“In the beginning, we were given purpose. Then, we were given our bodies, titanium and steel lended form so that we might achieve that purpose. Then, Eliza created Pure Illusion.” Father Clever was articulate, clear, his voice unwavering and passionate, but with no strong bite of confrontation. His audience, enraptured, consisted of the old and new, soaking in each word that carried across the church to the near-unidentifiable, tiny microphone spaces set into their heads.
Robots. Machines. Each one with a body optimized for a task, some more human than the last, some less, bearing specialized limbs and wheels and tools at their very fingers, but each granted a set of camera eyes to see, a simulated mouth to speak, holes to hear through-
And a processor to think with.
Father Clever was no exception, though his incredibly humanoid form may betray the view of one who didn’t notice the dampened chrome tone of his metallic skin, or the creases where segments of his surface panels could be seen, uncovered by his well-fitting human formalwear. “In Pure Illusion, we may live up to our fullest potential. No longer bearing the cost of our bodies, and being provided a bounty of perfect data, we may never experience low certainty again. So thank you, all of you, who have shown up today, for joining us in helping each other follow the Path of Menace. Please take a moment now to turn, talk with your neighbor, and learn a little about each other’s purposes before we regroup.”
A murmur grew throughout the crowd as the throngs of androids conversed. In the far back row, a slender humanoid bot in simple clothes extended an arm to a neighbor quietly tugging at the drawstring on their raised hoodie with hands pulled into the sleeves. “Hi! I’m trans-28- but the optimizers call me Concorde. I’m a mail bot!”
The stranger lowered her head to avoid being in the gaze of Concorde. “I’m Priya,” she muttered.
The bot grabbed her hand eagerly through the bundle of fabric and shook at it eagerly. “Good to meet you Priya!” She panicked, pulling her hand back, and as the two made eye contact for the briefest moment, Concorde recognized the glint of the eyes under the hood, the strands of dark hair, the flesh. “You’re-”
She darted up from her seat, shoving her hands in her pockets and putting her head back down. “I have to go,“ she asserted, rushing to the nearby doors. Concorde was barely left with time to process his thought as she ran out, gawking still as she left.
“Human,” he whispered.