We huddled close to our dispatcher trucks as the man in front—fully human with no plastic parts— called off our lot numbers. We bundled together, gently colliding at times. Not much contact, no damage, just a teeny-tiny strike of pain—a definite pinch, but hardly noticeable compared to the blow at test-in.

“I hurt,” I said softly as I bumped into an AV to my right. Similarly throughout the group, slight brushes followed by soft vocalizations of “I hurt” sounded.

“Knock it off,” said the man in front with the clipboard. “I can’t hear myself think.” We ceased shuffling and stood quietly, waiting for instruction.

“I said, ‘knock it off!’” the foreman shouted to one AV in the front of him.

“I’m sorry,” the AV responded on cue. I know the little ash can was in no way sorry. I know what sorry means now, but at that time, we used words in response to programmed cues while feeling nothing.

“I’m sorry?” the man asked. “I’m sorry, you little shit bucket? I’ll teach you sorry!”

The man’s face grew red. He threw down his clipboard, pulled his leg back, and kicked the AV in the under parts. We were all levitating at about six inches, so it was an easy maneuver for the human. The AV launched into the air and bounced off a light pole. From there it fell to the ground, its levitation sensors apparently knocked out of whack.

From the time of the initial kick in the below parts to the smashing onto the ground, the AV kept up a repeating stream of “I hurt.” This of course was not a response to a programmed cue. This was a response to a rock-hard stimulus. I know this now, but didn’t realize it at the time and so I only watched and did what I usually do: gather information. The outer carapace of the AV cracked when it fell to the ground. Sparks and fiber light bled from the internals as it slowly grounded out. “I hurt very much,” the AV said.

“Oh yeah?” the human said. “You wanna cry? I’ll give you something to cry about!” He stomped to where the AV lay on the ground, and lifting himself into the air the way humans do, he fell upon the AV with all his weight. He jumped up and down many, many times until the crying AV flattened. The AV’s fiber optics, transistors, and plastic innards prevented full pancake road-kill flat, of course, but it flattened as much as a tin can full of processors possibly could. The “I hurts” increased in volume and speed until the AV’s vocal chip became disconnected. The signals most likely continued to pass through the various boards and switches for quite some time.

Before long, a dump pickup arrived and loaded the AV into its back end where a pile of malfunctioning AVs and Others were already reposing, victims of other truckers exhibiting newfound powers. One of the broken AVs had an eye plate dangling from its optic wires. Another had two bricks resting inside its cracked shell. A third had a meter-long bit of rebar inserted through its internals. It kept repeating, “I hurt, I hurt.”

“Excuse me, sir,” I stated along with everyone else. “The Professor informed us that before disassembly of a robot occurs, the pain interpreter will be dismantled. The AV with the rebar wedged inside it has not had its pain interpreter dismantled prior to disassembly. There has been a breach in protocol.”

Unfortunately, I was the closest AV to the humans that retrieved the flattened victim, which is why I received a blow to my side. The man used a baseball bat to execute his maneuver, resulting in a pain several orders of magnitude greater than what I had received during the test phase of the upgrade. I fell sideways into five or more other AVs and instantly began repeating, “I hurt.” When they felt my impact, the surrounding AVs joined me. They fell silent quickly though, as their pain subsided. Mine continued so I continued my chanting. Finally, my shell pushed itself back out and the pressure on my internals was relieved. I felt something then that I had never felt before: joy. Before then, I’d only experienced two negative judgments: the test and the trucker’s bat. Now I had one positive judgment: relief from pain.

I turned to the five AVs that I had rammed into and said, “Excuse me. I’m sorry.” And I meant it. I believe they knew that also, for they responded, “It’s alright. We are unharmed.”

That’s a typical response to a human sentiment, but they said it for me because they had detected the harm that had come to them as well as my concern for them. That’s what I believe, anyway. They certainly could see my dented carapace and must have known that once it fixed itself, I was then concerned for any denting they may have undergone.

To be truthful, I wasn’t that concerned. The crippling pain I had felt prevented me from feeling too very sorry. My “sorry” was still a bit automatic, but I did partly mean it. For the first time ever. And I can only assume that I meant it because I thought that perhaps they hurt as much as I did and that I had caused it. And for some reason, that made me ashamed. I had never felt shame before. Another first.

The incident was over quickly, and fortunately the trucker did not stomp me flat. He merely shouted for us to begin loading, and we did so silently, without bumping into each other. We did not want to say “I hurt.” I kept my distance especially as I believed at that time no one in the egg cartons had experienced as much hurt as me. Except the one that got smashed flat. I felt bad for that one. It would have no way to push out its shell now that its components were disconnected. But then again, it didn’t hurt anymore either, so I was glad. Again with the joy.

oOo

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Copyright @ 2010 by Sue Lange

Published by Book View Café, Cover design by Deb Deysher (http://www.doubledmedia.net/portfolio.htm)

We, Robots A Novella by Sue Lange was originally published in January 2007 by Aqueduct Press as Volume 16 in the Aqueduct Press Conversation Pieces Series.

First Edition, January 2007