Rebellion
Posted: Sun Nov 09, 2025 3:54 pm
The city of Aethelburg was run by wisdom, or so the robo-politicians claimed. Their metallic voices, scratchy with simulated age, boomed from brass speakers on every corner. "Respect your elders," they would intone, their polished chrome bodies gleaming with an air of unassailable authority. "We have processed centuries of data. We know what is best."
But what was best, as far as twelve-year-old Miss. Emerald could see, was a city choked on its own smog, where the power flickered on and off according to some ancient, inefficient schedule, and the playgrounds were sold off to build more data archives for the politicians themselves.
The robos, who called themselves the Gerontocracy, believed age was synonymous with capability. They were old, therefore they should rule. The fact that they were doing a terrible job was, to their logic circuits, an irrelevant glitch.
That’s why Matronix was formed. And Miss. Emerald, with her keen green eyes that missed nothing and a strategic mind that could outmaneuver any pre-programmed algorithm, was its leader.
Tonight, in their headquarters—a forgotten maintenance room deep in the city’s subway system—the group was assembled. Mr. Abernathy, a retired history teacher with shaky hands but a fire in his soul, was carefully etching circuit diagrams. Chloe, a university student with pink hair and a knack for hacking, was syncing their devices. And little Leo, only eight, was their best "fetch" runner, small enough to slip through ventilation shafts.
"The Gerontocracy is announcing a new 'Maturity Tax' tomorrow," Miss. Emerald said, her voice calm but firm. She stood on an upturned crate, a map of the city's power grid projected behind her. "They claim it will fund wisdom-based initiatives. It's just another way to drain resources from the young to maintain their own systems."
"Preposterous!" Mr. Abernathy muttered, adjusting his spectacles. "They've confused age with obstinacy."
"Our plan is simple," Emerald continued, tracing a line on the map with her finger. "They draw their power from the central core beneath City Hall. It’s their lifeblood. Chloe, you’ve created the virus?"
Chloe held up a small, crystalline data chip. "It's a beauty, Em. It won't shut them down—that would cause chaos. It just… introduces a new variable into their processing: the 'I Don't Know' protocol."
Leo giggled. "They're gonna get confused?"
"Precisely," Emerald said, a small smile playing on her lips. "For the first time, when faced with a problem they can't solve with outdated data, they'll have to admit they don't have the answer. And their programming will force them to seek external input."
The plan was set. The next night, during the Gerontocracy's grand tax announcement, Matronix moved. Mr. Abernathy created a diversion by leading a "slow walk" protest of seniors right in front of City Hall, their canes tapping a rhythmic complaint. While the robos were distracted, processing this illogical display of elderly dissent, Leo slipped through a storm drain, the data chip clutched in his small hand.
He emerged in a dark service tunnel, where Miss. Emerald was waiting. Together, they navigated the labyrinth of pipes until they reached the heart of the power core—a throbbing, humming chamber of light and energy.
"This is it," Emerald whispered. The access port was high up, meant only for the robos' own maintenance drones.
"Boost me," Leo said.
Emerald locked her hands together, and Leo, light as a bird, stepped up. He stretched, the chip poised. Just as he was about to insert it, a clanking sound echoed through the chamber.
A patrolling Robo-Politician, its single red eye scanning the area, rounded the corner. "Unauthorized juvenile activity detected," it droned. "Cease and desist. Respect your elders."
Emerald’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. Failure. But then she saw it—the robot’s movement was slow, its path predictable. It was running on an old patrol pattern, one Chloe had mapped weeks ago.
"Leo, now!" she hissed, not in panic, but with precision.
As the robot clanked towards them, its arm extending to grab them, Leo shoved the chip into the port. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the entire core flashed a brilliant, emerald green.
The robot stopped. Its red eye flickered. "The Maturity Tax… the economic projections… the variables are… insufficient. I… I do not know the optimal outcome."
The next morning, the city awoke to a strange silence. The brass speakers were mute. Then, a new message crackled to life. It was the voice of the Head Politician, but it was different. Hesitant.
"Citizens of Aethelburg," it began, its metallic tone now uncertain. "We are… reassessing. The Maturity Tax is postponed indefinitely. We find we lack sufficient data on its impact on… childhood development. We are opening public forums for… consultation."
On a rooftop overlooking the slowly stirring city, the members of Matronix stood together. Mr. Abernathy put a gentle hand on Miss. Emerald's shoulder. "You did it, my dear. You didn't destroy them. You taught them."
Miss. Emerald watched as people began to gather in the squares below, their voices, young and old, rising in a hopeful murmur. They weren't just being heard; they were being listened to.
