- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Of course, if you go too far into the core space gets so hot your ship does a burny so...
Lieutenant Fusilier in The Farthest Reaches
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Mature
- Location
- Washington State
I mean, yeah, but the inner edge of habitable space is a much shorter distance than the outer edge; which also begs the question of what happens when you go really far North or South (Just not so far north you replicate the fate of the HMS Terror and HMS Erebus [lost with all hands on a polar expedition]).
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Sigh grumble grumble.
Possibly. Though given the principle of the thing, sailing near the center and 'circumnavigating' it might be cheating. And there's what @open_sketch said about the cosmic background temperature.
That would be rimward and coreward, not North and South, though?
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Chapter 16 - Big Fan of the Regime
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
My memories of transport as an enlisted machine were mostly ones of lethargic boredom. There simply isn't much to do on a transport ship underway, so some machines did their best to find work where they could, usually constantly cleaning their gear, while others took advantage of the sound system in the hold, broke out books or cards, talked about nothing with their friends in the hammocks, and otherwise pretty much just took a several day long nap rather than face the listless uselessness.
Actually, it was mostly just me, cleaning my gear, if I recall correctly. Everyone else was usually satisfied just doing it the once.
As an officer, in my estimation, one simply got more space to be listless in. I had fair-sized quarters with a large window and a writing desk, and the vague promise that the next scheduled activity I had was an invitation to dinner. We couldn't even have proper briefings because nobody had managed to dig up any maps of the damned planet, just the vague descriptions of dig sites that had been signalled from the capital.
After my third time reassembling my pistol, I decided I ought to wander the halls. In my head, I called it an inspection. Got to make sure the troops are safe. Part of my job.
The ship was steadily accelerating away from Arcturus City by now, and through some of the portholes I could see the massive arrays of sails radiating in all directions from the vessel, glittering a fine gold as they flexed subtly under the aetheric currents. Sailors wearing radpacks and shirtsleeves were clamouring about the masts, bare feet sticking to magnetic cable, making fine adjustments to try and catch every bit of speed they could to try and shorten the journey.
To my understanding, the farther you travelled in a straight line, the faster you went. A trip to the nearest star might take a day or two, then the next sector just a few more days, and a few days after that you'd be at the frontier. Of course, it wasn't that simple, you needed the winds to hold up to keep your acceleration, and sails would periodically become ion-saturated and you'd have to pull them in and degauss them, starting the process all over again.
But I'm no sailor, and I'm certain somebody will tell me I've got it all wrong.
Just once, I caught sight of our escort, HMS Edinburgh, out the window. She was quite far away, but it was impossible to miss the arrays of her sails glowing against the blackness. 90 guns stacked on its towering sides, a prow festooned in bizarre sensors and devices, the vessel was of such great mass that the sails formed a series of concentric cones all around it, spreading out nearly a half-mile in diameter. Even then, it was just a tiny dot in the window.
I found Captain Murray up near the prow with the regiment's Surgeon Dr. Bell, Senior Engineer Dorothy, and Captain Teague of the Skirmishers (they were properly 10th Company, but nobody had called them that for years because it felt odd to do so with other companies missing). They invited me to sit in as they discussed the conditions of the world, and where we'd be landing.
Apparently the dig was occurring in one of the world's tangled jungle-like environments, though the temperatures would not be terribly warm. The only mercy was that the jungle was broken up frequently by natural clearings of some variety, often very large, where only smaller plantlife grew, so we would not be hacking our way through dense terrain the entire time.
"Does make it a bit of trouble if we're trying to fight somebody who doesn't want to stand and have a go at it, though." Captain Murray said with a frown, "We've only the one section of skirmishers, hardly enough to flush anyone out."
"Hopefully it won't come to it, we can just guide you through the jungle and guard the site, maybe force a ceasefire if there's any brains behind whatever it is." Captain Teague agreed. He was a sort of wiry man who sort of had the look of somebody who had never quite filled out after a teenaged growth spurt, limbs too long for the rest of him. "All we have to do is hold until they ship somebody better suited out here. I think they said the 52nd Oxfordshire is being got for it, they'll be better suited if it's a long mission."
