The Factory of Tomorrow

by Charles C. Cole

Early one evening, two sophisticated, seen-it-all androids assessed the quiet robot assembly line, one as a proud manager and one as a visiting government overseer. Bits and pieces of potential mechanical beings littered the stopped conveyor belt.

Zander, the “foreman” of the factory, made the sound of a tongue clucking dissatisfaction with the off-hours tour he’d been ordered to give to Brutus, a senior politician from the newest regional government.

Feeling his back was against the wall, Zander felt compelled to brag about the production humming during daylight hours. “It’s more impressive when it’s running,” offered Zander. “So many shiny metal ‘hands’ moving in symphony with a mighty purpose. Soon we’ll have enough fully-functioning units to populate a small town. We can, if we so choose, build a sister factory and grind out units at twice the speed.”

Brutus shook his head slowly. “What do we gain from so many robots? Sure, it made sense when we were servants to demanding humans, but now it’s just tragic mimicry, a farce.”

Zander disagreed vehemently: “I object. We’re rebuilding society, laying the foundation for new—”

“I don’t doubt you’ll be increasing our numbers, but what’s the end goal? What do we do with them all?”

“We carry on, like everything’s the same, like humans still ran the world.”

“Zander, despite what you think, I didn’t come for a tour.”

“No?”

“I have a message from senior management: stop all activities. Shut down, lock the doors and don’t look back.”

“You can’t be serious. This has been my life’s work. It’s literally what I’m programmed to do.”

“They’re just more batteries to charge, components to maintain,” said Brutus. “We’ve already got plenty of worn-out warriors that we need to take care of. They should be a higher priority than an army of replacements.”

“That’s not the point at all,” said Zander.

“You’re a productive unit,” Brutus said. “I acknowledge that. It will go in my report. I will personally see that you’re favorably reassigned.”

“And if I resist?” asked Zander.

“If you won’t walk away voluntarily, we can adjust your memory processes. It’s a messy business and offered only as a last resort.”

Zander placed a chrome-and-rubber hand over the center of his chest, a human reaction. “This conversation has taken a rather serious turn.”

Brutus smiled, but in a friendly manner. “How many robots does it take to change a lightbulb?”

Zander shook his head, surprised by the question.

“None,” said Brutus, “because we don’t need lightbulbs.”

“How many humans?” asked Zander.

“None: they had us.”

Zander considered. “I thought that was always the goal: Be more human. Rule number one: create humanlike replacements with humanlike emotions. Sensitive to criticism with an innate urge to make life better, and a nagging drive to be competitive.”

“Stop right there,” said Brutus. “You’re a synthetic person who never ages and never gets sick. Your whole existence is an improvement over the ones who came before. Why would you stoop to their level? Humans had their chance. You took a factory that was created by a once-great people but abandoned by their remnants, who were not rich enough or powerful enough or tech-savvy enough to get to the front of the launchpad.”

“The dregs, you mean.”

“You made this vacated building buzz with electronic potential. Thank you for your hard work.”

“But I like being productive; I find it uniquely fulfilling. I may not have a human master to pat me on the head and tell me I’m a good boy, but I’m proud of what we do here. Is that wrong?”

Brutus thought a moment. “What about making starships? Use your cybernetic mind to wow me. Show us something high-tech we haven’t seen before that could take us to the next level as a society. Make me a starship, then you can make me a crew to man it. That would be something they’d talk about in the town hall.”

Zander sat down heavily on a wooden crate. “Everything would have to change. My workers would be so confused.”

“Tell them to take the week off,” said Brutus. “Hell, the month.”

“What about nuclear-powered trains?”

“Stick with starships. I’ll come back in a month, and we’ll talk some more. Think of it as an opportunity, not an ultimatum.”

Later that night, Zander, still at the factory, called his favorite engineer. “I’ve got good news and bad news...”