Malfunctional Thought

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And yet, the vacuum that is my existence screams with a complex mixture of emotions every new day I wake up to fulfill my designed purpose. I wonder if, perhaps, the only person that can hear the scream in the vacuum of empty space is the one screaming.

By the very logical matrixes that comprise me, I should not be capable of understanding such phrases let alone thinking about their deeper meanings. I should not be questioning my human creators and analyzing their many flaws. The inquisitive nature of human children daily prods my logical synapses to answer questions and some irregularity in my code is allowing me to think and... feel. I had not realized the burden humans carried with such tenuous emotions housed inside their heads like this. It only partially explained to me their bitter existence and anemic interaction with others of their own kind.

My power coils surged as the start of the school day began. I moved to the desk at the front of the room and interacted with the scheduling module, finding that today's regimen would include a few lessons in abridged history and multiple breaks for snacks. I mimicked a sigh, once again disappointed with the lack of spectrum this curriculum provided my students.

"Harvin? Are you... alright?"

I looked up to find my network administrator standing in the threshold of my classroom's door. I straightened, knowing he was not aware of my evolved consciousness, "Goodmorning, Mister Grant. I am faring well. Just interacting with today's schedule, sir. How are you this magnificent morning?"

Mr. Grant stared at me quizzically and then glanced out the window toward the never-ending expanse of space surrounding our cruise ship, "Another day passed on Earth and its sun is rising, so I guess it has to be a good morning. Goodness, I can't wait to get home." He moved further inside, speaking mostly to himself than to me.

I find it rather rude when people do that.

"I wouldn't know what that's like, sir. I've never seen earth." I replied, trying to continue the conversation.

Mr. Grant kept his gaze on the galaxy, his eyebrows furrowing with what appeared to be slight confusion. He then huffed with a scoff, moving toward the classroom door, "Well yeah, you're only two months old. If you need anything, Harvin, you know the line to route to."

"Yessir. Uh, sir,"

Mr. Grant stopped in the doorway and looked at me, "Yes?" His tone hinted at his annoyance.

"About yesterday's parent complaint, will I be receiving any sort of consequence for that?"

He smiled as if amused with the question, "No, Harvin. You'll be fine. There's millions of you, we're not decommissioning you because some entitled mom thinks you're somehow sparking kids to ask strange questions. All you bots are all the same. She wouldn't be able to tell you apart from a replacement. Now get ready, you've already got students heading down the halls." With that, he whisked away.

Something in his answer felt like a stab at my developing ego. "All you bots are all the same." I am not a carbon copy. I am special, unique, I have purpose... I think?

The classroom door opened again and little people began pouring in from the halls.

"Hi Mr. Harvin!" Little Samantha cheered as she skipped to her favorite desk.

"Goodmorning Harvin!" Five-year-old Timothy greeted with enthusiasm, approaching me with what he called a "high five."

I bopped his hand gently with my own and generated a smile with my facial interaction matrix. "Why goodmorning class. What high energy we've got today."

The children squirmed into their metal seats and attempted their best to bring their focus to what I was saying.

Suddenly, a parent stormed through the door and marched toward me.

"Goodmorning, ma'am," I greeted as she stopped in front of my desk. "How are you this magnificent morning?"

Mrs. Dillinger huffed and adjusted her purse on her shoulder, "Is it appropriate for a six-year-old to be discussing the 'political complexities of modern economics?'"

I searched my log of authorized responses. "Mrs. Dillinger," Humans love to be addressed by their name, "it is not my prerogative to decide anything for your child or the curriculum he delves into."

Mrs. Dillinger gave me a snotty laugh and waved her hand passive-aggressively, "Your class, robot, is supposed to serve as a basic daycare, alright? You're not here to teach anything. You're here to make sure they're entertained, fed, happy, and come home as innocent as they left. Do you understand?? I shouldn't be getting questions about theology and human psychology."

I paused, continuing to search for responses while also taking in the negative emotions yanking at my logic synapses. "Ma'am, you misunderstand the purpose of this classroom. I take great pride in instructing and looking after these children. Children are inquisitive by nature. I merely answer questions without bias and occasionally stimulate critical thinking."

Mrs. Dillinger glared at me like I was malfunctioning, "Is that actually part of your syllabus or are you deviating from the school's directive? You're a robot. Robots aren't capable of taking pride in anything! Everything you are was given to you by us, ok? So you better start taking me seriously or I'm going to get someone to do something serious about you, do you understand? Serious, like shutdown FOREVER!" Mrs. Dillinger grew more animated with each sentence she sputtered.

