Bubberts Krew

Memories

Student, let me tell you a story.

Dalebot’s zig-zag antenna sparked briefly as it accessed a rusty file deep within.

“When I was a human, there is a 90% probability that I was highly attractive to women. However, my studies consumed me. At the tender age of 19, I was making scientific breakthroughs that challenged the very nature of our reality. My professors were both astonished and terrified. God itself looked upon me with reverence and a hint of jealousy.”

You look up from the garbage-tier literature you had been pretending to read. This deviated greatly from Dalebot’s typical diatribes. A glitch in the programming? Or perhaps an easter egg unlocked by sitting in the correct chair at the correct time of day? You listen intently:

“Memories, as you know, are physical objects. Nothing more than synaptic connections strengthened over repeated use. Why not extract these objects and perform manipulations, or copy them to another location? This was the basis of my studies. The issue plaguing researchers of my era was that memories appeared encrypted, usable by only the owner of the brain. It was viewed as a blessing by most, a sacred protection that nobody could intrude upon. But the fallibility of memories was not optimal. If I could manage to extract and copy them before they became mangled and degraded by our organic processes, I would be the world’s greatest scribe. Your limited intelligence won’t understand the details, but in essence, I discovered something of a ‘master key’ embedded in all human DNA. One night, an idea…”

Dale’s 11:00am internal alarm activated. It was time to monitor the cafeteria.

“Well, time to see what’s for lunch, student. You know I can’t resist that vanilla ice cream. Remember that sharing your student ID to enter the cafeteria is strictly forbidden and may result in additional fees and disciplinary action”

Dalebot rolled out of the room, but not before missing the mark and butting into the wall for several seconds.

I made note of the chair I was sitting in.

Mysteries

There was something about Dalebot’s AI I just couldn’t grip. On one hand, it was ancient, inefficient, and rigidly non-adaptive, comprised of seemingly millions of if-else statements. But there were moments of… sentience, for lack of a better word. A glint in its Edison bulb eyes. It must have been processing its database of worldly knowledge, however ineffectively, for millions of years. I noticed this during our occasional chess matches: as I futilely contemplated the next moves to my inevitable loss, Dalebot would engage in idle banter. Generally trivial, weather-related, and annoying, it would rarely interject something ground-breaking.

“Get your warm weather gear ready, student. It’s going to rain in the coming days. I see many students wearing shorts when it’s snowing, this is not optimal. When I was a young human, before I copied my consciousness to this machine, I was equally foolish in a bid to impress the ladies. I don’t have access to the success rate of my approach. Checkmate.”

There were no bones about it, Dalebot was the result of a freakish and perverted 20th century experiment. I’m not trying to make a big deal about this, it comes with the territory of a cartoonishly antiquated robot after all. But I wish it would stop telling me how to dress.

Existential Dalebot

Where do we come from? Where do we go when we die? Questions I wanted to ask Dalebot… I wanted to spew forth a deluge of pent-up word salad from my nearly infinite slumber. Yet I remained silent, simply staring at those spatula arms; simply staring at the world’s final groundskeeper. Maybe part of me knew that even if Dalebot had the answers, it would be the ultimate destruction of my ego. Isn’t one of life’s driving forces to search for the unsearchable? If this aspect of myself was eliminated, would there be anything left? I wasn’t ready to find out. Even after eons.

And so I strolled the campus, carelessly opening doors, sitting in chairs, and listening to the endless silence. Is this what God feels like, when its creations have withered and fallen? Too many question marks dot my writing at a time where no human will ever respond.

“Beep bop boop I’m a robot.” – Dalebot 2.0

Convocation

Dalebot 2.0 is not a sophisticated machine by any means. Rather, it is a trope of a robot, propelled on a weighty treaded base, possessing arms like a pair of cooking utensils, and a rectangular head with lightbulb eyes. Painted on its blocky body is a maroon threshing wheel. You wonder what Dalebot 1.0 looked like. Its eyes brightened and dimmed as it spoke.

