A Psalm for the Wild-Built (Monk & Robot, #1)

by Becky Chambers

For anybody who could use a break.

If you ask six different monks the question of which godly domain robot consciousness belongs to, you’ll get seven different answers.

All we have ever known is a life of human design, from our bodies to our work to the buildings we are housed in. We thank you for not keeping us here against our will, and we mean no disrespect to your offer, but it is our wish to leave your cities entirely, so that we may observe that which has no design—the untouched wilderness.

the robots’ eagerness to experience the raw, undisturbed ecosystems of our verdant moon had to come from somewhere.

Sometimes, a person reaches a point in their life when it becomes absolutely essential to get the fuck out of the city.

Dex realized with a stomach-souring thud that they were standing on the wrong side of the vast gulf between having read about doing a thing and doing the thing.

“That sounds nice,” he said. Relief began to melt the lines around his eyes. “I would love some sleep. It won’t knock me out, right? Like, I’ll wake up if—” “If your kiddos need something, you’ll wake up fast as always. Feverfig is a gentle cuddle, not a brick to the head.”

“Did you just apologize to the bloodsuck for killing it?” “Yes.” “Why?” “It didn’t do anything wrong. It was acting in its nature.” “Is this typical of people, to apologize to things you kill?” “Yeah.” “Hm!” the robot said with interest. It looked at the plate of vegetables. “Did you apologize to each of these plants individually as you harvested them, or in aggregate?” “We … don’t apologize to plants.” “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t experience tactile pleasure,” Mosscap said. It leaned back in the chair experimentally, resulting in another small hm! “I’m aware of when I’m touching something, but the feeling is neither good nor bad. I simply touch things. But this”—it gestured at itself, and the chair—“is delightful, purely for the novelty. I’ve never sat this way before.”

Dex took note of Mosscap’s phrasing. “So, it is correct, then? You wouldn’t prefer they or—” “Oh, no, no, no. Those sorts of words are for people. Robots are not people. We’re machines, and machines are objects. Objects are its.” “I’d say you’re more than just an object,” Dex said.

The robot looked a touch offended. “I would never call you just an animal, Sibling Dex.” It turned its gaze to the road, head held high. “We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.”

“You’re so … flexible. Fluid. You don’t even know how many of you there are, or where you are. You just go with the flow. I figured you’d be all numbers and logic. Structured. Strict, y’know?” Mosscap looked amused. “What a curious notion.” “Is it? Like you said, you’re a machine.” “And?” “And machines only work because of numbers and logic.” “That’s how we function, not how we perceive.”

But a Factory Age building, a metal building—that was of no benefit to anything beyond the small creatures that enjoyed some temporary shelter in its remains. It would corrode until it collapsed. That was the most it would achieve. Its only legacy was to persist where it did not belong.

“So … if the parts still work after all this time, and you can keep repurposing parts over and over, why take the originals apart and mix their pieces up after they break down? Why not fix them?” Mosscap nodded emphatically, signaling a good point made. “This was discussed at length at the first gathering, after originals began breaking down. Ultimately, the decision was that would be a less desirable path forward.” “But that’s … that’s immortality. How is that less desirable?” “Because nothing else in the world behaves that way. Everything else breaks down and is made into other things. You—you are made of molecules that originated in an unmeasurable amount of organisms. You eat dozens of dead things every single day to maintain your form. And when you die, bits of you will be taken in turn by bacteria and beetles and worms, and so it goes. We robots are not natural beings; we know this. But we’re still subject to the Parent Gods’ laws, just like everything else. How could we continue to be students of the world if we don’t emulate its most intrinsic cycle? If the originals had simply fixed themselves, they’d be behaving in opposition to the very thing they desperately sought to understand. The thing we’re still trying to understand.”

Fear is miserable, as is pain. As is hunger. Every animal is hardwired to do absolutely anything to stop those feelings as fast as possible. We’re all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid.

How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?”

You’re an animal, Sibling Dex. You are not separate or other. You’re an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is.

you want to do things that are meaningful to others, fine! Good! So do I! But if I wanted to crawl into a cave and watch stalagmites with Frostfrog for the remainder of my days, that would also be both fine and good.

because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just...