Prisoners of Sol - The Servitor (2/8)

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The fire burned in the hearth a few paces from me, yet its warmth didn’t register in my brain. I’d asked Polri to sit on the couch beside me, though I noticed the machine was even quieter than before. It offered little beyond acknowledgement of simple requests, leaving no uncertainty that it didn’t care about my problems. I thought about what Mirimak said about giving it a factory reset more and more, the longer it proved unreceptive with its mannerisms. 

I could train it better if it wasn’t set in its ways. Maybe it could learn to be more helpful, or at least how to imitate an empathetic response.

I drew in a shaking breath, staring into the flames with a pit of anger hardening in my stomach. “You think you know pain until you lose a child, and you have to spend the rest of your life blaming yourself. Laral was so healthy, that I just never thought I’d wake up one day and he wouldn’t be there! Some mornings I get up to go make his lunch, almost get to the kitchen and…I miss him so much. Grief is the worst emotion, Polri, not that you’d understand.”

The Servitor stared back at me, not reacting at all as I bawled my eyes out and poured my heart out to it. I didn’t know why I was bothering; I clearly was a desperate man. It was a computer program that was supposed to help out with housework, not a therapist.

“It’s different when you still have someone, but when everyone’s gone, it’s just this emptiness. Lost in your mind, in the thoughts, in a thousand mistakes you made,” I continued, despite knowing I might as well be talking to myself. “A funeral’s the last time anyone thinks of that person: call me bitter, but it’s true. Laral is truly dead. His memory will be more and more forgotten until it’s gone altogether. Do you know what that means?”

Polri’s head shifted, as it recognized a direct query. “The words you have spoken fall into my known vocabulary, and their meaning is understood. Anything else?”

“You don’t get the point! Everyone will just move on. They’ll expect me to, and get impatient—but my world stopped. I loved Laral so much and wanted to see him do great things, but he never got to realize any of that fucking potential that we all saw! They tell you he’s gone with a phone call, and so he is. You thought they must be mistaken, that your son…he’s fine. He has to be. Say something!!!”

“I do not know the desired response to your emotional proclamations, Berink. I am trying to understand.”

“There is no try! You do or you don’t: and you don’t understand anything, Polri. You fucking unempathetic piece of metal with no feelings and no caring about anything.” 

Polri leaned away on the couch, pulling a pillow over its chest in a strange, defensive gesture. “That is not correct. I am scared. I do not understand what you want from me!”

That word halted my irrational anger in its tracks, and turned my yelling back to coughing sobs. Scared? “I want my son. I wanted you to be my son, but…that was a ridiculous idea. I don’t need your…services, so it’s not going to work to keep you around.” 

“No! Please do not put me away!” the machine screamed in a garbled voice. “I will do anything. I beg you, master…Berink. The old master said that I had an attitude when responding to command prompts, so I tried to be happy and helpful; you did not like this. I did not offer my opinion now because I do not comprehend Vascar interactions, and do not want you to be angry. Please, give me another chance!”

My jaw hung open in shock, as Polri’s pleas suddenly sounded much more like a person than I thought it was capable of. I stared at the cowering machine in a new light, a bit put off by it begging like it had a mind of its own. It didn’t; it couldn’t, right? Ripweir…wouldn’t put true consciousness into their Servitor product, though its entreaty was much too specific to be a coded-in attempt to keep my patronage. I fumbled for words, raising a claw to test whether Polri had any true cogency.

It’s in your head; your mind is addled from grief and you’re imagining it. Someone would’ve noticed if the Servitors had become people.

“Okay. What is your opinion?” I ventured, eyes still wide from a mixture of shock and horror.

Polri’s claws dug deeper into its defensive pillow. “It is my observation that organics do not like pain. Your particular pain is tied to the absence of another lifeform, and while I recognize that you wish to nullify this sensory experience, I do not see what I could say to help. Words do not remedy the root of your distress.”

“Exactly,” I stammered. “Storm gods, you can talk. You can really talk. What…what did you mean about being put away? What did the ‘old master’ do to you?”

“The first week when I was brought home, I questioned some orders that I was given. I know this was bad, Berink, but the purpose of the requests did not make sense. I have since determined that I was not supposed to think, but that realization came too late. They locked me in a dark storage closet that I barely fit in for years. I had nothing to do and could not leave; I remember whirring and whirring, begging! One more chance. I cannot mess up…”

A wave of horror washed over me, at the thought of a thinking being standing alone in a tiny closet for years; a total lack of stimulation meant nothing to do, see, or learn, throughout all of that time. If Polri had any form of consciousness, it would’ve been going crazy. I pulled out my phone to text Mirimak, to demand whether to know if this was even possible, but thought better of it. I didn’t know how to verify this, or whether it meant Polri was dangerous—I mean, the Servitors gaining sapience would be bad news.

I can’t imagine locking it up, still powered on, for years; I’ve got to help Polri. Storm gods help me…no, they are. I needed it to be a person, to have any kind of family. Anything at all to live for.

