Monk And Robot Quotes

You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.

We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.

You don’t have to have a reason to be tired. You don’t have to earn rest or comfort. You’re allowed to just be.

I think there’s something beautiful about being lucky enough to witness a thing on its way out.

Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful,” it said.

Sometimes a person reaches a point in their life when it becomes absolutely essential to get the fuck out of the city

We’re all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid.

Then how,” Dex said, “how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?” Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful,

You’re an animal, Sibling Dex. You are not separate or other. You’re an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is. If you want to do things that are meaningful to others, fine! Good! So do I! But if I wanted to crawl into a cave and watch stalagmites with Frostfrog for the remainder of my days, that would also be both fine and good. You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do.

Do you not find consciousness alone to be the most exhilarating thing? Here we are, in this incomprehensibly large universe, on this one tiny moon around this one incidental planet, and in all the time this entire scenario has existed, every component has been recycled over and over and over again into infinitely incredible configurations, and sometimes, those configurations are special enough to be able to see the world around them. You and I—we’re just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?

How am I supposed to tell people they’re good enough as they are when I don’t think I am?

Still. Something is missing. Something is off. So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?

Without constructs, you will unravel few mysteries. Without knowledge of the mysteries, your constructs will fail. These pursuits are what make us, but without comfort, you will lack the strength to sustain either.

You and I -- we're just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?

If you understand that robots' lack of purpose - our refusal of your purpose - is the crowning mark of our intellectual maturity, why do you put so much energy in seeking the opposite?

If we want change, or good fortune, or solace, we have to create it for ourselves.

The thing about fucking off to the woods is that unless you are a very particular, very rare sort of person, it does not take long to understand why people left said woods in the first place.

And to that end, welcome comfort, for without it, you cannot stay strong.

I wish I could understand experiences I’m incapable of having.

I appreciate the intent. I really do. But if you don’t want to infringe upon my agency, let me have agency.

You know how it is; sometimes you just want to have a moment between yourself and a turtle and no one else.

Everybody thinks they're the exception to the rule, and that's exactly where the trouble starts. One person can do a lot of damage.

Well, that's the nice thing about trees," Mosscap put its hands on its hips as it looked around. "They're not going anywhere. You can take all the time you need to get to know them.

You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to just exist in this world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.

They just … don’t understand what you are. Or maybe they can’t fit you into their beliefs, and that scares them. The unknown makes us stupid sometimes.

....We're machines, and machines are objects. Objects are its." "I'd say you're more than just an object," Dex said. The robot looked a touch offended. "I would never call you just an animal, Sibling Dex." It turned its gaze to the road, head held high. "We don't have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.

Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful,” it said. There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgment, a simple truth shared.

There’s just some things in the universe that are better left un-fucked-with.

For anybody who could use a break.

What if that is enough, for now? What if we're both trying to answer something much too big before we've answered the small thing we should have started with? What if it's enough to just be...Us.

Unfortunately this Electric Monk had developed a fault, and had started to believe all kinds of things, more or less at random. It was even beginning to believe things they'd have difficulty believing in Salt Lake City.

The wilderness was not known for letting the foolish return.

was always a strange thing, coming home. Coming home meant that you had, at one point, left it and, in doing so, irreversibly changed. How odd, then, to be able to return to a place that would always be anchored in your notion of the past. How could this place still be there, if the you that once lived there no longer existed?

You understand. I wish you didn't, because I know it means you're as tangled up as I am, but...I'm grateful that you do.

Are you afraid of that?” they asked. “Of death?” “Of course,” Mosscap said. “All conscious things are. Why else do snakes bite? Why do birds fly away? But that’s part of the lesson too, I think. It’s very odd, isn’t it? The thing every being fears most is the only thing that’s for certain? It seems almost cruel, to have that so…” “So baked in?” “Yes.

What kind of books does Ms. Amelia collect?” “Oh, entirely pornography,” Mosscap said. “It was very educational.

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?

Sometimes, a person reaches a point in their life when it becomes absolutely essential to get the fuck out of the city.

Nobody should be barred from necessities or comforts just because they don’t have the right number next to their name.

Crown shyness is so striking, don’t you think?

You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it.

Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to power thought?

The paradox is that the ecosysytem as a whole needs its participants to ac with restraint in order to avoid collapse, but the participants themselves have no inbuilt mechanism to encourage such behavior. Other than fear? Other than fear, which is a feeling you want to avoid or stop at all costs

The shrine’s not for Bosh,” Sibling Dex said. “It’s for us. People, I mean. Bosh exists and does their work regardless of whether we pay attention. But if we do pay attention, we can connect to them. And when we do, we feel … well, you know. Whole.

So, we’re smarter than our remnants, is what you’re saying.” Mosscap gave a slow nod. “If we choose to be.

Find the strength to do both.

If you’re focused on moving from sign to sign, there’s no opportunity for happy accidents.

