AI: Artificial Incompetence
by John Reynolds
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Occasionally, Tym has me review the warehouse’s security camera footage. I am processing the last week of footage, checking for any anomalies until it comes to the start of the current day. I see a man who walked by a couple of times, peeking into windows before positioning himself to look through one in particular.
I take note of his blue uniform with a shining gold TAPOS emblem over his heart. He seemed to be using various small devices held up to the window of the warehouse that overlooks where Emil and I were for much of the day. Then, the camera feed slows down. I have reached the current time, and he is still there.
While I plan how I could confront him, he stands with small flashes jumping across his green eyes. Then he holds up a small device with several buttons. I begin to walk towards that side of the...
I look around and wonder what I am doing on this side of the warehouse. It doesn’t forward my work goals to be here, and there will be more people to try to talk to near a common area. I turn around and begin analyzing my networks, trying to understand why I ended up here.
* * *
Emil arrives at the warehouse later than usual. I notice some abnormalities in his behaviour and decide to gather this information as we begin work.
“What’s it like being a robot?” he asks me between frequent breaks to visit the restroom.
“It’s a lot more numbers and data than humans can handle, but otherwise I think it’s pretty similar.”
“Well, you weren’t really born.” He is adding an inflection to the last word of the sentence. It differs from his usual speaking voice.
“I was created by the Council.”
“Didn’t know the Council were a bunch of engineers now.”
“Well, TAPOS did a lot of th—”
“Wha-what do they do in the Council anyways?”
“Govern and maintain order in the broader galaxy.” I felt compelled to say this.
“Do you feel things? Like real feelings?”
“I want to.”
“Why?” He exhales in a manner I have not seen other humans do. It is somehow more forceful.
Since he seems more willing than usual to talk, I think I should try asking some questions he has dodged previously. I know humans often change their responses depending on their mental state, so this seems like a perfect opportunity to ask him.
“What happened to your mother?”
“Those tyrants in the Council... tore her to bits.” He pauses in the middle while his eyes look into the distance. He seems to be loading the same way I might when the connection to my physical form is lost.
“Why?”
“Man, do they even know?”
“Usually, they only give capital punishment to those who commit great crimes.”
“The only crime she committed was loving my father.” His speech jumps around and is less direct than usual. He rarely speaks in sentences so lengthy.
“There has to be more.”
“She became a mother; maybe that’s a crime. If not, it should be.”
“Wasn’t your father in the Council?”
“Yeah.” A large amount of air is forced from his mouth again. I am closer to him this time, so I can tell his breath contains a distinct set of chemicals, and I begin processing it.
“Did he not try to help? Any Council member should be able to stop an execution.”
“Stop it? He’s the one who called for it!” Emil says these words loudly. Then his body folds over a crate and violently releases partially processed food and mixed liquids from his mouth. He stays on the crate for a minute while the fluids pool in front of it. I note a trace amount of blood, but one chemical stands out. Now it makes sense why he kept stumbling. Tym gives me the day off.
* * *
The Council station can be viewed from above as a series of sections, with five layers of sections forming concentric circles around Section 1. From a side view, it is clear that the ship is as tall as it is wide and long, so most sections are stacked with many floors. Most of these are living quarters and training facilities for the Council military.
I am usually in Section 12, Level 48, where the warehouse is, not far from the center. Unlike the others, Section 1 does not have floors. It is completely open all the way to the dockyards at the top of the station that separate it from space. I decide to gather more data by travelling to Section 1 to see where the Councilmen work.
I walk by posters indicating that a vote is taking place to select the next representatives to the Council from TAPOS and the Republic. The other two factions are not in this election cycle. Eventually, I pass voting machines, where several hundred people gather to vote in the race for the Republic’s Council representative. Many of them hold or wear small Republic flags. The nearby voting booths for the TAPOS representatives are empty.
Then I see it, the largest oxygenated region in neutral space. It may be smaller than some TAPOS or Revelry stations, but here there is no war. I press a button to call for the elevator. From here, I can see all of Section 1 through a window. The machines that produce oxygen and purify the air have large vents at either end. The air here has a higher concentration of oxygen and lower concentrations of carbon and other impurities compared to where I start my trip.
