“People would say things like raising robotic children had no meaning, that organisms were the only valid expression of human behaviour.”
It was a tough decision. Few humans raised organics, making it an even more ambitious undertaking. Shanzou sat in his sixth story Shanghai roof garden meditating on this issue. The haze was soft and glowing, and the breeze gentle: just enough to enhance the sensation of being awake, without feeling cold. He was thinking clearly, he thought to himself.
He had been raised by organics, yes, but it was easier for his parents than it would be for him: he was only partly organic himself. The limbic system of his brain was regulated within some basic parameters via an AI guidance system installed in his inner ear. Nothing fancy, but enough to make all the difference—a sensible ceiling on his emotions. And of course, his body was largely virtual, for all the usual and obvious reasons of practicality. It had been tough for his parents, sure, but nothing compared to manually raising an organic brain. The more he thought of it, the more the idea of taking such an undertaking on, in this day and age, sounded like madness.
James Lanternman writes movie reviews, fiction, essays, and moonlit thoughts. Reach him at [email protected].