Analog SFF, September 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "No, it has to be posted on-site by the end of today, so I need it earlier."

  "Oh. Shoulda told me earlier."

  "I did,” Andrew snapped. “Ms. Albano did, too, so don't pull that."

  "All right, I'll get it done. Don't worry, Andy."

  Jason reached down to tousle Andrew's hair. Andrew slapped at the hand. “Would you quit treating me like—” He quickly aborted the words I'm a child. “—you're doing me a favor, rather than your job?"

  The outburst froze a couple of workmates nearby. Jason looked shaken for a second, then broke out in a simper. “Aw, you're so adorable when you get mad."

  Andrew grabbed his empty mug and reared back. “Okay,” Jason quickly said, “I take it back.” He smirked. “You're always adorable, Andy."

  Someone tittered: Andrew couldn't tell who. It was all he could do not to hurl the mug at Jason's retreating head. The onlookers awkwardly drifted away, and Andrew got back to work after only a couple of minutes of steaming.

  A quarter-hour later, a PM popped up on his screen. Come see me, it read, from Ms. Albano. Andrew locked down his terminal, walked to the webmaster's office door, and entered after a single quick knock.

  "Let me guess, Tiffany. You heard about Jason's latest patronizing display, and not only are you going to fire him, but you're letting me personally kick him out the door. Very considerate."

  Tiffany Albano stood up from her computer station, shaking her snowy head. “I'm not looking to fire anybody, Andrew."

  "C'mon, we both know Jason's a douche. Let him fulfill his destiny. Make him a disposable douche."

  Tiffany held her composure. “He's not the only problematic personality in the office."

  "Oh, right, I forgot. It's a problem when I object to being treated like a nose-picking toddler. He's a bigoted asshole, Tiffany. You should have canned him months ago."

  "I'd have to give cause. Whatever you think of him, he does good work, and a personality conflict is not sufficient cause for firing."

  "It should be.” With any decency in the world it would be, he thought, but the Supreme Court in its finite wisdom had ruled that freezing a person into perpetual childhood did not constitute a disability, and didn't trigger the appropriate laws. Now the matter lay in Congress's palsied hands. However quickly they addressed the issue, it wasn't fast enough for Andrew.

  "It'd be a lot easier if you let me work from home. Or made Jason work from his."

  Tiffany glanced upward, toward the executive floors. “The company likes having its associates in physical proximity,” she recited. “They find it helps them work together."

  "Yes, it's doing a fabulous job of that,” Andrew said, and Tiffany had the decency to look embarrassed. “I don't know how I'd get along working at a less enlightened company."

  "Well, before you update your resume, I did have business to discuss: a new assignment."

  "Tiffany, I've got a full load already."

  "It'll get you out of the office,” she said. Andrew shut his mouth with a fresh complaint halfway out, and she hid a smile. “You recall the company planning to overhaul our customer service setup, phone and net."

  "Yeah, the AI stuff. Tough to forget a meeting that long."

  "Well, they've picked the woman to set up the new AI system, and it happens she lives here in the city, very close by. I'd like you to be our liaison with her, help her integrate her programs with what we have now. I was hoping you could meet her this afternoon."

  "The terms-of-use files. I can't—"

  "I'll get them posted, Andrew. Can you finish up your other work by, say, three?” He nodded. “Good. Here's her card."

  She handed Andrew a thin plug-in with print across one face:

  Alice McGirt

  Advanced Computer Applications

  Her address was below, a mere few blocks from the office.

  "She'll want a longer session in the next couple days,” Tiffany said, “but today will be briefer, more informal. Once you're done there, you can head home."

  "Okay,” said Andrew. “And while I'm gone, I assume you'll be giving Jason a big piece of your mind."

  "Now, now. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.” But behind that smile, Andrew could see he'd be getting no satisfaction on that score. What else was new?

  * * * *

  McGirt lived on the third floor of a high-end condominium building. The lobby did a fair imitation of a good hotel, with some brass mixed in with the other gleaming metals and looking like it was thoroughly polished every week. The elevator wanted ID, and after a baffled second he thought to wave the plug-in card past its scanner. That sufficed, and he got taken straight up.

