by Penny Reid
“No?” His expression fell, morphing into a frown.
“No. I don’t want your help.”
“Oh.” He took a step back. When he spoke next his voice dropped an octave. “Then I guess me asking you to sign a consent form for our study so we can use your data is completely out of the question?”
I had no choice. I squinted at Matt Simmons, squinted at him as though he were a peculiarity.
Because he was. Like a stubborn rash.
“Tell me something, Matt.” I made no attempt to hide the hostility in my tone, making sure to over-pronounce the “t” at the end of his name. “What is the purpose of your study? To piss off as many women in Chicago as possible?”
“No,” he ground out, mirroring my eye-squint.
And wasn’t that just the kicker? Him. Squinting at me.
No.
I wasn’t the one who’d lied, misrepresented my identity, and then tried to run an experiment on him. He had no right to squint at me. No right.
“Really? That’s too bad. Because if pissing people off had been the purpose, you’d be achieving your goals.”
“My aims are quite the opposite, Marie.” He over-pronounced the “e,” intensifying my irritation. “And they’re entirely altruistic, which you would have known if you’d stayed through the entire interview.”
“So tell me now,” I scoffed. “Tell me all about your philanthropic objectives.”
“I didn’t say they were philanthropic.” He lifted his chin. “I said they were altruistic.”
My. God.
How could one person be so unbelievably irritating?
“Never mind. Forget I asked.” I cut my hand through the air, stepping back, intent on shutting him out.
Again he stopped me, this time placing his palm against the door. But it wasn’t his holding the door open that kept me from shutting it.
“I’m building an AIC, an Artificial Intelligence Companion—or as mine is called, the Compassion AI—as a replacement for human relationships.” The words tumbled from his mouth, effectively halting my movements. “In simple terms, the goal is to build a realistic, humanoid robot who will hopefully—one day—nullify or supplement in every meaningful way our dependency on compassionate human interactions, emotional, physical, or otherwise.”
I wasn’t aware that my mouth had fallen open. Nor that it remained open for several, wordless seconds. Not until his gaze dropped to my lips, and a small smile—one that struck me as remarkably wily—tugged at the corner of his mouth and kindled a twinkle in his eye.
“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”
I shook my head, snapping my mouth shut and swallowing. “No. I wasn’t,” I admitted freely, still frowning at him while I attempted to make sense of his claims.
“Life is full of surprises,” he quipped, using my earlier words.
But I was stuck on the notion of a replacement for human relationships.
“Why?” I asked before I could catch myself.
“Why?” he echoed, removing his hand from the door and stuffing it back in his pocket.
“Yes. Why would you want to do that? Why would you want to replace human relationships?”
“Because,” his eyes skated over me as though he felt the answer was obvious, “because I can.”
“You want to build a robot to replace humanity because you can?”
“No. Not humanity. Merely our archaic dependence on each other as a source of fulfillment and support.”
“Archaic dependence?”
“Yes.”
“You think relying on another person is archaic?”
“It’s not archaic if it’s a choice, freely made and healthy.” He shrugged, his tone growing lofty, academic. “But, I do think the practice of sacrificing oneself at the altar of physical urges and the fantasy of emotional equivalence in the pursuit of empathy, endorphins, and tachycardia is archaic.”
Sex. He means sex, right?
Right?
. . . Right?
I released a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head at this man. My initial assessment had been correct. He was completely crazy.
Crossing my arms once more, I lifted my chin and peered at him, wondering what kind of odd road he’d traveled that had brought him to this place.
“You don’t like sex?” I asked, because it was the pertinent question.
His gaze narrowed, his features growing irritated. “Of course I like sex. I fucking love sex.”
For some reason, the words fucking, love, and sex coming out of his oddly pouty lips while his remarkably attractive eyes—hooded and provoked—stared defiant daggers at me sent a prickle of awareness shooting down my spine and up my neck.
I ignored it.
“You’re telling me the entire point of your experiment is to create a sex robot?”
“No. Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth. “The entire point is to give the world’s population an alternative to the imperfection and inherently inferior nature of human relationships. To provide healthy companionship, full of compassion, when the only other alternative is dysfunction, disappointment, indifference, and pain. I would no more call my AIC merely a ‘sex robot’ than I would call Greg and Fiona merely ‘sex partners.’”
This analogy and claim gave me pause, partially because I could see he believed what he was saying, and partially because his aims—to alleviate and remove disappointment and pain from a relationship—struck a chord.
“This is crazy,” I said without conviction, because it felt like the right thing to say.
And yet, even as I spoke the words, a voice somewhere inside my brain whispered, Why?
Why is this so crazy?
Because it’s new? Novel? Cutting-edge? Revolutionary? So was Galileo’s theory that the earth revolved around the sun and not the other way around. For that matter, so was electricity. So were cars and planes and computers and the Internet. Maybe this wasn’t crazy. Maybe this was the next logical step in our evolution.
If you can’t find companionship with another person, why not find it with a compassion robot?
