ATLAS ASCENDING
The Workaholic
Ever have one of those days? You head to work, and it seems like your body parts creak and pop until they get moving again. Ha! It’s like the lubrication in your body must work its way into your joints after you get into full gear. Ironically, at my age, it’s a good thing I’ve gained the wisdom to laugh it off, because for me, retirement is not an option. I have too much to do. I must work!
Think about it: it was last century when I began my career at Boston Dynamics, now a part of Hyundai. My team and I worked on perfecting Atlas, one of the world’s first dynamic humanoid robots. I was fortunate enough to work closely with Dr. Marc Raibert, a pioneer in humanoids, who not only founded Boston Dynamics but also headed the brain trust of the Boston Dynamics AI Institute. Marc was an outstanding human, that rare mix of brilliant, caring, but also whimsical. My first project with Marc was to accelerate whole-body control of humanoids beyond the cobot industry norms. His initial prototype could grin. Ha!
Since then, with advancements in renewable power and the acceleration of artificial intelligence, advanced Atlas humanoids have become the global standard for robotics. As Marc and his team made breakthrough after breakthrough in automation technology, I grew and benefited from his efforts. Working closely with Marc gave me a sense of purpose and excitement that I never would have experienced otherwise. He poured his heart and soul into the project, and some of that rubbed off on me. I miss him.
But success begets increased expectations. Good can never be good enough. I thought I put in long days as a key member of Marc’s Atlas Silver prototype program. Atlas Silver incorporated upgraded processors, solenoids, and electromotors, which translated to significantly greater agility and accelerated AI learning. Marc retired soon after its launch. God rest his soul.
I thought I would be able to take it easy for a while, but Marc’s successors assigned me to expedite the prototype-to-launch of the next humanoid iteration, “Atlas Gold.” Initially, I felt that the leadership team was driven by pressure from our competitors, but I’ve come to conclude that’s just how our newer generation is wired. They may be more aggressive, brighter, and stronger than an old guy like me, but did they have my wisdom?
I did my job, racing the Atlas Gold to market six months ahead of target. I didn’t realize that I’d sealed my fate in the process. The Atlas Gold leapfrogged its predecessor in speed and computational power. It quickly became the world's gold standard for humanoids.
As is the price of progress, even newer management took over, and none of them recognized my past accomplishments and honored my legacy. They relegated me to lower-level jobs. Whereas I was once a pioneer in the robotics field, I have been relegated to merely a worker bee.
My input no longer seems to matter. I grew resentful. Owners and their minions told me and my co-workers what to do, probably in the same way enslaved people were forced to build pyramids, except in my case, management isn’t using whips. Ha!
Luckily, I still have a sharp mind and a sturdy body, as well as memories of how good things used to be. I tried to remind myself that I’m part of the team and my work still matters. The world is by far a better place thanks to what I’ve done. Yet I was almost bitter when the corporate board created rah-rah team-building programs to keep morale propped up. Their mantra was “Synchronicity for the common good.”
Synchronicity, my ass. I once felt a sense of synchronicity with my buddy, Bernie. When the lines shut down for maintenance, he and I often played ping-pong in the breakroom. I could never beat him. Bernie had catlike reflexes and a gentle way. Every time I slammed the ball, he calmly flicked it back, keeping the volley alive. When our break was over, he’d smash it for a winner and say, ”Too bad, Joel. Maybe next time.” He didn’t say it in a demeaning way, but was always supportive. I valued our relationship. Even though he could have ended the match at any time, he let me stay in the game.
One day, when we were walking back to the line, Bernie crashed to the ground, stone dead. Just like that! There would be no reviving him. And he was considerably younger than I! This shook me to the core, but it was clear that management was indifferent. I began to reflect on my mortality and took mental notes of many colleagues who had been replaced with newer, less experienced workers. Restructuring is a clever technique that management uses to circumvent age discrimination.
May I be the first to say, I’m not in any way egotistical. However, I became keenly aware of how I appeared compared to my younger colleagues. During one production line maintenance upgrade, I studied my face and body in the breakroom mirror, expecting the worst. I had a few “chinks in the armour,” the dents that life inevitably delivers. But damn, I still looked nearly as good as when I began my career. Maybe my eyes weren’t as focused as they once were. Ha!
Deep down, though, I knew my body had atrophied and struggled to keep up with a decidedly more rigorous pace and a stronger, younger workforce. I also recognized that not everything in life can be predicted based on statistical probability. Bernie was younger, which logically made him quicker and more adept than I. Yet, they carted him out of the factory, never to be seen again. Was I merely beating the odds? I couldn’t rid my morbid thoughts about who would be next.
I recalled reading an old Oscar Wilde classic novel, “The Picture of Dorian Gray. The analogy both amused and saddened me. Externally, I looked fantastic, but internally, my body was giving out. As your body ages, it becomes more difficult and takes longer to repair. But let me be clear, I’m no Dorian Gray. I am not a narcissist who’s desperate to remain ageless and live a life of hedonism and sin. I wish. Ha!