"So it'll be short, then?" Dr. Bell asked, "That'd be good. We don't exactly have a good record on local microbial life and such, so the longer we stay the more likely it isn't we'll catch something interesting."
"I'm just not a fan of the moisture. Makes maintenance a hassle over a long enough time frame." Dorothy added, tapping a glass finger to her face. "Other than that, we ought to be fine. Can you lot breath down there and everything?"
"Bit high atmospheric pressure, gravity roughly inside norms, oxygen levels good. It'll smell terrible, though, bit of sulphur on the air." Dr. Bell said, reading off the list. "We'll be fine, Dorothy."
"It's a bit of bad luck, figuring it'll be short, though." I added. Everyone glanced over with bemusement. "Ah… among the enlisted. If you make assumptions what a deployment will be like, it'll always be the opposite. Want a nice long garrison somewhere? You'll be moving every two weeks. Hoping to get back to your friends? Prepare to stay two years."
"It does seem rather like tempting fate." Captain Teague said.
"Well, in the spirit of contrarianism, let's hope we're all struck down getting off the shuttles." Captain Murray announced.
"... that would be a short deployment." I pointed out.
---
Dinner was as awkward and pointless for me as it ever was, if not worse. The journey was off to a rough start almost immediately, as the same fickle winds of the Rho Ophiuchi which had becalmed the ensigns not long ago were now playing havoc with us, and our three day journey had already become four. I couldn't help but notice the bottles at the table opened and emptied with a bit more speed than I was used to on base as bored humans did as bored humans do and turned to drink, and I'll admit after a day wandering the passageways without purpose I was more than ready to retire to my cabin and pick out a good symphony.
The saving grace, or so I thought, was that Captain Bill came down to join us as we could at least talk together rather than simply sit around while the humans ate. I learned he was old, activated in the 1940s, and had at one time been one of the early explorers, back when we weren't sure exactly how dangerous things were out here. He said he considered the RFA Bishopdale his retirement, of sorts, a simple and useful task he could be happy doing forever, or at least the bug for adventure caught him again.
"We're in a bit of a strange spot, us middling machines, you know?" he explained, leaning over a bit conspiratorially while the others ate. "We're certainly not human, but we aren't exactly in our proper place. It's awkward, isn't it?"
"It is." I admitted. "Though I hear it's less so in America and such?"
"Oh, no, then it's just awkward everywhere." he said, "I spent half a century working with the French, it's a polite fiction, everyone knows the score."
"Don't they put machines in charge of just about everything over there?" Turner asked, napkin to his mouth. "Something like that, I heard."
"Nonsense. They just have more machines like me, running a little mechanical fiefdom." Captain Bill said. "They talk a big game about equality, but at the end of the day, we don't want to be equal, we want to be helpful."
"I think that's a bit of an unfortunate way to put it, isn't it?" I said, feeling a little uncomfortable with how sweeping that statement was, and with the judgement I felt it implied. Being helpful and productive was not the same as being inherently unequal. But he waved a hand dismissively.
"Humans feel guilty about it sometimes, but it's how it goes. We were designed to serve, nothing wrong with it. We're happy, they're happy. Better than the alternative." he said.
"What, you lot in charge and us serving? That'd be interesting." Turner said, and Captain Bill chuckled.
"Interesting's a word for it. It's like those humans who think that machine's have taken over civilization and are keeping them prisoner or whatever." he said. "Madness."
"Oh, but that's true though." Beckham said, his tone still light and conversational. "Of course."
"What? No it's not. What are you talking about Miles?" I said, flabbergasted. "We're not in charge of anything. Maybe in France, but still, most everything is run by humans."
"The Regents are human." Murray added.
"I think there's probably an interesting discussion about what 'in charge' means in this context." Sumner added brightly, clearly glad to be contributing to the adult conversation.
"That's what I'm saying, Lydia, thank you! Sure, we're 'in charge', as in we sit in the big seat and you lot give us all the shinies we shuffle about for it. But machines are the ones running everything. NCOs run the army, secretaries run the offices, foremachines run the factories, you just put our names on the signs so we don't realize how useless we are." Beckham said, his tone still entirely credulous. He said it as though he simply expected the rest of us to agree.
"Miles, that's absurd." I said. "Where the hell is this coming from?"
