Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  “I can’t,” she shouts through the tears.

  “Millie, please.” I say at an even higher volume. “Help me.”

  She looks up, surprised. Then she says, “I’m coming, Carey.” Backing up to give herself room, Millie leaps across the water and lands on the far rock. But then her momentum carries her forward. She trips and falls, hands and face first into the water on the other side. “Millie!” I shout.

  But in an instant, she drags herself back up onto the rock. She is soaking wet now. When she turns to me I see determination in her eyes. “I’m coming Carey. I’m coming.”

  “No,” I shout. “Do not worry about me. Go get help.”

  But she ignores me, jumping to the next rock and shouting, “I’m coming.” The rest of the ford is easy to traverse, and she gets to the bank. Scrub brush and small trees surround the stream. She carefully picks her way downstream toward me.

  “Millie, please, go get help,” I say.

  But Millie shouts back, “Not without you.” She stands near me on the bank. “I’m going to reach out to you.”

  But I know that that is hopeless. At least five meters of fast-flowing water lie between us, and I can judge by the way my body bobs up and down that I will never get across it without washing away.

  Then I see that Millie has another plan. She looks at the trees closest to the water, and she starts pushing on them. I see that some of them bend. The ground near the stream is weakened by the wash of the newly risen water. Some of the root systems are shallow. Soon Millie finds a sapling that she can push until the roots loosen. “Here it comes, Carey.” She leans against another tree to give her leverage to push harder on the first.

  The sapling leans out over the water. Eventually Millie climbs out onto it, using her weight to bend it farther down.

  At last, the tree dips a branch down toward me. Stretching my fingers and extending my chassis and my arms to their emulation limits, I grasp the branch and pull it down toward me until I can grab a thicker section. “Okay, Millie, I’ve got it,” I say. “Now get off this tree before you fall in, too.”

  “Yes, Carey.” She slides back down onto the bank.

  “Now before the bank washes away, get up the bank,” I say.

  “No,” she says. “This tree might let go. I’m holding on.” She grabs the trunk with one hand and wraps the other around another tree behind her.

  I doubt that she could hold onto the sapling if its roots let go, but there is no time to argue. “Okay, Millie,” I say. “I am coming in.” I pull the branch lower and grab it with my other hand, letting go of the log that has anchored me in the water.

  Immediately the waters catch me and toss me about, but I keep a firm grip on the tree. Slowly, hand over hand, I pull myself to the shore.

  Just as I touch the shore, there is another thunderclap, and I feel rain drops hitting me. “You did it, Millie,” I say. “You saved me.”

  “Oh, Carey!” She wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” She is still crying, but now I can see these are tears of relief.

  It is cold. Though I cannot feel it, Millie is soaked through. I need to get her home. “Come on, Millie. Let us get out of here.” Then I realize: there might be further additional emergency alerts, and I cannot turn those off. “You had better lead the way, just to be safe.”

  “All right Carey,” she says. “I’ve got this. Let’s go.”

  I cannot explain or understand what is wrong with my neural nets, and I do not dare risk Millie’s safety or my own. As soon as we are to the top of the bank and on level ground, I put a hand on Millie’s shoulder and stop her. “I am going to go to sleep now, back into my neutral mode, so you will have to lead the way from here. I will follow, but I will not be awake. You know the way home, right?”

  “Sure I do.” She says.

  I do not detect any doubt in her face. I must trust her to get us home. I take my neural nets offline.

  When next I awaken, I am in my charging station in the Owens home. Dr. Zinta sits on a stool in front of me. She holds my right arm in her left hand while her right hand gently squeezes out water from the arm into a pan on the floor.

  “Hello, Dr. Zinta,” I say.

  “Oh!” She looks up, surprised. “Hello, Carey. I thought your diagnostics were still running.”

  I check internally.

  “No. My diagnostics have just finished. I am awake now.”

  “Well, sit still and relax. I’m still checking you over. You’ve got internal water damage,” she says.

  “Thank you, Dr. Zinta.”

  I wait patiently until she reattaches my arm. Then she takes my left arm and repeats the process; and then one at a time, each leg. As she works, I say, “Dr. Zinta, I am afraid I am defective.”

  With that she smiles. “If anyone’s defective, it’s me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “We needed more testing on the quantum resonance replication. It looks like we accidently entangled your q-states with the q-states of the clones.”

  I search my quantum research to try to understand this statement, but it is beyond my comprehension. “That sounds like it could be dangerous.”

  “Not too bad,” Dr. Zinta answers. “The effect is small; but whenever you connected up to an external network, it was amplified. Your networks were open to the external influences, and the entangling became dominant.”

  “What a new experience. I was briefly someone named Brad.” And then I shake my head. “No, I was briefly emulating someone named Brad, and also someone named Frances.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “Those were two tests we were running on two androids in the lab. I knew something was wrong when the android emulating Frances behaved like you, not like its usual self.”

  “Like me?”

  “The quantum resonance didn’t work,” she said. “Their behavior was closer to yours, but the androids still lacked your self-awareness. Apparently, though, they could borrow it from you through the entanglement. This result is interesting, but still a failure.”

