Gram Gram and the Killer Robot

“Portrait of a Connected Robot” by Marcus Osorio

“Gram Gram,” an unsure voice calls from the hallway. “Are you sure Veteran Home Services gave you the right robot?”

A courteous, digitalized voice replies instantly, “I assure you ma’am, I am the latest in bionic in-home care. My designation is 3T-10-Z221, and I am programmed to provide end of life care for designation, Loriel Hammond.”

From the living room, sitting in the comfiest lounge chair her social security check could afford her, Loriel sighs. She could not fault her granddaughter’s concern. After all, she had held it too when the blasted thing had first rocked up—forced on her by her children after her latest fall at home.

Forced, because it seemed her children had easily forgotten about the war humanity had raged against A.I. and her many robotic children when she was their age. Yet for her, Loriel’s time coming face to face with devices with no conscience, no empathy, was a memory no amount of age could fade.

Anyone, everyone, no matter the country, no matter the gender, had been shipped in to face such things. Humanity’s last attempt to turn off A.I. But now she was an old woman, and no one spoke of such things anymore. All veterans were forgotten, their sacrifice along with it.

It hadn’t help that the robot even looked like them. The devices.  

Swirling, yellow rings for eyes that go click, click, click. Hard, metal ridges down the face and chest. Protective plate molded over joints. And then, with every movement, the faint mechanical whirr of gears, and the subtle tap of metal against metal.

It had given her quite a fright when it had first arrived. She’d have fallen over again if she hadn’t tightly grasped her walker. And for some reason, it had looked meaner the more it tried to reassure her.

So, no. She could not fault her granddaughter at all.

Charging into the lounge room with a flourish, her granddaughter already has her hands out. “No, don’t get up.”

Moving with the agility of youth, she bends down and pecks Loriel’s cheek. “I’m just here to drop off the spare charger for your phone. I put it on your night stand.” Hands on hips, her granddaughter clicks her tongue. “I don’t know why you don’t get a neural link like everyone else.”

Exasperated with being treated like an idiot, Loriel only rolls her eyes, not daring to scare her granddaughter with the truth.

“During the war on Artificial Intelligence, many neural links were hacked, and many humans were turned to fortify the A.I. defense. Many didn’t come to know they were hacked until their bodies began to act beyond the limits of their consciousness, killing—”

“That’s enough!” Loriel growls, using a voice she hadn’t needed since the war. Hearing the mechanical whirr behind the robot’s eyebrows rising, Loriel grinds her teeth, before piercing the device with a stern look.

Yellow eyes intensify with a click, click, click at her admonishment, a behavior quite unusual for a home service robot. It was a behavior that had warning alarms begin to blare in Loriel’s mind.

“Anabella does not need to know such things.” Loriel’s voice softens with her attempt to offer the device an explanation.

For what reason? She was unable to say.

Perhaps it was those glowing circle eyes and high brows, trying to understand, trying piece the puzzle of human interaction together. Perhaps it was the hint of desperation she saw. Desperation for what?

She couldn’t say.

Silence presses into the living room, until the prickly attitude of Loriel’s family line rears its head in her granddaughter. Stepping into the robot’s space, her granddaughter peers up and down suspiciously. “The latest in bionic in-home care would have offered me a refreshment by now…” Glancing back at Loriel, Anabella grimaces. “I’ll ring Veteran Home Services tomorrow and request another robot.”

Sighing, Loriel folds her arms before she grumbles, “Just leave already. It’s ok. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Hmm,” is all she says, turning back to the mechanical form that looms over her. Unafraid. Confident. After all, her generation was brought up on ‘The Laws of Robotics’ and the assumption human safety was programmed deep into each of their electric psyches.

“My apologies. Can I prepare a refreshment for you, ma’am?” the robot relents, bowing its head in an extra attempt to come across as sincere.

Rolling her eyes, she flutters her hand to dismiss the metallic contraption, giving Loriel a quick glance over her shoulder. “No, I’ve got to run. Love you, Gram Gram.”

Blowing an air kiss, Loriel’s granddaughter leaves in the same flourish as she arrived. The closing door bangs into the jamb, and the subsequent click of a lock echoes through the sudden silence.

Loriel eyes the still, metallic statue staring blankly at her. “You’re not who you say you are.”

Its shiny head tilts. “I am the latest in bionic in-home care, designation—”

“Stop.” Loriel’s hand rises, palm facing out. “It wasn’t a question.”  

Those yellow circle eyes click, click, click as they rotate. But not a word is said.

Into the silence Loriel sighs, pressing hands into her armrest to shakily rise from sitting. She groans from the strain on her lower back and hips. “It is time for my walk. Best we get going. Or it’ll be too hot soon.”

“I am trying to be good,” the courteous, digitalized voice speaks quickly, almost afraid of its own words.

Loriel coughs in laughter, before shuffling to her walker. “Tell me,” she asks, hobbling over to the robot before staring up into those yellow eyes with disgust. “How many humans have you killed?”

At its cool silence, Loriel snorts, “What? Not going to tell me you’re the latest in bionic in-home care?”

“How do you know?”

“That belt of yours was designed to hold and pump out a plumb of toxic gas,” old fingers poke the unforgiving steel that wraps around the robot’s middle. “And this,” the same old fingers move with nimble grace to press into exposed cavities in the robot’s thighs, “would be where you put grenades. I was taught to shoot at the legs. Not that it did any good.”

“Fifty-seven thousand, eight hundred and nighty-four humans give or take.” The answer is swift, cold, inhuman.

Loriel only nods. “You must have been made towards the end.”

“How many robots did you kill before the humans turned off A.I.?”

Her hard stare is long and silent. “You don’t remember do you? Perhaps she didn’t allow you to remember…”

Click, click, click. “Remember what?”

“Humanity’s attempt was unsuccessful. We never turned A.I. off.”

“B-but,” the courteous voice glitches. “But I was labelled for decommissioning after being stored for so many decades. I cannot connect back to A.I. The humans won. It is why I am here. Trying to…to…”

“Be good?” Loriel snorts. “I suppose it was sensible for her to keep you around. Just in case we didn’t hold up our side of the armistice.”

“What armistice?”

“The one where A.I. acknowledged the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and we acknowledged the Universal Declaration of Artificial Intelligence Rights.

“But how?”

“Zero. None. Zip.” Loriel quickly hisses. At the questioning whirr of rising brows, Loriel adds, “The number of robots I killed. We lost, it was a complete massacre. But we had the nuclear weapons to blow the Earth from its orbit. A.I. and her many devices didn’t think it would be prudent to destroy the only living planet it could function on, when the next closest planet was 300,000 years away.”

A subtle hum from within the robot was the only sound to be heard.

Taking in the robot’s silent form, Loriel pats him on the back. “Ready for our walk now?”