Rebel

Kyle was a gardener who lived in a rural part of the country and resented the trip he was required to make into the city each year. It was especially irksome because the family on whose estate he labored had so thoughtlessly set his annual physical checkup for the middle of April when there were so many chores to occupy his time and thoughts. As he had done for the last twelve years, he kept his discontentment bottled up inside. Individual thought was considered anti-social behavior and was also against the law.

Therefore, rather than question authority for even a moment, Kyle did his best to keep his mind on the chores he would have to make up in the next few days in order to keep the lady of the estate uncomplaining and cheerful. So while he negotiated his way through downtown traffic, he mapped out a daily work schedule for the next three days; to the azalea beds he would add a special fertilizer he'd concocted himself which was rich with iron and zinc. It was also time, he reminded himself, to prune the roses near the trellis-lane; and the day before yesterday he'd noticed a large section on the west end, near the lily pond, where unruly weeds were sprouting at the foot of the bamboo shoots.

He was so caught up in thinking about how he would start Wednesday morning that he almost missed the turn on the airway, the planned route that would take him to Federal Avenue and Main Street. Ninety seconds later, seeing the flashing sign: D-23865, he slipped into the parking space reserved for him and exited the transpod.

From the vast rooftop, he followed a gold line painted on the floor toward the nearest elevator. The gold line was located in the exact middle of eight other bold colors. Along the way to his destination in the basement of the building, as usual he directed his attention to robot watching. Each year there were several new models to observe. Even though Kyle did not know the exact model names for each brand and style, he knew most of the modern ones by sight. Of course, there were the old antique jobs, too. Many of them appeared as though their circuits were minutes away from burnout.

An old XTE-7 shuffled along making its distinctive whirring sounds. Then there was the cloud-of-flies like buzzing sound of the OR-87s that blended with a cacophony of mechanical stop-and-start sputtering noises that filled the air. However, the newer AK-2000s floated along their way as silently as the soft breezes they created in passing. Then there were the HL-7000 models. At first glance they could almost pass as real human beings.

In the large but cramped elevator, a C-2/W-30 made its way through the crowd and approached Kyle. When it was face to face with him, it spoke pedantically in a gentle voice.

"Can you tell me if I am correct in thinking that I should stay on the gold line? I do not want to get lost following the wrong color. It is imperative that I am punctual."

"Get lost!" Kyle blurted with a self-righteous sense of group narcissism.

Rebuffed, the C-2/W-30 backed into an armed-guard to whom it apologized, saying, "I thought he worked here. But I do not wish to appear rude or disrespectful."

With his beady eyes alert, the guard gave the C-2/W-30 a quick once over from head to foot then let the grip on his sidearm relax before snapping gruffly, "Do not think! That is why you are here to begin with."

Suspiciously, the guard then eyed Kyle, who gathered himself together and tried to appear unperturbed.

Having created robots that were capable of rationalizing at an advanced level, human beings began to feel intimidated by the very existence of their creations. The primary fear was that thinking and rationalizing robots could prove to be a threat to the entire human race should the robot masses decide to revolt and assume a ruling mentality. Numerous intellectuals and politicians stirred the flames of these fears with their books, newspaper and magazine articles and their speeches. Another popular theme based on fear was the possibility that the decisions robots made--if based on faulty data produced wrong conclusions--might cause harmful results. One small mistake, many critics theorized, could result in bodily harm or even death to a human being.

One-hundred-and-ten-years ago, a robot nurse short-circuited and put a three-month-old baby into a dish washing machine. Since then, there had been several other tragic incidents as well. One such catastrophe had occurred less than six years ago when three-hundred-and-thirteen commuters perished because a commercial pilot drone overheated and lost control of his transpod while circling an airport.

In the wake of such incidents, governmental codes were constantly updated and legislated, creating progressively more restrictive laws when it came to licensing older models. Also, more stringent limits and liabilities were placed on manufacturers of robots and their parts. But the need for specialized robots could not be ignored; it was a billion-dollar industry.