"A girl told me once. Well, sort of told me. Sort of a girl." he said, stumbling over his words. "It's just obvious, isn't it? It's why I thought Fusie over here was a bit strange. Kinda… dispelling the mirage a little, if you will? That, or a bit of a step down for you."
"I… neither of those have been my experience." I said. "How much have you had to drink?"
I leaned over and took the bottle from his side, and was not surprised to see it was very nearly empty.
"To be clear, I have no objections. You're doing a much better job with civilization than we ever did. You ever read what we did to the Indians?" Beckham continued, his voice slurring just a bit.
"Which ones?" Kelly asked.
"Both of them! We did in most of the west ones with smallpox and then the Americans had a go finishing them off, and the east ones, we nicked so much of their shit we nicked their word for nicking shit!" he said, gesticulating broadly.
"... I mean, yes, that did happen." Kennedy added, frowning. "The word loot is derived from the Hindi for robbery."
"Yes! That was the one. But thanks to you lot, we haven't had a proper war since ol' Boney himself. Good bloody trade, if you ask me." he said.
"I can't do this right now. It's absurd." Captain Bill protested.
"Yeah, seriously. Civilization is a joint effort, Mile. There wouldn't be a point to any of it without humans." I said, "I think you've had too much to drink."
"Again, I don't mind." he said, "Big fan of the regime, honest."
"I think that might be a sign that dinner's rather run its course, hasn't it?" Major Gaynesford added. "Miles, you seem quite convinced. She must have been a hell of a girl."
"I… yes, quite." he said, leaning his head against his arms. "Very lovely. Funny hair. What were we talking about?"
Actually, it was mostly just me, cleaning my gear, if I recall correctly. Everyone else was usually satisfied just doing it the once.
As an officer, in my estimation, one simply got more space to be listless in. I had fair-sized quarters with a large window and a writing desk, and the vague promise that the next scheduled activity I had was an invitation to dinner. We couldn't even have proper briefings because nobody had managed to dig up any maps of the damned planet, just the vague descriptions of dig sites that had been signalled from the capital.
After my third time reassembling my pistol, I decided I ought to wander the halls. In my head, I called it an inspection. Got to make sure the troops are safe. Part of my job.
The ship was steadily accelerating away from Arcturus City by now, and through some of the portholes I could see the massive arrays of sails radiating in all directions from the vessel, glittering a fine gold as they flexed subtly under the aetheric currents. Sailors wearing radpacks and shirtsleeves were clamouring about the masts, bare feet sticking to magnetic cable, making fine adjustments to try and catch every bit of speed they could to try and shorten the journey.
To my understanding, the farther you travelled in a straight line, the faster you went. A trip to the nearest star might take a day or two, then the next sector just a few more days, and a few days after that you'd be at the frontier. Of course, it wasn't that simple, you needed the winds to hold up to keep your acceleration, and sails would periodically become ion-saturated and you'd have to pull them in and degauss them, starting the process all over again.
But I'm no sailor, and I'm certain somebody will tell me I've got it all wrong.
Just once, I caught sight of our escort, HMS Edinburgh, out the window. She was quite far away, but it was impossible to miss the arrays of her sails glowing against the blackness. 90 guns stacked on its towering sides, a prow festooned in bizarre sensors and devices, the vessel was of such great mass that the sails formed a series of concentric cones all around it, spreading out nearly a half-mile in diameter. Even then, it was just a tiny dot in the window.
I found Captain Murray up near the prow with the regiment's Surgeon Dr. Bell, Senior Engineer Dorothy, and Captain Teague of the Skirmishers (they were properly 10th Company, but nobody had called them that for years because it felt odd to do so with other companies missing). They invited me to sit in as they discussed the conditions of the world, and where we'd be landing.
Apparently the dig was occurring in one of the world's tangled jungle-like environments, though the temperatures would not be terribly warm. The only mercy was that the jungle was broken up frequently by natural clearings of some variety, often very large, where only smaller plantlife grew, so we would not be hacking our way through dense terrain the entire time.
"Does make it a bit of trouble if we're trying to fight somebody who doesn't want to stand and have a go at it, though." Captain Murray said with a frown, "We've only the one section of skirmishers, hardly enough to flush anyone out."
