SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

24. INTRO TO ADVANCED INTELLECTUAL HUMANOIDS

24. INTRO TO ADVANCED INTELLECTUAL HUMANOIDS 

Milo remembers well the circumstances that surrounded the time when he was let go from the magazine. He even went so far as to out-rightly hating robots in general after that. He treated Hiram like dog shit for days afterwards. Even considered trading him in, even if all heʼd get back was just a few hundred bucks for his spare parts. But that is later in the story.

The first time Milo met one of the newer robots, he was at the office, walking down the hallway towards the office with his nameplate on it, carrying several folders full of papers and nodding at a few co-workers along the way when a door from a nearby office opened. A well-dressed Class Two stepped out and he hadnʼt noticed it in time. They crashed into each other, papers flying everywhere from both pairs of hands.

"Iʼm so sorry!" Milo reacted before quickly realizing that he was apologizing to a robot and stopped. Who says ʻsorryʼ to a robot? Oh gee, sorry M-mister R-robot, I hope I didn't inconvenience you in any way., P-please do not cause an uprising, the human race isn't prepared for that.

Milo bent down to quickly gather his papers back up and carry on. The robot knelt down slowly to do the same. It was machine-like, almost. One by one, robotically, he grabbed the sheets and stacked them.

"I shouldʼve been watching where I was going," Milo said, if only for the sole purpose of relieving the silence.

"It is alright," the robot replied from his mostly monotone voicebox. "No harm done."

Then the A.I. looked up at Milo, making eye contact. Those artificial eyes, with their unnatural shade of blue, seemingly bore straight into his very mind, collecting all of his thoughts as if reading him like a book.

Milo shook his head. Sure, there were conspiracies but that was just absurd. 

"May I ask your name?" the robot said to him. 

Milo kind of sputters for a moment. "Milo. Milo Sparks. Second floor editing office." 

"Thank you, Mister Sparks. My name is Pierre." 

He stood up once again and extended his hand to shake. Milo decided to return the favor, as utterly bizarre as it was to him at the time. Milo hadnʼt interacted with a Class Two before, and this one had the Class Two body as well as the mind. Like an expensive male mannequin that you might find modeling clothes in the shop window of a menʼs apparel store.

"Youʼre a robot," Milo had said. Seeing one at the magazine office had still been surprising to him, as there had never been one there before.

"No," Pierre replied, "not a robot. An advanced intellectual humanoid." 

"Ah, okay. Youʼre new here." 

"Yes. I have been purchased by the company for tasks around the office." 

"This is the first time Iʼve ever seen one here - " 

"You must excuse me, but I have jobs to attend to. Have a pleasant day, Mister Sparks."

—

The robot turned and walked away and all Milo could do was just stare after it, fascinated.

That interaction with Pierre had been a small, subtle push for him in the direction of purchasing a robot for his own. He became more and more interested in these models of robots to the point where, not long after the Pierre incident, he made a trip to the second-hand electronics store where he would end up purchasing the robot he would end up naming Hiram. Hiram, of course, wouldnʼt look like Pierre due to budget constraints, but he was still a robot. Milo's robot. He couldnʼt remember being more excited for anything else in his life at the time than on that day.