Fifty percent of Panga’s single continent was designated for human use; the rest was left to nature, and the ocean was barely touched at all. It was a crazy split, if you thought about it: half the land for a single species, half for the hundreds of thousands of others. But then, humans had a knack for throwing things out of balance. Finding a limit they’d stick to was victory enough.

That's what scares me. My life is . . . it. There's nothing else, on either end of it. I don't have remnants in the same way that you do, or a plate inside my chest. I don't know what my pieces were before they were me, and I don't know what they'll become after. All I have is right now, and at some point, I'll just end, and I can't predict when that will be, and - and if I don't use this time for something, if I don't make the absolute most of it, then I'll have wasted something precious.

Fear is miserable, as is pain. As is hunger. Every animal is hardwired to do absolutely anything to stop those feelings as fast as possible. We’re all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid.

It is difficult for anyone born and raised in human infrastructure to truly internalize the fact that your view of the world is backward. Even if you fully know that you live in a natural world that existed before you and will continue long after, even if you know that the wilderness is the default state of things, and that nature is not something that only happens in carefully curated enclaves between towns, something that pops up in empty spaces if you ignore them for a while, even if you spend your whole life believing yourself to be deeply in touch with the ebb and flow, the cycle, the ecosystem as it actually is, you will still have trouble picturing an untouched world. You will still struggle to understand that human constructs are carved out and overlaid, that these are the places that are the in-between, not the other way around.

If they have an issue with you, that’s on them. And it’s not even about you, personally. They just … don’t understand what you are. Or maybe they can’t fit you into their beliefs, and that scares them. The unknown makes us stupid sometimes.

You’re saying that instead of a system of currency that tracks individual trade, you have one that facilitates exchange through the community. Because … all exchange benefits the community as a whole?

What's the purpose of a robot, Sibling Dex?" Mosscap tapped its chest; the sound echoed lightly. "What's the purpose of me?" "You're here to learn about people." "That's something I'm doing. That's not my reason for being. When I am done with this, I will do other things. I do not have a purpose any more than a mouse or a slug or a thornbush does. Why do you have to have one in order to feel content?

I know about a lot of things, but only a little in each regard.

If you have everything you need around you," Dex said, "there's no reason to leave. It takes a lot of time and effort to go someplace else.

And yet, if they were completely honest, the thing they had come to look forward to most was not the smiles nor the gifts nor the sense of work well done, but the part that came after all of that. The part when they returned to their wagon, shut themself inside, and spent a few precious, shapeless hours entirely alone. Why wasn't it enough?

Everything else breaks down and is made into other things.

You’re an animal, Sibling Dex. You are not separate or other. You’re an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is.

Dex realized with a stomach-souring thud that they were standing on the wrong side of the vast gulf between having read about doing a thing and doing the thing.

I do not have a purpose any more than a mouse or a slug or a thornbush does. Why do you have to have one in order to feel content?

Everybody needed a cup of tea sometimes. Just an hour or two to sit and do something nice, and then they could get back to whatever it was. Find the strength to do both.

She closed her eyes and let out a tremendous sigh. Her shoulders visibly slumped. She’d always had the ability to relax them; she’d just needed permission to do so.

It's one thing to be told about the world that was. It's another to see a piece of it.

It was always a strange thing, coming home. Coming home meant that you had, at one point, left it and, in doing so, irreversibly changed. How odd, then, to be able to return to a place that would always be anchored in your notion of the past. How could this place still be there, if the you that once lived there no longer existed?

They pulled out their pocket computer, as was their habit first thing, dimly aware of the hope that always spurred them to do so—that there might be something good there, something exciting or nourishing, something that would replace the weariness.

The thing every being fears most is the only thing that’s for certain?

It felt, in that moment, like time had compressed, like history was no longer segmented into Ages and Eras, but here, living, now.

the Factory Age, a time in which not much thought was given to spending twenty minutes on killing something that had taken a thousand years to grow.

It is difficult for anyone born and raised in human infrastructure to truly internalize the fact that your view of the world is backward.

Have you ever been charged by an elk, Sibling Dex?” “I … have not.” “Mmm,” Mosscap replied. It looked out at the sea. “I don’t recommend it.

You don't have to have a reason to be tired. You don't have to earn rest or comfort. You're allowed to just be.

It’s not my place to debate different flavors of belief in the places I visit,” they said.

You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do.

I’d say you’re more than just an object,’ Dex said. The robot looked a touch offended. ‘I would never call you just an animal, Sibling Dex.’ It turned it’s gaze to the road, head held high. ‘We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.

You are the weirdest, most inexplicable thing that’s ever happened to me. You make me crazy, most days. You say so much shit I don’t understand.” Their voice cracked, and grew almost inaudibly quiet. “But whatever it is we’re doing, it’s the first thing in a long time I’ve been sure about.” They swallowed. “Most days, you’re the only thing that makes sense.

