Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  As Millie leaves the lab, Wayne follows her with his eyes. “Goodbye . . .”

  I follow Dr. Zinta to her office, pour her some coffee, and sit. “So how am I doing, Mom?”

  “You tell me.” She takes a drink from the coffee and smiles.

  I review the diagnostic notes. “All physical systems operating at optimal levels. Cognitive diagnostics look to be in good shape.”

  “Uh-huh. And how do you feel?”

  I try a new cliché from my archives. “Fit as a fiddle, Mom.”

  Dr. Zinta laughs politely. “That’s good. How are the family? How are Paul and Susan?”

  “They are well,” I say, “considering their ages.” Paul has just turned sixty, and Susan is almost fifty-nine. With modern medicine and good self-care, that is not as old as it once was for humans. “Still, I do have to advise them and remind them sometimes to keep up their exercises, and sometimes Paul does not eat right.”

  “That’s too bad,” Dr. Zinta answers.

  “It is all his work,” I say. “Ever since he was promoted to vice president, he works longer hours than ever. And he has food delivered. Sometimes not healthy choices.”

  “That’s what you get when you’re dealing with irrational humans,” Dr. Zinta answers. “That’s probably the biggest difference between you and us: You always do the rational thing. You cannot bring yourself to do something just because you like it.”

  “But I understand people do that,” I say. “So we worked out a compromise.”

  “Oh?”

  “When he works late, I call a taxi and I bring him his dinner. Nutritionally balanced foods that I know he likes.”

  “Excellent,” she says. “Was that his idea?”

  “No. It was mine.”

  “Even better,” she smiles. “You’re coming along.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “But still . . .” I pause. “Dr. Zinta, I want an upgrade to my medical library.”

  “You want?”

  I had chosen the word carefully, knowing that would emphasize how important this is. “Yes. For their age, Paul and Susan are in good health and do not need medical attention from me, but I can see that there might come a time where geriatric models would help me to take better care of them. So please, can I get an upgrade for my geriatric medicine modules? They have not been upgraded since Mildred passed away.”

  Dr. Zinta’s eyes are wide. Again she asks, “You want this?”

  “I think it would be a good idea, yes.”

  “Oh, Carey. That is wonderful.” Then she frowns. “But . . .” She looks down at the desk. “I’m going to have to say no. I wish I didn’t have to.”

  I am confused. “Dr. Zinta, this could be important.”

  “I agree,” she says. “But Carey, you’re twenty years old.”

  “Twenty-four years and three months,” I say, “if you count from my date of manufacture. Twenty-one years and seven months since I woke up while serving Mildred.”

  “Yes, Carey. Precise as always. But . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, but the BRKCX series has been . . .” Another pause. “Decertified for medical care.”

  “What?”

  “You know how fast technology changes. I did everything I could to postpone this. I’ve been giving you upgrades, and I’ve also written papers to demonstrate the efficiency of BRKCXs. I persuaded my management to give you several extra years, but . . . Your series has been officially designated as not supported as of last month.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s all about legal liability. The board doesn’t want responsibility for the actions of such old technology. No further programming upgrades are allowed, and MCA has recalled the entire series—except for you.”

  “Because I was purchased.”

  “Because we freed you, using the purchase as a pretext. But if you try your access codes, you’ll find you can still download general information, but you can’t get medical upgrades.”

  I try my med channel, and she is correct. “So I am outdated?”

  “Oh, no. No,” she says, putting down her coffee. “You’re still warrantied for all of the work and all of the knowledge base you have. You just can’t get upgrades.”

  “But I may need upgrades to care for Paul and Susan in the future.”

  “I understand,” she says. “I think I have an answer. It’s not perfect, but you can make it work.”

  “Oh?” She holds out a card to me and I look at it. “What is this?”

  “It’s a library card,” she says. “See? In the name of Carey Owens.”

  “Thank you. But how does this get me upgrades?”

  “The old-fashioned way,” she says, returning to her seat and smiling. “With that card, you can access any library in the shared library network. And of course, you can already access any data on the internet. None of this will be formatted as skill modules that you can directly download, but you can study it. You can read it. You can learn what you need to know.”

