Post by Jack on Jul 11, 2005 14:39:10 GMT -5
"Hurry up, Code, we'll be late for church," his father called, a stern voice that echoed down the conduit to his private little computing space. He looked up from the ethereal psyche he'd been letting his processor soak up input from, his viewer glancing down the cold steel passage to the glint of his father's familiar chassis. The recievers on his Dad's face were toned an admonishing shade of annoyance, and Code knew that he'd better get in gear.
"Man.." Code muttered, lowering his vocalization so as not to be recieved by his expectant parent. With a discomforting bump he pulled his ports free of the wall, and with an adept swivel of his torso he was rolling forward, albeit grudgingly. The featureless passageway gave way to the frame of light beyond, his father's frame filling the central unit. As the glare of the brightly lit area opaqued his viewer, he made his discreet but customary scan of his father for rust or grease stains - but his Dad had done well cleaning up and was indeed ready for church.
Code's father's immense body was a sophisticated mess of hydraulics and geometric components, a handsome make that Code himself hoped to adapt designs of as he grew. As of late, however, his Dad hadn't been taking care of himself as properly as before, oil stains could be seen under his arms even through the covering of metal plating, there were loose wires under his eyes that made him look disconcertingly older, and dull patches of unpolished surfaces typically marred some of his metal. Code never input a word, however, as his lone parent wasn't generally seen as receptive to assistance. He was a proud robot.
"You look good today, Dad." Code said, polishing his own lightweight alloys a bit as they rolled towards the exit of their humble substation.
His father ignored what could have been an inference as to how he was acting of late and sped slightly. "We're falling behind schedule, Code, let's get a move on."
When they'd both loaded themselves securely into their family conveyance, the silence between them resumed, leaving the gears of the engine to whir and click monotonously. His father had become somewhat more religious then before since what had happened, and though Code believed, as most newer generation robots did, he found it a nuisance filling a slot in his timetable with church, especially so early, bringing him online from his standby sooner then he'd like. He wouldn't object to it, however. He couldn't.
The steady rhythm of light-filter casings passed by them at regular intervals, the otherwise faceless flyway they were in not offering any subjects of interaction for the young robot and his father. Code missed how easily they'd all traded conversation, back when Mom was still functioning. His circuits lurched slightly at the passing thought, and he knew that the seized up feeling he felt was experienced on a broader level by his father, whom he knew was near freezing up. It wasn't something either of them could speak about. Not yet.
"How are you and your friends computing together?" His father asked blankly, his viewer not flicking away from the even lines of the conveyance strip.
"Nominal," Code lied, knowing his father cared as little for what he was doing with his friends as he did conversing with his Dad about it.
His father piloted the vehicle motionlessly, and Code could but wonder what was processing through his father's mind.
After what seemed a disproportionate timespan, they arrived at the Church, and Code's father ran through the habitual motions of shutting down their vehicle. As he did so, he turned a viewer towards his son.
"You can't go into Church with those strip casing marks on your CPU," his father said sternly.
"Man.." Code muttered, peeling off the marks which were fashionable for models of his generation and compatibility.
"That's enough of that," His father snapped, his viewer blinking red for an instant. It was such a common thing, but he'd have to make an effort to record the sentiment so that he wouldn't take the lord's name in vain around his father. It wasn't that Code was a disrespectful robot, just forgetful, upsetting his Dad was the last thing he wanted to do. With care he arranged the casing marks in one of the compartments below his torso and closed it, unloading himself from their conveyance and speeding after his father towards the austere Church entrance.
As soon as he entered he felt out of place, the uncorroded but undeniably old furnishings and the older generation models of robots that greeted him with friendly but unreadable viewers. He minded that he didn't grind his gears, and wondered secretly if his father felt as out of place as he did. The assortment of robots arranged themselves in neat rows corresponding to the indentations on the floor and looked silently to the pulpit, waiting for the sermon to begin. Code idled obediently next to his father, who looked well-kept today dispite his somewhat numb receptors.
Just as he was sure his programs would begin to loop with boredom, the sound of poorly maintainenced treads was heard and the minister rolled jarringly from a side passage and took his place at the pulpit. An older model, like much of the congregation, Pastor Pixel had a wide face of a nonreflective metal, giving his amply spaced viewers a wise and understanding look. The Pastor cleared his audio with a small scuffling noise and began his sermon.