5
Buddy
A companion robot that is meant to improve your everyday life. The robot protects your home, offers assistance in the kitchen, entertains the family with music and videos, acts as a calendar and alarm clock, and interfaces with popular smart home solutions.
Source: Blue Frog Robotics
“I think it’s brilliant,” Greg declared, leaning back in his chair.
As usual, no one knew if Greg was serious, or being sardonic to make a point.
Fiona shot her husband a disgusted look. “Is this your way of saying you’d like to replace me with a robot?”
We—Greg, Fiona, Janie, Quinn, Matt, and I—were gathered around the long dining room table at Fiona and Greg’s. When Jack had mentioned to Fiona that Matt had stopped by, Fiona asked if I was okay with Matt coming over to share dinner. I was happy for him to join us as I was markedly curious about his artificial intelligence work.
Presently, the kids were asleep, and the conversation had finally turned to Matt’s research.
“Of course not, darling.” Greg’s tone was pacifying. “Everyone already knows you are a robot, well half robot. On your mother’s side.”
This earned him an amused glower from his wife.
“I, for one, will welcome our robot overlords.” I giggled from behind my cocktail as Fiona’s eyes shifted to mine. I might have had a little too much to drink.
“Don’t encourage him,” she said.
“I think we should encourage him,” Janie piped up unexpectedly, an odd edge in her voice. “Think about it. Really think about it, all the people out there without partners, for whatever reason. Or growing up with parents indifferent to their children.”
“Exactly.” Matt hit the table with his palm. “Clearly, this woman is brilliant.”
This comment earned him a glare from Quinn, who was infamously territorial with his wife and had beco
me more so during Janie’s pregnancy.
Janie arched her back, pressing her fingertips into the base of her spine. I felt so sad for her, clearly she was terribly uncomfortable. “I don’t think you have to be brilliant to grasp the practical applications of an AI focused on providing compassion.”
“So the answer is to stop looking for a partner? To stop expecting people to be good parents? To give up on humanity?” Fiona glanced between Janie and Matt.
“Why is it giving up?” Matt countered softly, not arguing; rather, he sounded curious, interested in Fiona’s opinion.
“Because you’re substituting a robot for a human. Robots make no demands, have no feelings. You can’t be challenged—to be better, to be more—by a robot.”
Greg cut in thoughtfully, “Not to play devil’s advocate—”
At this, we all scoffed. All of us. Even Quinn. Synchronized eye-rolling.
Greg clutched his chest and turned an offended look on his wife. “Et tu, Fiona? Et. Tu.”
“Please.” Fiona gave her husband a dry look. “You have an honorary degree in advocacy for the devil from Harvard.”
“And you passed the bar in the sixth circle of hell.” Matt grinned.
“Just get on with it,” Quinn mumbled under his breath, encouraging Janie to turn slightly in her chair so he could rub her lower back.
“Fine.” Greg pinched his lips together and sniffed, clearly attempting to appear offended. The effect was ruined by the mischievous twinkle in his eye. “As I was saying, not to play devil’s advocate, but isn’t a vibrator more or less a robot?”
Quinn gritted his teeth and quietly seethed, clearly irritated or made uncomfortable by the direction of the conversation.
“No,” I scoffed, wrinkling my nose.
“Why not?” he asked. “It is a machine, is it not? It’s programmed with settings. It has an on/off switch. Just because a vibrator doesn’t have a face doesn’t mean it’s not a robot. The fact is, women have already been in flagrante delicto with robots. For years.”
The room plunged into a contemplative silence where many brows were furrowed.
Greg continued his thought, his tone more thoughtful and serious than before. “The fact is, robots have been quietly replacing humans since the industrial revolution. To me, this seems like the next logical step.”
“How have robots been replacing humans?” Fiona countered.
“Manufacturing, for one.”
“Companionship and car manufacturing are not the same,” she persisted. “You could never replace highly-skilled labor with a robot.”
“You say that, ex-CIA, but the government’s drone program is thriving. Robots are already doing the job of the military’s skilled assassins, without the risk to US soldiers.” Greg’s response was matter-of-fact, yet tinged with an unmistakable hint of discontent.
“Did you know Japan has already been using robots to solve their nursing shortage?” Matt asked quietly.
“What?” Fiona made a face.
“It’s true.” Janie tilted her neck to one side as Quinn’s hands moved to her shoulders. “They call it Terapio, and it’s doing many of the tasks—albeit, lower-level tasks—required of a registered nurse.”
Matt nodded at Janie’s statement. “Gamble is working on a similar model for the USA.”
“Didn’t you used to work for Gamble?” Fiona eyed Matt.
“Yes,” Matt confirmed. “In fact, they want me to—”
Quinn exhaled impatiently. “Let’s get back to why Japan is replacing nurses with robots.”
“Ah, yes. An aging population with a low birthrate means they don’t have enough nurses and caregivers to support the needs of the elderly. In addition to Terapio, they also have—and I’m not making this up—Robear, a robot with a bear face that replaces caregiver tasks in nursing homes.”
“Why a bear face?” Quinn asked, his hands stilling on Janie’s back, confused curiosity wrinkling his forehead.
