Android Falling - Chp 03 - 'Androidics' (Draft)

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“Welcome to the world of Androidics!”

His voice was all but swallowed up by the triumphant cheers of the students. This had been the day they’d waited for ever since they had set foot in their first Robotics-related course. Out of thousands of students who jumped headfirst into Robotics Engineering, only those who fit a narrow band of requirements were allowed to continue down the road towards Androidics. They all knew this - but it had always been a secret as to when they would finally get their hands dirty. Surprise, surprise - today was that day.

The excitement died down quickly, consumed by the revitalized urge to learn. All eyes were wide now, awaiting the new dawn that would soon break upon them. Stevenson nodded satisfactorily when the noise had gone far enough down that he felt they were now listening.

“Welcome,” he repeated, “to the world of Androidics.”

“You all have been selected to lead the grand journey of furthering the art of Robotics, and tomorrow, you will be at the forefront of the development of Androids and their like.”

A small cheer was elicited, which faded as quickly as it had come. The hall vibrated with exhilaration and glee, producing an almost audible hum of energy.

“I start with a formal definition of Androidics. Many would tell you that an android has no difference to a robot - never let those words fool you. The two are as different as mathematics and physics, as language and literature. Mathematics and language are the rules, the guidelines - but to make them great is to utilize them in physics and literature, to absorb the knowledge and produce something practical and magnitudes more amazing. Robotics is only the study of automata, of machinery that can move and do work. No matter how advanced A.I.s get, no matter how quickly robots can act and react, they will never equate the brilliance of Androids.

“An Android is a character, designed with the sole intent of drawing out the empathic bond our foolish human minds associate with certain things. No! Not simply a character. It must be human-like in appearance, in behavior, in all manners that is social and mental, an Android must be able to immediately convince a real human of its own humanity, and never give way to the doubt that it is not human unless questioned specifically and with good reason.

“They will wander our streets like everybody else, everyone but the machinated robots, everyone but the robots whose minds are so tightly bound that they would snap if we tried to give them the task of protecting humanity. Yes! This is the goal of Androids: to blend in quietly with our society, keeping humanity from harm in the best way we know how - by tricking us, deceiving us into believing that humans can protect themselves, that we don’t need the cold, guiding hand of a robot to lead us across the road.”

The hall began to teeter nervously, and Stevenson realized his vigor had pushed him a little too far. He swiped his hand through the air in dismissal of what he had just said. “But never mind that! We are an engineering course. We aren’t here to debate politics - we’ll let the business majors do that.”

Some chuckles were heard, and the room returned to its anticipatory state. “Your goal, in this course, is to sufficiently develop the theory, understanding, and basis of Androidics by your graduation. As a team, every single one of you, you will build the first Android as a joint effort to bring to light exactly what Androidics is to the public.”

He paused for a moment, walking around the table towards the students. “This is not a public event. Not yet. Androidics is a quiet technology right now. The people atop their golden and platinum thrones scream day in and day out at each other about what Androids will be like, what they’ll do, and how we are all going to die because of them. We’ll let them. Meanwhile, you will toil to show them the real thing, and smack them in the face while you’re at it. And my goal is to get you there as fast as I can. Do you all understand?”

One hand shot up, although there was definitely hesitance towards the end, as if the owner of that hand was beginning to regret their decision.

“Yes?”

“Is the essay still due tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Stevenson could have sworn that a tractor had passed through the hall at that exact moment, a particularly old one with much to complain about.

—

Stevenson rarely laughed in glee. He was known to be a rather stoic man when it came down to the details, and emotion was not a trait that students outside of his classes knew him for. Perhaps this was due to the fact that he had been ridiculed by many staff members since his seemingly unexpected explosion of interest in the robotics field. He had joined Livinston University as a undistinguished Mathematics professor, specifically in the field of statistics. So when he began to borrow lab materials from the Biology department, he was bound to raise a few eyebrows.

Many questioned his improper intrusion on the territory of other professors, and even the Dean came and spoke with him on several occasions - but he would not yield. He would only affirm that his actions were well within legal boundaries, and he never failed to point out his spotless track record of returning the equipment when he’d finished.

It became tradition rather quickly that he would show up unannounced Friday afternoons at various laboratories and collect his tools and materials on a dainty little cart, and reappear Monday morning before classes began to return everything to its proper location. Every once in a while, he would also donate an extra piece of equipment to the stashes as a thank-you gift to whomever cared to receive one. It could simply be a new rubber seal for the glass flasks, or something as extravagant as an electron-microscope, still in the original unopened box.

When questioned about the method he had employed to come into possession of such toys, he was known only to nod and wave the question away. Never did the leak of a smile fall through the cracks, which confused some as to how genuine his gratitude was. Yet again and again, new toys would appear on some other professor’s desk, left there without fanfare by the ghostly figure of Stevenson.

But today, someone had left a gift for him instead, and he laughed.

Stevenson reached into the back of his little mail slot, and gingerly pulled out a glistening silver key. Attached to it was a small paper note, hanging on by a flimsy lick of tape:

Stevenson - the lab is yours. I expect only great things to emerge from it.  

- Haufman, Dean of Livinston

The key had come at the perfect time - today was the day that Stevenson had decided to finally accept the enrollment of his Robotics students into the untouched field of Androidics, but without somewhere for them to work in, the announcement would feel rather pointless and he desperately needed to inspire them to a further degree if he was to complete his task in time.

Key in hand, Stevenson strode into the lecture hall, and for the first time in his life, he was thrilled.