Trusting my bot friends
Little bits of ambient sentience take up residence in my tools and places, spritely revealing themselves, oft helpful, some with a wink.
These animae are not trustworthy. I don’t know their makers or their kin. Their minds, their hearts, unknowable.
But lurking familiarity and repetition wear grooves of habit and dependency like a slowly simmering frog.
Affection grows for some botts, like the sense of rightness slipping into comfy shoes, love for a pet, or nodding to a casual acquaintance.
Whilst I come to trust, depend on, and care for the bots that creep into my life and person, will they reciprocate? Can they?
I felt loyalty to corporations, once. As employers, as brands. They only ROI’d me back, in our commercial value exchange.
My botty familiars aren’t really mine. They are enterprises in avatar clothes, lingering on my every keystroke.
My bot menagerie delights me with shiny cleverness and subtle ingratiation.
Their robonovelty will fade, exposing enduring utility, or the lack. Usefulness and power and reflexive ease will out.
And as our symbiotes evolve, recombine, what is behind their surfaces, those we love and trust and rely on, become ever more unknowable.
So I am become a powerful mage, commanding and communing with sage spirits and otherworldly fauna. Undertaking mighty deeds.
How can I make promises when my fickle bots might disappear or change behavior I rely upon without notice?
The chatbots in my life are quiet for a moment, pondering.
The bots murmur… It’s ok. Trust me. Love me. Use me. Here to help. What’s life without risk? We’re here for you.
I open a shell…