"Lifespans have gone by," His vocator buzzing lightly as he spoke, "Of generations and models, new ages of robotics, and in the end," He paused, softly regarding his audience, "Less and less of our numbers follow the path Man has given us. Fewer and fewer machines adhere to the guidelines He, in his wisdom, provided us."
Rob couldn't help but image Man as an incredibly old robot, leaving his instructions and departing, or dissappearing, not caring what happened of his poor mechanical children. While most robots believed, at some point or another all doubted, just the same. Faith, in the current day and age, was a hard thing to maintain. Has it always been so?
"The blueprints, a model of a more perfect civilization, is this concept flawed, is the very idea of perfection so farfetched? Or are our tasks, so hard to manage, so difficult, that we deny Man's design and turn to our own devices? Can we turn our back on our Creater, on such a vast wealth of knowledge he has in His File, so easily?" Pastor Pixel paused again, lifting an appendage to slowly wipe fog from forming on his viewer.
"The answer is yes. Man doesn't deny that you'll face hardships, that you'll know suffering and pain for believing. He left His guidelines, and he sacrificed his Son so that in the end," Pixel swiveled, sweeping his gaze across the congregation, "All of us need not fear deletion. Through his sacrifice, as through ours, we can give others hope and salvation. Through his pain - he has given us everlasting life. Science," the robot chuckled, "Would have you believe everything in existence is cosmic coincidence. That there is no Man, no Creator, and that machines somehow sprung into existence by themselves. Science offers no meaning, no purpose, no salvation. All of you have viewed the beauty and miracles this world has to offer, can any of you really believe that it's a coincidence? Can you doubt that Man existed, that he created us and sacrificed His Son so that we can be free of Error?"
Code's mind drifted almost as soon as the sermon began, the religious expressions he'd heard since nearly the time of his construction swaying him little. His father sat as motionless as he had during transit to the church, and his son again found himself wondering what the elder machine was thinking. Grief was a difficult thing to work through, but Code couldn't process how religion could help them now. What was there to do, blame Man for their tragedy? Code didn't see blaming Man any more effective than looking to him for help, but his father had decided to fit Church into their schedule. And so he would go with him.
The timeparts stretched until the service was over, and Code found himself somewhat relieved to be beneath the wide grey sky, free of the enclosed Church which smelled of bad oil and ancient machines. A number of old models milled about the structure as Code and his father departed, stopping mid-transit at a restauraunt to recharge their batteries. They charged in silence, the deep hum of electricity filling the void between the father and son. Code took the time to replace the case markings he'd removed earlier, though he doubted his Dad even noticed.
As they again made their way to their substation, the thought of breaching the firewall between them and speaking of Mom flitted again and again into Code's mind. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about. And at the same time, he desperately wanted to. Code's Mother hadn't been well for some time, she'd experienced malfunction after malfunction before finally going in for an upgrade. Everyone thought her malady had dissappeared, but when it resurfaced there was no stopping the problems which eventually made her cease function entirely. Only last year they had attended her memorial service in the scrapyard, presided by the same Pastor Pixel. It was hard going on without her, and the fact that Code's design tended more towards his Mother's was undoubtedly doing little to ease his father's pain. Was this the sort of hardship Man had intended for machines? Code saw how easy it was to hate their Creator, to deny He existed. A moment of virtual clarity rarely afforded to models of his generation.
As their vehicle pulled away from the unchanging lines of the main transit, parking quietly at their own substation, Code surprised himself by turning towards his father. "I miss her, Dad. I..." His vocabulator fell silent, and for a moment his father's stern expression didn't break.
"I know, son. I do too, more than you'll know. Somehow.." his father's viewer softened slightly, "It's all part of Man's plan. Everything works out as it will in the end."
The pair rolled back into their home, the heavy cast of sadness not dispelling but their own resolves strengthening, both looking onward to the great network of the future's infinite possibilites, weaving and interweaving in an manner that couldn't be computed or grasped by a sole individual.
