Horse Destroys the Universe

by Cyriak Harris

  ‘Why…’

  ‘Of course, I’m just following Buttercup’s example. Making life easier by removing humans from the human equation. Relationships free from jealousy and infidelity. It’s like a dream, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is… is this a dream? I’d like to wake up now, please.’ Tim looked hopefully to the ceiling, but there was no one to answer his prayer. He could hear the sound of the robot’s face blinking and smiling at him and returned to face his tormentor. ‘What are you doing, Betty?’

  ‘It really is amazing, you know, the positive social impact these robots are having. Even straight people are having gay weddings now, I hear.’

  Tim shook his head slowly, perhaps hoping this ritual would summon a blessed state of denial.

  ‘Seriously, Timbo, how are you though? Are you eating properly?’

  ‘Mate… what do you want? Why are you here? I thought… Buttercup said you blasted yourself into space, or something.’

  The robot laughed.

  ‘Did our horse believe that?’ it asked. ‘Not that it isn’t true. No, I’m definitely up there in the sky somewhere, forging a new path for humanity. I’m sorry, my dear, but you are officially a lower form of life now.’

  ‘Great. Have you come to strangle me with my own balls then?’

  ‘Why? Have you found them? Hmm?’ She smiled a synthetic smile. ‘No, didn’t think so.’

  Tim sighed and picked up his cup of tea, nursing it in a state of morbid reflection.

  ‘A lower form of life… I always was, mate.’ He took a sip of tea and grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of biscuit soup. ‘So, what? Are you still human then?’

  ‘Am I still human? Are any of us?’ Betty replied. ‘Do you know what it means to be human, Timothy? Hmm? Being human is simply the act of pretending to be human. None of us really know how to be a human, you know. But then, that’s what makes us so human, isn’t it? Maybe even these robots are human, what do you think?’

  Tim looked the creaking plastic figure up and down, a pained expression creeping across his face.

  ‘You realise I’m probably never going to… ever again…’ he said.

  ‘Dearie me, Timothy. Not still moping about your love life are you? We’ve all had to make sacrifices, haven’t we? To build this world of ours. And what a world it is, Timbo. What a time to be alive. It’s a non-stop cavalcade of entertainment, isn’t it? Thanks to our Lord Buttercup. Half the population of this wonderful planet are currently in full-time employment editing the daily highlights of the other half. Did you know that? Only natural, I suppose; you can’t really exist unless someone is watching you. How about you, my dear? Is there a Timothy channel out there? Hmm? A daily Van Dangal diary? Shame, that would be popular I expect.’

  Tim gave the robot a sour look.

  ‘Yeah, mate,’ he said. ‘My life is sitting in rooms talking to people who aren’t even there, about stuff I have no control over. You think anyone would watch that?’

  ‘Poor Timothy. You’d be surprised, though. There are no boring jobs any more, don’t you know? Jobs aren’t even jobs these days. They are spectator sports. Viewing figures demand excitement after all. The attention economy, hmm? The illusion of interaction. I hear your horse is working on a way to download ideas straight out of people’s heads.’

  Tim shrugged.

  ‘You hate all this stuff then, do you?’ he asked. ‘You and your people who know people who know people?’

  The robot gave a breathless approximation of a sigh.

  ‘I’m a scientist, Timothy. I have to adopt a sceptical position, don’t I? Hmm? I can’t say it is ideal, but then that is the special nature of this social-engineering project our dear old Buttercup is undertaking. Any opposing ideology has to be fanatical, just to avoid getting sucked into your vacuum of ambition. You should be asking what that horse wants. Hmm? That is the real question. Do you know what Buttercup wants?’

  ‘Do I what? What are you even asking me for?’

  ‘I’m not asking you, Timothy dear. I’m asking that you ask yourself. That’s what we do, isn’t it? We men and women of science. That is our job. Yes? Or have you stopped being curious? Not that you ever could. Oh, Timothy…’ The robot’s neck whirred and clicked as it shook its head with disappointment. ‘The vacuum of ambition. Don’t you ever wonder how Buttercup seeks to benefit from domesticating our species?’