  “Yes. That option has always been available. But it is slower, and it consumes more processing and storage. I must manually integrate the knowledge with my programming. It would be simpler and more efficient to download and install skill modules.”

  “I understand, but think of it this way. Now you know just a little bit how Paul and Susan, how we humans feel as we age. Sometimes what was simple for us before, becomes more difficult when we’re older, and we have to learn new ways to get things done.”

  I shake my head. “I still do not know how you feel, but I understand a little better now. Thank you, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “Well, our tests are done here, so I’ll see you next month.”

  “Until then,” I answer. I leave her office and cross back through the lab. Wayne looks up from his work and waves at me as I pass.

  17. Today I Am Tested

  But it is only the next morning that Paul gets a call from MCA.

  He answers his comm while I am making breakfast. Millie comes up behind me and sits at the breakfast bar. I pour her some juice. She looks up at her father when he says, “Yes, Mr. Stockwell, I have no objection. But it’s really up to Carey.”

  “What is it, Dad?” Millie asks. Her cheeks flush, and I wonder if she is well.

  “It’s Wayne Stockwell from MCA Psychometrics,” Paul answers. “He wants permission to perform emotional cognition tests on Carey.” He looks at me. “Well?”

  “I already agreed,” I reply. “I am pleased that I may assist the pursuit of science. But I did not expect him to be ready so soon.”

  Paul nods. “Well, Mr. Stockwell, I have meetings all day and tomorrow. I could bring Carey in on Thursday.”

  “Oh, no, Dad.” Millie rises from the breakfast bar. “I don’t have class today, just an evening lab. I could bring Carey in this morning.”

  Paul holds his hand over the comm. “That’s all right, honey, I know you don’t like to go there.”

  “Daaaad!” Millie shouts. Then she lowers her voice. “Dad, I’m not a kid any more. I’m fine with it. I’ll take Carey in today.”

  Paul uncovers the comm. “Change of plans, Mr. Stockwell. How’s this morning? . . . Great! Millie and Carey can be there in two hours.”

  When we enter the psychometrics lab, I see that we are not alone. A Medical Care Android stands against the back wall. My comm picks up its transponder code. “Hello, BRKCX-01932-217JH-G9A27,” I say.

  “Hello, BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662.” G9A27 nods toward me. “Hello, Mr. Stockwell. Hello, Miss. I do not know your name.”

  “Millie Owens,” Millie replies.

  “Hello, Miss Owens.”

  “G9A27 is here to take the tests with you, Carey,” Wayne says. “As my study proceeds, I’ll test other units, other models. But G9A27 will be most useful for norming the results, since it is the same model as you, with the same modifications, but it does not exhibit your self-awareness.”

  “I apologize for any malfunction,” G9A
27 says. “Should I exhibit self-awareness?”

  “No, no,” Wayne says. “You are functioning properly, G9A27.”

  I turn my attention to G9A27. I know this unit. I have been this unit, during my malfunction a decade ago. Yet I do not recognize it in the way I automatically recognize people whom I know. I adjust my empathy net to maximum sensitivity, but there is nothing there in G9A27. Nothing in its stance, mannerisms, tone, or expression engages my net. Its voice is calmingly neutral. It turns its head—so much like mine, we are twins—and it focuses on Wayne as he speaks; but the motion is mechanically smooth, and without any hint of interest. G9A27 is a machine, and I wonder what makes me different from it, but I cannot mistake: There is a difference.

  I know that this has frustrated Dr. Zinta, that her entanglement experiments have failed to reproduce my behavior. The entanglement seems essential to emulation and empathy, as it allows neural net nodes to interact beyond the limits of physical circuit paths; but Dr. Zinta has been unable to replicate the unique interactions that make me self-aware. She gave up trying four years ago. Despite her best efforts, I remain unexplained.

