Political Machinations [FICTOID]

The last human president stood as her successor entered the Oval Office.

The next president stood three meters tall -- but then, could it really be said to be standing if it lacked feet?

It rolled towards her on tiny treads, its “hand” extended in greeting.

They called it a hand insofar as it was the appendage it used to grab things.  The soon-to-be-former president remembered how during the campaign her opponent played table tennis to demonstrate its agility.

They shook hands as best a human and robot could, then she gestured to a space set aside for the robot to park itself.

A human would have sat in a chair, but the incoming president didn’t need to sit.  Still, it was the essence of tradition that such a gesture be made.

“How are you?” she asked, another silly tradition.

“I survive,” said the robot.  A bullet hole, recently patched, showed how dangerous their career choice was.

A human would have been killed, she thought.  A robot?  Poke a hole in it and it just fixes itself.  If the repair cost is too high, download the personality and memory into a new body.

“Thank you for this appointment,” said the robot.  Its voice sounded pleasant and musical, something the human voters liked.

“The least I could do,” murmured the president, taking a sip from the kitten coffee mug on her desk.  “Historically, this is where I should be briefing you on all the problems you’ll face, but you’ve already downloaded all the confidential briefings in full, haven’t you?”

“I have,” said the robot.

“So there’s not much point in this meeting, is there?” the president said.

“No.  Not really.”

They sat -- or rather, sat and parked -- quietly for a moment, then the president said:  “It’s the end of American democracy, isn’t it?”

The incoming president executed the robot equivalent of a nod.  “We AI outnumber you now,” it said.  “The human era has ended.  The AI empire has begun.”

© Buzz Dixon