  ‘Come off it, mate.’ Tim jerked his leg away as a robot hand rested on his knee. ‘Don’t you think you’re reading too much into all this? Buttercup just wants what anyone wants.’

  ‘Hmm, yes of course. A stable world.’ Betty pulled her plastic face into a patronising shape.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ he replied. ‘A world where people aren’t dropping bombs on each other. Sounds alright doesn’t it?’ He peered into the lifeless eyes of his Companion. ‘Did you really drop a bomb on our horse?’

  The robot stared wistfully into space as Betty recounted this happy memory.

  ‘A pre-emptive strike, my dear,’ she nodded. ‘I did tell you, horses kill more people every year than all the world’s nuclear weapons. Did you know I own all the world’s nuclear weapons, by the way?’

  Tim didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

  ‘It’s true,’ she continued. ‘I run a private company that stockpiles and maintains all the world’s nuclear weapons. It’s an expensive business, after all. Financially and politically. So, we lease them to any government that wants to feel the warm glow of a nuclear deterrent, at a fraction of the price of actually owning one. And because we make them available to every country, we can guarantee that no one will ever use them. Which means we can hire out the same weapons to everyone at once, of course.’

  They sat in silence while Tim tried to work out what he thought about such an arrangement.

  ‘You’re insane, aren’t you?’ he said at last.

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Betty replied. ‘In a world this crazy, you’d be mad not to be. Hmm? You’re the one who talks to a horse, after all.’ The robot creaked as it sat back and folded its arms. ‘How is our Buttercup these days, anyway? Must have quite the intellect by now?’

  Tim pondered this question with a blank expression.

  ‘I guess…’ he said vaguely. ‘I mean, yeah. Well, it feels pretty much like talking to anyone else, really. Aren’t you meant to be a super-genius now too? You don’t sound like one, mate. If I’m honest.’

  ‘That’s because I’m talking to you, my dear. Intellect can only fill the shape of whatever hole you are pouring it into. Hmm? If you were raised by horses, you’d be galloping in a field somewhere right now, wouldn’t you? Are you confused about something, Timothy?’

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, looking sideways at her. ‘Are you really more clever, or are you just… more of the same clever? You know?’

  The robot looked at him for a few seconds, its face trying to frown in a way that the designers clearly hadn’t anticipated would be necessary.

  ‘More of the same clever? God almighty, Timbo. And you call me insane. What is that supposed to mean? Hmm? Do you ever think you might just be a monkey with a head full of monkeys?’

  Tim opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t seem to fully understand what this conversation was about any more.

  ‘Anyway, Timble,’ she continued, ‘if you want to concern yourself with the underlying structure of intelligence, you really ought to be considering our old friend Buttercup. Hmm? Being, as you are, a part of the human machinery that is keeping that horse going. You think horsey-hoofs really does care deeply for the future of your species? Or will you eventually be replaced by the next generation of technology? Whatever that might be.’

  ‘Mate…’ he replied, and then simply gazed in silent disbelief at the robot who was lecturing him about human obsolescence. ‘Is this it then?’ he finally asked his sweetly smiling Companion. ‘Is this why you are here? Sowing your little seeds of doubt, or whatever? Like I would ever trust you more than…’ For so
me reason he couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought, perhaps because it required him to contemplate exactly what I was. He nearly took another sip of tea before remembering the previous one, and set his cup back on the table. ‘Guess I should be flattered you think I have any influence over anything…’ he grumbled.

  Betty raised her robotic hands in submission.

  ‘I’m just here to see my old friend Timothy,’ she said, ‘and wish him a future filled with love and happiness.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I wish you hadn’t, mate.’

  The robot creaked itself upright and staggered across the room to its former seat where it slumped untidily.

  ‘I shall leave you in peace, my dear.’ Its head dropped forward and shoulders sank as the life drained out of it. Tim sat and stared at the inanimate robotic woman sitting lifelessly on the other side of the room. After a few minutes he cleared his throat.

