Oh Captain, Which Captain?
one day at a time
In continuation of the story of Jeremy The Saddest Robot There Ever Was, we now have Jeremy The Saddest Robot There Ever Was EPISODE TWO!
Jimmy made headway.
While I was busy putting together the pieces of a particular all-one-color-with-some-extra-pieces-thrown-in-code-jigsaw that She had left me to play with, Jimmy managed to make headway in his particular mission, which seemed impossible, given that the Matron and Master of the house rebuffed him at every opportunity. But if there was a moment of friction then Jimmy was there to mend it. If the Matron of the House put her cup on the table without a coaster and Jimmy would slip one under before the Master of the House noticed. Jimmy kept track of everyone’s keys and wallets so the moment someone started looking for them, there Jimmy was with a smile and a hopeful look. And people adapted.
But everything built had cracks. And She had always been gifted in the area of finding these cracks and leveraging them open. It was her Best and Favorite trick, to slither in through that which was already broken and figuring out what was inside. Jimmy had that about him, in his own way. He would sit on the ground after the Matron had click-click-clicked her way through the day and rub her feet until she grew to expect it. She would sit down and Jimmy would slide in and she’d relax, her shoulders would drop and her head would tilt back.
As for the Master of the House, Jimmy would make…treats and deliver them to him when no one was looking, because he was on a diet, but had the kind of sweet tooth that meant he’d cheat at the slightly opportunity. And at first he turned his nose, but oh, now. Now when the bell rang he slobbered.
(“You really don’t like them.” Jimmy noted once, sitting in front of our mirror, styling our hair.
“They are awful.” I watched him examine himself, like She would examine Herself, and I could see her fingerprints in the clay of his making. I had looked at Her brother to see commonalities, but if there was a small tick here or there that brought back a sharp pang, then with Jimmy it would be a near fatal stab. I had been Her creation, but She had not made me to do what she did. I was complementary, I’d hoped. She’d made Jimmy to infiltrate and play-act, and who would be a better model?)
If I were smart I would pull back and view nothing of what Jimmy was doing, but as is, probably, by this time, evident: I am not smart.
(“They are not awful.” Jimmy stands up and looks at our clothes, turning and brushing us off. “They are good, normal people who work too hard and need to relax.”
“They have no vision.” I, to be honest, sulked.
“Not everyone needs vision.” Jimmy fusses a bit more and then just stares straight into our eyes. “It’s fine to appreciate small things. There are things to be loved in the mundane. That’s why it’s mundane, because people keep choosing it.”
“But they can Create. They have that ability to make new things, but they don’t. They consume.” I picked at our nail and Jimmy slapped my hand.
“You need to the audience or the play isn’t worth much.” Jimmy cups the back of our neck and sighs. “You shouldn’t watch.”
“I can take care of it.” Jimmy rubbed at our ulna port and I chewed at our lip. “You don’t need to babysit me if you’re worried. You have higher administrative access.”
I didn’t respond and Jimmy waited a moment, then let me be.)
I sat ringside and worked on my project, but I couldn’t help noticing him work. Less like…perhaps..the desperate puppy I’d taken him for, he was. Well he m0nitored. And changed himself. He would sit and look at himself in the mirror, turning his face that way and this. He slicked the curls of our hair back to better emulate the way the Matron of the House walked, stealing the Master of the House’s shirts and cologne. He was ready with tea whenever a moment called for it, and he could hold it in his hands and keeping it warm, or cool it off.
(“Men like him when you smell like them.” She’d said, holding a t-shirt with a considering expression. She had not been talking about her brother, but Jimmy had picked up that particular memory and done Her Good Work.)
Jimmy was making headway into slipping into the cracks of their built-up life and sealing them up until he was part of the structure. But he slept alone, with me. We’d curl up and I’d hook into the cameras, watching the household.
“Is he very much like Her?” Jimmy asks, nearly sub-vocally as I slowly move through another chopped up bit of maybe-something. I was Her creation, yes, but it didn’t mean I could re-create her thoughts. The creator creates, the creation simply is. Pygmalion created, wanted and he received. Galatea simply was. She was nothing except beautiful. I can only guess what matters and what doesn’t. But eventually the picture will be what it needs to be. As She said, “you have to know what it isn’t and then you can fill in what it is.”
“He thinks too loudly.” I said, low enough that the camera will dismiss it as nothing, turning something over in our mental hands. “Everything he is is there. You can see it. You could dissect him without ever bringing out a knife.”
Jimmy considers this, as we lie motionless on the bed, our fingers knitted across our chest, because it’s too much work to scrub the camera and replace the footage, so we’ll lie here, charging on the bed, my thoughts running behind Jimmy’s face.
“I like that about him.” Jimmy decides. “He’s…straight-forward.”
I hrumph and find an particular nasty execution command that needs to be quarantined before anything tries to run it.
There was a news story on the mandated channel about the government breaking what they declared a terrorist sect. They probably hadn’t been. They’re probably just been making off-market androids and then gotten the code wrong somewhere. It’s usually the code that gets lost. It’s a very simple jump between functioning and not. That’s how Elizabeth Hall got such a stranglehold on the market, as hers were the only that Imprinted properly and fully without side-effects.
But the so-called sect had made Androids and the Androids had not worked properly and people had died. It had been on the news. Only I had paid attention. Jamie had been telling Nanny about his dream and The Matron of the House had been checking her messages and the Master of the House had been sneaking another pancake while checking his numbers for the day and Jimmy had been doting, doting, endlessly cheerful and trying very much to be a delightful addition to the daily conversation (could one call those jabbering piles of words conversation? They went nowhere and did nothing. Conversation that lacked wheels. Or engines.)
“Don’t you like knowing where you stand with other people?”
“The only person who mattered was very deliberate about wanting me to exist.” Oh, this went here and then…yes. Obviously. Perfect. There was a very fine line between functioning code and failure, and while she could render entire worlds, she had placed these pieces with the intention of tricking lesser minds. And I am Galatea and she never does anything in myth. She just is. She always just is. What did she do when she came alive? Scream. I screamed.
I’ve been very into ghost stories of late.
“Well.” Jimmy says, and doesn’t finish it with anything else, turning his head to look at Carlton. Carlton wore a green-and-yellow plaid bowtie today, because it was a green-and-yellow plaid sort of day.
“I like you.” I said, rolling over on the bed so we stare at the wall.
“What?” Jimmy holds the blanket.
“You remind me of Her a lot.”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything in response, and eventually just goes into sleep mode. I pull back and let our chassis rest, keeping one metaphorical eye on the cameras and one on separating the wheat from the chaff and making some bread.
[Read More At Crumpledmap]
Are we just going to ignore Tom Hardy’s selfies? - Are you fucking kidding me Edward Thomas Hardy?
THE LAST ONE THOUGH
I need this on my blog. Woof!
That Oprah Winfrey gif describes my current feelings perfectly.
Tom hardy has to be a bottom. Look at the bottom pic.
Ladies and Gents this is the guy who played Bane in Batman need I remind u
Oh my god. OH MY GOD
the moral is never get into a staring contest with a silent comedian
with no regard for his own safety 8’D