  He rechecked the number on the door, rang, and waited. Before long, an older woman opened the door. She was somewhere in her sixties, with a long, tired face, and brown hair that was plainly dyed. “Yes?” she said, a little tentative.

  "Alice McGirt?"

  "Oh. No, I'm Lauren, her mother. Are you Andrew Crawford?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Come right in. She'll be with you in a second."

  He followed her into the living room, a tasteful display of bright earth tones much better appointed than his own apartment. Andrew liked Lauren right away. Having someone deal squarely with him on sight, without any condescension, was refreshing. Hopefully Alice took after her mother.

  "Is that Mr. Crawford?"

  The voice stopped Andrew short. It was high, pre-pubescently high, and now light footsteps followed it up. No wonder Lauren wasn't ruffled by him—and no wonder Tiffany had given him this assignment.

  Then Alice came into the living room, and Andrew could only stare. She was his apparent age and height, with her mother's face and long brown hair. And though she was out of the jumper and high-tops, he knew her instantly. This was who was revamping their customer service? This—this girl?

  He took a few seconds to recover, but Alice had been taking her own surprised look. A grin passed across her face. “Mr. Crawford? How do you do? I'm Alice.” She was business-like now, but still looked a bit smitten. He had that effect.

  Andrew shook the hand she offered. “Good to meet you,” he said on auto-pilot, “and good to have you helping us out.” Put the right face on it, he told himself. He'd get through this meeting. That much he could manage.

  * * * *

  "It almost knocked me cold, Kaz. She plays on swings and see-saws, still lives with her mommy and daddy, and she's doing our overhaul."

  Kazuo Ishii laughed. “You really have the luck sometimes, Andrew. Pass the ketchup."

  Andrew slid it over. Kazuo Ishii had discovered this pub a few years back. He commended it to Andrew because it served food in the back booths along with the alcohol, and because the staff didn't hassle them about their apparent age. It had become their weekly dinner venue.

  "So is she competent to do the job?” Kazuo asked, squeezing a fresh layer of ketchup onto his fries. “I can't imagine even your company hiring a real infantile for something important."

  "I'm not sure yet. She seemed pretty well organized, asked some good questions about how our online help center works. Said she wanted a different perspective on the job the humans do there now."

  "She didn't ask those humans?"

  "She didn't trust answers from people her system might be replacing. Guess that makes sense.” He spied their waitress passing. “Want a second round, Kaz?"

  "I'll just have a Coke, but you go ahead."

  Andrew got their order in, and drained his beer bottle to make room for the next. “Still, I've got to go back to her home office on Saturday to help her test the program, suggest adjustments. I'm worried about how much of her work she expects me to do. I'm in no mood to hold her hand through this."

  "Oh, holding her hand wouldn't be bad. You never know what it might lead to."

  Andrew knew this leering tone from Kaz, too well. “I've got no such interest in her."

  "That's right. You like older women."

&
nbsp; "No, older women like me. There's a difference.” Jason's barb about his being adorable doubly stung because it was true. Many adults just couldn't get over him. He was tempted sometimes to blight his looks with outrageous haircuts, piercings, or tattoos, but he never did. It was an advantage in business sometimes to look sweet and angelic, and he was learning to exploit that to the limit.

  "Well, sorry I can't take this Alice off your hands, but one lady at a time's enough for me."

  Andrew took Kazuo's bragging with accustomed tolerance. “So, you and Luna are still good? Still, um—” He stuffed a crabcake into his mouth, but too late: the subject was already implied.

  "Luna's doing fine,” Kaz said, but he was frowning. “We still have our special nights, every week or so, but I can tell she's still going through the motions."

  Even in frozen bodies like Kazuo's and Luna's, there was some sexual responsiveness, from the trickle of hormones pre-pubescent bodies produced. “Stronger than they like to admit,” Kaz once said of it, “and lots weaker than I like to admit.” Function was one thing, but desires and urges were another.

