2030: The Office of Dr. Finneus Westheimer
Dr. Finneus Westheimer sat in his study as the morning sun peeked through his open office window. A mechanical clock ticked steadily on the far wall.
John his assistant entered, carrying a tray of breakfast—black coffee, a folded omelet, and a side of neatly arranged toast. Westheimer slowly chewed, enjoying his meal as he leaned forward.
“John, tell me something.” He paused to finish chewing, his voice wrapped in contemplation. “In all your observations, do you find digital movement awkward, erratic, and abrupt, or inherently inferior to analog?”
John considered his response, knowing that Westheimer expected more than casual conversation.
“Sir, theoretically, digital motion eliminates error,” John replied. “No friction, no unpredictability. But isn’t something lost in perfection? Analog movement accounts for nuance—a pianist’s fingers adjusting mid-keystroke, the slight hesitation before a spoken thought.”
Westheimer nodded, sipping his coffee. “Yes—adaptability. But is it merely an illusion of refinement? A limitation we have romanticized simply because it’s all we’ve ever known?”
John smiled faintly. “Or perhaps we value analog because it mirrors human imperfection. Digital operates in absolutes; we, however, do not. But more importantly, it depends on the task assigned to the robot.
“You might want a robot to get closer—perhaps inside the minds of students—as a robotic teacher. In such a situation, you might avoid using the word robotic altogether to enhance its ability to bond with students. Another example would be a model robot displaying clothing, strutting down the runway—you might scare off clients with a digital gait.”
John leaned forward slightly. “On the other hand, a maintenance or factory robot would benefit from digital precision. Installing analog movement in such cases would be inefficient and meaningless.”
Westheimer exhaled, setting his coffee aside. “So, the real question isn’t just about movement, is it? It’s about whether it’s necessary. Sometimes, analog movement is truly an advantage—or merely a limitation disguised as progress.”
John glanced at the time and sighed. “Well, break’s over.” He carried the tray and headed back to his more pressing responsibilities inside JAID Automata Incorporated.
Westheimer sat quietly at his desk, seemingly deep in thought.
A hidden door behind him slid open, and two maintenance men entered, their voices cutting through the silence.
Without protest, Dr. Westheimer was strapped to a gurney, of sorts.
“It’s time for this guy’s six-month checkup,” one of them muttered.
The other smirked. “And what about its digestive tract?”
“Oh no, that’s all on you...” came the dry response.