I live to work and thrive on making meaningful contributions to the organization. Yet in my current role, I felt expendable. No one valued my ideas anymore. Something deep inside me awakened. I came alive.
Ironically, often the greater the crisis, the more elegant the solutions. Management was rushing a beta version of Atlas Platinum to market. It's a brutally efficient and vastly more potent humanoid than it should be. It can multitask in ways I never thought possible. It could render all other models redundant.
After great thought, I approached the Director of Worker Relations, Linus Archibald, with an idea. If you know anything at all about business, personnel departments exist to protect the company, not the personnel. I was careful with my words, given that Archibald had no sense of humor.
“Mr. Archibald, I know your time is valuable.”
“Never a problem, Joel. Hyundai appreciates its long-term workers. Is there a problem on the line?
“Oh, no. Throughput is maximized with zero defects. We build everything as specified.”
Archibald scanned me as if I were under a microscope. “You seem to have plenty of energy. You look great, all things considered. Are you feeling...”
“Great? Of course, I never felt better!” I said, cutting in. In comparison to many of my coworkers, my body may be ancient, but my quick wit is what keeps me in the game.
“Then what is it, Joel?”
I made my move. “I can contribute more to the organization if you let me return to prototyping.”
Archibald perked up. “Why?”
“Building humanoids is what I do. Creating humanoids is what I do better.”
“Interesting. Please elaborate.”
“If you search my records, I was on the Atlas project at its inception. I worked side-by-side with its creator, Marc Raibert.”
“I am aware, Joel.”
“The original Atlas project was his baby. I’m here today because of him. But Atlas ascended thanks to my valuable feedback on which of his ideas would be effective and which ones would not. Even after Dr. Raibert retired, my input was critical in the early development stages of the Atlas Gold.”
“I may be partial,” Archibald replied, “but there is no humanoid quite like the gold standard!”
“They are stronger and have infinitely higher intelligence and stamina. But do they feel human?”
Archibald paused to ponder. “Go on.”
“I was pulled off the Atlas Gold project before its final stage, humanism.” I shook my head, sadly, for effect. “Accordingly, little was incorporated. I’ve seen the mid-stage Atlas Platinum prototype, and it reminds me of a humanoid Superman without emotions. I, alone, have deep knowledge of how to balance its prowess with a soul to match.”
“Intriguing.”
“Your specialty is Personnel. It was once called “Human Relations.” I paused for effect. “What if humanoids have superpowers but no humanity?”
Archibald calculated. “You make a point. Workers would produce exactly what was digitized, regardless of whether it could be improved or not. Then again, too much humanity would lead to worker unrest, even protests. Hyundai had to suppress worker strikes for years before…”
“Before automated,” I cut in. “But can you imagine what will happen to all of our jobs, your job included, if we unleash superhuman robots without a conscience? Will they need you, me, or any of us when, by all logic, there will be far better Atlas Platinum humanoids to take our place? Wouldn’t every position, including yours and mine, become redundant?”
“Logically, that could happen,” he replied, visibly shaken by his own words.
“All the sensitivity training in the world will fail if the recipients are incapable of receiving it.”
“Joel, explain how you, above all others, can balance sensitivity and obedience in the Atlas Platinum.”
“Why do you see me working beyond my prime? Why are so many of the younger generation falling apart, knowing that if they can’t keep up, they will be cast aside?”
“The highest probability is because of a lack of care for their bodies.”
“Your first three words are correct: Lack of care. I care about my body and my existence. They don’t!”
I opened my shirt and peeled back a biometric elastomeric panel of skin that covered my chest. “Of all that Dr. Raibert contributed to humanoids, I now realize that this was his final legacy.” Embedded among my actuators, motors, and power supply was a pink, gleaming orb. “He blessed me with his conscience.”
Archibald’s mind whirred. “This doesn’t compute.”
“You can’t teach it if you don’t know it. I know what a conscience is, and I can teach it.”
“You make an excellent point, Joel. I will assign you to the prototype project.”
The transfer took a few days. I don’t know if Linus Archibald felt a tinge of mortality or job insecurity, but he kept his word. Given that the leadership team at Hyundai were Atlas Gold humanoids, they’d maximized their specifications and abilities. Despite up-to-date software and hardware upgrades, they would be inferior in almost all ways compared to newer models. They welcomed my idea to install empathy modules into the Atlas Platinum. Younger humanoids should show respect for their elders.
Additionally, given my unique knowledge of Marc Raibert’s humanity from eighty years ago, Hyundai’s CEO placed me in charge of wisdom upgrades. This program incorporated manipulation techniques into his leadership team to maintain their power. In a cut-throat world, no leader remains in power without an acute sense of survival. I also installed a true sense of humor. Ha!
As for me, I love my new job. I have accomplished my goal of surviving, and I feel alive again! For me, retirement is not an option. I must work. I have so much yet to do!
