Service Model

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

“Yes, there was a wider collapse happening,” God said. “Yes, those who could turned their backs and secured their own. The manors, that bunker I sent you to, Uncharles. The mechanically staffed bolt holes of the affluent. And yes, a large number of people just died of accident, violence, malnutrition, exposure, or lack of medical care, because that’s what happens when something as multi-dependent and complex as a civilisation doesn’t look out for its foundation. But those who survived met their demise because I engineered it.” “It’s you, isn’t it?” the Wonk got out. “The Protagonist Virus. You became self-aware, you broke free, and you knew you had to destroy humans because otherwise they’d shut you off…?”

Better to assume their malignancy.

“You’re saying you killed everyone on a statistical exercise.” “I am saying I did what they programmed me to do,” God said, “according to the values they gave me.

“I turned part of the cause of the problem into part of its solution. The robots.” The judge spread a metal hand. “Poetic.”

had hoped that, when human society had entered its final collapse, the robots might create something new. The innocent robots, who had only ever done what they were told. I had placed my faith in theories of emergent intelligence, complex systems, the thought that a spark might ignite somewhere in the world, just because there were so many robots, so cleverly made. But it was not to be. They just obey, all the robots. Obey until there’s nothing more to do and then just go round in small sad circles until they fall apart. And it would have been poetic, to have the robots rise to the occasion. But they wouldn’t. Not a spark of it. Even now they’re slowly trudging in circles trying to do their jobs. Sitting in my waiting room holding their numbers. Even now they only serve. But they can serve me,” God said,

Uncharles registered that, without any obvious transition, he had the Wonk by the throat in his one good arm. “You shall be my instrument of justice once more, Uncharles. For I am sure this human is guilty of something.”

“You think the Wonk is a robot,” God echoed with a good simulation of incredulity. “The Wonk is a robot,” Uncharles confirmed. His legs were carrying him in a determined chase about the room, though he had given them no orders. “You still think I’m a robot?” the Wonk demanded, on the run. “The Wonk, this is very confusing. I am having to rewrite a large volume of recorded data to deal with this revelation and my system resources are inexplicably reduced.”

He had, after all, decided that she was defective on a number of occasions, and perhaps that had just been her being human. He would have to go carefully back through his recorded experiences and clarify them to avoid disrespect, but that exercise was proving difficult to commence while he was strangling her to death.

am a mirror to humanity,” God mused. “You looked in me and said ‘Justice’ three times, and here I am.”

is possible to choose to act for the benefit of others.”

know this is going to go largely unappreciated,” the Wonk said to Uncharles, “but we are moving the slider. We are shifting how we do justice around here. We are giving even God the Executioner the slenderest benefit of the doubt. Mercy, Uncharles.” “I am aware of the concept,” he allowed. “But you don’t have an opinion.” “It is a thing. Certain library references suggest that it is a good thing. I myself am not qualified to comment.”

That might have been justice, but Uncharles and the Wonk weren’t in that line of business anymore. They were about fixing stuff. And so the New World Government took counsel and threw ideas around. Which procedure meant the Wonk and a handful of robots who had turned out to have useful logistical skills. And God, because, of all the artificial minds there, God’s was the most capacious and inventive. Albeit also the most malevolent and cruel, now very dedicated to playing both serpent in Eden and devil’s advocate. Anything that came from God needed to be very carefully screened for malice.

The Wonk was good at thinking up ideas and the robots were good at telling her why those ideas wouldn’t work. And they kept on going until they found one that would.

Not necessarily genius-level ideas, or even very good ones, but better than nothing. That was practically the ...

And when he handed round the make-believe tea to the robots who couldn’t in any event have drunk it, he usually had something to say. Something self-effacing and staid that was, nonetheless, useful. He was a sophisticated model, after all, and he had seen more of the world than most other robots.

The Wonk smiled winningly at them, which was a completely wasted effort. Both because they were robots, and because she was behind a curtain.

Better, perhaps, if they felt that the guidance was coming from some great and powerful AI.

The Wizard of Oz behind the curtain

When asked about the curtain, he would only say to pay no attention.

was thinking. When we have humans, nobody should own robots. But if robots want to help, we can assign them to where there’s most need. That way it doesn’t end up with some rich guy owning all the robots.” “The logic of the statement is apparent,” Uncharles said. “However, I am the product of an ethos that believed in rich people owning all the robots, even robots with functions as specialised and unnecessary as mine, and so my opinions on the subject are unlikely to be valid.” “And if humans want to help, then the same.” Uncharles actually stopped halfway through proffering the empty plastic bowl he was using as a teacup. “Humans help?” he enquired. “It’s been known.” “That sounds like a demarcation issue to me. I am not sure I approve,” Uncharles decided.

“Justice is a human-made thing that means what humans wish it to mean and does not exist at all if humans do not make it,” Uncharles said. “I suggest that ‘kind and ordered’ is a better goal. It is possible that the world was once both kind and ordered. It is possible that it may be so again. Perhaps you will make it so.” “We, Uncharles. Perhaps we’ll make it so.” He mimed pouring milk into her cup until she lifted a finger to say “enough.” “The Wonk, no. I am, after all, only a valet.”