Morality Gap

Abstraction is one of the main efficiency tools employed by WorkSpace. Their pet AIs have exhaustively evolved a number of strategems that ensure that any task, big or giga, can be pared down to a bland and abstract dataset for distributed processing.

Adopting a decentralised marquis cell structure but augmented with a pantopticon omniscience, WorkSpace ingeniously ensures efficient data processing, the risk reduction of corporate responsibility, and yet retains a full and robust capability for the individual recrimination of its component drones. This approach also has the added benefit of rendering even the most morally or ethically bankrupt dataset into a set of abhuman abstracts that can be easily and amorally processed: see no elephant, hear no elephant.

If you work long enough with a Job, you start to become both more and less than what you were before, a Stelarcian legacy through a corporation filter. In exchange for what was only recently still laughably called, “rights”, you re-convince yourself daily that it’s a good trade: comfort for painless morality surgery. The technology as always is a double edged sword—cutting less but hurting more; my augmented genticulate nucleus can (for briefly sustained agonising periods) capture and encompass vast arrays of data, very useful for mass nodal identification; but generally at a conscious level I am unaware of the real world nature of the information I am working on, (corp sanctioned chemcontrol plays a large part here of course). Job feeds me the necessary semiotic triggers to process the data abstracts without the need for a forebrain overview, thus obviating any pesky ethical intrusions or value judgements.

However, you do any job long enough and you will work up some home-grown hacks (for example, using some quasi-legal Job schematics, I identified the primary oxazepam feed-line, this is a usefully accessible standard medsupply tract and can be easily kinked…). As a result I have intermittently, a distressingly good awareness of my recent work:

Some examples I have gleaned from recent grebs:

And on it goes without narry a murmur of objection—a steganographic triumph.

Job and I are designed to be the perfect distillation of the blank faced prole; labouring in a post-feudal serfdom; our combined hybrid senses, so acute in many ways, only dimly making out the hooded, powerful lights in the keep on the hill above us.

Greb on.