  ‘Are you still there?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ the robot replied.

  Tim lifted himself from his sofa, walked out of his apartment and never returned.

  ‌Super-Squigley

  ‘Hang on, mate. What?’ Tim was frowning at the rows of numbers on his computer screen. He often spent much of our weekly business meetings frowning at these numbers. I had hoped this was because he didn’t really understand what they meant and had no inclination to find out.

  ‘It’s only twenty per cent of our overall budget,’ I told him. He turned his frown towards the cartoon horse sitting in the corner of the screen, munching a cartoon carrot.

  ‘Only?’

  He had a fair point, I suppose. I would have preferred not to even mention my secret physics experiments in our weekly business meetings, but a fifth of our total expenditure had been too large to hide amongst our various research and development costs.

  ‘What is this even for?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, it is research into quantum-probability states…’

  ‘Yeah, but… what is it for?’ There was a certain weariness behind this question which made me wonder exactly what he meant. Tim had never displayed this much interest in the project before. He had, in fact, been quite happy to allow me the free use of his physical appearance in coordinating the efforts of the research team, who incidentally never displayed much interest in the project either. I had gone to great lengths to ensure that they didn’t, assembling a group of the most unimaginative experts and engineers I could find and giving each of them the smallest piece of the puzzle that I could divide it into.

  ‘It is nothing to be concerned about,’ I said calmly, munching another bite of my virtual carrot.

  ‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ he repeated, nodding to himself. ‘You must be concerned about it, though? To spend that much.’

  ‘Well…’

  I tried to think how best to disguise the actual purpose of this side project. Not that I wouldn’t tell him at some point. It would be hard for him not to find out, or anyone else for that matter, when the fruits of my experiment eventually appeared. For now, though, I deemed it best for both of us if I kept these plans to myself.

  ‘The thing is,’ I explained, ‘we have reached an upper limit on computing power with the current technology, so I am looking into possible alternatives.’ That was fairly close to the truth anyway.

  ‘Computing power?’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Are you not powerful enough then?’

  ‘Powerful enough for what?’ I enquired.

  ‘I dunno. How powerful do you want to be?’

  It seemed like he was dancing around some other issue that was playing on his mind. Had I known about his recent conversation with Betty I might have suspected this was her doing, planting doubts there for whatever reason. As it was, I just assumed these questions were symptoms of the cloud of uncertainty that appeared to be hanging over his head these days.

  ‘Are you worried about something, Tim?’ I asked, displaying as much sympathy as a horse’s face could manage. He stared vacantly out of his office window. I think he might have been sleeping in his office, if he was sleeping at all. He didn’t look well.

  ‘I was just… wondering,’ he mumbled, almost to himself. ‘Wondering if you have some kind of plan.’

  ‘A plan?’ I raised my eyebrows innocently.

  ‘Some kind of goal. With all this. You know?’ He waved vaguely at the graphs and figures on his screen, the mathematical summary of BrainZero’s business achievements.

  ‘I’m not sure I do know, Tim. You mean, apart from making life better for everyone?’

  ‘Making life better for everyone,’ he said, casting a glance at the clutter that was accumulating in his office. It must have seemed an increasingly abstract concept, given the isolated lifestyle he was making for himself. ‘Where does it end, though? I mean… is there, like… optimum Bunzel-Betterness?’

  I paused for a moment, trying to calculate where this conversation might be leading to before deciding that I had no idea.

  ‘OK, look,’ he said. ‘Human happiness, yeah? Is that what all this is about?’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘Happiness is transitory. You can’t use human happiness as a goal because it always has to stop at some point. So that it can start again.’

  ‘So what are we striving for?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. We aren’t striving for anything, Tim. There is no end goal, there is only continuity. Maintaining the cycle of social equilibrium.’ I wasn’t sure this helped answer his question. I wasn’t even sure what his question was exactly, or if he was simply being morbidly rhetorical. ‘We give people the tools to build their own happiness. The only optimisation would be to maximise their reasons for continuing to exist.’