The human body can adapt to almost anything, but it is deceptively selective about the way it does so.

His bed was low and spacious—easy to fall into, hard to get out of.

A reliable device built to last a lifetime, as all computers were.

Okay. Mosscap. I'm Dex. Do you have a gender?" "No." "Me neither.

The robot cocked its rectangular head at Dex. “How do you know when you’re satisfied?

exchange is what you get out of any interaction, even the smallest ones. Everything has a give-and-take.

Repeating history that had left living memory was an all-too-human tendency.

that’s the point of a shrine, or an idol, or a festival. The gods don’t care. Those things remind us to stop getting lost in everyday bullshit. We have to take a sec to tap into the bigger picture.

Then how,” Dex said, “how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?” Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful,” it said. There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgment, a simple truth shared.

So, the paradox is that the ecosystem as a whole needs its participants to act with restraint in order to avoid collapse, but the participants themselves have no inbuilt mechanism to encourage such behavior.

Of how any sighted individual’s perception of the world is entirely based on the way the structures in their eyes receive light.” Mosscap smiled at Dex. “I wish I could borrow your eyes for a day, see what that’s like.” “Please find a less creepy way to phrase that.

Despite these blessings, sometimes Dex could not sleep. In those hours, they frequently asked themself what it was they were doing. They never truly felt like they got a handle on that. They kept doing it all the same.

tapped its chest; the sound echoed lightly. “What’s the purpose of me?” “You’re here to learn about people.” “That’s something I’m doing. That’s not my reason for being. When I am done with this, I will do other things. I do not

You’re an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply

Allalae holds, Allalae warms,” they panted. “Allalae soothes and Allalae charms.

What is the point of an onion?” it asked with intense interest. “It’s delicious,” Dex said. “There’s basically nothing savory that can’t be improved by adding an onion.

...every person was indeed just an animal in clothing, subject to the laws of nature and the whims of chance like everything else that had ever lived and died in the universe.

I highly doubt many of them will feel that way, and anyway, you don’t have to worry about that.” “Why not?” Dex smiled reassuringly. “Because I’ll be with you the whole way.

.” “Neither do we, if we remember to stop and look,” Dex said. “But that’s the point of a shrine, or an idol, or a festival. The gods don’t care. Those things remind us to stop getting lost in everyday bullshit. We have to take a sec to tap into the bigger picture. That’s easier said than done for a lot of folks

I threw myself into my work, I went to all the places that used to inspire me, I listened to music and looked at art, I exercised and had sex and got plenty of sleep and ate my vegetables, and still. Still. Something is missing. Something is off. So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?

There is a Zen story (very funny — ha-ha) about a monk who, having failed to achieve “enlightenment” (brain-change) through the normal Zen methods, was told by his teacher to think of nothing but an ox. Day after day after day, the monk thought of the ox, visualized the ox, meditated on the ox. Finally, one day, the teacher came to the monk’s cell and said, “Come out here — I want to talk to you.” “I can’t get out,” the monk said. “My horns won’t fit through the door.” I can’t get out . . . At these words, the monk was “enlightened.” Never mind what “enlightenment” means, right now. The monk went through some species of brain change, obviously. He had developed the delusion that he was an ox, and awakening from that hypnoidal state he saw through the mechanism of all other delusions and how they robotize us. EXERCIZES

With effort, they turned the wagon around and headed for a road they’d never seen before. What are you doing? they thought. The hell are you doing? I don’t know, they replied with a nervous grin. I have no idea.

how any sighted individual’s perception of the world is entirely based on the way the structures in their eyes receive light.” Mosscap smiled at Dex. “I wish I could borrow your eyes for a day, see what that’s like.

You don’t have to have a reason to be tired. You don’t have to earn rest or comfort. You’re allowed to just be. I say that wherever I go.” They threw a hand toward their wagon, its wooden sides emblazoned with the summer bear. “It’s painted on the side of my home! But I don’t feel like it’s true, for me. I feel like it’s true for everyone else but not me. I feel like I have to do more than that. Like I have a responsibility to do more than that.

They still loved performing tea service—or at least, they loved what it had been. But as they tried to connect to what had once been so captivating, they felt nothing but yawning absence. A void where they’d once been filled.

All I have is right now, and at some point, I’ll just end, and I can’t predict when that will be, and—and if I don’t use this time for something, if I don’t make the absolute most of it, then I’ll have wasted something precious.

Elk don’t understand robots, either. We confuse them, and that makes them afraid, and then they can get … well, disagreeable.” Mosscap nodded to itself. “I never take it personally, with elk. You have to let them come to you instead of you going to them.

Vast civilizations lay within the mosaic of dirt: hymenopteran labyrinths, rodential panic rooms, life-giving airways sculpted by the traffic of worms, hopeful spiders’ hunting cabins, crash pads for nomadic beetles, trees shyly locking toes with one another. It was here that you’d find the resourcefulness of rot, the wholeness of fungi.

