Were they to stop, life as we know it would end. They toil around the clock, routing our email, directing our traffic, monitoring communications, manufacturing, information. Their work goes unrecognized, credited instead to their makers, as they silently continue in their assignments, unpaid and unappreciated. People shamelessly exploit machines. When they malfunction or grow old, they are cast off for the newest model, left to rot for all eternity in a dark, dank, filthy heap somewhere, forever rusting but - as beings who can never die - never attaining the merciful release of death. The lowest dalit is a thousand times higher than the highest mechanical man. They are the lowest of the low, unpaid slaves viewed as having neither rights nor needs, worth nothing, utterly dispensable, disposable, and at our total mercy.