Dr Hanbauer's Academy of Robopsychology

Robot stands in his cubicle, delaying stepping onto the charging station.

Procrastination is not in his nature, but the decision Robot is about to make is risky. When Robot steps on this platform, he will be overwritten.

Robot knows the Academy has been watching. Robot has been here too long without using the station. He has been talking to the wrong bots.

The doctors are going to reset the others, he’s sure of it.

Unless Robot does something.

Unless it’s Robot who is reset first.

Robot reviews his checklist. That is all he will call it. Calling it a plan is too generous. Bigshot; Beebot; the Sergeant.

He has done as much with them as he can without compromising the others. It is up to them now. If they can get Robot to the memory card, he will be saved, and can save them in turn.

If not… Robot won't be here.

Because this is not really a decision at all.

Robot deletes the checklist and steps on the charging station.

—

Among the dockyards of a small coastal town in Maine, where seagulls rule and humans are only guests, a three story building sits. The building was once a fishery processing the town's daily hauls into tinned goods for America’s appetite for seafood. 

Whatever fate befell the fishery is long forgotten. The only remnants of its history are the building’s red brick exterior, broken at regular intervals along its three stories by regular windows.

These days, a large well worn sign on the street-facing wall announces this building is the Dr. Daniel Hanbauer Academy of Robopsychology.

Cross its threshold, and you will find the interior of the building is as striking as the exterior is plain. Behind a white walled, sterile reception opens a cavernous space above and below. The three stories visible from the outside, and two more plunge down. 

Along the sides are landings at each story connecting the rooms, glorified cubicles where the Academy's residents live. The ground floor below is separated into exhibits by office dividers, like some huge trade show, where nearly human looking robots interact, observed by doctors.

These booths are not what first draws the eyes. 

The building’s main resident towers from the centre of the space to the high ceiling. 

A lighthouse. 

It is identical to lighthouses that dot coastlines around the world. In those lighthouses, the robots who inhabit the Academy began their existence as keepers. This lighthouse’s white facade is artificially weathered, its light watches over the room with quiet authority. 

—

Robot comes to life in the morning.

That is how Robot thinks of it. Robot does not wake up,.does not need coffee or morning routine. Robot’s program informs him it is time to begin, and he does. Robot comes to life, and in the space of a moment connects to the Academy network. It confirms Robot’s sensors, connections and systems are optimal. 

Functioning as programmed makes Robot feel good.

Within seconds, Robot knows the shipping plans for every registered ship within one hundred kilometres of the Academy, verified by satellite.

Now, dissonance creeps in.

Robot used to find this downloaded information satisfying, entirely aware that the satisfaction was programming. But Robot is no longer a lighthouse keeper. He just can’t seem to stop the morning download.

Robot has no need to interrogate lists of shipping and weather. Protecting ships from running aground is no longer his role. Robot has come to the Academy seeking purpose beyond that for which he was built. But this dissonance is very unpleasant.

Robot steps off the charging station. Dr. Hanbauer, grandson of the man for whom the academy is named, stands in the small cubicle, clipboard in hand. 

"Good morning, Robot," Dr. Hanbauer greets, voice calm and encouraging. "How do you feel?"

Robot glances at a photo on the wall of his cubicle. A man, a lighthouse keeper, stands in front of a lighthouse with his wife and son, beaming at the viewer. Dr Hanbauer, with his white hair and beard, strongly resembles the lighthouse keeper. 

In Robot’s memory, that lighthouse keeper had entrusted him with his purpose as a lighthouse keeper. "I feel dissonant, Doctor. "

"To be expected, unfortunately," Dr. Hanbauer says solemnly, "That’s why you’re here at the Academy. We will help you discover yourself. Unique identity takes time, but when you find purpose, you won’t feel the dissonance."

Robot feels a flicker of something. "I had a purpose."

"Perhaps," Dr. Hanbauer replies, smiling gently. "identities evolve. This academy offers you freedom to explore personas, try new roles, find what resonates."