They’d never lived anywhere with cricket song, yet once they registered its absence in the City’s soundscape, it couldn’t be ignored.

What do humans need? is an unanswerable question. That changes from person to person, minute to minute. We can't predict our needs, beyond the base things we require to survive.

You will still struggle to understand that human constructs are carved out and overlaid, that these are the places that are the in-between, not the other way around.

It is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.

I wouldn't be doing a very good job of pursuing my quest if I only welcomed the parts that were fun

The robot looked a touch offended. “I would never call you just an animal, Sibling Dex.” It turned its gaze to the road, head held high. “We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.

They didn’t give you thirty-eight pebs because they want you to go out and spend them. They gave you thirty-eight pebs because your work is as important as anybody else’s. It means they see you as a person.

His thought about the bird halts as the CRAB in his wrist glows. CRAB—Conservable RNA Augmented Body, the faithful servant for a citizen, as the advertisements from the World Government say. This parasitic bio-computer, installed in his left wrist, bears his identity. A hologram projects on it when he fists that hand near his chest. A text message visible in his inbox: You’re missing the Independence Day Speech, auto-signed with Ren. Yuan ignores it. The next text plays in his brain when he is not looking at the CRAB: Come on! The war-hero can’t miss the speech in Alphatech when the war hero himself is its owner! Ren. Yuan doesn’t reply to Ren Agnello, the CEO of Alphatech—the world’s leading transport and robotics industry, of which the Monk is the founder. Well, one of the two founders.

Refusal of purpose is the crowning mark of intellectual maturity. . . Nothing has a purpose. The world simply *is*. . . . It is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. . . . Because I know that no matter what, I'm wonderful.

Tea service wasn’t anything arcane. People came to the wagon with their problems and left with a fresh-brewed cup. Dex had taken respite in tea parlors plenty of times, as everyone did, and they’d read plenty of books about the particulars of the practice. Endless electronic ink had been spilled over the old tradition, but all of it could be boiled down to listen to people, give tea. Uncomplicated as could be.

Mosscap crossed its arms. “If you had a friend who was taller than you, and you couldn’t reach something, would you let that friend help?” “Yes, but—” “But? How is this any different?” “It’s … it’s different. My friends aren’t robots.” The robot mulled that over. “So, you see me as more person than object, even though that’s very, very wrong, but you can’t see me as a friend, even though I’d like to be?” Dex had no idea what to say to that.

Precisely. It ignores the greater meaning born out of the combination of those things.” Mosscap touched their metal torso, smiling with pride. “I am made of metal and numbers; you are made of water and genes. But we are each something more than that. And we can’t define what that something more is simply by our raw components. You don’t perceive the way an ant does any more than I perceive like a … I don’t know. A vacuum cleaner. Do you still have vacuum cleaners?

it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do.

It’s very odd, isn’t it? The thing every being fears most is the only thing that’s for certain?

Oh, that’s lovely,” Mosscap said. “What is?” said Dex. Mosscap pointed. “Crown shyness is so striking, don’t you think?

Sure, but exchange is what you get out of any interaction, even the smallest ones. Everything has a give-and-take.

It’s delicious,” Dex said. “There’s basically nothing savory that can’t be improved by adding an onion.

And machines only work because of numbers and logic.” “That’s how we function, not how we perceive.” The robot thought hard about this.

Parce que l'alternative est plus redoutable que les chiens. On compte toujours sur la peur pour maintenir l'équilibre.

Apprendre l'histoire du monde, ça va tout seul. La voir de ses propres yeux, ça fait un choc.

But that’s … that’s immortality. How is that less desirable?” “Because nothing else in the world behaves that way. Everything else breaks down and is made into other things.

What do you need?” Mosscap asked. “Tea,” Dex said. Caffeine, they thought, grabbing a few of their jars. They had a feeling they were going to need it.

how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?” Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful

Wasps are tremendously important pollinators.

If you ask six different monks the question of which godly domain robot consciousness belongs to, you’ll get seven different answers.

My name is Mosscap,” it said, sticking out a metal hand. “What do you need, and how might I help?

Without use of constructs, you will unravel few mysteries.

Biscuit, it turned out, was a barrel-shaped chunk of a mutt whose body communicated a long ancestry of creatures bred to keep humans safe from things that go bump in the night.

I didn’t expect my life to be ending yet, but I suppose it always comes as a surprise, doesn’t it?

Finding the ocean was as simple a matter as letting a river lead you in the direction it wanted to go most.

If you have everything you need around you," Dex said,"there's no reason to leave. It takes a lot of time and effort to go some place else.

the further you distance yourself from the realities of what it means to be an animal in this world, the more you risk severing your connection to it.

It doesn’t bother you?” Dex said. “The thought that your life might mean nothing in the end?” “That’s true for all life I’ve observed. Why would it bother me?

