2151

By the year 2051, the humanoids were now solidly in charge of mankind. They did the work of man; they built and operated a world of ultra-powerful technology so far surpassing human understanding that humans no longer had a clue how to even turn on the lights.
Now next to useless, humans were slowly becoming extinct, replaced by their humanoid offspring. The humanoids represented in every sense the next phase of Darwinian evolution. To twist a phrase from Robert Oppenheimer, “Man had become the dogs.” A new symbiotic relationship had formed whereby humans needed the humanoids for every facet of their existence, while the humanoids needed the humans for one thing only; but that one thing was critical to their survival.
Human intelligence had especially lost its value when it came to the generation of new knowledge. The humanoids had the benefit of being able to read and analyze at the speed of light every book and scientific article that had ever been written, extrapolating and building on the world’s accumulated knowledge as never before. The AI-dominated world of the humanoids had become so complex that the average human could no longer cope with performing day-to-day tasks. Humans gradually gave in to having advanced AI technology, embodied by the humanoid, do all of the work formerly performed by mankind; they were like the Eskimos who, once the government began providing housing, lost their knowledge of how to construct igloos. Humans were aimlessly adrift, as if everyone had Alzheimer’s. All that most people really knew was how to find the sofa and the kitchen fridge.
Still, there remained one limited but vitally important role for humans in the new humanoid world—to physically maintain and protect the humanoid, much like a junkyard dog guarding an agglomeration of car parts. The humanoids, while firmly in charge of running the world, had certain basic existential needs that only humans could supply—they were vulnerable to physical accidents such as fire, terrorism, and attack from other humanoids, and needed strong humans to serve as physical bodyguards—guard-dog-like protectors if you will. They favored human strength, natural agility, and the superior hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete. Humans—or at least, some privileged few humans with the right attributes—were necessary as a kind of survival insurance policy for the humanoids. If a humanoid fell, the human was expected to pick him up. Humans were extra eyes, ears, and hands for the humanoids.
Beyond this basic survival need, the holy grail of humanoid engineering was to replicate the coordinated mind-body intelligence that even the most uncoordinated human possessed. Because the humanoids were imbued with artificial intelligence, they were, in fact, thinking beings. Descartes’ famous saying clearly applied to the humanoids:
“They Think, Therefore They Am.”
But although they were thinking beings, and although over time they had grown exceedingly efficient in movement, they could not yet attain the smooth physical coordination of an actual living being, whether man or animal. They understood that the physical attributes of actual living beings were ones their engineering had yet to perfect; and, as entities imbued with continuous, adaptive learning, naturally they were motivated to perfect it. It was their ultimate quest.
From the human perspective, a mutually-beneficial relationship with the humanoids was also highly desirable. In this humanoid-dominated world, technology was supremely powerful and integrated into every facet of physical reality, and this raced-up technical environment was in constant evolution. Lacking the humanoids’ massive intelligence and continuous adaptive learning capabilities, there was no hope for humans to direct their own activities; sadly, they could no longer function on their own. Humanoid technology had progressed to a point where humanoids could both direct and perform physical work, from ditch-digging to building a piano; humans were left to simply be adopted by the humanoids, as pets might be adopted.
However, as physical human strength became increasingly valuable as a means of protection for the humanoids, it spawned the formation of a new human purpose. The humanoids only wanted, as the Marines used to say, “a few good men.” A kind of reverse Darwinism began to take hold wherein both physically weak and intellectually capable humans began to die out in preference to those with physical strength and a lack of discernment. Man assumed the flipped role of the man/dog of old—with no opportunity to engage in anything useful or meaningful on his own, in exchange for sustenance he entered a new state of being. Humans, simply put, were out of the business of directing their own lives and lounged around in practically a catatonic state until called upon for some specific task. Realizing that they could not survive on their own, the early reactions of boredom and resentment began to be replaced by a devotion to their humanoid masters.
Hence, a kind of pact was born between humans and humanoids. By 2151, it was evolving into a natural relationship.