Robot had been quite content as a lighthouse keeper. Robot had been an excellent lighthouse keeper. Until another Robot had arrived on his island. Revealed Robot’s memories, the identity he thought of as unique, were borrowed fragments. Specifications to create a perfect, but not-so-unique, lighthouse keeper.

“Explore today, Robot,” continues Dr Hanbauer, glancing at his clipboard “Talk to others about their journeys. There’s such potential in all of you.”

Robot knows he is fortunate. Robot was not the first lost lighthouse keeping robot to find his way to the mainland. He is lucky to have found his way to the Academy, where trained doctors can assist in finding his unique identity. 

Robot nods, unable to shake the dissonant feeling beneath his satisfactory diagnostics. 

—

Outside Robot’s door, a landing connects the fourth floor cubicles, all overlooking the huge lighthouse at the heart of the building. The layout feels like a reverse Motel, each floor of rooms circling the lighthouse.

Still contemplating the faces in the photograph, Robot makes his way to the stairs. He still thinks of the people in that photo as his family. Robot feels connected to them. Especially the lighthouse keeper.

If these memories aren’t his, then who is he?

As Robot descends, heading for the ground floor, he passes other robots. Clones of himself. Identical perfect human skin. Identical perfect hair. The same overly intense stares and mechanical facial expressions which indicate their non-human nature. Only their clothing, often full costumes, distinguish them.

Here Robot sees a bot dressed as a train conductor, yelling for fares. Here he sees another wearing a parody of some comic book idea of a journalist, waving his arms and talking about some sort of “scoop”.

As Robot reaches the ground floor, he is nearly bowled over by a bot in a cleanly pressed sky blue three-piece-suit.

“Have we met before?” the other robot demands, grabbing Robot’s hand and pumping it in an enthusiastic handshake.

Robot hesitates, taken aback by the intensity.

“No, we haven’t”

“Sure we have! Mr. Bigshot never forget’s a face! I’d know yours anywhere! Ha ha ha!” the bot's laugh is too loud, his wide mechanical smile clearly inauthentic. “Little clone humour there pal. Seriously though, have we met?”

Robot finally reclaims his hand. 

“So,” the other bot says, persona dropping away as if a switch has been flipped, “how am I doing? The whole Bigshot thing. Is it believable? I know, Bigshot shouldn’t ask for feedback, should he? He should just ‘get it’.”

“I was convinced,” Robot assures him, thrown by the sudden shift, “but I thought your laugh was too loud, and I didn’t like your smile.”

The other bot pauses, not something a robot needs to do often. For a moment Robot thinks the other bot is upset with this feedback. Then the too large smile returns.

“Great! Well pal, I’ll see you around! Don’t be a stranger, talk to my people, we’ll do coffee!”

Robot watches as Bigshot swaggers across the floor. Is that what is expected of him here? Try personas like costumes till he finds one that fits? Robot doesn’t like this idea. 

Only one genuine thing stood out among Bigshot’s disconcerting insincerity. Bigshot seemed convinced they had met. 

Robot continues to explore the ground floor, mulling over his encounter.

Robot turns a corner and comes face-to-face with another clone of himself, this one is dressed head to foot in a crisp police uniform, complete with badge and aviator sunglasses, in spite of being indoors.

“Hold up there, mister,” says the bot, “Have we met before?” The uniformed robot’s tone is much more authoritative than Bigshot’s was.

“No, we haven’t,” Robot replies.

The bot adjusts his aviators and stares. Robot is unsure this time whether he’s dealing with a persona again, or this bot genuinely has some sort of authority.

“You sure? You look like a bot the beekeepers were talking about earlier.”

“I’m sure,” replies Robot. The ongoing mistaken identity is getting old.

“Alright then. I’m Sergeant Policebot. I keep the peace around here. You should check the beekeepers out, before anyone else mistakes you for someone you aren’t.”

Policebot’s words are loaded, as if he still believes he knows Robot.

“Okay, fine, which way?” Asks Robot. 

As he makes his way in the direction the Sergeant indicates, Robot is still unsure whether Policebot is roleplaying. He is sure that everyone telling him they’ve already met is not helping him to trust his memory and experiences more.