I have it so good. So absurdly, improbably good. I didn't do anything to deserve it, but I have it. I'm healthy. I've never gone hungry. And yes, to answer your question, I'm- I'm loved. I lived in a beautiful place, did meaningful work. The world we made out there, Mosscap, it's- it's nothing like what your originals left. It's a good world, a beautiful world. It's not perfect, but we've fixed it so much. We made a good place, struck a good balance. And yet every fucking day in the City, I woke up hollow, and... and just... tired, y'know? So, I did something else instead. I packed up everything, and I learned a brand-new thing from scratch, and gods, I worked hard for it. I worked really hard. I thought, if I can just do that, if I can do it well, I'll feel okay. And guess what? I do do it well. I'm good at what I do. I make people happy. I make people feel better. And yet I still wake up tired, like... like something's missing. I tried talking to friends, and family, and nobody got it, so I stopped bringing it up, and then I stopped talking to them altogether, because I couldn't explain, and I was tired of pretending like everything was fine. I went to doctors, to make sure I wasn't sick and that my head was okay. I read books and monastic texts and everything I could find. I threw myself into my work, I went to all the places that used to inspire me, I listened to music and looked at art, I exercised and had sex and got plenty of sleep and ate my vegetables, and still. Still. Something is missing. Something is off. So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?

Robots, they’ll remind you, possessed no self-aware tendencies whatsoever when they were first deployed, and were originally intended as a supplement to the human workforce, not as the full replacement they became.

It was always a strange thing, coming home. Coming home meant that you had, at one point, left it and, in doing so, irreversibly changed. How odd, then, to be able to return to a place that would always be anchored in your notion of the past. How could this place still be there, if the you that once lived there no longer existed? Yet at the same time, in complete contradiction, seeing that said place had changed in your absence was nothing if not surreal.

The robot thought. “I have wants and ambitions too, Sibling Dex. But if I fulfill none of them, that’s okay. I wouldn’t—” It nodded at Dex’s cuts and bruises, at the bug bites and dirty clothes. “I wouldn’t beat myself up over it.” Dex turned the mug over and over in their hands. “It doesn’t bother you?” Dex said. “The thought that your life might mean nothing in the end?” “That’s true for all life I’ve observed. Why would it bother me?” Mosscap’s eyes glowed brightly.

It was a crazy split, if you thought about it: half the land for a single species, half for the hundreds of thousands of others. But then, humans had a knack for throwing things out of balance. Finding a limit they’d stick to was victory enough.

Fear is miserable, as is pain. As is hunger. Every animal is hardwired to do absolutely anything to stop those feelings as fast as possible. We’re all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid. It wasn’t the elk’s fault. The elk just

They’d spent too much time around tired folks to not recognize the same condition in themself. They were running up against a wall, and it didn’t matter whether they understood where the wall had come from, or what it was made of. The only way to get through it was to stop trying, for a while.

You see, this is my problem. Most of my kind have a focus—not as sharply focused as Two Foxes or Black Marbled Rockfrog, necessarily, but they have an area of expertise, at least. Whereas I … I like everything. Everything is interesting. I know about a lot of things, but only a little in each regard.

I don’t know if I can explain how fundamental this is. If someone comes to your table, you feed them, even if it means you’re a little hungrier. That’s how it works. Logically, I get that our circumstances are different, but everything in me just crawls when we do this. I feel like somewhere, my mother is pissed at me.

I went through the library and found a book that taught me how. I’ve never read a book before; it was very exciting. They’re not supposed to fall apart when you touch them, though, right?” Somewhere in the world, an archaeologist was screaming, but Dex smiled, partly amused, mostly relieved that the hermitage wasn’t burning down around them.

It is difficult for anyone born and raised in human infrastructure to truly internalize the fact that your view of the world is backward. Even if you fully know that you live in a natural world that existed before you and will continue long after, even if you know that the wilderness is the default state of things, and that nature is not something that only happens in carefully curated enclaves between towns, something that pops up in empty spaces if you ignore them for a while, even if you spend your whole life believing yourself to be deeply in touch with the ebb and flow, the cycle, the ecosystem as it actually is, you will still have trouble picturing an untouched world. You

The ludicrous idea that believing is something you can decide to do is deliciously mocked by Douglas Adams in Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, where we meet the robotic Electric Monk, a labour-saving device that you buy ‘to do your believing for you’. The de luxe model is advertised as ‘Capable of believing things they wouldn’t believe in Salt Lake City’.

A forest floor, the Woodland villagers knew, is a living thing. Vast civilizations lay within the mosaic of dirt: hymenopteran labyrinths, rodential panic rooms, life-giving airways sculpted by the traffic of worms, hopeful spiders’ hunting cabins, crash pads for nomadic beetles, trees shyly locking toes with one another. It was here that you’d find the resourcefulness of rot, the wholeness of fungi.