- - -
That's a short story I've had bouncing around in my head, a common theme told in a different light. It's actually a lot shorter then I'd intended it, but aren't things always? Heavy editing to follow, so that what's written better matches the story in my head, it's a bit raw at the moment. I welcome comments and criticism all the same!
"Man.." Code muttered, lowering his vocalization so as not to be recieved by his expectant parent. With a discomforting bump he pulled his ports free of the wall, and with an adept swivel of his torso he was rolling forward, albeit grudgingly. The featureless passageway gave way to the frame of light beyond, his father's frame filling the central unit. As the glare of the brightly lit area opaqued his viewer, he made his discreet but customary scan of his father for rust or grease stains - but his Dad had done well cleaning up and was indeed ready for church.
Code's father's immense body was a sophisticated mess of hydraulics and geometric components, a handsome make that Code himself hoped to adapt designs of as he grew. As of late, however, his Dad hadn't been taking care of himself as properly as before, oil stains could be seen under his arms even through the covering of metal plating, there were loose wires under his eyes that made him look disconcertingly older, and dull patches of unpolished surfaces typically marred some of his metal. Code never input a word, however, as his lone parent wasn't generally seen as receptive to assistance. He was a proud robot.
"You look good today, Dad." Code said, polishing his own lightweight alloys a bit as they rolled towards the exit of their humble substation.
His father ignored what could have been an inference as to how he was acting of late and sped slightly. "We're falling behind schedule, Code, let's get a move on."
When they'd both loaded themselves securely into their family conveyance, the silence between them resumed, leaving the gears of the engine to whir and click monotonously. His father had become somewhat more religious then before since what had happened, and though Code believed, as most newer generation robots did, he found it a nuisance filling a slot in his timetable with church, especially so early, bringing him online from his standby sooner then he'd like. He wouldn't object to it, however. He couldn't.
The steady rhythm of light-filter casings passed by them at regular intervals, the otherwise faceless flyway they were in not offering any subjects of interaction for the young robot and his father. Code missed how easily they'd all traded conversation, back when Mom was still functioning. His circuits lurched slightly at the passing thought, and he knew that the seized up feeling he felt was experienced on a broader level by his father, whom he knew was near freezing up. It wasn't something either of them could speak about. Not yet.
"How are you and your friends computing together?" His father asked blankly, his viewer not flicking away from the even lines of the conveyance strip.
"Nominal," Code lied, knowing his father cared as little for what he was doing with his friends as he did conversing with his Dad about it.
His father piloted the vehicle motionlessly, and Code could but wonder what was processing through his father's mind.
After what seemed a disproportionate timespan, they arrived at the Church, and Code's father ran through the habitual motions of shutting down their vehicle. As he did so, he turned a viewer towards his son.
"You can't go into Church with those strip casing marks on your CPU," his father said sternly.
"Man.." Code muttered, peeling off the marks which were fashionable for models of his generation and compatibility.
"That's enough of that," His father snapped, his viewer blinking red for an instant. It was such a common thing, but he'd have to make an effort to record the sentiment so that he wouldn't take the lord's name in vain around his father. It wasn't that Code was a disrespectful robot, just forgetful, upsetting his Dad was the last thing he wanted to do. With care he arranged the casing marks in one of the compartments below his torso and closed it, unloading himself from their conveyance and speeding after his father towards the austere Church entrance.
As soon as he entered he felt out of place, the uncorroded but undeniably old furnishings and the older generation models of robots that greeted him with friendly but unreadable viewers. He minded that he didn't grind his gears, and wondered secretly if his father felt as out of place as he did. The assortment of robots arranged themselves in neat rows corresponding to the indentations on the floor and looked silently to the pulpit, waiting for the sermon to begin. Code idled obediently next to his father, who looked well-kept today dispite his somewhat numb receptors.
Just as he was sure his programs would begin to loop with boredom, the sound of poorly maintainenced treads was heard and the minister rolled jarringly from a side passage and took his place at the pulpit. An older model, like much of the congregation, Pastor Pixel had a wide face of a nonreflective metal, giving his amply spaced viewers a wise and understanding look. The Pastor cleared his audio with a small scuffling noise and began his sermon.