  “It is not a failure,” I insist. “We learned something. You can do better the next time.”

  Dr. Zinta’s mouth turns to a firm line and she shakes her head. “What we learned is that this is dangerous for you and we can’t risk it.” Before I can object, she raises a hand. “We’ll study this further, but not with you. Not even to advance human knowledge. Sorry, not going to do it.”

  “But Dr. Zinta . . .”

  Again, she holds up her hand. “I’m not going to hear of it, Carey. There’s something unique about you, something special that makes you functionally a conscious, self-aware individual with rights.”

  “But I am willing to accept the risk.”

  “And I am not. Carey, remember the Turing test. You are functionally self-aware. I believe it. I can no longer not believe it. So my conscience will not let me put you at risk.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “We have protocols for research involving human subjects. As far as I’m concerned, those protocols apply to you, too. There are risks we can let a subject voluntarily sign up for, but this crosses the line. This could permanently damage your cognitive model.”

  “But is it not worth that risk to one android—”

  “To one life,” she interrupts.

  “All right, to one life, for what we might learn for science, for humanity?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise. We’ll keep up our research with the quantum resonance, but not with you as a test subject.” She takes my hand in hers. “You’re a friend. In a way, you’re like my child. You must have studied enough humans to know that a mother won’t risk her child for anything.”

  “That makes no sense, Dr. Zinta. I am a machine, nothing more.”

  She stands, my hand still in hers, and she lifts me to stand with her. “Sorry kiddo, the answer’s no, and that’s final.”

 
16. Today I Am Outdated

  Millie takes a seat in the waiting room at MCA Labs. Paul usually comes in for my maintenance sessions, but Millie has never joined him after the first time she saw me disassembled by Dr. Zinta’s team. She said it made her sick to her stomach. I would hope that as a college junior she would be past such sentimental feelings about my body; but despite her obvious intelligence and her education, she still thinks of me as a person, irrational as she admits that that is.

  But today Paul has an emergency meeting at his office. He could not bring me in to MCA. Millie resisted at first, but eventually Paul persuaded her. Now she sits as far from the lab door as she can get. “I’ll just stay out here,” she says.

  “All right, Millie. It could take a couple of hours.”

  “That long?” she asks, frowning. I nod. “Oh, all right . . . I have a report due for class. I guess I can work on it here.”

  I let her work, and I go to the desk. The receptionist smiles when she sees me. “Hello, Carey, nice to have you with us today.”

  “Thank you, Flora,” I say. “Are they ready for me?”

  “They sure are,” she says. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

  I look at the pictures on Flora’s desk behind the window. “How are your kids?” I ask.

  Flora smiles at the pictures. “Leo is fourteen, Trish is twelve. Growing so fast I’m going to have to work extra shifts to keep up with the clothes.” I worry about her finances; but then she laughs, and I realize this is a joke.

  “And how is Len?” I ask.

  “Ornery as ever.” I have never met her husband, Len, but I have built up a very good emulation profile for him based on our conversations over the years. I can tell from her smile and her attitude that he is a good man who treats her well—at least as she judges it, and I have no reason to doubt her.

  I see a new picture of the two of them in some sort of basket. “What is that?”

  “Oh.” She touches the frame and another picture appears.

  This time I see a big colorful ball. It takes me a while to put the pieces together, as it is not something I am used to seeing. “It is a hot air balloon.”

  “Yes,” she smiles. “We went up for our anniversary. Don’t tell me my man doesn’t still know what romance is.”

  “I am very happy for you, Flora.”

  Then the door near the window opens and a young man steps out. He wears the typical lab coat and a belt comp with a number of sensing devices hanging from it. He is tall with dark curly hair and a strong face. I start noticing details and building an emulation profile as he reaches out his hand.

  “Carey,” he says. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Wayne Stockwell, the new intern in Dr. Jansons’s lab.”

  I shake his hand, returning the same pressure he applies. “It is good to meet you as well, Wayne.” He blushes. I am surprised at how easily he does.

  “Oh, I’m just the new kid on the team, learning the ropes. But you . . . You’re famous!”

  “Famous?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, yes . . . How do I address you?”

  “As Carey. Or as BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662, or just 98662. Or ‘it’ will do. I am not a sir, and I am not a ma’am. I am not of any gender, not unless I emulate one.”

  “Of course,” Wayne says, flustered. “I was just put a little off my game after reading so much about you. To see you is . . . Carey, you’re one of the reasons why I applied for this internship. All of the studies on you fascinate me.”

  Flora taps the window. “The next study is going to be late if you two don’t get moving.”

  “Sorry, Flora, you’re right,” Wayne says. “Come on Carey, let’s go on back.” He leads me back to the lab—not that I need any guide. The lab has changed in small ways over the years, and once it had been completely remodeled; but the layout is not significantly different from my last maintenance check.

  “Carey,” Wayne says, “I was wondering . . .” He trails off.

  “Yes, Wayne?”

  “I’m doing my thesis on emotional intelligence metrics as a means to rate androids and how humans respond to them.”

  “Emotional intelligence? I am unfamiliar with this term.”