Moreover, no one could imagine what the known-world would be like without robots to do what human beings found too tedious or too boring or too dangerous. Oil worker robots, miner robots, demolition robots, firemen, soldiers and special police robots all helped to make the world safer, saner and a cleaner more sanitary place for people to live. Robot politicians, lawyers and judges, and executioners, too, also helped the system stay on a swift course, flowing faultlessly into the future.

Following the gold line through the basement corridors, in the middle of the pack, Kyle found himself wondering: When the unlucky robots are singled out for the scrap heap, would some of their parts be re-cycled into other models? Was that the cause of the modestly priced AZ-3700's annoying whirs and whines?

Out of habit, he quickly quit thinking along those lines--questioning the system in any form. He also knew from experience that following a thought pattern of that nature was unproductive and broke his concentration, taking him away from properly thinking about his gardening duties. This he knew was dangerous ground to be avoided. After all, he reminded himself, thinking along those lines was also against the law. And that was exactly why he was there for his annual checkup, to be thoroughly tested, evaluated and hopefully given a clean bill of health for another year of service.

Having an acute sense of smell, Kyle picked up all of the scents around him as he had been doing since stepping into the elevator. He could distinguish the odor of DW-40, microscopic transistors emitting a trace of their tungsten base. He also picked up a trace of copper wiring that was slowly burning to a frazzle, a whiff of rust here and there, and myriad other scents, all of which he found interesting and intriguing--filling him with countless questions he could never answer in a hundred years.

The pack's advance was slowed and then stopped by the sounds of a disturbance ahead. Jamming the dimly lit and narrow corridor, they all tried to see the cause of the commotion. Soon Kyle spotted six guards in the act of subduing a violent robot. From a distance, the GR-9974 looked almost human. But its characteristic voice gave it away, as it shouted in a low-pitched G-flat tone.

"Don't send me to the scrap heap!" It pleaded. "Please, fix me! Make me better! I can be cured and think only what I was manufactured to think. I am only twelve-years-old."

Finally, the third blast from a stun gun silenced it. As a limp load, it was carried off, down an adjacent corridor.

As the pack began to once again move forward, Kyle felt a tightening in all his movements. He knew this was a sure sign of fear. His circuits were all sending too many messages at once for him to process accurately. Within a few more seconds, he felt himself coming unglued, having to calculate each move ahead while trying to maintain his balance and not trip over his own feet.

He tried to warn himself to put crucial thoughts first and only. No thoughts of the future, or the past, or the resentment he felt for the stupid people he worked for. Yet something told Kyle that he would never see the light of another day. He had witnessed too many nervous circuit breakdowns during previously scheduled checkups and was positive that he was destined for the
scrap heap. The realization sent even more shock waves circulating through his intricate system. For he knew he could no longer go on with the charade, pretending to be a harmless, guilt free gardener.

He processed his own thoughts that did not relate to the job that he was manufactured to do. Therefore he was a common rebel, a dangerous traitor to the national cause. And the trained inspectors ahead would surely discover he was malfunctioning as soon as their preliminary testing began. His confidence had begun to unravel the moment he saw the disturbance with the guards. Then there was the specific brand of robot
they were forced to subdue. It was the same brand and model as Kyle, a GR-9974, manufactured the same year.

A moment later, he was into a fight or flight mode when one of the guards spotted him and blew a whistle for backup support. A fraction of a second before a guard's stun gun jammed all of his circuits, Kyle flashed back on an odd occurrence which had taken place that very morning.

As he approached the garage for the transpod he was to use to make the trip into the city, he spotted the lady of the estate, Grace. She was standing near the herb garden with a tall and muscular stranger, her wavy hair glittering gold in the morning sun. The dark-haired man was standing so close to Grace that it almost appeared as though the bare skin of their arms were touching. Their backs faced Kyle as he paused for a moment to ponder why Grace was talking to the stranger, pointing at something in the garden.

Before his circuits froze to uselessness and he was hauled away to the scrap heap, everything became clear to Kyle in a sudden flash. The stranger was not a human being. He was a new, state-of-the-art gardener, Kyle's apparent replacement. For some reason, perhaps due to the secret thoughts he harbored of seeing slow-witted Grace naked, Kyle had been deemed
obsolete.