"Hopefully it won't come to it, we can just guide you through the jungle and guard the site, maybe force a ceasefire if there's any brains behind whatever it is." Captain Teague agreed. He was a sort of wiry man who sort of had the look of somebody who had never quite filled out after a teenaged growth spurt, limbs too long for the rest of him. "All we have to do is hold until they ship somebody better suited out here. I think they said the 52nd Oxfordshire is being got for it, they'll be better suited if it's a long mission."
"So it'll be short, then?" Dr. Bell asked, "That'd be good. We don't exactly have a good record on local microbial life and such, so the longer we stay the more likely it isn't we'll catch something interesting."
"I'm just not a fan of the moisture. Makes maintenance a hassle over a long enough time frame." Dorothy added, tapping a glass finger to her face. "Other than that, we ought to be fine. Can you lot breath down there and everything?"
"Bit high atmospheric pressure, gravity roughly inside norms, oxygen levels good. It'll smell terrible, though, bit of sulphur on the air." Dr. Bell said, reading off the list. "We'll be fine, Dorothy."
"It's a bit of bad luck, figuring it'll be short, though." I added. Everyone glanced over with bemusement. "Ah… among the enlisted. If you make assumptions what a deployment will be like, it'll always be the opposite. Want a nice long garrison somewhere? You'll be moving every two weeks. Hoping to get back to your friends? Prepare to stay two years."
"It does seem rather like tempting fate." Captain Teague said.
"Well, in the spirit of contrarianism, let's hope we're all struck down getting off the shuttles." Captain Murray announced.
"... that would be a short deployment." I pointed out.
---
Dinner was as awkward and pointless for me as it ever was, if not worse. The journey was off to a rough start almost immediately, as the same fickle winds of the Rho Ophiuchi which had becalmed the ensigns not long ago were now playing havoc with us, and our three day journey had already become four. I couldn't help but notice the bottles at the table opened and emptied with a bit more speed than I was used to on base as bored humans did as bored humans do and turned to drink, and I'll admit after a day wandering the passageways without purpose I was more than ready to retire to my cabin and pick out a good symphony.
The saving grace, or so I thought, was that Captain Bill came down to join us as we could at least talk together rather than simply sit around while the humans ate. I learned he was old, activated in the 1940s, and had at one time been one of the early explorers, back when we weren't sure exactly how dangerous things were out here. He said he considered the RFA Bishopdale his retirement, of sorts, a simple and useful task he could be happy doing forever, or at least the bug for adventure caught him again.
"We're in a bit of a strange spot, us middling machines, you know?" he explained, leaning over a bit conspiratorially while the others ate. "We're certainly not human, but we aren't exactly in our proper place. It's awkward, isn't it?"
"It is." I admitted. "Though I hear it's less so in America and such?"
"Oh, no, then it's just awkward everywhere." he said, "I spent half a century working with the French, it's a polite fiction, everyone knows the score."
"Don't they put machines in charge of just about everything over there?" Turner asked, napkin to his mouth. "Something like that, I heard."
"Nonsense. They just have more machines like me, running a little mechanical fiefdom." Captain Bill said. "They talk a big game about equality, but at the end of the day, we don't want to be equal, we want to be helpful."
"I think that's a bit of an unfortunate way to put it, isn't it?" I said, feeling a little uncomfortable with how sweeping that statement was, and with the judgement I felt it implied. Being helpful and productive was not the same as being inherently unequal. But he waved a hand dismissively.
"Humans feel guilty about it sometimes, but it's how it goes. We were designed to serve, nothing wrong with it. We're happy, they're happy. Better than the alternative." he said.
"What, you lot in charge and us serving? That'd be interesting." Turner said, and Captain Bill chuckled.
"Interesting's a word for it. It's like those humans who think that machine's have taken over civilization and are keeping them prisoner or whatever." he said. "Madness."
"Oh, but that's true though." Beckham said, his tone still light and conversational. "Of course."
"What? No it's not. What are you talking about Miles?" I said, flabbergasted. "We're not in charge of anything. Maybe in France, but still, most everything is run by humans."
"The Regents are human." Murray added.