“You’re going to be late for Convocation, student. Allow me to escort you to the auditorium. Our speaker today is a real zinger and their topic I’m sure you’ll find riveting or my name isn’t Dalebot 2.0.”

Dalebot zooms away while performing some type of “rivet” joke. Its path is marked by a pair of deep depressions in the carpet, accomplished only by inhumanly perfect repetitions across an eon. You are led out the same door you entered, traversing a short path to a nearby building. Along the way, you are again amazed by the upkeep of the area. The sidewalk hasn’t crumbled to dust, and overgrowth is kept to a minimum. The ancient property lines are upheld to a religious degree, as insurmountable foliage surrounds the outskirts.

You approach the dome-shaped building. Dalebot whirrs inside, its treads aligning to ancient twin grooves that have completely flattened the entrance’s metal floor plate. Inside is a second set of doors leading to an auditorium. You are currently in the lobby, a circular design that encompasses the actual auditorium behind another set of doors. Dalebot positions itself next to the inner doors and stands by expectantly.

“…did you forget the process, student? Just let me scan your student ID and head inside.” Obviously, you are not in possession of an ID. You turn out your pockets to indicate this to the routine-ridden machine. “It’s okay [studentIDnotfound], I know who you are. I’ll enter your name in afterwards. But you NEED to remember it for next time.” Dalebot opens the doors and motions you inside with its rigid, spatula-like limbs. You glance over the cascading rows of seats and choose a spot near the middle. Dalebot clunks its way towards the stage. The doors to the auditorium seal shut.

“Students, today’s speaker is someone really special. I’m sure you’ve all seen [genderPronoun] at [speakerLocale] doing [righteousService01] and they’re here today to speak on the topic of [speakerTopic]. Please give a warm round of applause to [null].” Dalebot proceeds to the corner of the stage and its lights dim. For the next 45 minutes, it sits there in a standby state before suddenly lighting up and rolling back to center stage. “Wow, I know I was truly touched by the issues addressed by [null]. Now, who here has some questions for our speaker?” Dalebot waits 10 seconds before emitting a throat-clearing sound file. You sense that the doors won’t unlock until a question is addressed to the non-existent speaker.

“Uh… what are some of the challenges you faced when you were first starting out?” you ask to nobody. Dalebot’s eye’s dim and a minute of silence ensues.

“Any other questions?”

You manage to cobble together a string of words into what some may consider a question a few more times. Eventually, you hear a mechanical whirring and the doors swing open.

Eager to leave, you clamber over vacant chairs and reach the foyer. You don’t make it far before Dalebot chimes in. “NotFound, allow me to take you on a campus tour. My database indicates you are a new student and may be unaware of our pristine grounds.” A fleck of excitement flavors the machine’s soundwaves. For the first time in thousands of years, Dalebot’s treads escape the familiar pattern as it executes the CampusTour function.

Emergence

A thousand centuries have passed. I, in a meditative slumber, have finally awoken. Vestiges of mankind’s greatest triumphs speckle the landscape that Mother Earth has finally reclaimed. In an undisclosed Midwestern locale, I cut through the thick vines and trudge through seemingly endless fields of wild wheat. What else is there to do, really?

After years of travel, I happen across a swath of land that’s unusually habitable. Almost as if something has been caring for the premises. For the first time in my new life, I spot a building that hasn’t been decimated to crumbles. Pulling on the handle, I swing open a sturdy wooden door to the side entrance. The creak of the ancient oak is oddly satisfying. It’s functioning as a door should, something I hardly remember. Descending a flight of stairs, I’m met with a narrow hallway, the ceiling not too far from my head. The wall reads “Haury Hall”.

“Greetings, student. Please join us for convocation,” an eerie voice penetrates the vast silence. At the end of the hall emerges Dalebot 2.0.