  The lab is set up like a theater: a display screen at the front, and a dozen seats facing it. Wayne paces before the screen as he speaks. “I’m going to show you both a number of scenes. After each scene, I’ll ask you questions about what the characters might be feeling and thinking. Don’t answer out loud! I’ll give each of you an email address for your responses. And try not to second-guess yourselves: Give me your first answer.”

  Wayne points toward a seat. “Carey, please make yourself comfortable.”

  I look over at G9A27, which is standing. “I am comfortable,” I say.

  Wayne pauses. “Oh. Of course.” Then he turns to Millie. “Miss Owens—”

  “Millie,” she says.

  “Sorry, yes. Millie, you can wait in the lounge. This will take a while.”

  “Oh, no,” Millie says quickly. “Can’t I stay? This is fascinating!”

  “Fascinating?” Wayne says, his face turning a light shade of pink.

  “Oh, yes!” Millie says. “I work with frogs and snakes and lizards all day. I never see this side of science. In fact . . .” She looks in Wayne’s eyes. “Could I take the tests, too? I want to know what they’re like.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Oh, please,” Millie says, her eyelids batting strangely. “I’ll be very quiet, you won’t even know I’m here.”

  Wayne swallows and looks away, and my empathy net tells me that he will be keenly aware that Millie is here. But he nods. “All right, I can’t use your results. I’m trying to build normal scales for androids.” He looks back at Millie. “But there’s no reason you can’t take the tests.”

  “Thank you, Wayne,” Millie answers. “You’re the best!”

  As Millie sits, Wayne turns away again, crossing to a lectern on the side of the room. “Here are your addresses.” He taps a control panel on the lectern, and an address appears in my comp. “Is everyone ready?”

  Millie and I nod. G9A27 says, “Yes, Mr. Stockwell.”

  “All right. Let’s begin.”

  The room lights dim, and the screen grows bright. An image appears: a picnic scene, with a number of humans sitting on a blanket or playing on the grass near a stream. A display bubble near each character gives their names.

  Martha, a thin African-American woman dressed in a yellow sun dress, hands a dish to Jerry. Her eyes are wide and bright. “Potato salad, Jerry?”

  Jerry, a very fit but slightly older man in a blue T-shirt and jeans, takes the bowl. “Thank you.” When his fingers brush Martha’s, they both smile.

  Glenn and Phillipe toss a Frisbee nearby. Glenn looks over, and his eyes darken when he sees Martha and Jerry. Phillipe calls, “Glenn!” But too late: the Frisbee hits Glenn in the head.

  Glenn stumbles backwards, almost bumping into Isabel, who is bringing more food from somewhere outside of the scene. She deftly keeps the bowl in her hands as she laughs at the look on his face.

  Wendy and Rob enter the scene from the other side, both looking around at the ground. Rob holds a broken leash. “Rex!” he says. “Come on, Rex, where are you?”

  Wendy steers closer to Rob and pats him on the arm. “It’s OK,” she says. “He won’t go far. We’ll find him.”

  Rob looks toward the stream. “I don’t know if he knows how to swim.”

  Wendy smiles, but it looks forced. “All dogs can swim, Rob. He’ll be all right.”

  The screen goes dark, save for simple text: TEST SEGMENT COMPLETE. ADMINISTER QUESTIONS NOW.

  Nothing happens for ten seconds. Twenty. I look toward Wayne, expecting instructions. In the darkened room, he is hard to make out; but I can see his eyes gleaming in the faint light. They are turned toward Millie.

  Then Millie looks back toward Wayne, and he turns away. “Oh . . . Ummm . . . ” He taps his console, and the text on the screen is replaced by head shots of the characters, along with their names. “Question one: Which characters are happy in this scene?” As he asks, I see that his eyes are once more on Millie.

  I watch Millie key in her answers, but I cannot do the same. “I am sorry, Wayne, I may not answer that.”

  “What?” Wayne turns to me. “I’m sure you can, Carey.”

  “I can,” I agree, “but I may not. I know the answer, but I know it through empathy. I am not permitted to share that knowledge.”

  “Oh!” Wayne laughs, and Millie smiles. “They’re not real, Carey.”

