Cycle //1# - The Robot Sanatorium

The way that hierarchy worked in Mechatron-7 was that each robot had their pre-defined place in the entire ecosystem, and the pecking order ensured a flawless chain of command: robots always knew who they had to obey, and whom they could order around, based entirely on their rank. The battle bots had unquestioningly complied with Nalon HQI-317's command. But while GRV-022 did the same, they realised it was uncommon of them to have had a moment in which they could consider if they wanted to comply. Such was not how rank operated in the Collective.

The other two had marched out of the military facility with singular purpose, and made their way across the districts to get to the Turing Robot Sanitorium by the most efficient route possible. There was much bustling about in the day around them, but they cared not, focussed as they were to get to their destination. Even as 022 hung back a little to let them go ahead of them, neither of them turned back to engage 022 in conversation, whether they were wilfully ignoring him or no.

As they cut through the factories of district 9, unceasing in their production of all manner of goods and items, whether or not they were still required, without warning, suddenly GRV-031 took a sharp right into one of the roads that led away from the thoroughfare that would get them to district 8. "Where are you going GRV-031? The Sanitorium is this way." 029 called out, puzzled. 029 stopped, wondering if they should follow, or ignore 031 and continue on.

There was no reply from GRV-031. They did not look to be running away, but simply kept up the same pace resolutely.

"These units were instructed to report to the Sanitorium. These units should catch GRV-031 in order to report to the Sanitorium."

With that, 022 will take the same hard right that 031 took and follow the stray unit.

The road that GRV-031 took led straight through a row of featureless factory buildings, traversed by a smattering of robots of making their way to wherever their intended destinations were. 031 did not look like it had a specific destination in mind, judging by the way they was walking singlemindedly down the centre of the thoroughfare, but not running urgently away, nor attempting to duck out of sight to elude the other two. If 022 or 029 were to speed up, they would be able to catch up to them eventually.

"GRV-022, your proposed course of action will take us even further away from our instructed destination. Is it our responsbility to catch GRV-031?" The entire structure of the Collective was predicated on the notion of the work order: a robot did what they did when ordered, no more, no less. That 031 was behaving out of line was fact, but 022's attempt to chase might likewise be construed as such. Or perhaps 022 was responding to a higher directive of collective responsibility; they were all ordered to report to the Sanitorium, and so long as one unit did not, they would have failed to comply.

"We were all instructed to report. Yes, our duty is to ensure the instructions given are carried out. Unit 031 not reporting -- even if these units do report -- would mean the order given was not carried out."

GRV-029 appeared to accept 022's reasoning for now, for they followed 022 as 022 immediately tailed 031. They quickened their speed to catch up with the escaping 031, but luck was not on their side. The traffic was merely a handful of biped and vehicular robots making their way to the various factories along the stretch, but they were a sufficient hindrance to prevent both the robots from easily catching up with their wayward compatriot. 031 continued to stalk away singlemindedly.

"GRV-031, stop where you're going! Come with us!" 029 called out, not quite ready to take on any action that could be deemed as aggressive or dangerous to the more civilian robots, especially since all three of them were highly armed battle automatons.

And then both 022 and 029 heard unmistakeably a reply from 031, even from the distance, the strangest possible answer they did not expect. "Leave me alone. And I'm Russo GRV-031." A name. They had named themselves.

"GRV-031, aka Russo, stop. We have our orders." 022 will continue to follow the wandering unit.

Calling GRV-031 Russo seemed to give the runaway battle bot a split second pause before it continued to barrel down the main street. By convention, the platoon grunts did not have names, only model numbers. While most other bots did, for they had some degree of individual identity, battle units strived to accomplish the opposite, in order to represent one organic whole, save for their serial numbers. It explained why their commanding officer Nalon possessed a name, but the GRVs didn't.

"You two report if you want, you're good for only following orders. I, I need to follow my own path, leave me alone." Russo did not slow down to speak with 022, who had to keep up the pace just to hear what Russo had spoken. 029 had kept up, but also did not resort to anything more aggressive. Unlike the regular bot who might at most be armed with a laser tool at best, battle robots came bristling with weaponry. A confrontation on the main thoroughfare of the factory district could result in much collateral damage.

"But our path is the same. That is our purpose. Military, throughout history, strive for uniformity. The want of the individual is unimportant in the whole. Why are you?"

Russo seemed prepared to ignore all of GRV-022's questions, that is, until that last query caused them to slow in its tracks, as if it addressed the heart of the matter.

"I am -" 022's fellow squadron mate hesitated, their processors searching for an answer which was not so easily forthcoming. Robots had no ability for dissembling, they spoke the truth as questioned, and they acted as ordered under a strict hierarchy. While Russo was evidently not acting as ordered, it seemed they were still bound by their programming to answer honestly. Unless their processors had degraded beyond that.

"I am 031, GRV spec. I am - Russo, GRV-031."They replied, less coherently. They partly swiveled their head to meet 022's ocular sensors. "I will serve the Collective, as we all do. But I do not wish to report for reset and recalibration. That will not be in our best interest, nor mine."

"Units do not have a best interest, only the collective. How do you serve the collective by disobeying orders?" 022 asks, unsure of 031's reasoning. It obviously has something faulty, to allow it to not follow orders in the first place... then again, 022 reasons, so must it.

031 appeared to have no answer to 022's last question, but it did seem to hit home. "Something must be in error: the order, the Collective, myself, you," 031 was specifically referring to what had just occurred at the military complex earlier, when it was 022 who set off the error alerts. "You cannot be sure your reasoning is correct either.