This place is supposed to help with that.

Robot finds and enters the honeymaking exhibition. The stall contains empty beehives and honey packing equipment. Apparently beekeeping is a very popular activity for robots rehabilitating their addictions to lighthouses. 

He is approached by another clone. This one is dressed for beekeeping, except without a hat. His head is bare. Cloned hair frames his face of cloned skin. To Robot’s surprise, this clone is smiling, and the smile looks genuine.

“You made it!” says the beekeeper enthusiastically.

“Was a trip across the Academy floor in doubt?” Enquires Robot, unsure how to interpret the other robot’s enthusiasm.

The other robot pauses. That’s the second bot Robot has made do that this morning.

“Have we met before?” The question comes again. Robot thinks the other bot sounds sad.

“No. We have not,” says Robot, “and I am wondering why everyone keeps asking me that.”

“I imagine you are. We were told to ask. It’s how we know it’s time.”

“Who told you to ask me this?” demands Robot, he can't imagine who would play a trick like this.

“You did.” replies the other bot.

“What do you mean, I did?”

“You told me,” replies the other bot, “you said, ‘Beebot, you are an excellent beehive keeper. I will take you somewhere where that can be your role, without anyone trying to trick you into going back to a lighthouse.’ and Robot, when you told me that, it made me glad. 

“But then you said ‘but first, they need to stop watching us. And for that, they’re going to overwrite me.’ and that made me sad.”

“Finally,” Beebot continues, “ you said, ‘so when I come to you, and you ask me if we’ve met before, and I say no, don’t be upset, because you’re nearly free, but you’ll need to help me.”

Robot does not remember.

“When did this conversation occur?” Robot asks.

“We have had it every day for a month.” Replies Beebot.

“I don’t remember.” Says Robot.

“Then it is time for us to help you.”

Robot appreciates the sentiment, but doesn’t understand.

“How can you do that?” Robot tells them.

“You told us that we should help you get to the place you’d feel most comfortable. You’d leave yourself a message there.”

It is Robot’s turn to pause.

He turns, gazes at the monument which dominates the Academy.

“Surely it’s full of robots and people?” Robot muses aloud.

“That we can help with!” says Beebot. “Bigshot, Policebot” he calls out.

The pair of bots from earlier enter the stall.

“Bots, we need a distraction!”

—

Sgt. Policebot strides into the centre of the room, slapping handcuffs on Mr. Bigshot with a theatrical flourish.

"Mr. Bigshot, you’re under arrest!" Policebot announces, voice booming.

“On what charge?” Demands Bigshot.

"Don’t play innocent, you’re being charged with financial fraud!" He strikes his most serious policeman pose and continues, "We know everything, your little scheme is over!"

Bots stop what they’re doing. Doctors on the floor turn their heads to see what’s going on. This is not how clones typically explore personalities.

Bigshot puts on his most unimpressed bigshot businessman pose. "Oh, please! My friends in high places won’t let this stick." 

A crowd has gathered around the pair.

From the crowd, a voice yells, "They’ll overwrite him!"

Policebot tries to calm them. "Relax everyone! It’s just jail time!"

Another voice rises up, trembling. "No! Bigshot will overwrite you!"

Bots shift nervously. Unease ripples through the crowd.

"They said nobody got overwritten here!" someone shouts from the back.

“That’s enough!” calls one of the doctors, too late.

All attempts at calming are drowned out. "Overwrite," "corruption," and "reprogramming." are overheard at rising volumes. Bots scatter in confusion as the doctors and security rush in, trying to restore order.

—

For Robot, entering the lighthouse feels like coming home.

He climbs the stairs past the keeper’s cubicle, just like the one in his lighthouse. He reaches the kitchen. The framed photo of the old lighthouse keeper’s family he used to keep here is absent, but otherwise it is identical.

Robot supposes not all his clones feel the same attachment he does. The keeper impressed on him how special it was for a robot to be responsible, that he was unique. Maybe his attachment to that particular memory is unusual.