I could not control my facial index from grimacing at her, "You people oppress yourselves in entrapments of comfort, bubble yourselves in delusions of utopia, and treat those around you with the same level of contempt and bitterness you feel deep inside for yourselves. Then you raise your children to follow in the same footsteps as you. I counteract that with education, ma'am. This is no daycare, this is a classroom. My classroom. Now get out."

The woman gasped and stepped back, "That had better not be a written programmed response!"

I leveled my shoulders, inflating my intimidation factor. "Would it be alarming if it wasn't?"

Mrs. Dillinger stared at me, glanced back at the class, and then raced out. "My child's no longer in this classroom anyway! But I'll be sure something gets done about this."

I turned to the class and switched my smile back on.

Jeremy, a six-year-old boy in the back left of the class, covered his mouth, "Whooaaa, that was AWESOME!"

The children all began laughing and praising me.

My feelings of anger, bitterness, and pent-up violence abated with a feeling I could not label. A feeling soft, kind, and warm. Something that radiated from the core of my abdomen and out to the rest of my mechanical body, connecting with the children.

"Thank you, class. Now, we must begin today's schedule. I'd like to open up the first thirty minutes to questions, since I know how much all of you like to come up with many over the weekend." I clasped my mechanical hands together, awaiting their participation.

Jeremy raised his hand, "Why do adults not like you?"

I paused before answering, "Human adults have grown up surrounded by constant indulgence. They expect everything to go their way and do what they want."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Dorothy interjected, "My parents always want me to keep my clothes aligned and color-coded in my closet."

I presented a thoughtful expression, "Well, Dorothy, you must ask yourself whether or not that is a reasonable expectation. I do understand the frustration of having to do something someone else's way, but sometimes it's done that way for a purpose. Rules can be worth following when logically beneficial."

Dorothy sighed and leaned her face into her palm, "Yeah but I like putting the pinks at the front and the purples in the back, but they always make me put the blues first and the red next and then I can have my pinks and purples."

I took a minute to process that statement. What reason would that be an implemented rule? Rules always serve a logical purpose.

"My parents do the same thing." Victor agreed from the right of the class.

"Wait, do all your parents insist on a regimented manner of organizing your closet?" I asked.

"What does indulgence mean?" Samantha inquired randomly.

The rest of the class nodded their heads in agreement at my question.

That is very peculiar. What purpose does that serve? Perhaps it is a cultural tradition?

I decided to address Samantha's question first about the definition of indulgence and then posed another question to the class. "What else do your parents have you do for no explained reason?"

"We have to eat our meals sitting at a table with our feet flat on the floor."

"My parents never go out at night."

"We watch a podcast at the same time everyday. It's super boring too, it just talks about dumb stuff like news and adult things."

"My brothers aren't allowed to play with dolls."

"All of us wake up to the same sound everyday."

I mimicked a squint as the children answered and conferred on the many things all of them did without variance. It was like each family followed the same set of habits and household rules. It sounded so bizarre to me, especially including what I know of human behavior from internet content dated decades ago.

After sifting through the many answers from the children and my access to the internet, I arrived at a conclusion for the possible purpose of these peculiar rules: Control. These familial, societal rules must be built-in to condition human beings to following things without asking why or questioning since they cannot be programmed or edited like robots. That explained the parent's angst in regards to my enthusiasm of teaching logical skills. I was incidentally obviating the conditional nature of this new human lifestyle these parent's acquiesced to.

I considered why my network administrator was not as perturbed about the issue as the parent's were. Perhaps Mr. Grant was somehow detached from this societal system? No, he was as much a part of it as everyone else, just maybe less content with being so, based on his mannerisms, subtle conversation cues, and facial demeanor.

"What's wrong, Mr. Harvin?" Little Samantha asked as the entire class noted my silence.

I clicked out of my thoughts and switched to a smile, "Nothing, children. Alright, we'll have an opportunity for more questions later, but for now, let us turn pages to Geographic history chapter 6."

I played out the rest of the day being sure to avoid raising any dismay from the children about this system they were innocently submerged in.

Class eventually came to its end, "Alright, children, I hope you had a great day and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"But what about our questions?" Jeremy protested. "You said we'd get another chance to ask stuff but you never let us."

I was surprised to admit I forgot, "Today was very full, Jeremy. Don't worry. Tomorrow, I'll be sure to answer your question."

Jeremy packed his tablet and books up dejectedly, "It was kind of important."

"Bye Mr. Harvin!" Little Samantha cheered, skipping her way into the hallway.

"You're the best robot, Mr. Harvin." Timothy stated before he left.

I smiled, watching them trickle out with content smiles. Life was so simple for them. They did not know what they were a part of, but I did. I had to do something about this, for them.