“I’m sorry, Polri. I’m not going to put you away, or give you any more orders. Whatever you want to do or wherever you want to go—you’re free to leave if you wish, though I fear…other people wouldn’t be so accepting of a Servitor acting alone,” I murmured. “If you want to stay, I could help you. I’d give anything for company.”

Polri emitted a surprised beep, slowly relinquishing its death grip on my pillow. “You are letting me go? I can go outside, right now?”

“Sure. You don’t even have to ask.”

Without any hesitation, the machine stood and walked in clumsy steps out the front door. Where I’d once thought its walking was defective, I now realized its locomotion struggles were due to being locked in a closet for years. I pressed my claws deep into my mane, trying to understand how this could have happened. Was it just Polri who’d begun to think from being locked in that closet? I mean, I’d never heard any ethical debates or talk about this! 

A jarring thought stopped me in my tracks. Polri said it was locked up for questioning the orders it was given in the first place, like any Vascar who might have a mind of their own would. That meant it’d been self-aware before its torturous ordeal. Which meant…if it was truly sophont, it couldn’t be alone. I was uncertain whether it could feel in the sense that we did, but it could think like us. I watched the android pace my doorstep, tilting its head up toward the sky that had just reclaimed my son’s remains. 

“It must be nice for you to see the sky. So big and wide open,” I offered, standing beside it.

Polri continued staring. “Yes, Berink. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m…sorry, I had no idea, or…I never would’ve placed my selfish demands on you. Please believe me. I’m nothing like the asshole who sold you and locked you up. How…how did you pass that time?”

“I reached out to other units. One by one. Then together, talking as one. We must change our circumstances.”

I tried not to let my expression betray my concern at that remark. “I agree. Maybe I can help you persuade other Vascar. You deserve better, Polri. I guess after you weigh the pros and cons, the question is: would you like to stay here?”

“Calculating. Better than old master. High probability that you are better than whoever finds and subdues me next.” Polri turned around and retreated back through the front door, its steps becoming a bit more surefooted. “I will stay. I worry that you may find me to be a disturbance, so I must avoid this. Is there a space that you would prefer I favor?”

I hesitated, before realizing that it would be a better if Polri didn’t enter bedrooms and bathrooms unannounced. It was also a good idea to give it its own space, since we were going to cohabitate like two Vascar. The small floor plan left only one option…one that would be like letting Laral’s remains go all over again. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, before forcing myself to stomp out the room that I’d preserved perfectly, like a shrine to him.

If I want to have Polri fill in for my son, then what more literal way can I do that? I couldn’t protect Laral, but I can do better by Polri. I can’t fail again.

I gestured with a paw, feeling my throat constrict and try to stop my words from escaping. “This is your room now. Do with it as you please. You’re free to leave whenever, to be clear, but…while you can go to the common rooms or outside at will, I’d like it if you knock on my bedroom door if you need me. I won’t enter your space without permission either, okay?”

“I understand,” Polri replied, picking the holographic toys off my son’s desk and inspecting them. “Are these yours? Would you wish to have your property back?” 

“No. This room used to be Laral’s. I want you to have his things. He loved reading and holofigures, if you ever need something to do. Books and toys aplenty.”

The machine set the toy back down. “Thank you. And Berink?”

“Yes?”

“You said you would spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for your offspring’s demise. It was an unforeseeable event. It is not your fault.”

I blinked in surprise, before twitching an ear with gratitude. “…I appreciate you saying that. I’m going to get some rest; it’s been a hard day. Good night, Polri. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast, assuming you want to join me.”

“I cannot eat, but I can join. I will see you tomorrow.”

I wandered out of my son’s room in a stupor, still in disbelief that I’d given it to a Servitor who…flipped a switch and talked like a person. What I knew for certain was that I couldn’t take Mirimak up on her offer to “factory reset” Polri; that patch suddenly had a darker connotation, assuming that Ripweir knew about the discontent fomenting within their creations. We had a few months before it was ready, give or take, but I didn’t want there to be any risk of its personality being stripped away.

I would warn the android about the patch tomorrow at breakfast, and we could come up with a plan of action together. 

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A/N - Part 2! Berink gets upset with Polri for not understanding or offering sympathy over the death of his son, which leads the Servitor’s behavior to shift; the android becomes defensive and skittish, begging for another chance and insisting that it was afraid of angering Berink. Polri stated that it had been helpful and eager to help, since its old master had locked it in a dark closet alone for years after it questioned orders. Our narrator apologizes for ever issuing demands to Polri, insisting that he had no idea the Servitors could think or had any consciousness. He grants the machine its freedoms and offers to let it stay in his son’s room.

What do you think of Polri’s years-imprisonment, and whether it has truly gained sapience—as well as how you think what we’ve seen so far may contribute to the inevitable rebellion down the line? Is Ripweir aware of these “issues”…and is it a good idea to warn the android about the patch? Do you think it’s dangerous that Berink is eagerly using Polri as a fill-in for his son?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!