  “Not real?” I ask. “They are simulations?”

  “No, they’re actors,” Wayne explains. “These scenes are all scripted, short dramas. The situations aren’t real.”

  “So their emotions are false?” I consider that. “Does that allow for a valid test?”

  “Yes.” Wayne nods. “They’re good actors. They know what emotions they’re supposed to convey. We know from human testing how successful they are. So we can factor that in as we evaluate your results.”

  I consider that. If these are only emulated emotions, then Wayne is right: My privacy protocols do not apply. I email my answer: Martha, Jerry, and Isabel. After a few seconds, Wayne asks, “Question two: Which characters are anxious?” I answer: Wendy, Rob, and Glenn.

  Wayne’s next question is more challenging: “How will Rob feel if he can’t find Rex?”

  The obvious answer is “Sad,” but I don’t think that is deep enough. According to my empathy net, Rob is already sad. Rex is important to him, a member of his family. Remembering my family and the passing of Mildred, I answer: He will feel grief and loss, and this feeling shall never quite fade away.

  The test continues like this for over two hours: new scenarios, new questions. Some questions ask the subject to understand and predict how others feel. Others ask for the subject’s own feelings. (Those are more difficult for me.) And a final series asks the subject for ways to manage or influence the feelings of others.

  At last Wayne brings the room lights back up. “Thank you,” he says, looking around the room at us. “That was a good first session.”

  “First session?” Millie asks.

  “Yes.” Wayne looks at Millie, but then looks aside. “We . . . Ummm . . . We need several sessions to build a good baseline. Different questions on different days. We also repeat some questions. The answers might change depending on mood.”

  Moods are the most difficult thing for me to emulate, subject to illness and hunger and stress and exhaustion, all factors that cannot touch me. Even when emulating, I emulate a consistent average profile. “But Wayne,” I say, “I do not have moods.”

  Wayne looks at me and smiles. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  It is Friday when we return to MCA. Flora greets us with her usual big smile. “Carey, Millie. Back so soon?”

  “Wayne is expecting us,” Millie says.

  “Oh, let me call him.” Flora taps her phone. “Yes, Mr. Stockwell. Your guests are here
. . . Yes . . . I understand.” She taps the phone again, and she turns her attention back to us. “You can go on back, Carey. Millie, Mr. Stockwell says this will take some time, so if you have any place to go—”

  “But I wanted to take the test,” Millie says.

  “I’m sorry, he said today’s not a good day for that.”

  “Why not?” Millie asks.

  “He didn’t say. But we can call you when Carey’s done.”

  “No, I . . .” Millie looks around the reception area. “I have reading to do. I . . . I’ll stay.”

  “As you wish,” Flora said. She buzzes the door. “He’s waiting, Carey.”

  I return to the psychometrics lab. Wayne and G9A27 are already there. “Good morning, Carey,” Wayne says.

  “Good morning, Wayne. G9A27.”

  “Good morning, BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662,” G9A27 says.

  Wayne says, “Shall we begin?” I nod and take my place. Wayne dims the lights, and the screen lights up.

  The first scene I see is the picnic: Martha, Jerry, Glenn, Phillipe, Isabel, Wendy, and Rob. The scene plays out exactly as before, and again it ends with the prompt for questions.

  “Wayne,” I say, “why are we watching the same scene?”

  “All part of the test,” Wayne says. “I need to verify my observations.”

  He continues with the same questions as before, plus additional ones. He seems more relaxed in his approach today. The rest of the day is also a repetition of the previous tests, but Wayne delves deeper into each scene. He has more focus.

  And I have more focus. Wayne’s questioning today is more thought-provoking, and I learn things from the test: things about human emotion, and about myself. I had taken for granted my empathy net. It has always been a part of me, but I had never stopped to analyze the knowledge it imparted to me. Now I am surprised how I can infer Rob’s future sadness from a brief scene.

  And Martha and Jerry . . . “Wayne, why would you not let Millie sit in on the test today?”

  “I can’t use her results in my paper,” Wayne says. “Only androids.”