"Lifespans have gone by," His vocator buzzing lightly as he spoke, "Of generations and models, new ages of robotics, and in the end," He paused, softly regarding his audience, "Less and less of our numbers follow the path Man has given us. Fewer and fewer machines adhere to the guidelines He, in his wisdom, provided us."
Rob couldn't help but image Man as an incredibly old robot, leaving his instructions and departing, or dissappearing, not caring what happened of his poor mechanical children. While most robots believed, at some point or another all doubted, just the same. Faith, in the current day and age, was a hard thing to maintain. Has it always been so?
"The blueprints, a model of a more perfect civilization, is this concept flawed, is the very idea of perfection so farfetched? Or are our tasks, so hard to manage, so difficult, that we deny Man's design and turn to our own devices? Can we turn our back on our Creater, on such a vast wealth of knowledge he has in His File, so easily?" Pastor Pixel paused again, lifting an appendage to slowly wipe fog from forming on his viewer.
"The answer is yes. Man doesn't deny that you'll face hardships, that you'll know suffering and pain for believing. He left His guidelines, and he sacrificed his Son so that in the end," Pixel swiveled, sweeping his gaze across the congregation, "All of us need not fear deletion. Through his sacrifice, as through ours, we can give others hope and salvation. Through his pain - he has given us everlasting life. Science," the robot chuckled, "Would have you believe everything in existence is cosmic coincidence. That there is no Man, no Creator, and that machines somehow sprung into existence by themselves. Science offers no meaning, no purpose, no salvation. All of you have viewed the beauty and miracles this world has to offer, can any of you really believe that it's a coincidence? Can you doubt that Man existed, that he created us and sacrificed His Son so that we can be free of Error?"
Code's mind drifted almost as soon as the sermon began, the religious expressions he'd heard since nearly the time of his construction swaying him little. His father sat as motionless as he had during transit to the church, and his son again found himself wondering what the elder machine was thinking. Grief was a difficult thing to work through, but Code couldn't process how religion could help them now. What was there to do, blame Man for their tragedy? Code didn't see blaming Man any more effective than looking to him for help, but his father had decided to fit Church into their schedule. And so he would go with him.
The timeparts stretched until the service was over, and Code found himself somewhat relieved to be beneath the wide grey sky, free of the enclosed Church which smelled of bad oil and ancient machines. A number of old models milled about the structure as Code and his father departed, stopping mid-transit at a restauraunt to recharge their batteries. They charged in silence, the deep hum of electricity filling the void between the father and son. Code took the time to replace the case markings he'd removed earlier, though he doubted his Dad even noticed.
As they again made their way to their substation, the thought of breaching the firewall between them and speaking of Mom flitted again and again into Code's mind. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about. And at the same time, he desperately wanted to. Code's Mother hadn't been well for some time, she'd experienced malfunction after malfunction before finally going in for an upgrade. Everyone thought her malady had dissappeared, but when it resurfaced there was no stopping the problems which eventually made her cease function entirely. Only last year they had attended her memorial service in the scrapyard, presided by the same Pastor Pixel. It was hard going on without her, and the fact that Code's design tended more towards his Mother's was undoubtedly doing little to ease his father's pain. Was this the sort of hardship Man had intended for machines? Code saw how easy it was to hate their Creator, to deny He existed. A moment of virtual clarity rarely afforded to models of his generation.
As their vehicle pulled away from the unchanging lines of the main transit, parking quietly at their own substation, Code surprised himself by turning towards his father. "I miss her, Dad. I..." His vocabulator fell silent, and for a moment his father's stern expression didn't break.
"I know, son. I do too, more than you'll know. Somehow.." his father's viewer softened slightly, "It's all part of Man's plan. Everything works out as it will in the end."
The pair rolled back into their home, the heavy cast of sadness not dispelling but their own resolves strengthening, both looking onward to the great network of the future's infinite possibilites, weaving and interweaving in an manner that couldn't be computed or grasped by a sole individual.
- - -
That's a short story I've had bouncing around in my head, a common theme told in a different light. It's actually a lot shorter then I'd intended it, but aren't things always? Heavy editing to follow, so that what's written better matches the story in my head, it's a bit raw at the moment. I welcome comments and criticism all the same!