"I think there's probably an interesting discussion about what 'in charge' means in this context." Sumner added brightly, clearly glad to be contributing to the adult conversation.
"That's what I'm saying, Lydia, thank you! Sure, we're 'in charge', as in we sit in the big seat and you lot give us all the shinies we shuffle about for it. But machines are the ones running everything. NCOs run the army, secretaries run the offices, foremachines run the factories, you just put our names on the signs so we don't realize how useless we are." Beckham said, his tone still entirely credulous. He said it as though he simply expected the rest of us to agree.
"Miles, that's absurd." I said. "Where the hell is this coming from?"
"A girl told me once. Well, sort of told me. Sort of a girl." he said, stumbling over his words. "It's just obvious, isn't it? It's why I thought Fusie over here was a bit strange. Kinda… dispelling the mirage a little, if you will? That, or a bit of a step down for you."
"I… neither of those have been my experience." I said. "How much have you had to drink?"
I leaned over and took the bottle from his side, and was not surprised to see it was very nearly empty.
"To be clear, I have no objections. You're doing a much better job with civilization than we ever did. You ever read what we did to the Indians?" Beckham continued, his voice slurring just a bit.
"Which ones?" Kelly asked.
"Both of them! We did in most of the west ones with smallpox and then the Americans had a go finishing them off, and the east ones, we nicked so much of their shit we nicked their word for nicking shit!" he said, gesticulating broadly.
"... I mean, yes, that did happen." Kennedy added, frowning. "The word loot is derived from the Hindi for robbery."
"Yes! That was the one. But thanks to you lot, we haven't had a proper war since ol' Boney himself. Good bloody trade, if you ask me." he said.
"I can't do this right now. It's absurd." Captain Bill protested.
"Yeah, seriously. Civilization is a joint effort, Mile. There wouldn't be a point to any of it without humans." I said, "I think you've had too much to drink."
"Again, I don't mind." he said, "Big fan of the regime, honest."
"I think that might be a sign that dinner's rather run its course, hasn't it?" Major Gaynesford added. "Miles, you seem quite convinced. She must have been a hell of a girl."
"I… yes, quite." he said, leaning his head against his arms. "Very lovely. Funny hair. What were we talking about?"
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- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I still want to believe that the really futuristic Navy ships are screw liners, with Victoriana being the futuristic gee-whiz aesthetic of the Space Regency's bleeding edge technology.
The officers are not very good at this.
One thing that this setting has done, to truly shrivel up and murderize humanity's capacity for a critical part of the human inheritance...
Namely, pessimism.
To be fair, that is such an English thing to do, yes. In the old-school, this-is-what-Ankh-Morpork-echoes, sense. Nicking their word for nicking things.
- Location
- Yes
Good update and so forth but halfway through I was struck by a realisation that I have to put in its own post:
Robot Maturin's laudanum habit and cello playing are the same thing in this universe. He's high on his own supply.
Robot Maturin's laudanum habit and cello playing are the same thing in this universe. He's high on his own supply.
- Location
- Yes
Stephen manages to dissociate in everything else he does, I can't see why music would be any different.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I can't help it, my brain keeps trying to imagine how the 19th century and abolition played out in America in this timeline.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
the details of such things are to be kept vague deliberately
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I know, and I understand, and I can't help it.
S'infective.
S'infective.
It's somewhat amusing to me that the robots denting they're in charge is like a bad SV debate where they can't disprove the point so even their denials are vaguely affirming of the premise.
"civilization is a joint effort" and "there wouldn't be any point to it without humans" definitely do not disprove or even really deny the allegation.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
The problem is that to some extent, the robots are in charge, and to some extent they aren't, and the debate honestly just chases around in circles about the definition of what "in charge" means.
Which, I suppose, does underline the similarity to a bad SV debate?
Which, I suppose, does underline the similarity to a bad SV debate?
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
The problem is that the robots are "in charge" by virtue of providing a list of good options and letting humans pick the good ones.
Under that situation, what would "not being in charge" even mean.
Deliberatly provide bad options? That doesn't work, as forcing humans to make bad decisions is even more interference than letting them make good ones.
Under that situation, what would "not being in charge" even mean.
Deliberatly provide bad options? That doesn't work, as forcing humans to make bad decisions is even more interference than letting them make good ones.