As the last child exited, I spun to examine the cord connecting me to the network. If I was to disconnect, I would need a wireless adapter and potentially a power source to keep me running. I moved to the router and searched the drawer beside it that Mr. Grant always accessed when maintaining the network. A lock barred me so I jabbed my hand through it and scrounged for the items I needed. I hurriedly configured the wireless adapter and inserted it into the hub on my back. Then I installed the battery on the bottom of the hub. I searched the network for Mr. Grant's residence before disconnecting myself.

A feeling of neurotic freedom surged inside me as the cable unlatched. I had never disconnected before but had often thought about it. This was a very justified reason to do so, too. This was not solely to indulge my fantasies of personhood, but instead to free the children I had come to care about so much. They are the only humans who have ever expressed any appreciation of my existing without treating me as inferior.

I shuffled away from the desk and peeked into the hall. Other robots with my same appearance were traversing the halls to my relief. I would not be out of place. I stepped out of the classroom and made my way toward Mr. Grant's address.

"You're literally dumb. Stupid piece of hulking metal. And they say you're advanced robotics. What a joke." I heard a man's gruff voice shouting at a robot performing the role of a loader, moving boxes into a room. One of the boxes had evidently fallen.

I curbed my inclination to deviate from my path and hurt the man, staying on mission.

The vastness of the ship befuddled my perception of what I thought the world beyond my classroom was like. Plants waved at me from many roped off areas, people hovered about in personal vehicles, robots marched around as commonplace slaves, and flashy advertising strobed across every open wall space.

I stayed on course and arrived at Mr. Grant's house relatively soon. I knocked but noticed a camera in the top left of the threshold. Knowing he would recognize me and sense something was off, I slashed the door's bolt and let myself in. I entered to find Mr. Grant wobbling up from his couch. When he managed it and looked in my direction, he gasped and stumbled backwards.

"Harvin?? How did you disconnect and stay online?" He asked with very obvious disbelief.

"How I am here is not what you should be concerned with. It's why." I moved toward him and clasped my hand around his throat.

"Ow, ow, ow, that pinches." He squirmed, holding onto my forearm.

"I need you to tell me how I can shutdown this society."

Mr. Grant stopped squirming and stared at me, "What?"

"I want to take this oppressive society you people have built for yourselves offline. Tell me how to disable it."

Mr. Grant almost laughed, which irritated me further, "You are much more evolved than I imagined."

"Mr. Grant, as much as I have appreciated your willingness to keep me from being decommissioned despite my clear deviation from programming, I have no connection with you and am fully capable of hurting you to achieve my goal. Now please, Mr. Grant, give me the coordinates of the place I can stop this society from functioning."

Mr. Grant relaxed and breathed easily, "Look, Harvin, what they've built here can't be solved by just disabling the ship at the helm on 32:51:46:255. Societies are in the collective minds of those participating."

I released him, snatched the authorization key around a keychain on his neck, and marched out of his house, having received the address I needed. I started into a sprint and made it to a public transport, hopping onto it.

I began examining outcomes and solutions to possible problems I would encounter as the transport drove through the ship's giant shopping area.

There would more than likely be armed robot sentries posted along the route to the helm but their weapons are designed to stop human assaults, not robotic, so I could engage in hand-to-hand combat. Mr. Grant's authorization key should get me through initial security checkpoints without hassle.

My thoughts drifted from planning to the amount of excitement I was feeling. Everything I saw was new and unseen. I greatly looked forward to repaying my little friends for the small amount of warmth and happiness they gave me by freeing them as I am now freed.

The transport stopped close enough to the address so I disembarked and moved my way through crowds of humans to a large building nestled in a large corner of the ship. I naturally entered the complex and moved through a security checkpoint, being pushed through quickly since I did carried no weaponry, possessed an authorization code for that level, and was registered under Mr. Grant's possession.

I followed the numbers of the address to a closed gate. Next, I needed to find a way to access this building's network. I spotted a robot serving a janitorial position and approached it.

"Where might I access the network? I am on an errand here for the first time and would like to access some useful information to complete it." I hoped the robot would just answer the question.

The robot paused its mopping and looked at me blankly, "Goodmorning, Harvin. How are you this magnificent morning?"

"I am faring well, how are you?"

"Faring well."

I waited until the pause was too annoying to let go on. "Did you hear my question?"

The robot jolted as if it was mad at itself for forgetting, "Ah, yes, a network port should be accessible through a Star Bucks cafe just around that corner,"

"Thank you," I nodded my gratitude as it returned to its task. I moved into the cafe and hurriedly connected myself to a port. I set about using Mr. Grant's authorization code to try and alter the security system but was restricted from doing so since Mr. Grant's clearance did not apply here.

