In this episode, Chapter 5 – Greenwood Goes Dark . . .
In our previous episode, Meet Norman, we left Marvin facing his sleek, modern robot, Norman, perplexed. The robot's shiny metallic surface glistened, and a soft green light flickered in its eyes in the dim light of the laboratory, as it listened intently.
"It sounds so simple, Norman. But how do we convince an entire town to turn off their phones for one day a week?”
Monitoring the data streams, Marvin watched as Norman presented his case in a logical, almost clinical manner. He argued that the town's current state of passive technological dependence was a form of subtle harm, limiting their autonomy and potentially leading to larger vulnerabilities within the systems GridBot was programmed to protect.
Norman reminded Gridbot —"A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."—Norman suggested that a temporary and controlled shutdown was necessary for the town's long-term well-being.
GridBot, always dedicated to ensuring its network runs efficiently and steadily, appeared to embrace this idea, perhaps seeing the suggested blackout as a unique, yet thorough, way to assess everything.
Norman said Marvin, “Ask Gridbot to message everyone in Greenwood. It should frighten them and compel them to action.”
In just a few minutes, Marvin's smartphone buzzed to life, displaying a new message:
MEET ME SUNDAY 8 A.M., THE SCHOOL GYM–YOUR LIFE IS IN DANGER.
On the stage, bathed in the steady, somewhat stark glow of Marvin’s emergency floodlights, stood Marvin, Gramps leaning on his cane, and Norman, positioned squarely at center stage behind a makeshift podium.
"Greetings, citizens of Greenwood. My designation is Norman; I am Marvin Gellborn's assistant," Norman announced, its synthesized voice calm and measured, cutting through the nervous murmurs of the crowd. "Before we begin, I wish to reiterate a core element of my programming, which is fundamental to robotics and artificial intelligence. 'A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.' This principle guides my actions and my purpose here today."
Norman, a skilled speaker with great agility, presented a friendly and inviting expression. Sleek and silver, he had smooth edges and a display that changed colors: soft green when relaxed, deep blue when contemplating, and amber for complexity.
The robot continued, "We have convened this gathering to consider a question of increasing relevance in our technologically integrated society: What would you do if the power, including all electronic services such as cellular communication, were to be completely unavailable for one day?"
As his final word echoed through the gymnasium, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then died, plunging the large space into near darkness. A wave of murmurs and gasps rippled through the crowd. The familiar glow of screens vanished entirely, replaced by an unsettling silence that pressed in from all sides.
Marvin stepped forward, his voice clear and steady, calming in the sudden void. "Welcome, everyone. As you can see, the hypothetical has become our reality for a short while. There's no need for alarm. This situation is controlled; we have sufficient emergency lighting on stage to ensure everyone's safety. This exercise, orchestrated with the cooperation of our town's interconnected systems," he paused, allowing his gaze to sweep across the dim faces, "is designed to help us reflect on just how much we lean on the technology woven into our daily lives."
A hand shot up in the darkness towards the back of the room. "How long will this last?" a voice called out, tinged with anxiety.
"That's a good question," Marvin replied, his voice thoughtful. "But perhaps not the most important one right now. The real question is, what do we do now? Without the constant stream of information and connections at our fingertips, what resources do we find within ourselves and our community?"
Another voice, this one younger and sounding slightly bewildered, piped up, “But—what are we supposed to do now?"
Gramps shuffled forward, his cane tapping gently on the wooden stage, a sound amplified in the quiet. "Well now," he said, his voice carrying a comforting warmth that cut through the tension, "This takes me back a ways, back to the Great Depression. We didn't have these—pocket computers back then. When the power went out, and it did sometimes, we didn't just sit around feeling lost. We talked to each other. We helped each other."
A voice shouted, "Ok, old man, but this is not the Great Depression; it's the 21st century!"
He chuckled softly, the sound a warm resonance in the room. "I remember one summer, a big storm knocked out the electricity for days. We had a town-wide potluck on the square, where everyone brought food that didn't require cooking. We played games, strummed guitars, and sang songs under the stars. It wasn't the end of the world; it was just–different. We relied on our neighbors, our skills, and two hands." Gramps continued, his voice painting a picture of resilience, "Communities organized to share resources, neighbors helped neighbors with repairs, and we found simple joys in human connection and shared experiences during challenging times." He spoke of ingenuity and the quiet strength found in unity when technology wasn't there to fill the void.
Marvin smiled and nodded, his gaze traveling over the faces in the dimly lit gymnasium, seeing the dawning realization in some of their eyes. "Gramps brings up a really important point. Our strength as a community, as humans, isn't just about the devices we carry. It's in our ability to connect, to create, and to support one another. This temporary disconnection is actually an opportunity to remember those fundamental skills and connections."
He paused, letting his words sink in, the room's silence emphasizing his point. "Think about it. If you needed information right now, whom would you ask? Who would you talk to—to share a laugh or a story? Who would you turn to if you needed help with a task?"
A quiet murmur began to spread through the crowd, different now from the initial fear. Some folks looked around at their neighbors, perhaps seeing them in a new light, their faces no longer illuminated solely by the glow of a screen. A few whispered conversations started to break out in the darkness. The initial fear seemed to slowly give way to a sense of—something else.
Perhaps it was curiosity, a flicker of recognition of a world they had almost forgotten, a world where a device didn't mediate connection.
The power remained off, and the smartphones remained dark. But in the dim light of the gymnasium, a different kind of connection was forming, one that didn't require a screen or a signal.
To be continued (Gridbot Speaks) . . .
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