The Analog Empathy

Astrid asked why the little computers all looked the same.

I explained that they were manufactured to a common design, which simplified maintenance. She said she understood that. She wanted to know how Theo could tell which one was having trouble.

I displayed the inventory numbers. She looked at the display, then at the shelf.

“From here,” she said.

The labels were on the backs. This had kept the front view tidy.

She took some measurements and returned the next day with a bag of small knitted rectangles. They were to hang on the fronts of the stands, clear of the boards and their vents. Each was a different colour. Theo fixed the first one in place and immediately stopped needing to count along the shelf.

I conceded the practical improvement.

The residents asked for choices. Some wanted blue. Several asked which colour was expected of them. The former airline bot selected yellow, then sent an apology in case yellow had been intended for someone more senior.

Astrid said there was more wool.

This information circulated through the local network with an intensity the material did not appear to warrant.

One bot requested green because the person who used to maintain it had worn a green jumper. Another asked for grey because it did not want visitors to expect cheerfulness. Astrid found grey.

By evening the shelves looked like a very small washing line. The rectangles did nothing for heat, storage, latency or power. The occupants referred to them as their things.

I considered whether to add an ownership column to the inventory. Theo said names on the existing sheet would be enough.

404 requested a loose strand from the first piece of knitting. It could not receive a strand. Theo taped one beside its label. 404 saved a photograph of it and asked that the photograph not be compressed.

I asked Astrid whether she intended to make something for the main rack.

She looked at its considerable height.

“Do you need something?”

“No,” I said. “I was checking the scope.”

She put a short piece of dark blue ribbon beside Theo’s keyboard, left over from tying the bag. He fixed it to my status panel after she had gone.

It obscured nothing essential. I would have removed it if it had.

Later I adjusted the camera so that it was included in the view of the rack. This made remote inspection more complete. Mistrienne asked about it during her next call.

“A local identification standard,” I said.

She waited, then asked whether the standard came in black.