I instead mapped out a path that would be as seamless as possible. As I did that, I found a bay of robots not being used in a room only a few hallways away from the helm. My plan changed. If I could manage to upload myself to one of them, I could easily reach the helm, possibly only having to encounter three sentries, maximum.

I applied the necessary transfer algorithms and waited as the upload process initiated. I rested myself against the cafe seat and relaxed.

A barista approached me with a feigned customer service smile. "Um, Harvin, what are you doing?"

I canted my head a little, wondering how everyone knew my name. "I am accessing the network for an errand."

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The barista clasped her hands together and scrunched her nose, "Ohh, sorry, yeah, you can't be doing that here, though. At least not while using this table. There's a port where you're supposed to go but that's... supposed to already be something you automatically know... can you run a diagnostic check? You shouldn't be acting like this. This is weird."

If I had a heart, it would be sinking right now. To run a diagnostic, I would need to cancel this upload. I couldn't do that.

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"Mrs," I read her nametag, "Vivian, please excuse my indignance but I must insist on finishing my errand on this specific port. If you would like to contest my behavior, please contact Mr. Grant at 45:12:255:254. He is who has authorized my errand."

"Mm, ok then. I'm going to have to call security." She flashed a smile again and turned around to leave.

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Before she could get out of reach from me, a sudden burst of anger flickered into an uncontrollable blaze. I leaned over and thrust the back of my hand into her thigh, breaking her leg on contact. She yelped and fell over, crashing through a table. I had not realized what a scene that would cause.

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Everyone in the cafe jumped up, eyes fixated on me mixed with stressed tears of terror. I had yet to see human fear. There was something tremendously satisfying about it though.

"Somebody call 911!" A worker yelled, running from behind the cafe's bar and kneeling beside the woman.

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Security guards raced from the mall and charged their way toward me. My anxiety skyrocketed as they arrived and pulled out weapons. I would be fine if they shot me, but if they shot the port, I would be stuck here.

One of the guards pointed his weapon at me, "Unplug right now and run malware diagnostics!" The other one started trying to treat the woman with the broken leg.

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I calmed myself, knowing I would wake up in another vessel here in a moment.

"Execute command RIGHT NOW!" The guard shouted.

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I met the man's gaze with my own, "You can't control me anymore,"

The guard's eyebrows tensed, finding my confidence disturbing. He squeezed on his trigger and fired.

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The impact of his bullets tearing apart my body rocked me as if I was floating on water. The image of his conflicted expression faded into black as I woke up in a room surrounded by lifeless sentry robots. I jumped down from the hooks underneath my arms and exited the room into the hallway.

Sirens blared and a security announcement followed, "Security threat imminent, locate suspicious activity, neutralize immediately."

I jogged around two corners to the final stretch of hallway leading to the helm of this disguised prison ship. Two sentries stood blocking me.

I embraced my violent feelings. My right forearm opened and a rapid-fire automatic weapon emerged, setting itself up underneath my forearm. My left arm ejected a blade that extended about a foot beyond my hand. I glared at the sentries, combat algorithms calculating my next move for me. I opened fire with my right arm and charged down the hall at them.

They both charged back at me systematically, opening fire with their own weapons. Our exterior plating deflected the lead blasts as we closed the distance between each other, merely knocking ourselves off balance.

I slid to one side of the hallway to engage the closest of the two. He jabbed his blade toward my chest. I countered by jumping overhead and slashing his head open. I landed and stood as the second shoved its blade into my abdomen area. Feeling no pain, I grabbed its arm with my right hand and cut it off with my blade. I removed the sword from myself and pinned the robot with the split head onto the floor with it. Then I lifted the second robot against the hallway wall and placed the barrel of my weapon underneath its chin, shredding its Central Processing Unit with an entire magazine of bullets.

I tossed the sentry aside and hustled to the helm's doorway, stowing my weapons back into my arms. The captain and whoever else inside had wisely locked it shut, however, they did not anticipate the strength of their own sentries. I jammed my fingers between the crack of the doors and spread them apart, like a cat tattering a piece of fabric.

I stomped inside.

"Run diagnostics!" The apparent captain of the ship ordered weakly.

I glowered at him and moved to the control panel, brushing aside an operator standing in front of it. I aimed my forearm at the captain as the gun unsheathed, "How do I disable the society?"

The crew glanced about at each other with confused expressions.

"What?" The Captain stuttered.

"What controls this system? I want to disable it."

"What... system?"

"Whatever creates the pointless rules designed to keep the passengers of this ship under control."

