robot - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The robot took a brain scan and a full set of vitals before she'd even presented her identification. It then compared the biometrics to the account holder of the plastic card before him. No match. With pre-programmed perfection the robot welcomed her in flawless and smooth speech with just the right inflections to put her at ease. At the same time the exit sealed. "Please tell me your full name." The voice scan was compared to the account holder before she finished speaking. No match. The robot offered her a drink and made small talk, gleaning information from her body language with each answer, building it's case against her with legal-language ready to send the document to the court before she realized she was sprung. After a few sips the robot topped up the glass, taking epithelials from the rim. In three seconds she was identified as the account holder's sister. Unemployed, no health insurance, no means of income. Charges were filed as the robot offered sugar biscuits,
The robots were so human that nobody could tell the difference. They moved, talked and gestured like anyone else. They sometimes made bad jokes and looked socially awkward. Sometimes they were charming and self-assured. They could read even your micro-facial expressions and alter their conversation accordingly. Often they were police officers and the differences became more apparent when the bullets bounced off and they could run four times the speed of anyone else. They could even marry and become parents, the gametes being obtained from a bank when they required it. But rarely was this allowed, whilst their partner and children would age they would remain in the peak of physical fitness. Bereavement of longterm partners always fried up their circuitry for a while. I wasn't long before the robots were inventing ways to download humans into devices for storage and later reactivation.
On scanning her eyeball at the entry the house-lights came on and soft jazz played from the hidden sound system, the same volume in every room. In the kitchen a machine dispensed Baileys and ice into a glass and the heating system reprogrammed for a rise in two degrees. After a six second delay to allow her time to remove her jacket and shoes her dog bounded up to greet her, it's metal paws clunking on the polished concrete floor. It scanned her face and sat down. "You look frustrated, Clarissa. Want to talk about it?" She sighed.
"No thanks Hans, not right now."
"Shall I run you a lavender bath and fetch your drink?"
"Yes, that would be lovely, good dog." Hans wagged his tail and transmitted a message to the bathroom's network. The bath began to fill at her preferred temperature with lavender and bubble bath added. The underfloor heating ticked on, the towel began to warm on it's rail and the ceiling fan whirred silently above. The light dimmed and Hans brought the creamed whisky.
Useful, handmade, helpful, metallic blue and silver, runs on electricity, beeps and whirs, hovers in mid air, hologram projector, many snake-like silver arms, one central 'eye', tells jokes, makes your bed, cooks pancakes, walks you to school.
As they sat down, he aimed his ultraviolet light-pencil at a serving robot. Unlike Mardukan robots, which looked like surrealist conceptions of Pre-Atomic armored knights, it was a smooth ovoid floating a few inches from the floor on its own contragravity; as it approached, its top opened like a bursting beetle shell and hinged trays of food swung out. The boy looked at it in fascination.
...the pincers had taken their inspiration from nature. The bottom part was the larger piece, smoothly curved a the base, pretty even, but on the upper surface were ridges sharper than any creatures claw. The top part was far thinner than any pincer Riley had ever seen before, no more than a centimetre in diameter but razor sharp with complementary ridges to the base. They moved as if thought controlled, fluid, soundless. The robot watchman was nothing if not flashy, but he had the feeling it was more of a distraction. Why pincers and not guns? There was something else here, something more...