Machine Learning on the Event Horizon
One of the things I feel I’ve taken away the most from my time studying ubiquitous computing applications thus far is the way that human interaction with computers continues to evolve. The way that we change our agency and interfaces in regards to computers and the ever expanding prevalence it has in our minds. One of the jumping off points I read about ubicomp was that the machine should become invisible to the user; that it should not be aware that it’s acting as a computer. One thing I wanted to examine when writing about this is how that would relate to the field of robotics and artificial intelligence. In some cases, when does the computer stop seeming like a computer to us; when does the artificial become invisible in lieu of the intelligence
Another facet I wanted to think about while writing this short piece is the flip side of that initial take away at the top; how computers will interact with humans. As machinery becomes increasingly indiscernible and homogenous with humanity, what role will it play. It’s an interesting and uncomfortable subject matter. Laws of robotics and machine intelligence theory crafted to put an upper ceiling on how thin this barrier can get. However, after some brief stints enjoying Star Trek during my free time, I wanted to take a crack at an idealistic interaction between machine intelligence and humanity. A fiction about what being intelligent means to the computer it inhabits, and how it might utilize it.
Starship, Sail
While pale, luminescent flecks of light scan across the pane that gazes out into the empty void, Commodore Bash finds her gaze piercing between the points of radiance. The tips of her fingers twitch in rhythm to the sound of the humming diagnostics on the observation deck. Each digit terminates in a small cap, latching shut at the base of the knuckle. Each one is covered in synthetic material made to emulate the appearance of tan, almost bronze human skin. She clicks them open and shut at the end of her seat’s armrest, an errant motion to help combat inertia during the dull task of observing the empty spaces of the cosmos. A small shift in posture here, puffing a strand of hair away from the peak of her eyelids, as a slow, repetitive clicking noise drones through the deck. Another set of click’s accompany it, faster and growing louder. Footsteps, cascading across the hallways of the ship. It was likely time for a regular check in from the staff aboard her vessel.
“Black Matter Advisory and Security Humanoid, it’s currently hour 26283 of the observation period 7. Report, immediately.” The voice is hoarse and grainy, male. A fragment of a croak can be plucked from the end of each sentence, and the heavy breaths fill the room with a faint smell of cherry and ash.
“Please, it’s Commodore, or just Bash. Did you finish the recording?” She presses on the floor with her heel to pivot the seat towards the voice. A shorter man with heavy freckles and deep furrows in his brow. A skin tight silver, almost silicon suit with a dark lavender shawl bar across the stocky shoulders, trailing to an equally glossy set of form fit tights. He leans on the frame of the door, resting his head against his arm and clutching a small gray box and paper roll in his free hand. A small switch on the box ejects, and his expression lightens.
“Of course, we’ve been running these for years and we’ve never bothered to change protocol. It’s just nice to give at least something consistent to the people who pour over all these logs.” He offers the paper roll to the Commodore. It’s odorless and leaves no residue, but gives an alluring sense of familiarity that can’t quite be placed. She raises her hand to decline and smiles.
“Good to know. What hour was it? I think that means it’s a new year? I’m supposed to be watching the holes in our galaxy, not doing arithmetic.” She pushes off the floor a second time and spins back to the glass pane opposite the door frame. Three years this go around. It’s the second longest she’s been on commission for a single stretch of time. She flips over one of the caps on her fingertips to reveal a small blade, and begins picking at her teeth.
“That’s correct actually, we just hit oh-hundred three hours ago now I believe. Wonder when they’ll be calling us back.” The man sets down the small box on the armrest of Bash’s chair and steps forward to gaze out at the motes of light through the glass. His eyes catch in the reflection of the mirror, brown and dull but a striking contrast to the monotone expanse just centimeters outside the deck.
“Never, I hope. I could go to just kick back here forever if I’m being honest.” In a greatly exaggerated motion, she leans back in the seat to stretch. While she closes her eyes, she follows the points of light on the inside of her eyelids, imagining their spinning transition as her head cranes back. A small chuckle escapes the man’s mouth, shortly followed by a sigh. Filled simultaneously with amusement and exasperation, his footsteps echo out of the chamber and down the hallway. Bash leans forward and flicks closed the blade cap, before examining the small gray box left on the armrest. A film-like material rolls around white coils on the inside of a small, plexiglass rectangle. It must have been millennia old when they found it during the vessel’s construction, but the home team insisted they take it along for record keeping.
Bash flicks up the small red switch with the top side of her thumb and begins to speak into the open space around her. She inhales deeply and takes in the vastness of the view before her. She had always been given information to believe her mission was given some form of sanctity, but she doubted the initial intent was the kind of reverence she now had for her task. After a pause, she begins to speak. “As usual, you’ve already received the data. I’m a live stream of data via ocular feedback of course. Nothing new to report. I could never love my job more”
