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"I'm a fairly visual thinker. In doing science, I think in terms of pictures of things happening, and then do the mathematics."
- Gregory Benford
 |
| Carer-Type Robot | ||
| A general-purpose robot designed to help care for humans. |
| “Got a new one for you,” the mover said. Small man, in neat overalls, wheeling the box on the stacker. That’s what the robot saw when they opened the box and let it out. It stepped cautiously out into sunshine. An unfamiliar city skyline, a boxy whitewashed building in front of him, a busy-looking woman in a blue dress examining the manifesto.
“Can it cook?” she said. “Cook, clean, sing lullabies,” the mover said. “I gotta go, I have another half-dozen to deliver.” “All right, Sami. See you,” the woman said. She turned to the robot. “Do you have a name?” she said. “R76-2,” the robot said. It was the first time it had spoken since the tests in the lab. “R76?” the woman said. “Dash two.” “I’m going to call you Orson,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Abbas. Do you know where you are?” “I do not, Mrs. Abbas,” the robot—Orson—said. “This is Neom. You are a general purpose, carer-type, correct?” “Yes, Mrs. Abbas.” “Then you should know what to do.” |
| Technovelgy from The Robot,
by Lavie Tidhar. Published by Uncanny Magazine in 2024 Additional resources -
|
This excerpt shows the carer-type robot at work:
Compare to the robant from The Impossible Planet (1953) by Philip K. Dick.
“I’m dying, you know,” Mr. Hammid said.
“I know, Baba,” the robot said. It wiped the sweat from Mr. Hammid’s face gently with the cloth. It was dark in the room, the ceiling fan turning lazily overhead. The lights of the city rose outside, beyond the window, skyscrapers and minarets and floating street lanterns, but their light remained outside where it belonged.
“I don’t want to die,’ Mr. Hammid said. “I have so much still to do.”
“I know, Baba,” the robot said.
“It hurts,” Mr. Hammid said. “I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”
The robot wondered at this concept, pain. It dipped the cloth in cool water and touched it to Mr. Hammid’s forehead. Mr. Hammid closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow.
“Sing me a song,” Mr. Hammid said.
“Of course.”
The robot had sung the song many times, to many patients. It seemed to please them. It began. “Hush now, my baby, sleep now has come, sleep now, my baby, may all your dreams be kind…”
When the robot stopped singing Mr. Hammid’s breath had left his body, and he was still. The robot had seen many humans die, but the why of it remained a mystery to both it and them. It wheeled Mr. Hammid’s body to the Room of Final Rest and contemplated mortality.
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'A broken circle with arrows pointing to a right-hand flow appeared in the chalf.'
'The object seemed melted together like wax — nothing was distinguishable.'
'Midges have many capabilities. To the untrained eye, they look like sparrows.'
'I made disks of my own voice to the number of five hundred very carefully chosen words.'
'His sensors out and working, and the whirring of the tape that sucked up sight and sound and shape and smell and form...'
'It sounds to me as though you had invented a kind of metal earthworm.'
