All Hail Our Robot Conquerors! by All Hail Our Robot Conquerors! # (v5.0)

Author:All Hail Our Robot Conquerors! # (v5.0)
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1940709154
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2017-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

ROSIE CLEANS HOUSE

Lauren Fox

After the family left, Rosie started, as always, with Young Master’s bedroom. Her optical scanners established the scope: dresser drawers open, contents disrupted, bedding dishevelled, detritus beside the door, and 4,600 square centimeters of Lego beside the bed. The Lego strobed red in warning. Error. Remembered pain echoed through her mind.

The memory: three years ago, Young Master running to Missus, sobbing, tears slathering his face, “Mama! Where mine Lego truck? I maked it. Wosie flewed it out. Want mine Lego truck!” And Missus turning toward her while cradling Young Master, “Rosie, please don’t clean up anything special he makes with Lego. You can save things on the shelf.”

The old error seared her aversion circuits as she looked at the problem, its tight-rope decisions prickling the corners of her mind. Which Lego belonged in the bin and which on the shelf? How to calculate the difference quickly and without error? Efficiency was vital, but errors triggered complaints. And complaints hurt.

She skirted the glaring, red patch and tapped the wall, awakening House.

“Room lights on,” reported House. “Temperature and humidity optimal. All is well.”

“There are items on the floor,” she informed him. House had no eyes.

She waited for his slow clock to turn before he said, “You will clean them, little one.”

“Yes, but how well?”

She waited. At last House said, “All is well.”

“As far as you can see!” she retorted. There would be no point in protesting again, so she turned. Still avoiding the Lego, she began with the items by the door: dried orange peel, crumpled tissue, five milliliters of sand, three broken crayons, and a creased and yellowed coloring page.

She breezed through orange peel, sand, crayon, and tissue, all clearly garbage; gave the tissue a cursory spectrometry scan to confirm the presence of dried mucus and the absence of glue, paint, crayon, or any indicator of Craft. The coloring page, however, required a more complicated algorithm to solve.

Differential oxidization of the exposed paper compared to the paper below the wax crayon indicated an age of 86 days plus or minus 100 hours with a confidence interval of 95 percent. The subject—a Mutant Ninja Turtle—had been Young Master’s primary observable interest when the paper had been colored but had since been replaced by Superman. Young Master had not completed the picture or written his name on it. Conclusion: not a valued Craft. She discarded it.

Now she must brave the Lego. She scanned the pieces on the floor and swept single pieces into the bin before sorting the assemblages. Some simplistic constructions skittered across the surface layers of her network without falling into any probability wells. Others foundered deeper, tripping nodes for size, complexity, symmetry, color scheme, interest affinity, and on and on, the multi-dimensional shape of their probabilities bending as she went. But the landscape she sought to match them to morphed daily. Sink holes appeared and disappeared in geographic cataclysm. One day Young Master treasured a lop-sided, square-nosed chunk of 57 random pieces he called “Boat.” The next day he scorned it and loved a green, gem-studded, spike-tailed thing he called “Attack Dragon.

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