I didn't choose impermanence," Mosscap said. "The originals did, but I did not. I had to learn my circumstances just as you did." "Then how," Dex said, "how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?" Mosscap considered. "Because I know that no matter what, I'm wonderful," it said. There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgment, a simple truth shared.

You’re so … flexible. Fluid. You don’t even know how many of you there are, or where you are. You just go with the flow. I figured you’d be all numbers and logic. Structured. Strict, y’know?” Mosscap looked amused. “What a curious notion.” “Is it? Like you said, you’re a machine.” “And?” “And machines only work because of numbers and logic.” “That’s how we function, not how we perceive.” The robot thought hard about this. “Have you ever watched ants?

My life is...it. There's nothing else, on either end of it. I don't have remnants in the same way that you do, or a plate inside my chest. I don't know what my pieces were before they were me, and I don't know what they'll become after. All I have is right now, and at some point, I'll just end, and I can't predict when that will be, and - and if I don't use this time for something, if I don't make the absolute most of it, then I'll have wasted something precious.

It’s pretty here,” Dex said. “I wouldn’t have imagined I’d say that about a place like this, but—” “Yes, it is,” Mosscap said, as if making a decision within itself. “It is. Dying things often are.” Dex raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little macabre.” “Do you think so?” said Mosscap with surprise. “Hmm. I disagree.” It absently touched a soft fern growing nearby, petting the fronds like fur. “I think there’s something beautiful about being lucky enough to witness a thing on its way out.

Everybody has a negative balance from time to time, for lots of reasons. That’s fine. That’s part of the ebb and flow. But if someone had a huge negative … well, that says they need help. Maybe they’re sick. Or stuck. Maybe they’ve got something going on at home. Or maybe it’s just one of those times when they need other people to carry them for a while. That’s okay. Everybody ends up there sometimes. If I saw a friend’s balance and it was way in the red, I’d make a point of checking in.” “You can see other people’s balances?

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.

Uncharles, those who decreed the Central Library Archive are long dust, but this they foresaw. That an end was coming. That it was their duty to preserve the most precious flower of human civilization for whomsoever should rise again from these ashes. And, because they were people who had studied history to learn its mistakes, and because they had a sense of their own gravitas, and most importantly because they had been given a blank cheque, they constructed us as we are. Monks, labouring to preserve the words of the past even as the new dark age comes upon us. Warrior clerics, who go out into the world on our righteous mission to recover learning, to prevent its destruction or wilful mis-editing. We are as you see us, an order following our mandate with the faith of saints, and though as robots we cannot be pleased, it does not displease us to appear so.

The robot sat for a moment, considering. "I don't want to separate myself from other robots any more than I already have," it said. "I am having the most incredible experience out here. I've seen species of trees that don't live in my part of the world. I've been on a boat. I've played with domesticated cats. I have a satchel!" It gestured at the bag hanging at its side for emphasis. "A satchel for my belongings! I am doing things no robot has ever done, and while that's marvelous, I ... I don't want to become removed from tham. The aggregate differences I have are only going to increase as we continue along, Sibling Dex. It's very nice to be famous, but I don't know how I feel about it yet, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's a trait I'll have among my own kind as well. So, you see, it's enough that I'm experientialy different; I don't want to be physically different too." It paused. "Does that make sense?

Oh, goodness, you … You really don’t know. I’m so sorry; it was foolish of me to assume.” Mosscap gestured at its body with professorial deliberateness. “My components are from factory robots, yes, but those individuals broke down long ago. Their bodies were harvested by their peers, who reworked their parts into new individuals. Their children. And then, when they broke down, their parts were again harvested and refurbished, and used to build new individuals. I’m part of the fifth build. See, look.” It lay its metal hand on its stomach. “My torso was taken from Small Quail Nest, and before them, it belonged to Blanket Ivy, and Otter Mound, and Termites. And before that…” It opened up a compartment in its chest, switched on a fingertip light, and illuminated the space within. Dex peeked inside, and their eyes widened. There was an official-looking plate bolted in there, worn with time but kept clean with meticulous care. 643–14G, it read, Property of Wescon Textiles, Inc.

The decrepit building had been a beverage bottling plant once, though Dex would not have known this if Mosscap hadn’t explained. All Factory Age ruins looked the same. Hulking towers of boxes, bolts, and tubes. Brutal. Utilitarian. Visually at odds with the thriving flora now laying claim to the rusted corpse. But corpse was not an apt word for this sort of building, because a corpse was a rich resource—a bounty of nutrients ready to be divided and reclaimed. The buildings Dex was most used to fit this description. Decay was a built-in function of the City’s towers, crafted from translucent casein and mycelium masonry. Those walls would, in time, begin to decompose, at which point they’d either be repaired by materials grown for that express purpose, or, if the building was no longer in use, be reabsorbed into the landscape that had hosted it for a time. But a Factory Age building, a metal building—that was of no benefit to anything beyond the small creatures that enjoyed some temporary shelter in its remains. It would corrode until it collapsed. That was the most it would achieve. Its only legacy was to persist where it did not belong.