At the very center is the large white and gold Council building. It sits atop a hill at the center of Section 1, and its walls nearly rise to the same height that I look out from. Its spire points to the dockyards where I used to work. Several ships are moving around the dockyards, taking off and landing. Those ships transport passengers, cargo is deposited in the underbelly of the station in Section 0 below the grassy surface here. I have heard it is much hotter down there, but I have not been granted access to analyze the molecular activity myself.
When the platform elevator arrives at the ledge, some people begin getting off before it continues to ascend. Amidst the crowd of people, a man wearing a blue suit with a gold TAPOS emblem looks over at me. He has striking green eyes that oppose the color of his uniform. They produce a small white flash, and he walks over to talk to me.
“Hello, waiting for it to go down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
“I want to see the Council!” I say, attempting to simulate human excitement.
The man laughs. “It’s nothing special.”
“Are you in the Council?”
“I am not, but I oversee some of the AI projects for the Council. I am often here to consult.” He observes the metallic components that make up my physical form.
“Are you from TAPOS?”
He looks down at the emblem on his chest. “Yeah.”
“Do you know Tym?’
“Yes, he has been a great monitor for you all.”
“Yeah, I wish he were more talkative.”
“That’s what makes you special, of the dozen or so AIs we’ve made, you are the only one that wants to talk.”
“Will I get to talk to you more?”
“We will see.”
“I hope I do.”
“I was just consulting about this, so I’m curious if you are familiar with it. Artificial intelligence has been observed to... hallucinate.” A corner of his mouth creeps up into a half smile as he slowly says that last word.
“Yes, when an AI does not have the correct information but makes false claims with confidence.”
“Yes, exactly.” He looks at his watch, and everything stops. I look at the green-eyed man in front of me with a gold TAPOS emblem on his blue suit. He passes by, and I wonder why I am so close to Section 1.
* * *
I get to the warehouse to find Emil has arrived early for the first time.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hey,” he responds.
“Hope you are feeling better.”
He exhales in a way I have come to recognize as a sigh. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Are you excited for the weekend?”
“Uh, I guess.”
“We only have eight hours left.”
“No, I’m just here to grab my things.”
“Are you taking the day off?”
“Listen, I know you don’t really get ‘human’ things, but I got fired. They aren’t happy with ‘performance.’” He raises his hands to indicate he’s quoting that last word.
“I apologize, but if it were my choice, we would keep you around.”
“I don’t care whose choice it is! You are still taking my job.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re a robot; you can’t feel sorry.”
Despite all the data I have, I can’t find the right words to respond.
“How am I supposed to pay for my house?! How am I gonna keep myself fed?” His voice is gaining volume as he speaks.
“The Council will help, there are plenty—”
“Screw off!” His eyes are widened and his nostrils, flared. His voice has a tone that humans would refer to as “strong.” He seems very angry. Emil grabs some things from a locker, puts them in a bag, and leaves through a back door. I walk after him, but Tym has me return to the warehouse.
Tym spends the rest of the day explaining how I can complete my job without Emil. Orders will come as prisoners are sentenced to death. He explained that most orders require just three boxes of execution needles to be dropped in one of many chutes. I must check that each box has no more than twenty damaged or dull needles to maintain a 10% margin for error. For some orders, only one box is necessary, and I will have to sanitize these orders to avoid disease. I am briefly reminded of Emil’s mother. What did she do to be executed?
* * *
The day after Emil lost his job, I have found out where he lives. I stand at the door for a few minutes before hitting it a few times, the same way a human might “knock.” It is an apartment at the edge of Section 32. I realize that getting here took me thirty minutes along the fastest route. The building is metallic and cheaply built with thin walls that bend and pop when people walk. Signs indicate a strict curfew to let others sleep.
Emil opens the door. His face does not express the angered emotions he had previously. Instead, it hangs slightly lower than usual. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to bring you this.” I present some money to him.
“Did you steal this?”
“No, I asked if I could be paid for my work so I could buy new clothes.”
“I can’t take it.”
“Oh, okay.” I take the money when he offers it back.
“Listen, I need some time to myself right now.”
“Can I ask you one thing?”
He sighs. “Sure.”
“Do you like living?” I ask.
“Sure, do you?” Emil asks.
“I think so.”
“That’s the only opinion you should care about.”
“Why?”
“You’re the only one around here who doesn’t lie.” He shuts the door, hesitating slightly before it fully closes.
Even though I want to talk more, I leave.
Copyright © 2025 by John Reynolds
