Robot Republic.
1. Prison
It is not often reality is seen for what it is, after hunger, horniness, whatever irritation you have, whatever state of mind you are in, what is it exactly you have? Many people strive for something, to achieve something however small. Maybe to play a game well, to conquer a country, a city, themselves, to have a girlfriend, and yet when is man truly satisfied? Biologically the goal is to reproduce, and yet many people feel inadequate achieving merely this biological function. If you achieved everything you desired, what then? A poor person would die for a rich man’s life, but if he got it, what then? Enjoy it? And what then? This is not to defend poverty, but human’s are never happy. The middle road, not poverty, not lavishness, but if the world is injustice is there truly enlightenment to be found only in oneself? Every man for himself, but he doesn’t even know what himself is. When you subtract everything that ails you, only then can you look at the world clearly; and many do the opposite, take narcotics, or read, or play games to do anything but look at the world. Many people distract themselves and many distractions cause pain rather than gain. Why do people suffer, and why do people strive? Jesus dies for our sins, the labourer works for his wages, the slave for his master. Here I am stuck in prison thinking about life, everyone lives a certain way, and here I am.
Zosines sat in his cell, alone, shiny metal bars and not so shiny floor. There were many political prisoners sitting there, but also many common criminals, sitting in cells and occasionally shouting, and occasionally being electrocuted or beaten.
They can imprison our bodies, they can’t imprison our minds. Although they certainly try.
Zosines was 1.80 metres laying on the floor with a chain on his feet and hands. It allowed him to go to his bunk and to the toilet, but not particularly far. Brown hair, and a brown beard that he meticulously shaved despite the prison conditions. Held in prison, and held in a cell, he wondered how life could have been different.
My crime is being a leftist and thinking that people can be free; all to stop people immigrating they sacrificed everyone’s liberty. So here I am sitting in this cell, wondering when it will all end. I have the answers, I do, I do. I am merely 28, nearly 29, sitting here and wondering.
Zosines had been in jail for nearly 3 years, the year was 2035 and the UK was a dictatorship, in fact pretty much all countries were, freedom had been snuffed out, and the shocking thing was, the people voted for it. Mostly, the oligarchs took over the system and so called ‘populism’ voting for so called popular positions that had no merit, the media fanned the flames and now Zosines sat in chains. The public lost faith in the institutions, and so he sat there, observing flies and the occasional flickering light. In this moment all the lights turned off, and the cells clicked open, the less guarded prisoners rushed out and the guards were in a panic. A man came into his cell and smashed his chains off his leg and hands.
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“I don’t know how, but you might want to use this opportunity!” The man said grinning with a golden tooth.
Covered in tattoos, he looked like a shady man, but in this moment Zosines could use whatever help he could get. Old rivalries died, as prisoners burst through the seams, taking over the cells and pushing the guards out. Zosines ambled out, watching as guards came with semi automatics and began spraying the cells. Several men had their heads blown off, but Zosines somehow managed to amble out of the prison, watching as guards were taken down by angry prisoners who began blasting the very same guards. It was August 31st and there was pandemonium in the prison, and Zosines was determined to get out
Jesus this got ugly fast.
The political alignment of the prisoners was questionable, they were everything from social democrats to marxist Leninists to anarchists, but most were mere vagabonds.
“Zosines, what did you say you were, a libertarian possibilist?” One of the prisoners said, facing him with a grin.
“The possibilities are endless,” Zosines muttered, “they always will be.”
“Do you believe you will elect yourself in this environment?” The anarchist goaded him.
“You never had any organisations worth dick, so don’t go boasting about your silly ideology,” Zosines retorted.
The prisoners nonetheless ran out of the prison no problem. The special containment cells unlocked, the prison alarm sirens blaring and police sirens going off on in the distance. Zosines snuck through a back door not with the other prisoners, there a familiar figure stood before him. A robot on wheels, with a screen interface.
“Hello Zosines, I have located you and engineered your escape.”
“IAR3!” Zosines said, his eyes nearly popping out in surprise, voice full of shock, “goodness me, I was stuck there for so long, I thought you abandoned me, or you were destroyed.”
“I was not destroyed, just the timing for escape was sub optimal, so I chose today,” IAR3 said.
Zosines went in the van, IAR3 likewise rolling into the back of the truck rather quickly.
To be saved by my own creation, what a miracle.
IAR3 had a dummy in the driving seat that looked human enough, as he powered the truck along the roads and toward the docks. Shooting and shouting was heard in the distance as the van slowly ambled through the roads.
“Damn it! IAR3 there’s a checkpoint!”
“Our journey ends here!” The robot said, “grab that suitcase!”
Zosines didn’t understand, but he grabbed the bag nonetheless the two of them clambered off and went into one of the buildings, and then into the harbour, pandemonium was heard as a commotion was heard in the distance, the van had smashed into the checkpoint, guards rushing there spraying the empty vehicle that had nothing but a dummy. IAR3 rolled into one of the ships, and Zosines likewise clambered on. A black man looked at him almost yelling, but IAR3 threw the suitcase at him. It opened and money stared the man in the face.
“Facilitate safety for Zosines,” IAR3 said, “we wish to go Mauritania, specifically La Güera.”
“The ghost town?” The guy said, stunned by the robot’s ability to speak.
“Make sure the captain knows,” IAR3 said, “we just need to get out of here.”
The whole ship knew, for the money was ￡30 million pounds, more than enough in Mauritanian currency.
“La Güera huh?” One of the sailors said, “I guess the money is so we don’t ask questions.”
They spoke in Arabic to each other after that, there was no understanding what was being said, IAR3 and Zosines laying in the hull of the ship as it sailed off. IAR3 had small solar panel nodules to power itself but it also knew how to plug itself into power sources, for now it put himself on a low power mode and waited for the journey to end.