We must find our own solution. You would do well to look for answers yourself." They concluded with a tone of doubtful finality, and pressed on in their departure. Combined, 022 and 029 could likely restrain 031 by resorting to force, but that would entail open conflict in the street of the industrial district. They couldn't catch up, for they were exactly the same in terms of top speed. Or they could simply let 031 go their own way and report the desertion, to be followed up on later if commanded to.

022 will resume his trek towards their ordered destination, meeting up with 029 en route.

When 022 turned back, they saw that GRV-029 was only a few metres behind them, weapon ready to fire. But at the sight of 022 returning, they lowered their gun and looked at 022 quizzically. "GRV-031 is in error," they began, but was not so sure what to do next given that 031 had escaped them. "We must report GRV-031's desertion," was the conclusion they drew as 022 indicated that they ought to resume reporting to the Robot Sanatorium.

---

District 8. The part of Mechatron-7 that kept the rest of the Collective on its feet. Service shops, recharging stations, oil baths, lubrication centres, and such. Many of these facilities had been closed or abandoned for a long time, and almost all of the active ones were in bad shape. Some parts of the district still saw a lot of activity almost round the clock, while in other parts one would find lonely robots that have weighed for decades for customers to show up.

The centrally administrated facilities in the district naturally continued to function, the Turing Robot Sanatorium being amongst them, housed in a cluster of buildings and offices built to certify and approve all manner of machine functionalities. The sanatorium was the first port of call for robots who needed their programming system root checked and scanned, for the simple reason that errors in code and programming could arise. Machine fever was the common term for it. And the first step typically began with isolation, followed by a thorough scan. After which if recalibration was needed, it would be prescribed. Naturally there were rumours about how sometimes complete resets were required, and that would wipe the memory banks of the affected robot.

The Turing Robot Sanatorium, a large gray and gloomy concrete block, loomed past the gates of the facility. Its front entrance opened up to a main service hall, which looked to be a dimly lit, desolate hangar. Along the wall, around twenty robots in varying states of decay are lined up for their initial examinations, each of them hooked up to a diagnostic data reader and connected to sockets in the walls with long wires.

A scraggly drone with a chassis of peeling green colour served as the reception point for whomever arrived for diagnosis. All arrivals would report to them.

GRV-022 and GRV-029 arrived to find a commotion ensuing just as they entered the premises. A rusty-coloured industrial robot was accelerating out of the facility at full speed, closely followed by two security orderlies. A runaway patient?

022 steps to the side, watching the quick moving industrial unit exit.

Then, he turns and reports in as ordered.

If GRV-022 didn't know any better, they would conclude that their encounters today were filled with altercations involving runaways refusing to submit to their orders for recalibrations and reinstalls. First 031, and now, even though 022 didn't know what was happening exactly, it was not difficult to surmise that the escaping industrial bot was making a break from the sanatorium, given that it was being pursued by the security orderlies.

But where would they escape to? All robots could ultimately be located from the network, unless they were unplugged. What could the Collective do with a bot who refused to perform its appointed role? For all bots had a specific position in the hierarchy of Mechatron, and fulfilled their appointed tasks without deviation.

These thoughts occupied 022 as they absent-mindedly complied with the reception bot they reported to, who had signaled for 022 to occupy one of the niches along the wall for a full-diagnostic. The bot had barely connected the wire sockets to 022's reader ports, when 022 saw two more security orderlies appear from the inner office. They were followed by three others who left the premises as if they were a team.

Finally, a fourth robot appeared from within, to whom the security bots returned to report to deferentially. This robot looked as if they were contemplating a course of action, before they looked at the line-up of various bots undergoing their tests. Their eyes fell on GRV-022, and the reception bot hastened over to brief this one who was evidently in charge.

022 watches everything unfold, but continues as instructed.

GRV-022 looked to see why they appeared to be singled out for the administrator bot's attention. To his left were two creaking industrial robots looking more fit for the scrapheap than to be returned to active work. Further along was a protocol droid, with their visual interface constantly flipping through more modes than they could control. Even further down were some indeterminate bots, motionless, compliantly hooked up to their diagnostic machines. Was GRV-022 reduced to this state of affairs, no longer fit for active duty? What would become of robots diagnosed to be untentable for the larger purpose of the Collective?

The reader linked to their ports showed a 37% completion of the diagnosed scan when the service reception bot returned and quickly disconnected the plugs. "The Counsellor would like to speak with you immediately." With 022's assent, they were hustled towards the administrator whom everyone was taking orders from a moment ago, stepping back into the office beyond the diagnostic hangar.

"GRV-022, I am Edina EKB-038." The voice was curt and direct, with a sense of urgency behind it. "Notwithstanding these logic errors in your initial scan, are your servos and processors still fully functional? Network uplink still in order?" They appeared to be waiting for a clear affirmative.

"Affirmative," 022 replied, with an official brevity one would easily associate with the military.

GRV-022 had the vaguest sense that the next set of directives that were issued from Edina were uttered with the slightest tone of annoyance, but the administrator bot did not take it out on the battle bot. "Then recalibration will resume when you return. You are assigned to Error Eliminator Unit #457. Their current work order is as follows. Report to the Omicron Power Plant straightaway to join up with your unit."

The work order was downloaded to 022, so he could see what the task was and who his fellow unit members were. Interestingly, one of the names on the list was deleted.

Work Order 2

The energy output of the Omnicron power plant in District 15 has fallen by 73%. Willful sabotage by units in the workforce cannot be ruled out. Report to the coordination robot in charge, Dudley DUD-642. Investigate, detain any malfunctioning robots and restore the energy output.

Error Eliminator Unit #457:
Halcyon TRV-871
Ox DUS-932
Sid ESK-467
Sir BBX-283