegler, what makes you think the Singularity will happen now?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm around. But seriously. My lab is taking a unique approach because we're saying: why not teach a robot like a child? We're going to equip the robot with the best sensors money can buy and teach it English. Then it could rapidly teach itself using the Internet."
Isaac scowled, pulled from his work for a moment. His advisor had thought that a robot child was a stupid idea until he'd told him Turing proposed it back in 1950, minus the internet part. But he wasn't giving credit to either of them.
He scoffed irritably, returning to work and pushing the frustration out of his mind.
He stretched a polyester film between the metal spokes of the wings he'd constructed, attaching them to the robot's back. These wings should give the bipedal machine better balance, and in case it does begin to fall, they will act as a kind of parachute that will give it more time to recover. He grinned slightly, not minding the intimidating angel-like appearance. He wasn't exactly worrying about making them approachable.
Isaac used the basic, hand-cranked milling machines to drill holes in the head for screws since water jet cutters weren't the best for threaded holes.
"And who is going to raise this robotic child?" the interviewer asks.
"Who does all the grunt work in a research laboratory?" Professor Ziegler says. "The graduate students, of course."
"We also do all of the real science," Isaac growled to himself. "Considering you're too busy feeding your-"
"I think you'll learn sooner or later that getting funded to do 'real science' requires a certain amount of management and salesmanship," said Professor Ziegler, who appeared to have entered the machine shop behind Isaac when he wasn't looking.
Professor Ziegler was a heavyset man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and aviator sunglasses. He stalked over to Isaacs computer. "We'll be back in a moment," continues the interviewer. "We're talking with Professor-"
Professor Ziegler pauses the podcast by hitting the laptop's spacebar, and Isaac flinched at the intrusion. Ziegler pulls a cigar from his pocket and lights it, and the smell of smoke mingles with the oily smell of the machine shop.
"I'm writing a grant for DARPA and I need to see what you're making back here. We ultimately get funded by the Department of Defense, so we have to make sure they're happy with our product." He said casting a critical eye on the work Isaac had done so far.
"Metal's a good choice," Ziegler said. "They'll want things that appear durable in the field."
Professor Ziegler turns to examining the robot's head, which is currently sitting on the table next to the water jet cutter. "Hm, that seems all right," Ziegler nodded. "Looks like it could be sufficiently intimidating.
"And what are you planning to do for arms and hands?" Professor Ziegler asked, tapping his cigarette ashes onto the floor.
"I was planning on perhaps a multi-tool function," Isaac said, fiddling with the design schematic.
"I like it," Professor Ziegler said, pleased. "It could repair other robots on the battlefield."
"Exactly," Donavan nodded, excitedly going over his plans. "it'll have a screwdriver finger, a lockpicking finger, a mini-USB port finger-"
"Right yes very good," Ziegler interrupted waving away any further explanation. "Carry on, then." He turned to leave. "I've got to go take a call from a New York Times reporter. Funny how journalists all copy each others' stories, but each garble the message in a unique way."
He made it to the door before turning to address Isaac "Oh, one more thing. Do you think your robot can be ready by tomorrow? Someone from the Air Force will be in town, and I told her your robot might be ready to show off by then."
Isaac felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Hmm, bad timing. He thought, resisting the urge to check it.
"It will be done, but any kind of demo is out of the question," he said plainly. "I want to test it before making any promises."
The professor nodded begrudgingly. "I can see the logic of that. Maybe we'll just send her a demo video. Then it only has to work once."
Ziegler turned leaving out the door and shutting it behind him.
Donavan found himself clenching his fists, his fingernails having left little marks in his palms. He didn't hate the professor, but Isaac found them suffocating. He dreamed of being able to simply work without interruption, letting his mind stretch its metaphorical legs, but he'd need to get through the program first. Meaning he had to deal with the professor's constant nitpicks.
It will all be worth it in the end.
He was pulled from his thoughts as he remembered the missed call on his phone, and he slid it out to see Elly Lao's caller ID.
From the missed call, Isaac's phone was displaying Elly's profile photo. It was a picture of Josh and Elly from the freshman welcome week dance, seven years ago. Elly was wearing a red, Chinese dress with gold trim, her long, straight, black hair falling down to the epaulets. The flash was too bright in the picture, making Elly's pale skin look washed out. Josh was wearing his usual gray hoodie, not having bothered to dress up for the dance, is arm around Elly.
Isaac still remembered the night clearly, despite the fact it had happened so long ago.
Isaac had actually gone to the dance just to try out a music recognition algorithm in a congested social environment with poor acoustics. He stood at the edge of the bustling crowd of dancers, who jumped and moved in time with the booming music coming from the speakers.
Donavan adjusted the settings, focused on the screen in front of him. However he was pulled from his thoughts as a voice piped up in front of him.
"What you got there?" A girl asked, standing on her toes to try and see the screen Isaac was working on.
He jumped and nearly fumbled the tablet, clearing his throat to regain his composure. "It's nothing, just an algorithm I'm working on."
"Ooooh sweet! I do some coding too, what exactly does it do?" she asked, a curious twinkle in her eyes. The boy on her arm seemed equally curious.
"It's supposed to be able to recognize and identify music, I was hoping I'd be able to adjust it so it could still function in highly noise-polluted areas," Isaac explained bluntly. This was usually the point where someone got bored and left him to his devices.
"Fascinating," the girl nodded, tapping her chin. "I suppose that'd be useful for more than just music right? Like a speech AI would be able to better keep track of a singular voice with this kind of tech?"
Isaac blinked, a little surprised. "Yes actually. Those were my thoughts exactly,"
Elly chuckled, "I'm Elly by the way," she said with a warm smile.
