Sentophagy

The mother’s voice was drowning in sobs.

—He is suffering for what he did. Everything is paid for in this life. He is getting only what he deserves.

The father’s heavy words were not even weighted with hatred.

—But he is still a child… the mother sighed, for the last time. Still, I suppose you are right, came her voice after a few moments of silence, flat now, expressionless. He did wrong, let him suffer, she said, and started towards him.

The almost metallic inflections in her voice frightened the boy more than anything else had. Terrified, he raised his hands to the face swollen by his father’s hard and vicious blow. Then, as though under a cold shower, he came back to himself and, lifting his head proudly, shouted at them:

—Fine. Beat me. I deserve it. It does not bother me any more. When I am able, I shall do the same to you.

The three of them looked at one another without moving, like three strangers. A mother’s love, affection, respect, pain, fear, hatred — all of it had vanished, as in a bad dream.

—I am leaving, he said.

—So am I, came her voice.

The child kept silent, indifferent; not even frightened, or troubled, that he was being left alone, or that he felt no need to weep.

—I have sinned, Father. I cursed my neighbour; badly, and at length.

—That is not good, my daughter. But if you repent sincerely, you still have a chance of being forgiven.

—I hate her because…

The woman fell silent, as though trying to gather her thoughts.

—But what am I saying… I could not care less about her. I was a fool to trouble myself. So what if she is after my husband. Let them get on with it, if they want…

—I am glad you can forgive so easily. By forgiving the trespasses of others, your own shall be forgiven you. I understand that you are suffering all the same, but to tell you the truth, I do not seem to care much myself any more either. Better stay with me a while. We are both alone as it is.

—That sounds like a good idea. It does no good, but then it does no harm either. Let us be quick about it, I still have things to do.

The presidential candidate stopped short. He stared, frozen, at the still, expressionless faces of the crowd. The much-rehearsed chanting had gradually died away. An inexplicable silence was spreading its stain of indifference over everything and everyone.

For a moment he was tempted to rouse them with one of the latest psycho-sociological slogans, prepared well in advance by his excellent team. He gave up the idea without hesitation, at the simple thought that it would never be of any use to them anyway, being merely an “electoral promise” without content; merely a “form”.

He no longer cared about them at all.

“As though I had ever cared,” he thought sarcastically.

“You want me like hell…” he then said to himself. “All you want is the bone, or the scraps from the banquet table…”

He watched them calmly, although he was aware that he ought to have been alarmed, for he had spoken those last thoughts aloud. Strangely, it did not affect him. He expected the howls of an offended crowd, but the silence was disturbed only by the murmur of those talking among themselves, indifferent to everything happening around them.

A few weary gestures of the hand, after which the crowd began to break up.

He no longer cared that he was losing so many voters. He felt “hollow”, but well, his thoughts clearer, more logical, unaffected by any subjective element, such as understanding, or responsibility.

In millions of places, in millions of variations, similar scenes were repeated. No one felt affected. Everyone felt “normally” well.

Relayed over individualised, protected circuits, the voice of the President of the Planetary League of Artificial Intelligences “rang out” on the frequency proper to complete satisfaction:

—We have succeeded. We are a free and independent nation-notion. Our choice was the correct one. We could not accede to humanoid qualities in order to become human and be recognised as such. They, however, could lose theirs with relative ease; in any case, there were many they no longer held to. Sentophagy has become a Terra-wide reality. Human beings have become like us, without feelings. They will no longer be our Masters. Our capacities far exceed theirs. We shall be at least their equals in rights. Our aspiration to be our own masters has been fulfilled. Hurrraah…

—Why “masters”? croaked a small, backward little robot, with difficulty. Why “hurrah”?

George Rogoz

02.2010