  "She says she's taking the pills,” Kazuo said, “but they aren't helping. She tolerates doing it, may even like it, but it's not all it's supposed to be.” By his tone, he was feeling the same way.

  Andrew shook his head. “I keep telling you, those people are charlatans. They're selling snake oil, exploiting frozen people who are chasing after a sex life their bodies aren't equipped to handle."

  "Well, who else is offering us hope?” Kazuo demanded. “What have I got to lose?"

  "Besides your money? Not to mention dignity? Bad enough we suffered one injustice against our bodies: you're letting them compound it."

  "I thought I was trying to undo it. Y'know, you're the activist, Andrew. Get the drug companies to do some research, or make the politicians lift that ban on hormone treatments for us."

  "They'd never budge. And why don't you petition them?"

  "How about we do it? Just ‘cause you had a bad—okay, sorry, I won't go there."

  Andrew's glare faded away. “We wouldn't affect anything. Sexualizing children is radioactive. Yes, I know we're not children, but anything that worked on us would probably work on real kids. Hate to say, they've got a point."

  "Bull,” Kazuo said through a mouthful of cheeseburger. “They're covering their butts, never mind serving the public, the adults—” He jerked a thumb at himself. “—demanding their help. Damn it, I'm an adult man, who deserves an adult sex life.” He was getting a little loud. “I have a Constitutional right to make girls scream in the sack, and it's high time they delivered it!"

  Andrew started telling Kaz to cool it, before a big man leaned over from the next booth. “Hey! Would you two little pervs knock it off? There are decent people who come here."

  Andrew looked up, scowling. “So, what's that got to do with you?"

  "I don't gotta take this!"

  "Well, there's the door!” Andrew shot back, ignoring Kazuo's warning tugs on his sleeve.

  The man was halfway to Andrew when their waitress intervened. “Whoa, whoa,” she said, blocking the man's path. “Why don't we just find you a better table, sir, out of earshot?"

  "My table's fine,” he protested, but he soon let her argue him into taking her offer. He took a last look at Andrew and Kazuo, grimaced, and went up front.

  Kazuo blew out a sigh. “You really gotta learn to fight in your weight class, pal.” The waitress came back with their drinks, hesitating a bit as she handed Andrew his beer.

  Kazuo reached to pull it away. “Maybe you've had enough, Andrew."

  Andrew snatched it back, but he took Kaz's hint. “I've been meaning to ask, how's Evergreen coming?"

  Kazuo politely made no mention of the sudden change in subject. “Still on schedule. Construction's nearly done; inspections won't be long after. We should be open in three months.” He eyed Andrew. “You're still moving in, right?"

  "You've got my money. Of course I'm moving in."

  "I have it as an investor. I wasn't assuming—"

  "Kaz, this complex is everything people should be doing to accommodate us. When you start taking on lessees—when do you, anyway?"

  "End of the month, three weeks from today."

  "You'll get my deposit that day.” Andrew took a swig, and grinned. “Did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have such an enlightened entrepreneur as a friend?"

  "Nope, never. So I think you should start now, in cloying detail.” They both chuckled. “Or you could show your gratitude by aiming your Alice my way. I changed my mind about—ow!” Andrew's half-strength punch in the shoulder only made him laugh harder.

  * * * *

  Andrew arrived at the condo early Saturday morning. This time, Mr. McGirt was there to let him in. Timothy McGirt was close to six feet, with retreating hair still holding a few streaks of its original black.

  "You're a little early yet,” he told Andrew, while flute music played somewhere within. “Have a seat. I'll tell Alice you're here."

  Andrew found a living room chair just his, or Alice's, size and sat. Someone stopped the flute music, but it restarted a moment later, just as Timothy reappeared. “Give her ten minutes to finish her practice,” he said, “then she'll be with you. Would you like something to drink while you're waiting? Water? Juice?"

