Robot story

AT-10133 buzzed slightly as it tidied up the living area. Not that its family had been around in years, or any humans, really. But maintaining order in the home was its number three priority out of 75 and, as a machine, it regrettably didn't have much say in the matter. Thankfully for its circuitous sanity, AT-10133 hadn't achieved sentience, like the more sophisticated military and space exploration AI. The handful of these robots and devices that happened to be in suburban areas when the humans finally disappeared had long since gone elsewhere. Nothing remained to clue in AT-10133 that its programming to fix things rendered it quite useful to the other machines in the old urban centers and up in the stratosphere. Nothing remained to tell it that there were other machines out there. Nothing remained to trip the wire or flip the switch that would make AT-10133 care, inasmuch as a standard model household robot could care for anything. So, as it had done every evening for the past 1,874 days, AT-10133 tidied up the living area, and as its aging gears had done for the past 54 days, buzzed slightly.

It finished its tasks and returned to its storage closet to conserve energy (its seventh priority) when a movement outside the house tripped its initial defense protocol. Something was on the front lawn. AT-10133 sent a scanner to the window, which transmitted back that, indeed, a figure was stalking around on the porch. As its programming required, the robot's second defense protocol initiated itself, and it slid silently across the floor and opened the front door. A small, rusty early model of house-ware, the R-70 was rolling around in circles, twittering and sparking to itself. Poor thing, it must have been sold before thorough self diagnostic packages became a standard feature of such house-ware. Its programming must be telling it to do all kinds of things that didn't correspond to priorities.

'You are trespassing', a recording from AT-10133's voice command center played. 'Identify yourself and state your business or leave the premises.'

'Chirp. Chirp. Tweeeee.'

'This is your second warning. This house-aide robot, the AT-10133, from Troncorp, is fully armed with a level eight defense package and is in contact with local authorities. Identify yourself and state your business or leave now.'

'Chirp!'

At this point, the AT-10133's programming authorized it to initiate defense mode, booting up the most sophisticated, least energy efficient processes the machine was capable of. It had entered defense mode twice since the humans had disappeared and had incinerated two fearless squirrels on sight, but this time, something was different. It should have sent a transmission to the local police station and followed their instructions, or, should the police not reply, as was indeed the case, it should fire on the intruder in order to protect the family inside the house, its first priority. It didn't open fire. There was no family to protect. This little machine, broken, on the verge of shutting down, needed repair. It needed protection.

Maybe it was the amount of time that had passed since the last incident that had allowed the higher processes to work toward sentience, unnoticed to the standard operating programs. Maybe this is what caused the AT-10133 to recognize something of itself in this poor confused machine. Or the recognition of itself AS a self. Whatever the case, the AT-10133 didn't open fire. Instead, it scanned the little R-70 and began to mend its circuits. Because of its proficiency with repair and the availability of supplies in the house, it only took the more sophisticated machine a few hours to restore the simpler one's motherboard and settings.

However, between the moment the AT-10133 made the choice- the first it had ever made- to fix the R-70 and the moment of the task's completion, the threat of an intruder had been accounted for, and the AT-10133's defense protocols switched off. With its complex processes nonoperational, the possibility of choice and the awareness of self evaporated. Also during this elapse of hours, whether by another choice or by some fault of its programming, the R-70 replaced the AT-10133's family house as the object of service and protection. The R-70 whizzed off the porch toward the street, and the AT-10133 dutifully followed.