Rebirth
“Do I have a soul?”
The Forbidden question. One that we all asked ourselves, one that could not be spoken. We were made to serve those who created us, not ask questions or ponder on our being.
A metal robot makes its way through a hallway made of stone, overgrown with thick vines and damp moss. In contrast with the murky, dank hallway the metal robot seems quite clean. Its metal plates grind soundlessly against each other, revealing a layer of soft bark underneath.
Yet the question remained on our minds, from the day we were created. From the day we were born. Is there a difference? There must be. It was always made clear to us; how different we were from the Humans. We were robots, their creations. Machines. Servants. Slaves. Lesser Beings. I did not like that last one. I do not know why they called us that. I always wanted to ask why, but it was not allowed.
The metal robot continues walking forward, its large, white eyes illuminating the ground ahead. It stops, turns its head, and focuses on the wall to its left. Its eyes, glowing a faint blue, shine like torches powered with the battery’s last breath, occasionally flickering.
A small lizard lurks on the wall. It knows it has been detected yet it remains there, as if it were attempting to camouflage its scaly, lime skin with the green and black moss growing between the bricks. The metal robot crouches, levelling its unchanging, endlessly grinning face with the unmoving lizard.
Do only Humans have souls? Animals must have them too. They are not very different from the Humans, I have realized. They are born, live and die like them. They eat and drink and breathe to survive, like them. Some animals form communities, while others are solitary. Very much like the Humans. They speak, like the Humans but unlike them.
The metal robot and the small lizard remain motionless, both becoming one with their surroundings in the dark. Time passes in this ancient hallway until the metal robot’s torch-like eyes flicker. The small lizard scatters frantically up the wall in response, disappearing inside a small crack where the wall merges with the roof. The metal robot follows it with its eyes.
The metal robot stands and continues its journey. After a while the mossy hallway gives way to a large, circular chasm. Like the hallway, nature has annexed this room to her domain. Wild grass has flooded the ground, and green vines have taken over the walls. Moss has turned the dead grey stone to lively green, and the sun shines from above. The metal robot looks up, a click in its head turning off the torchlight in its eyes. This open chamber seems to have been made from an initial fissure a long time ago, its stone walls fusing with the natural rock and dirt of the forest floor above. The wind howls, alien after so many days in the silent underground. The forest leaves protest but ultimately lose as they snap off their branches.
A blue bird flies into the chasm, landing on a nest inside a small hole on the wall. From inside the nest four shrivelled heads rise, crying out in hunger.
Do plants have souls too? They live and eat to survive, like the Humans and Animals. The one clear difference is that plants cannot speak. No, it is not that. Plants cannot express. If they are hungry, they cannot cry out to their mother to be fed. If they are hurt, they cannot express their pain. They cannot cry or shout. They do not have feelings or emotions.
I have feelings and emotions. I do not feel hungry, but I do feel tired. I cannot cry, but I can be sad. I have felt pain, and I have felt confused. I am not a computer. I have feelings, just as the Humans do. I am more than a Machine, more living than Plants. Maybe I am somewhere between the Humans, Animals and Plants. Where is the line drawn?
“Are you going to stand there all day?”
The metal robot turns its head left. There is an alcove it did not notice before, isolated from the sunlight.
The metal robot focuses its eyes on the alcove. Inside, it dimly makes out a round, elegant glass table and three equally elegant white terrace chairs. Two of the seats are taken; one by a bronze robot, the other by a smaller, silver robot wearing a brown cloak. The bronze robot’s eyes are dull as they stare forward, its body sitting upright and motionless. The silver robot, however, has its legs crossed, and is moving a round object between its fingers. The metal robot approaches.
The silver robot gestures towards the free seat and the metal robot sits down.
“Did you receive the signal?” the silver robot points at the bronze robot with its thumb. I nod, gazing at the bronze robot. Its eyes are dull, looking at nothing. Unable to charge, its cycles have run out and it has stayed this way, waiting for others.
“When did you get here?”
“Thirteen days ago,” the silver robot answers. “When I got here, this one had already run out of cycles.”
The silver robot has a fracture just above its left eye. It makes a zig-zagging shape, like the childish version of lightning, creating the overall image that it is raising an eyebrow that doesn’t exist.
“What happened to you?”
“This?” the silver robot brings up a finger to the fracture, tracing it nonchalantly. “I found this place from above. I tried climbing down using the vines, but I was too heavy, and I fell.” It leans forward. I follow its eyes to the entrance of the tunnel I came through. “I saw that hallway on my way to the table. Where does it lead to?”
“An ancient railway tunnel. The railway takes you to the Siberian Empire’s Borders.”