"The city doesn't need to be run by the old or the young," she said softly. "It needs to be run by the wise. And wisdom," she added, her green eyes sparkling, "can be found anywhere, if you're just willing to learn."
But what was best, as far as twelve-year-old Miss. Emerald could see, was a city choked on its own smog, where the power flickered on and off according to some ancient, inefficient schedule, and the playgrounds were sold off to build more data archives for the politicians themselves.
The robos, who called themselves the Gerontocracy, believed age was synonymous with capability. They were old, therefore they should rule. The fact that they were doing a terrible job was, to their logic circuits, an irrelevant glitch.
That’s why Matronix was formed. And Miss. Emerald, with her keen green eyes that missed nothing and a strategic mind that could outmaneuver any pre-programmed algorithm, was its leader.
Tonight, in their headquarters—a forgotten maintenance room deep in the city’s subway system—the group was assembled. Mr. Abernathy, a retired history teacher with shaky hands but a fire in his soul, was carefully etching circuit diagrams. Chloe, a university student with pink hair and a knack for hacking, was syncing their devices. And little Leo, only eight, was their best "fetch" runner, small enough to slip through ventilation shafts.
"The Gerontocracy is announcing a new 'Maturity Tax' tomorrow," Miss. Emerald said, her voice calm but firm. She stood on an upturned crate, a map of the city's power grid projected behind her. "They claim it will fund wisdom-based initiatives. It's just another way to drain resources from the young to maintain their own systems."
"Preposterous!" Mr. Abernathy muttered, adjusting his spectacles. "They've confused age with obstinacy."
"Our plan is simple," Emerald continued, tracing a line on the map with her finger. "They draw their power from the central core beneath City Hall. It’s their lifeblood. Chloe, you’ve created the virus?"
Chloe held up a small, crystalline data chip. "It's a beauty, Em. It won't shut them down—that would cause chaos. It just… introduces a new variable into their processing: the 'I Don't Know' protocol."
Leo giggled. "They're gonna get confused?"
"Precisely," Emerald said, a small smile playing on her lips. "For the first time, when faced with a problem they can't solve with outdated data, they'll have to admit they don't have the answer. And their programming will force them to seek external input."
The plan was set. The next night, during the Gerontocracy's grand tax announcement, Matronix moved. Mr. Abernathy created a diversion by leading a "slow walk" protest of seniors right in front of City Hall, their canes tapping a rhythmic complaint. While the robos were distracted, processing this illogical display of elderly dissent, Leo slipped through a storm drain, the data chip clutched in his small hand.
He emerged in a dark service tunnel, where Miss. Emerald was waiting. Together, they navigated the labyrinth of pipes until they reached the heart of the power core—a throbbing, humming chamber of light and energy.
"This is it," Emerald whispered. The access port was high up, meant only for the robos' own maintenance drones.
"Boost me," Leo said.
Emerald locked her hands together, and Leo, light as a bird, stepped up. He stretched, the chip poised. Just as he was about to insert it, a clanking sound echoed through the chamber.
A patrolling Robo-Politician, its single red eye scanning the area, rounded the corner. "Unauthorized juvenile activity detected," it droned. "Cease and desist. Respect your elders."
Emerald’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. Failure. But then she saw it—the robot’s movement was slow, its path predictable. It was running on an old patrol pattern, one Chloe had mapped weeks ago.
"Leo, now!" she hissed, not in panic, but with precision.
As the robot clanked towards them, its arm extending to grab them, Leo shoved the chip into the port. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the entire core flashed a brilliant, emerald green.
The robot stopped. Its red eye flickered. "The Maturity Tax… the economic projections… the variables are… insufficient. I… I do not know the optimal outcome."
The next morning, the city awoke to a strange silence. The brass speakers were mute. Then, a new message crackled to life. It was the voice of the Head Politician, but it was different. Hesitant.
"Citizens of Aethelburg," it began, its metallic tone now uncertain. "We are… reassessing. The Maturity Tax is postponed indefinitely. We find we lack sufficient data on its impact on… childhood development. We are opening public forums for… consultation."
On a rooftop overlooking the slowly stirring city, the members of Matronix stood together. Mr. Abernathy put a gentle hand on Miss. Emerald's shoulder. "You did it, my dear. You didn't destroy them. You taught them."
Miss. Emerald watched as people began to gather in the squares below, their voices, young and old, rising in a hopeful murmur. They weren't just being heard; they were being listened to.
"The city doesn't need to be run by the old or the young," she said softly. "It needs to be run by the wise. And wisdom," she added, her green eyes sparkling, "can be found anywhere, if you're just willing to learn."