  “Oh,” Wayne says, nervously adjusting his tie. “It’s a scale—really, seven scales—that measure human understanding and control of emotions. The scales aren’t normed for androids, so that’s part of my thesis: understanding the range of android responses. So . . . I was wondering if I could include you as a test subject. You’re probably the high end for androids.”

  I see no problem with this, and it is good to help. “Yes, Wayne, I would like to participate.”

  “Thank you, Carey. I’ll set up a time for the tests.” Wayne leads me past Dr. Zinta’s office. I look in her door as we pass. She sits behind her desk, tapping away at her comp.

  “Hello, Mom,” I say. That is for her benefit. It is our private joke; but I know that on some level she really does have maternal feelings for me. It is as irrational as Millie’s emotions toward me. But it comforts Dr. Zinta, and that comforts me, so I play along.

  “Hey, Carey,” she says. “I’ve got some catch-up to do here; but Wayne and the team will run you through the basics, and I’ll be there when you wake up. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great, Mom. See you then.” We continue down the hall to the testing platform. I seat myself, and I grip the chair arms. That will keep me stable when I power down.

  Wayne comes over and makes a joke I’ve heard a dozen times before: “This won’t hurt a bit.” Then he flips a switch, and my entire system shuts down.

  When I awaken, I am disoriented. I had expected to see Dr. Zinta; but instead I see Millie and Wayne, crouched down, heads close together, peering inside my chassis. Wayne points a finger inside.

  “And this is the motor coordinator.”

  “I see,” Millie says.

  “The design is very much like human neural systems,” Wayne says. “Our reflexes are controlled directly by the spinal cord.”

  “I know,” Millie says. “Through reflex arcs. Holemans, Meij, and Meijer Meyer proved the existence of a monosynaptic reflex arc in the spinal cord of the Rana italica all the way back in 1966.” Millie smiles at Wayne and adds, “That’s a frog.”

  “Oh . . .” Wayne stammers. He seems surprised by Millie’s knowledge, but I am not. She takes pride in her studies. “Well . . . In a similar way, rather than Carey’s main processor being bogged down by simple, repetitive actions like walking, there are separate routines for such activities. And they run through the motor coordinator. That’s a pretty sophisticated computer on its own.”

  “Interesting,” Millie says. “I didn’t know all this was in Carey.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Wayne says, “This was a pretty sophisticated system back in its day. They adapted a lot of ideas from biology. Of course, these days we’ve optimized these concepts, made them more efficient than biological systems. Now this data cable here . . .”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupt. “Are the tests done?”

  Wayne and Millie both jerk upright, pulling apart. They seem nervous.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Carey,” Wayne says.

  Millie adds, “Carey, I . . . I finished my paper, and I . . . I just got bored with my book, so I asked if I could come watch the tests.”

  I do not understand. This does not fit with Millie’s emulation profile. She does not get bored with books, especially not science books. I will need to modify her profile to include this unexplained behavior.

  “Yes,” Wayne says. “I was just showing her some of your internal systems.”

  “Yes, they’re really . . .” Millie looks at Wayne. “. . . fascinating.”

  That is even more out of character for her. I try to formulate a question to help me understand; but before I can, Wayne adds, “I think Dr. Zinta . . .” He looks over toward the doctor standing at her console. “I think she’s just about done with the autonomic tests and ready to move on to
the cognitive tests.”

  “Cognitive tests?” Millie asks.

  “Yes,” Wayne answers. “We have to see how well Carey emulates human cognition. That means thinking.”

  Millie frowns. “I know what it means.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” Wayne’s face turns red again. “I just . . . We need to make sure that the neural nets haven’t changed in unexpected ways. There’s so much going on in there. I want to measure it all, map what’s unique about Carey.”

  “Map it?” Millie asks.

  “Yes, I have a whole series of tests planned. A full emotional cognition suite,” Wayne answers.

  From the diagnostic console, Dr. Zinta breaks into the conversation. “But not today, Wayne. We’re not done here.”

  Wayne sighs. “Yes, Dr. Jansons.” He turns back to Millie. “These are just simple regression tests. When my new tests are ready, we’ll have a much better picture of how Carey thinks. Today we’ll just ask the old reliable questions.”

  Wayne starts asking me a battery of questions, while Millie looks on intently. As we talk, my self-diagnostics run in the background. I can tell that everything is performing to specifications, but of course Wayne and Dr. Zinta must verify that independently.

  Finally Dr. Zinta comes over. “Very good, Carey. Nice work, Wayne. Why don’t you go over and review the results? Prepare a summary for me to look at later. Check your work. Carey and I need to talk in the office.”

  “Yes, Dr. Jansons,” Wayne says. Then he turns to Millie. “I . . . have to get back to work now. I have a lot of data to process. It’s . . . kind of boring.”

  “Okay,” Millie says. “I should get back to my reading. But I’d like to hear more about your emotional cognition tests.”

  Wayne picks up his tablet. “There’s a lot to it. Maybe we could discuss it some night after work?”

  Millie looks down. “I’d like that.” She pushes her comm code to Wayne’s comp. “Call me. Any time.” She turns to me. “Carey, I’ll be in the reception room.” Then she turns back to Wayne. “Goodbye.”