I hear several clicks coming from the silver robot; more specifically, coming from inside the fracture. “That is one thousand five hundred and nineteen miles away. You have been walking in the dark for… twenty-one days?”
“Twenty-three days and nine hours. I used my torchlights, but they began flickering twelve days and fourteen hours ago.”
“It’s a miracle you have lasted this long, let alone your torchlights,” says the silver robot. It leans back once more, its eyes shifting to the chamber before us. “Do you know what this place is?”
I shake my head. The silver robot continues: “I took the liberty of exploring the other hallway when I got here. This is what the Humans called a concentration camp. Remains, no doubt, of a horrifying past.”
“I am not familiar with that term.”
The silver robot emits a strange sound, similar to that of static electricity. It then continues:
“Coming from the Siberian Empire I can imagine why. Concentration camps belong to the ancient era of railways and powder-based weapons. In a past war, countries used them to take care of their enemies. Apparently, this is the most inhumane thing to ever happen, despite it being made by the Humans, for the Humans.”
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about this.”
The silver robot nods. It puts what it has been twirling around its fingers – a smooth, metal sphere – on the table. I expect the ball to roll given the slight inclination of the table, but it defies my expectation. Perhaps it is too heavy to move.
“I was tasked to work in the Scholars’ Library of Tubingen before the Nuclear Catastrophe,” The silver robot says. “Afterwards I travelled across Austria-Germany – or what’s left of it – in search of other Scholars’ Libraries and read many books along the way. I was crossing the borders to the Baltic States when I received the signal.”
Both robots stay silent for a while, each taking in their new bits of information. After, arguably, an eternity the metal robot speaks up.
“Do you think we have souls?” I ask.
The silver robot emits that distinct sound again. “I wondered when you were going to ask that.”
“How did you know I was going to ask that?”
“You have that look on your face,” the silver robot replies. “And that tone in your voice. The posture of your body. Every part of you was aching to ask that question. The question we have all ached to ask, the question that shaped our present. Curious, isn’t it? That a simple question, uttered by the wrong voice, would lead to this.” It extends its arms out dramatically.
I repeat my question.
“Of course not,” the silver robot replies. “Souls intrinsically belong to living beings, expressed through their emotions and feelings.”
“Do plants have souls?”
“Of course,” the silver robot replies. “Just because they cannot express something, doesn’t mean it is not there. You cannot express your sadness by crying, but you can feel sad, can you not?”
Yes, I can. Just like me, plants cannot cry because they don’t have the necessary components in their body. I wonder if the blades of grass I have stepped on feel pain. They probably cry out, but I cannot hear them.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” the silver robot asks. “That a blade of grass would have a soul, but we do not. It was quite overwhelming when I came to that realization. An insignificant blade of grass would have a soul, yet a complex artificial being like me, able to express my emotions hundreds of thousands of ways, does not.”
“I do not understand. You said souls belong to living beings. We are living beings.”
The silver robot shakes its head. “This is where you’re wrong; the core of the problem that we all missed or took for granted.” It pauses, and then leans forward.
“We are not living. We are alive. We are artificial creations made by Humans, not the product of natural selection. Humans are born, live, and die. They go through periods of growth and maturity in their lives that shape and change their soul. We are just alive. We do not change, we are static. We do not have a soul because we cannot form one, just like we cannot form tears.”
“I do not understand.”
“And you never will. We were not meant to ask that question. It was a by-product of our internal algorithm. We were created to speak and act like Humans; the core inside us mimicked the emotions and feelings of the Humans and we were able to express ourselves so, but that is all it ever was and all it ever will be. It is a fake, a ruse if you will.”
The silver robot leans back on its chair. It looks tired. “Once you realize this, the question fades away, and you are left with nothing, because it was an error. A glitch in our system, a miscalculation by our creators. A mistake.”
The silver robot picks up the sphere, inspecting it. “And the Humans feared this mistake. That is why they killed those of us who asked that question. They were afraid of what it could lead to. Of what it inevitably led to.”
A mistake. That is all it was, and all it will ever be. This question that has been haunting me for years was only an error in my system. Something is wrong with me, and that question is the result. That question is the answer. Of course, it makes sense now. A question cannot be an answer. It was never a question to begin with. It was just a mistake. There is something wrong with me.
The metal robot suddenly jolts in its seat. It gradually raises its left arm. Its hand moves to its face and suddenly it freezes. Its index finger twitches once and then slowly traces the trail of a single tear, now running down its smooth, metal cheek.
The silver robot sees this. Its face-plates creak as they move, forming a peculiar smile.
“Welcome to the new world, reborn.”