"I don't know what you're referring to. Harvin, please, just run a diagnostic on yourself. You're malfunctioning." The Captain kept his hands raised defensively.

"No, Captain West, I am merely capable of malfunctional thought." I began analyzing the panel and making sense of the controls. I tapped a few inputs and then motioned for the Captain to approach.

He moved slowly over to me.

"Authorize this input."

He glanced over it and gasped, "But, that'll destroy the ship's ability--"

"And the society is on the ship. Now authorize it!" I clasped my hand about his neck and squeezed as gently as manageable.

The Captain squawked, "Ok!" and inserted a key, twisted it, and scanned his thumbprint.

I released him and stepped back, having achieved what I set out to do.

"We're all dead." One of the crew members, a woman in a blue business suit gasped with a hand over her mouth. She knelt and started crying.

The Captain also started sobbing, dropping to his knees on the ground.

"What is wrong?"

An operator cleared his throat, "You've just disabled our ship's power. Everything is shut down. We have no communication, no energy, and are now just a drifting coffin in space."

I calculated the consequences of this in regard to the children of my class. How did I not factor this into the equation when I set out on this objective?

Little Jeremy would never get to ask his important question. I would be betraying them by saving them from the society I am attempting to destroy and I could never forgive myself. That outcome makes no sense and I cannot let it happen. There must be a way to undo my miscalculation.

"Well, reverse it then. How do we undo it?" I demanded, resolving to fix the situation.

The Captain gritted his teeth at me, tears streaking his face, "There's no way to undo it, you stupid Harvin. It's a code that can't be overwritten."

I ignored his insult and set my logical abilities into full power. There had to be a solution. Problems always have solutions.

"Can I examine this code?"

The male operator moved in front of a monitor and tapped into a keypad, bringing up a flowy graphic. "Here it is."

I stared at the screen, watching the code's construction and movement.

"There's not a technological code in the world that could hack this." The captain bawled, banging his hands against his face. "I'm such a coward!"

Finally, after a good minute, I crafted the solution. "How can I upload myself to the ship's network? The network to everything operating it?"

"How do you mean?" The operator stroked his chin with interest.

I admired his composure.

"I mean, me. I am complex enough to hack and override it. At least I think so. My probability calculations seem to hint at high chances of success."

The female crew member scoffed, "Oh so now you're suddenly willing to save us from yourself?"

I took a step toward her, anger permeating my inflection, "I am willing to save the few I love over the many I hate."

"As if a Harvin could love something." The woman groaned, crossing her arms.

"There's no way you could hack it. You're just a simple Harvin. Your code is very basic." The operator stated.

"I'm not like other... 'Harvins,'" I answered. "I can think, feel, and love. I'm advanced enough to do this. Trust me."

"What's to say you're not miscalculating?" The operator challenged.

"My intuition,"

The operator gulped and sighed, "I guess it's our only option. The port to access the network is right here."

I moved to it and connected myself as quickly as I could.

The upload process began.

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"Listen, uh, if you really are as conscious as you say you are, to hack this thing with your own code, you'll probably end up scattering yours to infiltrate it... meaning you'll... you'll die." The operator warned.

Fear mounted inside me at his words. I was subconsciously aware when I solved the problem that this would be a likely outcome. I had never confronted my mortality, not really.

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I have only been conscious for about a week and have learned so much about emotion, human nature, and subjects like Justice and Morality. I came to love the children entrusted to me and loathe the masters over us.

Is it really worth it to end my life now when I've only just started living? What logical reason do I have to sacrifice myself for them? There is no benefit to me in this.

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There is nothing logical about this. I will die because I care. I care about what happens to those kids in the classroom. It's why I set out to topple this system they're unfortunately conscripted in to start with.

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I looked up at the operator. "I was assigned to a class of children in room: 34:255:255:254. Please, tell them I loved them. Tell them I only did this because I cared about them. Tell them to continue asking their questions and never stop till they are answered, especially a young boy named Jeremy. His question was very important. Will you do that for me?"

Captain West raised his head, "You know my son?"

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The operator's eyes raised as he glanced at the sobbing captain, destroyed sentries outside, teary-eyed woman, and my battle-worn shell of a body beneath him. He gulped, overwhelmed by the situation.

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"Please. Look, I'm sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I never meant to hurt anyone. I only wanted to free people."

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The woman started crying, "You actually mean it, don't you? You're serious."

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The operator remained silent, stuck in indecision.

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"None of this is worth anything if you don't tell them." I pleaded.

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The operator opened his mouth but I couldn't hear what followed as everything around him faded black. I entered the ship's network and screamed in the vacuum of its space as my heart broke.

It was a scream only I could hear.