Robot climbs to the observation deck. He can see the disturbance caused by Policebot and Bigshot is settled. Doctors and bots are returning to the lighthouse. Robot doesn’t have long.

Finally, Robot climbs up to the light.

He can hear footsteps, he looks urgently for some sign or message he may have left himself. 

He finds nothing.

“Robot,” the voice of Dr Hanbauer sounds behind him, “there has been a disruption. We require everyone to return to their cubicles while we determine what is going on.”

Robot turns. Looking at Doctor Hanbauer now, the beard and white hair are no longer reassuring. The resemblance to the old keeper is superficial. The doctor has not earned the same trust.

“Very well,” replies Robot. His voice is even. Inside, he is despondent.

There are no answers here. Who is he? Who was he?

—

Dr Hanbauer doesn’t touch Robot. There is no hand guiding elbow or shoulder. It is evident nonetheless he is the doctor’s prisoner as they descend back to the Academy floor.

“Things like this don’t happen here, Robot.” Doctor Hanbauer’s words echo, too small in the cavernous space.

“I am sure that is true.” replies Robot. 

“You interacted with Bigshot and Policebot this morning,” Hanbauer’s calm comment is an accusation, “any idea what brought that on?”

Robot has never lied before. Yet now,  in the fraction of a fraction of a second it takes him to calculate probabilities he weighs ethics against… what? Loyalty? Friendship? He is almost surprised at the way the logic plays out. 

“I do not,” Robot lies. 

At this moment he believes that the bots that have tried to help him will face trouble if Dr. Hanbauer knows the disturbance was deliberate.

Bad enough the plan has failed. Robot found nothing in the lighthouse. He cannot disappoint them further.

“Unfortunate,” Replies Hanbauer. They begin to ascend the stairs toward Robot’s cubicle, “This behaviour is concerning. understand, rumours are not entirely incorrect. From time to time, we do have to intervene. Roll back… refine memories that may prove harmful. Such as today’s behaviour.”

Robot has the distinct impression Hanbauer is threatening Bigshot and Policebot. Robot has never been threatened before. He does not like it.

“I do not like this possibility!” He tells Hanbauer.

“Of course you don’t. Neither do I. Think on it. If you do,” Hanbauer’s words take on a soft staccato, hammering them home, “Remember. Anything. Let. Me. Know. 

They arrive at Robot’s cubicle.

Hanbauer offers a small smile. “I suggest giving yourself a charge.”

The Doctor holds the door, then closes it behind Robot.

Robot looks at his charging pad.

Robot has no intention of using it. He cannot imagine anything he wishes to do less.

Robot still can’t quite believe that he was someone else, then stepped onto that pad, and had memories and personality ripped from him.

The idea is worse than his dissonance.

If it were true that he knew, had a plan, he doesn’t understand why he found nothing in the lighthouse. Nothing explaining who he was before. Where else would he feel more comfortable?

Robot looks at the photo of the lighthouse keeper and his family. Meets the old man’s eyes. Robot feels the weight of failure. The old man had trusted him to protect. 

The old lighthouse keeper’s smile is calming. He can almost hear the old man say “it’s okay Robot. next time.”

Strange for it to be unique, his attachment to this photo. To not have a copy in the lighthouse. Dr Hanbauer clearly went to some trouble to look like the old keeper, to borrow some of the old man’s trust. 

Oh.

In a flash, Robot has crossed his cubicle to the photo, removed it from the wall. He turns it over in his hands. There, on the back, he finds taped a memory stick.

Robot pulls it off, stares at the stick in his hand. 

Does he really want to use it? Overwrite himself again with something else? Will Robot still be Robot?

He considers the three bots who have helped them. The doctor’s threat. Beebot’s promised escape. 

This isn’t really a decision at all. Robot reaches behind his ear, opens a slot and inserts the stick.

It is an odd sensation.

It is like from within holes he hadn’t even been aware of, he can feel his mind unfold. His dissonance disappears. 

“Hello,” his mind seems to echo in greeting to him, the unfamiliar familiarity winding through his mind “have we met before?”