"And I'm Josh," the boy said holding out a hand to shake, which Isaac took. His shake was firm, like how you'd imagine a businessman's handshake would be.
"Isaac," he said, simply nodding in return.
"If you ever want to create a startup around your algorithm Isaac, you should call me. I'd be totally happy to back something like that." Josh offered.
"Oh no, it's just a trivial program," Isaac said waving a hand dismissively. "Not something to really invest in."
"Still, I'd like to know you better if you have the time," Josh chuckled, taking out a piece of paper and writing something down. "Let's numbers, in case you change your mind about my suggestion?"
"Oh! Pass that over! I'd like to talk to you about programming sometime," Elly said snatching the paper and pen away just as Josh finished writing.
"Uh, I suppose that would be beneficial..." Isaac said slowly, writing his own number down and passing it over.
They traded information before Elly smiled and dragged Josh back towards the dance. "It was nice meeting you Isaac, we'll get out of your hair but we should hang out sometime!"
"I second the sentiment-" Josh started, getting cut off as he was dragged into the crowd.
Donavan stared after them, surprised. He glanced down at the note in his hands, Josh's handwriting neat and orderly while Elly's was hastily scrawled. The barest of smiles cracked his stoic expression, and he pocketed the note, returning to his work.
It had been so long ago, and now they were 24 the simple times long behind them. Josh had the company he inherited from his father, and while Elly and him hadn't dated long they'd all remained relatively good friends. Of course, Isaac had important work now that kept him busy, but at least he and Elly got to work together sometimes over the course of the program.
He glanced over the phone, noticing Elly had also left him a text. She wanted to meet for dinner at a jazz and sushi place in San Francisco, which is about an hour north of him. She also had tickets to a rendition of the musical Pippin in which most of the characters were robots.
He thought for a moment, then glanced at the unfinished pieces of his project, sighing and texting.
"Afraid I can't tonight, sorry."
Elly texted back a frowny face, "Too bad" the message continued "Maybe next time."
Isaac spent the rest of the day bent over his work, drilling holes and attaching pieces. He wanted it to be perfect, so he couldn't spare a moment elsewhere.
Finally, he began uploading code into the machine's database. Isaac leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head.
I need to pick a name... He thought to himself, pursing his lips. This could be his greatest work yet, a turning point in his career. The name could be spoken between scientists and politicians and businessmen- or it might not, but he liked to aim high.
His mind wandered back to the dream he'd had... The vast sea of robotic soldiers, following him, fighting for him...
He looked down at the computer and typed in it's name.
Horde.
He stepped back, looking at Horde's three-foot-tall winged body with satisfaction. All he needed was configured motors and a mind, the motors would have to wait till tomorrow, but he'd spent years in graduate school writing the code that would form this robot's mind—Isaac could hardly wait to try it out.
Donavan headed back to his apartment, where he spent several hours working on the final touches to Horde's natural language processing code.
Isaac had chosen Go, the most elegant language. Programs written in Go tended to be incredibly short and expressive, almost like Zen koans in their brevity and power. He believed there was beauty in simplicity; in code, less is more. Isaac also enjoyed using the command that gives the language its name, as you imagine saying to your robots one day: Go think! Go create! Go live!
With the code done, Isaac then briefly added just enough motors to allow Horde to explore his room. It was a quick job—he planned on doing a more thorough one tomorrow. His smartphone didn't have much power for the motors right now anyway.
Finally, he uploaded the code to his phone and pluged it into Horde's back. He touched the icon labeled "Horde," and a big, red button fills the screen.
His finger hovered over the button for a moment, hesitating.
I probably want his first moments to be significant right? He thought.
Isaac shifted Horde so he was facing out his apartment window, booting them up before starting to point things out and name them.
"Tree. Car. Person. Flower. Grass." Donovan said, pointing.
"Tree, car, person, flower, grass!" Horde says. He speaks in a sequence of autotune notes, like human speech but more musical. Each syllable on a different note of a major scale, rising or falling in thirds and fifths when asking a question, expressing doubt, or providing a contrast. The lilting result sounded pleasant and a little otherworldly.
As Isaac listed off the things, Horde walked up to the window, pressing his masked head against the glass. It was like he was itching to explore the great, wide world, so full of things—and is a little frustrated by the glass separating him from it all. Isaac chuckled a little, picking up Horde and setting him down in the center of the room to allow him to explore.
At first, he simply seemed overwhelmed by the possibilities, looking to Isaac for guidance.
"hm... curiosity," Isaac decided to call this state.
"Curiosity," Horde repeats, wandering about the apartment. He moved to the closet and peeked inside, which despite Isaacs usual tidiness had gotten quite messy recently, so Horde found his wings getting caught up in a tangle of clothes and he started wriggling frantically trying to break free.
Isaac moved quickly to the robots side and scooped him up,
"I got you! I got you," he said in calming tones.
"I got you," Horde repeated, still wriggling.
"Stop," Isaac said firmly.
The robot went still in his arms and Isaac sighed, thinking through what to call this state.
"Peace," he said calmly.
"Peace," Horde repeated back.
Isaac glanced at his watch and sighed. It was nearly midnight and he had another busy day ahead of him improving Horde's design, so he set him down by the wall and plugged him in to charge by his phones charging cable, before getting ready for bed.
"Stay here," Isaac ordered.
And Horde stayed obediently. So still in fact that Isaac had to glance down at his code to make sure he hadn't crashed.
But Horde was fine, staring up at him adoringly. And as Isaac slipped off to sleep that night he wondered if the robot would be like that all night.