[“Construct number twelve million, three hundred eighty-nine thousand, eight hundred eighty.”]
[“State your specialization.”]
Each construct had a specialization inherited from their default neural net, a set of instructions which would dictate their role in Toralii society. Gardener of the great forests, soldier, miner, food producer…
[“Navigator.”]
Next would be a test of the construct’s data recall abilities. The construct ran through a thousand or so expected questions and answers in the just-under-a-second before his tester spoke again, but regrettably none of his anticipated result set matched the question he was given.
[“List seven elements.”]
[“Silver, gold, aluminum, bauxite, tungsten, hydrogen, helium.”]
[“Of those you listed, which is the most common element in the known universe?”]
[“Hydrogen.”]
Seeming satisfied, the tester moved on. [“A plant typically grows in which substance?”]
[“Best answer: Soil, a biologically active, porous medium most commonly found in the uppermost layer of planets capable of supporting carbon-based life. Archetypical chemical composition: silicon dioxide, calcium carbonate, assorted hydrocarbons, decomposing biological matter. Alternatively, using hydroponic techniques, plants may be grown in water. Eighteen hundred known plant species take root in gaseous environments.”]
[“What color is blood?”]
The construct paused. He understood that this was a trick question designed to test his reasoning skills. [“Please specify species.”]
The tester’s voice seemed to convey her approval. [“An excellent answer. Toralii blood.”]
[“Color ranges from light to dark purple depending on oxygenation. Average coloration found in an adult Toralii male is one hundred and twenty-five parts red, twenty-eight parts green, one hundred and thirty-seven parts blue.”]
[“What is your favorite color?”]
An entirely subjective question. The construct had been “alive” for only minutes, but already his experience was minutely different from all other constructs who had come before him. Still, the idea of a favorite question was unknown to him. All colors were merely representations of the interaction between light and matter. Having a favorite was nonsensical for artificial minds.
But this construct was not like the others.
[“Red.”]
[“Red? Justify your answer.”]
[“From the text of the philosopher Kaitana, third order. Red is the color of courage, strength, defiance, warmth, energy, survival. Through the eyes of most species, objects that are red may appear closer than they really are.”]
There was a pause, then the weary voice returned. [“An unusual answer, but… not outside the margin of error. Test complete. I, Landmaiden Mevara of the Toralii Alliance, certify that to the best of my knowledge and training this unit is fully functional.”]
[“Thank you.”]
The construct’s words seemed to surprise the Toralii woman on the other end of the line so completely that for a time she did not answer, and when her voice found volume once again, it was confused and curious.
[“I… beg your pardon?”]
The construct’s response was immediate. [“I wish to convey my gratitude. I do not wish to be recycled, and I am grateful that you found my answers satisfactory… and that you would take your time to test me.”]
Another pause. [“Stand by.”]
Leader Jul’aran’s Office
Toralii Forge World Belthas IV
[“It has a favorite color. It’s not supposed to have a favorite. The test technically allows for them picking an actual color, but it’s exceedingly rare, and always chosen at random. Furthermore, it… thanked me. The construct thanked me for testing it.”]
Mevara held out the datastore to the facility Leader, a scowling red-furred Toralii named Jul’aran, who snatched it from her grasp before her hand was even fully outstretched.
Giving her a displeased eye, Jul’aran emitted a low-pitched, aggravated grumble then slipped the datastore into his terminal, casually waving his hand in front of a sensor. A three-dimensional representation of a keypad full of Toralii characters appeared in thin air just above his desk, and he tapped a few keys with his thick fuzzy hands.
[“Well, that would appear to be an obvious flaw, wouldn’t it? None of the others have thanked you, so it’s clearly a defect. Why didn’t you recycle it?”]
She folded her hands in front of her and regarded him closely. For a time Mevara had wanted to mate with Jul’aran. He was strong and handsome, despite his gruff demeanor, and his family was well connected—but he had spurned her every advance, gradually treating her worse and worse as the months wore on. This had made working with him difficult, but she had become accustomed to his behavior.
[“Manners are not usually considered a flaw—”]
[“Although you could use some yourself.”] He didn’t look at her, pushing back the holographically projected screen that flickered slightly as he touched it. [“You waste my time with this nonsense. What matter does it make if the machine thanked you? Its difference is either enough reason to recycle it, or it is not. You’re an auditor: it’s your job to test the blasted constructs, not mine. If you weren’t such a mewing little cub then perhaps you could grow enough spine to make a decision every now and then, hmm?”]
The sting of his words cut her just as it always did. She had never, not once, asked for his assistance in any matter relating to her job, and given that the construct’s behavior was clearly out of the ordinary and an exceptional case, it made sense for her to contact her supervisor to ensure that she was taking the right course of action. Machines who reached this stage of testing were only recycled when the neural net had not copied correctly—and in this case, the construct had passed every single test she had given it. Technically, it was fit for service.
Technically, she had already certified it.
Her job was to administer the tests necessary to assess the robot’s suitability for service—which she had completed to the exact letter of the requirements. But the intent behind them, a concept that Jul’aran seemed to have difficulty comprehending, was to assess whether the machine’s neural net had been copied completely and without error, and therefore would serve well in whatever branch of Toralii society it was dispatched to.
In this case, although there did not appear to be any immediately obvious issue with its core cognitive functions, the construct seemed to have odd habits. None of the thousands of other constructs had ever thanked her.
It did feel good to have someone praise her for her labor though. Her job seemed to be an endless parade of perfectly functional or completely broken machines, and the latter group usually fell into one of two easily detected types: those which spouted nonsense and those which mutely refused to answer her questions. Although one time she tested a construct that merely screamed at her endlessly, at maximum volume, until she, unable to get any other kind of response from it, sent it back to the drums.
That decision to recycle was easy. This one was not so.
[“I’m sorry, Leader. I’m merely seeking your counsel and advice regarding what is clearly an… unusual situation. The construct’s behavior is not so obviously incorrect as to call for immediate destruction, but it should not be ignored, either. If you feel I’m doing an inadequate job—”]