“They said they wanted to project an air of friendliness and cleanliness, and I guess the cute bear face does the job.” Matt shrugged, adding, “But replacing humans in the labor force isn’t the only use for robots. Robot companions—on a much less complex scale than what I’m hoping to develop—already exist.”
Janie pointed at Matt excitedly. “Like Buddy, right? The family robot companion. I want one of those.”
“You do?” Quinn leaned to one side, studying his wife’s profile. “Why?”
“They’re neat,” she said.
“Neat,” Quinn echoed flatly.
“It’s like a combination of WALL-E, R2-D2, and Siri,” Matt explained. “The practical applications are limitless. It can replace all the other little robots you already use or are planning on using. A security system, a baby monitor, a fire and CO2 detector, a phone, a camera, a video camera, a thermostat, power switch, a resource for at-your-fingertips information and interface to the Internet. As well as an interface for your other robots—like ovens and refrigerators—it responds to voice command. And when your children get older, it can interact with them, entertain them, and help with their homework. One of the future upgrades will allow it to play hide-and-seek.”
Greg turned to Fiona, his eyes wide, his mouth open. “Why don’t we have a Buddy?”
“I’m not getting a Buddy,” she responded flatly. “We don’t need it.”
“But it’s neat,” he argued. “We don’t need a dog, but you want one of those. Instead we could get a robot.”
“They have robot dogs.” Matt was grinning again, his eyes moving between Fiona and Greg.
Now that I no longer thought of him as a psychopath, I gave myself permission to think his grin was attractive, because it was. Really attractive. Irritatingly so.
Before Greg could speak, Fiona shook her head. “No. We’re not getting a robot dog.”
“Why not? Less mess, less to clean up, less—”
“That’s exactly my point,” she countered passionately. “I want the kids to learn about responsibility, empathy, how to care for another being, what it’s like to be needed and the grave obligation that carries. All a robot needs is to be plugged in. But a dog—a real one—teaches them to think about someone other than themselves. How are we supposed to teach our children compassion if we remove all inconveniences from the world around them?”
“But what about people who can’t do those things, Fiona? Like the elderly, the disabled? The abandoned?” Matt asked, drawing Fiona’s eyes to him.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Fiona’s gaze softening with what looked like sympathy. “Matt, the love of a parent cannot be replaced with—”
“You say that,” he shook his head, his voice holding an edge of frustration, his eyes flashing with restrained vehemence, “but maybe some parents should be replaced. An AI specifically programmed to nurture would be a hell of an improvement in some cases.”
“I agree with Matt.” Janie pointed at the scientist.
“He has a good point.” Greg nodded.
Fiona sputtered.
“You can’t love a robot,” I challenged, finally giving voice to the most central issue with his scheme, at least from my perspective.
“Yet.” Matt moved his narrowed eyes to mine. “Panasonic just unveiled a home companion robot that uses a child-like voice and expressions in order to encourage bonding with the device. And it’s working. Researchers at the University of Connecticut have been looking into making a robot that makes ethical decisions. A team in Thailand has created an AI with impressive emotional intelligence, that makes its own decisions regarding what to say based on a person’s expression, physical cues, and tone of voice. It even remembers previous conversations with different people. Researchers have robots playing games like Minecraft as a way to learn human logic. The technology is advancing rapidly.”
I stared at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was exciting news, but it didn’t feel like good news. Like Fiona had said, it fe
lt like giving up. Like we were handing over the keys to our humanity, giving it away for free for the sake of saving ourselves from being inconvenienced.
Matt, holding my gaze captivated with his handsome, expressive, and clearly intelligent eyes, said, “The question is no longer whether AI will play a big role in our future. The question is when.”
Quinn and Janie left shortly after the conclusion of our advancements in AI technology conversation. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable no matter how she sat or stood or reclined. Her lack of well-being made Quinn visibly agitated, so no one was surprised when he suggested they head out.
Professor Simmons and I soon followed, departing at the same time by coincidence rather than by design. I was looking forward to getting home, crawling into my bed, and sorting through my thoughts while watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun.
This was all so fascinating and terrifying. And how did more people not know about the advances in AI? And how could I make them aware?
Once Greg shut the door to their apartment, Matt stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “Hey, wait a minute.”
I turned, regarding him tiredly. “Yes?”
“The pizza . . .” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, dropping his hand from my arm and stuffing it in his pocket as he scrutinized me. “It was fantastic. Thank you.”
Despite my lingering dislike for the man, his comment made me smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to consent for your data to be part of the research study?”
And just like that, my smile fell. “No. I don’t. I don’t consent.”
“Why not?” he asked, still scrutinizing me in that open, unapologetic way of his.
“Because I don’t like your methods and I’m not convinced that what you’re doing is for the greater good.”
But I sure could use a glimpse at your data about online dating websites for an article I’m working on.
Now that was an interesting thought. If I could convince Matt to give me an overview of his findings thus far, it would definitely provide a thought-provoking angle to the article Tommy and I were writing.