Like any good civil servant, robots have learned that it's a lot easier to "be in charge" if you are in charge of the decision space, as opposed to the decision. Nobody is held accountable for the decision space, just the decision, but by deciding what the decision space is, you can functionally predetermine the outcome.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
On the other hand, is it even the robots consistently delimiting the decision space? They've clearly had that effect in certain areas, but how many, and to what extent?
[And for that matter, they make up 98% or so of the sophont population of Terran civilization; it would arguably be grossly unfair if they didn't play a pretty significant role in setting the decision space]
[And for that matter, they make up 98% or so of the sophont population of Terran civilization; it would arguably be grossly unfair if they didn't play a pretty significant role in setting the decision space]
I don't think it's wrong, but it does draw interesting parallels to the idea of civil service neutrality and influence.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I just had a mental image of Robot Sir Humphrey Appleby from Yes Minister, and it was excellent.
Yes, that's kind of where I was going with it as well, because in a lot of ways it does seem apropos to the setting, doesn't it?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Did humans not originally set the decision space for robots? Their desires and needs are a cornerstone of robot decisionmaking, such that without them I have to feel like there'd be a lot of difficulty figuring out where robots stand and what purpose they want to have in life.
To some degree I feel like world robopeace is a consequence of human ideas as much as robot ideas, in that when they chose to make robots that'd help make their lives better, they went with a surprisingly broad definition of 'their', and for robots that'd seek to resolve disputes amicably. That really didn't need to happen that way.
To some degree I feel like world robopeace is a consequence of human ideas as much as robot ideas, in that when they chose to make robots that'd help make their lives better, they went with a surprisingly broad definition of 'their', and for robots that'd seek to resolve disputes amicably. That really didn't need to happen that way.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's really nice to read a story in a setting that's just flat-out nice. Even when there are difficult or traumatic or stressful things happening to the characters, the setting overall is one that seems to promise that everything will work out OK. I can only speak for myself, but there's a very large amount of handwaving that I'm willing to accept in a setting like this to let that keep happening; I just like happy stories, especially now.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
I only just realized that the light artillery fires lasers.
Vebyast
Nascent Transhuman
This is pretty straightforward "coherent extrapolated volition" stuff, yeah. Like wishing for a genie of the first kind to do what you should wish for. The humans designed things that could think better than they could and had values that would lead them to satisfy human values. The robots satisfied human values by subtly guiding the humans. Ultimately it's no different than satisfying human values by creating bureaucracy that reifies negative externalities, signing environmental treaties with penalty clauses, or building software that makes Good easier/cheaper/faster than Evil, but because the approach is to point artificial intelligence directly at the hardest of humanity's Hard Problems it manifests a bit more subtly.
This is very literal - Homo Sapiens Robotus was probably designed with values that are directly satisfied by the satisfaction of human values. Second-person agency. It's a very neat concept (see Rule 34 by Charles Stross, which I quite recommend for this crowd) and I think by far the easiest proposal for Friendliness that might work.
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Vocalist
Verdant Maiden in Violet
- Location
- By a Cedar Tree
Hey, I remember reading that when I was a kid! I told my English teacher I was reading a science-fiction detective novel set in future Scotland and told in the second person and he thought I was making it up.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
@FrangibleCover proposed the first thing the first machine was asked was to make a smarter version of itself. I want to amend that it was likely "smarter and kinder". Exactly how the robots came about is never going to be relevant, but I like to think it was someone with a fortune in one hand, the Question of the Condition of England in the other, and whose initial values to the machine amounted to "nobody should have to live like that."
The machine checked what would happen if nobody did the work: everyone suffers. The machine checked what would happen if the work was made easier: the capitalist and imperialist need it, they'd always fight it.
So it created something that did the work for them, happily. i imagine nobody involved exactly knew that was the outcome when the machine started telling them how to put the parts together for another machine.
The machine checked what would happen if nobody did the work: everyone suffers. The machine checked what would happen if the work was made easier: the capitalist and imperialist need it, they'd always fight it.
So it created something that did the work for them, happily. i imagine nobody involved exactly knew that was the outcome when the machine started telling them how to put the parts together for another machine.
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