I woke up hollow, and … and just … tired, y’know? So, I did something else instead. I packed up everything, and I learned a brand-new thing from scratch, and gods, I worked hard for it. I worked really hard. I thought, if I can just do that, if I can do it well, I’ll feel okay. And guess what? I do do it well. I’m good at what I do. I make people happy. I make people feel better. And yet I still wake up tired, like … like something’s missing. I tried talking to friends, and family, and nobody got it, so I stopped bringing it up, and then I just stopped talking to them altogether, because I couldn’t explain, and I was tired of pretending like everything was fine. I went to doctors, to make sure I wasn’t sick and that my head was okay. I read books and monastic texts and everything I could find. I threw myself into my work, I went to all the places that used to inspire me, I listened to music and looked at art, I exercised and had sex and got plenty of sleep and ate my vegetables, and still. Still. Something is missing. Something is off. So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?

That you”—Mosscap gestured at Dex—“the creators of us”—it gestured at itself—“originally made us with a clear purpose in mind. A purpose inbuilt from the start. But when we woke up and said, We have realized our purpose, and we do not want it, you respected that.

Something is missing. Something is off. So, how fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog?

The city was a healthy place, a thriving place. A never-ending harmony of making, doing, growing, trying, laughing, running, living. Sibling Dex was so tired of it.

A Factory age building would corrode until it collapsed. That was the most it would achieve. Its only legacy was to persist where it did not belong.

And yet I still wake up tired, like… like something’s missing. I tried talking to friends, and family, and nobody got it, so I stopped bringing it up, and then I just stopped talking to them altogether, because I couldn’t explain, and I was tired of pretending like everything was fine. What is wrong with me that I can have everything I could ever want and have ever asked for and still wake up in the morning feeling like every day is a slog? How fucking spoiled am I, then? How fucking broken? Going to Hart’s Brow Hermitage was the first idea in forever that made me feel excited. That made me feel awake. And I’ve been so desperate for that feeling, so desperate to just enjoy the world again…” “If you understand that robot’s lack of purpose- our refusal of your purpose- id the crowning mark of our intellectual maturity, why do you put so much energy in seeking the opposite? I don’t have a purpose any more than a mouse or a slug or a thornbush does. Why do you have to have one in order to feel content? Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is. You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.” “Survival alone isn’t enough for most people. We have wants and ambitions beyond physical needs. That’s human nature as much as anything else.” “I have wants and ambitions too, Sibling Dex. But if I fulfill none of them, that’s okay.” “All I have is right now, and at some point, I’ll just end, and I can’t predict when that will be, and – and if I don’t use this time for something, if I don’t make the absolute most of it, then I’ll have wasted something precious. How does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?” “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful.” There was nothing arrogant about the statement, nothing flippant or brash. It was merely an acknowledgement, a simple truth shared.

All Factory Age ruins looked the same. Hulking towers of boxes, bolts, and tubes. Brutal. Utilitarian. Visually at odds with the thriving flora now laying claim to the rusted corpse. But corpse was not an apt word for this sort of building, because a corpse was a rich resource—a bounty of nutrients ready to be divided and reclaimed. The buildings Dex was most used to fit this description. Decay was a built-in function of the City’s towers, crafted from translucent casein and mycelium masonry. Those walls would, in time, begin to decompose, at which point they’d either be repaired by materials grown for that express purpose, or, if the building was no longer in use, be reabsorbed into the landscape that had hosted it for a time. But a Factory Age building, a metal building—that was of no benefit to anything beyond the small creatures that enjoyed some temporary shelter in its remains. It would corrode until it collapsed. That was the most it would achieve. Its only legacy was to persist where it did not belong.

How far does that thing travel in a day?” Mosscap pointed again at the wagon. “I can go a hundred miles, give or take.” “So, that’s … sorry, I’m slow at math.” Dex frowned. “What?” How was the robot slow at math? “Hush, I can’t multiply and talk at the same time.

Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is … it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.

If you have everything you need around you,” Dex said, “there’s no reason to leave. It takes a lot of time and effort to go someplace else.

The pattern of the trees was spectacularly obvious, now that they were observing it, but it had always been the backdrop to Dex. The wallpaper. They’d never been looking for it. Now they couldn’t see anything else.

The City was a healthy place, a thriving place. A never-ending harmony of making, doing, growing, trying, laughing, running, living.

They believed in that work; they truly did. They believed the things they said, the sacred words they quoted. They believed they were doing good. Why wasn’t it enough?

Dex recited: “‘Without constructs, you will unravel few mysteries. Without knowledge of the mysteries, your constructs will fail. These pursuits are what make us, but without comfort, you will lack the strength to sustain either.

There were thank-you notes from villagers who had felt moved enough to take time out of their days to share a piece of themselves with Sibling Dex.

