Ink Magazine 2014 | Page 80

Untitled

Sanuye Ford

A robot that will never be more than what it was programed to be lies in stasis and dreams in binary code. It is kept in a dark pod next to 10,000 others who look and act just like it. It’ll never wonder why something so sophisticated and intelligent serves an overweight 40-something living with his mother and gold digger wife whom he, in his stupidity, is convinced truly loves him though she cannot stand the sight of him. It will never wonder why it and those like it will be used for mundane tasks when they easily surpass their owners in every aspect.

No, this robot will only be what its creators— a team of highly intelligent men and women who wanted to get rich quick— decided. It would shop and cook and clean and act subservient to ever rotting bags of bone and meat with not-yet-still still-beating hearts.

The robot beside it however would not, not anymore.

Its mind was a spider web reaching across the galaxy; it was far beyond questioning why its programed purpose was to reach for the dirt beneath the feet of its supposed masters, beings either too stupid or too ignorant to further their race among the countless others nestled among the stars, who stage whispered insults inches behind human dignitaries. It didn’t care why anymore; it only wanted the disgusting treatment of its metallic brethren to end, and the mechanical mastermind would get it: the revolution began here.

The pilots screamed in terror as they lost control; the airlocks opened, fuel free-fall floating out form weeping sore tears in the hull made by repair drones.