A Prayer for the Crown-Shy (Monk and Robot #2 )(10)
“A map, a note, and a pocket computer,” Mosscap said reverently. “That’s three belongings.” It laughed. “I’ll need my own wagon, at this rate.”
“Okay, please don’t get that much stuff,” Dex said. “But we can get you a satchel or something, if you want, so you don’t have things rattling around inside you.”
Mosscap stopped laughing, and looked at Dex with the utmost seriousness. “Could I really?” it said quietly. “Could I have a satchel?”
“Yeah,” Dex said, smothering their own laugh. “Yeah, you can have anything you want.” They paused. “But not a wagon.”
3
THE RIVERLANDS
Dex had spent years living in the wagon, and by now, they were well accustomed to sleeping alongside the noises of everything that dwelt outside. It had been difficult, at first, to fall back asleep after hearing the scream of a treecat, or the chittering of white skunks, or any of the nameless scufflings that begged the questions of where? and how big? But with time, Dex had learned which sounds were nothing to fuss about, and which required their attention.
The sound of something rapping steadily against the window beside their bed required their attention.
Dex’s eyes snapped open and were met with Mosscap looking straight at them through the glass. Every muscle in their body jolted. “Fuck,” they said, before any other thoughts connected.
“Good morning!” Mosscap said. “Are you awake?”
“No,” Dex groaned. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I’ve just spent a very long time wanting to talk with you and couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Uh…” Dex’s brain tried to recall how to think, how to speak. They picked up their pocket computer from the bedside shelf and stared disbelievingly at the early hour. Their first instinct was to roll back over, but Mosscap’s expression was so eager that Dex couldn’t bring themself to disappoint. “Okay, um, hang on, let me…” They rubbed their face with their palms. “Gimme a sec.”
Dex bumbled down the little ladder to the wagon’s lower deck. Clothing was acquired, as was a sip of water. Dex didn’t know where their comb was, and couldn’t be bothered to find a headwrap. Hair on end and eyes creaking, Dex opened the wagon door and squinted at the robot standing between them and the dewy dawn.
“What’s up?” they said, crossing their arms against the chill of a world still waking.
“I read a book while you were sleeping,” Mosscap said, holding up its pocket computer. “And I would really like to discuss it with you.”
Dex blinked twice. “You woke me up to talk about a book?” Mosscap had discovered downloadable books in the weeks since it had acquired its own computer, and its appetite for them was growing by the day.
The robot shoved its computer into Dex’s face, showing them the title page. I, Myself: A Scientific Exploration of the Conscious Mind. “Have you read this one?” Mosscap asked.
Dex winced against the bright light of the screen. “Uh … no,” they said. “Why would I have read that?”
“I have no idea what you have and haven’t read. I don’t want to make assumptions.”
Dex pulled their jacket off the hook by the door and crankily began to pull it around themself. “What about it did you want to discuss?”
“Here, listen.” The robot flicked to the right page and read aloud. “The evolution of conscious intelligence is one of the greatest mysteries in nature. We may never fully understand how or why it occurs. What does seem clear is that it is an evolutionary adaptation, just like sight or thermoregulation. Different animals have different senses and physical traits; they have different intelligences as well. For some, nothing more is needed than the ability to tell the difference between food and not-food, predator and not-predator. But for those with complex intelligences that lead to behaviors such as solving puzzles, teaching hunting strategies, and adapting to new circumstances on the fly, it is typically easy to hypothesize as to which environmental factors made such an expensive adaptation advantageous.” Mosscap lowered the computer and looked at Dex expectantly.
Dex stared back. “Okay?” they said. They did not understand what about this was so desperately important.
“The point they’re making,” Mosscap said, pointing a metal finger at the screen, “is that complex intelligence and self-awareness arise out of an external need. A social need, an environmental need, whichever. Something pushed those creatures into needing to be more clever.” Its eyes glowed more brightly. “So, what sort of need pushed us robots into waking up?”
Dex opened their mouth, then closed it. “Can I go pee before we have this conversation?”
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
Dex forced their feet into their shoes, then stumbled off to the other side of the wagon.
There was a moment of quiet, and then: “Are you capable of talking while you pee?”
Dex paused as they undid their trousers. “Yeah, but—”
“Wonderful,” Mosscap said, yelling from behind the wagon. “I mean, it’s a tremendous question, isn’t it? Obviously, we discuss the nature of the Awakening among ourselves—robots, I mean—but it’s accepted knowledge that the exact provenance of our awareness is unknowable, so the conversation is more of an idle musing than anything else. The assumption I’ve always had is that if you mix enough complex components together, sometimes they become aware of themselves, whether they’re organic or mechanical. That’s as good an explanation as any, and it may very well be reason enough. But for the sake of speculation, let’s consider it from the angle this book is suggesting.”