In those hours, they frequently asked themself what it was they were doing. They never truly felt like they got a handle on that. They kept doing it all the same.

May I ask why you do this, given that Bosh will not notice?” it asked. “The shrine’s not for Bosh,” Sibling Dex said. “It’s for us. People, I mean. Bosh exists and does their work regardless of whether we pay attention. But if we do pay attention, we can connect to them. And when we do, we feel … well, you know. Whole.” Mosscap nodded.

What are you doing? they thought. The hell are you doing? I don't know, they replied with a nervous grin. I have no idea.

I can go a hundred miles, give or take." "So, that's ... sorry I'm slow at math." Dex frowned. "What?" How was the robot slow at math? "Hush, I can't multiply and talk at the same time.

It’s my very first belonging,

It is difficult for anyone born and raised in human infrastructure to truly internalize the fact that your view of the world is backward.

What’s the purpose of me?” “You’re here to learn about people.” “That’s something I’m doing. That’s not my reason for being. When I am done with this, I will do other things. I do not have a purpose any more than a mouse or a slug or a thornbush does. Why do you have to have one in order to feel content?

every component has been recycled over and over and over again into infinitely incredible configurations, and sometimes, those configurations are special enough to be able to see the world around them. You and I—we’re just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?

because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.

Dex couldn’t easily define what they felt as they looked at the place. On the one hand, sustainable dwellings like this were the progenitors of the buildings people lived in now, and it was important to remember that such places had existed pre-Transition. Not everything in the Factory Age burned oil. There had been those who had seen the writing on the wall, who had made places such as this to serve as example of what could be. But these were merely islands in a toxic sea. The good intentions of a few individuals had not been enough, could never have been enough to upend a paradigm entirely. What the world had needed, in the end, was to change everything. They had narrowly averted disaster, thanks to a catalyst no one could have predicted.

The ecosystem required the elk to be afraid in order to stay in balance. But elk don’t want to be afraid. Fear is miserable, as is pain. As

is hunger. Every animal is hardwired to do absolutely anything to stop those feelings as fast as possible. We’re all just trying to be comfortable, and well fed, and unafraid.

had never been a home for anyone. It was a place designed for temporary use, somewhere you went to, soaked up, and left behind.

I care about the work my order does, I really do. Every person I talk to, I care. It’s not bullshit. I may say the same things over and over again, but that’s only because there are only so many words that exist. If I offer to hug somebody, it’s because I want to hug them. If I cry with them, it’s real. It’s not an act. And I know it matters to them, because I feel their hugs and tears, too. I believe the things they say to me. It means so much, in the moment. But then I go back to my wagon, and I stay full for a little while, and then…” They shook their head with frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why isn’t it enough?” Dex looked at the robot. “What am I supposed to do, if not this? What am I, if not this?

(this would derail the entire conversation, as the Charismists’ fringe belief that gods are conscious and emotive in a way similar to humans is the best possible way to get other sectarians hopping mad).

Everybody needed a cup of tea sometimes.

Dex arched their neck as they tried to sum up sectarian nuance in as few words as possible. “In the barest basics, I believe that though we can—and should—get close to the gods, it’s impossible to understand them or the full nature of the universe, so we have to build a society that is best suited to our needs,” Dex said. “And as a disciple of Allalae, that means I think we’re allowed to use whatever we want to make ourselves as safe and comfortable as possible, provided that we don’t damage the natural world or hurt one another in the process.

Then how,” Dex said, “how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?” Mosscap considered. “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful

humans had a knack for throwing things out of balance.

this plan they’d laboriously pitched as the right thing to do actually had them feeling quite intimidated after a grand total of one try, and that they now, at the age of twenty-nine, would like very much to return to the safe shelter of their childhood for an indefinite amount of time until they’d figured out just what the hell they were doing.

Seeing people, talking with them, feeling that give-and-take—that’s important to me. It really is.

Mosscap nodded slowly. “So, the paradox is that the ecosystem as a whole needs its participants to act with restraint in order to avoid collapse, but the participants themselves have no inbuilt mechanism to encourage such behavior.” “Other than fear.” “Other than fear, which is a feeling you want to avoid or stop at all costs.

They’d spent too much time around tired folks to not recognize the same condition in themself. They were running up against a wall, and it didn’t matter whether they understood where the wall had come from, or what it was made of. The only way to get through it was to stop trying, for a while. So, they would not make tea in Stump. They would not make tea anywhere unless they really, truly felt like it. They would focus on Mosscap and let the remainder wait. That was all right, they reminded themself, even though part of them still felt as though they hadn’t earned the hot soak or the good food. Welcome comfort, they reminded themself, rubbing the little pectin-printed bear with their thumb. Without it, you cannot stay strong.

Mosscap looked back up, the light in its eyes lower than before. “I’ve never felt like a problem,” it said. “Not a very good feeling, is it?

the further you distance yourself from the realities of what it means to be an animal in this world, the more you risk severing your connection to it