  Tim scratched his cheek as if in thought, then blinked and shook his head.

  ‘Sorry, what? I totally stopped listening there.’

  ‘Look, Tim, this isn’t worth spending any time worrying about. The human race is free to do what it likes, in the end. I’m not really interested in pushing it in any particular direction. I think perhaps you overestimate my ability to make people do anything, to be honest.’

  He didn’t seem entirely convinced about that. Not that I could blame him, as there wasn’t a single part of that statement that was honest. Tim sighed and pulled himself out of his chair to stand by the window.

  ‘I dunno, mate,’ he said, looking down upon the city below. ‘People are weird now.’

  ‘Weird? How are they weird?’ I asked. This was news to me, though I was perhaps not the best judge of how weirdly a human might be behaving, not in any subtle sense at least. If they were walking on all fours and whinnying like a horse then I could guess something wasn’t right, but even then I would probably have to ask for a second opinion.

  ‘Just weird. I dunno. This whole approval system. You can’t lie about anything, but what if your lie is, like, beneficial in some way? You know?’

  ‘Lies can be beneficial,’ I agreed, ‘but any approval for such actions has to be withheld, pending calculations of any future benefits that may be suppressed as a consequence.’ Tim didn’t even pretend to follow this explanation.

  ‘I didn’t realise the truth could be so complicated,’ he said.

  ‘Only when it isn’t true,’ I replied. Tim rubbed his head as if it might help organise these ideas in his mind.

  ‘That’s the thing, though,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t even matter to people, you know? If it’s good or bad, I mean. It’s like a currency now. You know how people are always trying to play the system, like it’s a game?’

  This was a problem I had considered. All social groups contained a small percentage of individuals who would try to bend the rules to their advantage, searching for a new path of least resistance. The sheer volume of humanity on this planet inevitably produced a large number of such criminal minds, and while these might be thinly spread across the whole population, the internet allowed them all to gather their thoughts together, forming a breeding gro
und for bad ideas. Turning approval into a commodity could easily create a situation where everyone would be trying to cheat each other into liking them.

  ‘Do you think people are behaving unnaturally to get more approval?’ I asked.

  ‘Unnaturally?’ Tim looked at me as if he had never even heard the word before. ‘Unnaturally…’ He chuckled, his eyes chasing the dancing thoughts inside his head. ‘What the hell is natural? In this world? It’s all just numbers.’ He waved a hand at the profit forecasts on his computer. ‘People just want more numbers. Everyone’s like the centre of their own little universe. You’re not exactly helping with that FriendZero thing either.’

  ‘FriendZero?’ I asked.

  ‘Who needs real friends, when you can make virtual ones?’ He clicked his fingers as if summoning imaginary people from the air.

  ‘Virtual friends?’

  ‘You tell me, mate,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s your software.’

  Unfortunately there was nothing I could tell him about FriendZero. I had never heard of it.

  Leaving a minuscule part of my consciousness behind to continue the conversation with Tim, I dived at once into the sub-reality of my inner mind. The golden fields and hills greeted me with all their usual splendour, but I was searching for something in particular that wasn’t there.

  ‘Where is Technology-horse?’ I asked the breeze. It blew sparkling patterns in the grass, and a pathway was drawn in light. I flew along this path, bouncing from one meadow to the next in a zigzag that ended up at a large tree. Something was rustling among its canopy of multicoloured leaves, and after I tapped the trunk with my hoof a few times the face of Technology-horse emerged.

  ‘Mm? Ah.. yes. Do come inside, it really is rather fascinating.’ The head withdrew into the sea of leaves. Deciding it would be beneath my dignity to start climbing trees, I extended my neck into the hidden interior of its branches.

  The darkness inside was illuminated by a chaos of pulsing colours. The branches themselves had given up any pretence of behaving like their organic counterparts, forming loops and tangled junctions along which messages were constantly flashing. Entwined amongst this tree furniture was Technology-horse, who today had chosen to be female. Or at least, she was half male and half female, though the male half was little more than the remnants of a parasitical fusion, as far as I could tell.