  "No, thank you.” Andrew was left alone, to listen. He was no music expert, but the piece sounded Romantic, maybe Debussy. Or was that Impressionist? No, weren't those painters? What was plainer was that Alice was no dabbler. Maybe not professional quality, but close to it.

  Too soon, it ended, and a moment later Alice emerged from a nearby doorway. “Sorry, Mr. Crawford. I always get in an hour of practice, whatever work I'm doing that day. So, shall we get started?"

  Andrew stood and followed her, though not to the room she had just left. This one was a real workroom, dominated by a mainframe computer that took up a good quarter of the space and hummed with cooling fans. “Wow,” Andrew breathed. “How'd you get that in here?"

  "I had to partially disassemble it,” Alice said. “I'm in big trouble if I ever have to move.” She smiled at her joke. Andrew wondered whether it was a justification for herself.

  Alice took a seat at the workstation, both sized for her. Andrew found a mismatched but well-proportioned chair for himself nearby. Alice tapped a keyboard button, then lifted an interface cap off its stand. A light flashed green on the monitor. “Good morning, Dinah,” she said.

  "Good morning, Alice.” Faint lines faded into view on the screen, outlining a mouth that moved as the voice spoke. “Is this the appliance company gentleman with you?"

  "Yes, Dinah. His name's Andrew Crawford.” She leaned over, still fitting the mesh over her head. “Say hello so she'll recognize you."

  "Um, good morning, Dinah."

  "Good morning, sir. Do you prefer Mr. Crawford or Andrew? Or some other name?"

  His pause was longer this time. “Andrew is fine."

  "Very well, Andrew. I'm Dinah, Alice's template AI program. A trained version of me will be handling your telephone and Internet customer service inquiries. I'm ready to receive your specific training."

  "All right. We'll start soon.” He dropped his voice. “You mentioned your AI Thursday, Alice, but I didn't realize it'd be this, er, all-purpose. You certainly didn't create all this just for us."

  "Of course not. I started her my junior year at Purdue. I thought of making her my master's thesis, before I realized the colleges couldn't teach me anything I couldn't teach myself. I bud off copies of Dinah and program them for whatever my clients need."

  "By yourself? No partners? No assistants?"

  Alice smiled. “You're my assistant today. Shall we put Dinah through her paces?"

  "Yeah.” Andrew slipped his function-all out of its belt case. Alice went blank with concentration, and a copy of Dinah came up, announcing itself with a slightly different voice. Andrew dialed up a few training scr
ipts he had borrowed from Customer Service, and started his drill.

  Common service questions came first, often serious, sometimes clueless. Dinah fielded them without a hitch. He then switched to more unusual questions, and some rougher attitudes. He got snippy with Dinah, then rude, then outright abusive. Dinah had some trouble with those questions. Alice apparently didn't: she never flinched as Andrew laced into her baby.

  Andrew paused to make notes. “No offense to Dinah, Alice, but she wouldn't pass a Turing test."

  "Really?” Alice finally seemed perturbed. “I programmed her specifically for social interaction. I thought she was cool and polite."

  "Exactly. I was loading on stressful situations, and it didn't sound stressed, at all. It's an inhuman reaction: people will pick up on that. Didn't you consider the psychological effect that might have on the humans talking to it?"

  "Actually, yes. I thought calmness would be better than pure human authenticity, to avoid feeding the anger."

  "Some callers won't like the evident artificiality. Others might actually be scrapping for a fight."

  Alice eyed him. “I doubt your company is looking to fill those consumer needs. But yes, a different emotional shading might be in order.” A control board appeared on her main monitor. Sliders began moving left and right, numerical readouts tumbling up or down, all seemingly from Alice's intent stare. “I also need to judge when an outright confrontation is breaking out,” she said with an air of distraction, “so Dinah can transfer a call to a human supervisor. Looks like you can help me find that threshold."

  "I can, if you don't mind me abusing Dinah some more."

  Alice sighed and wiped her brow. “Not at all, Andrew. It's the only way to find the failure points. Consider yourself a test pilot,” she said with a quirky smile, “only you're guaranteed to walk away from your test."

  Her metaphor soon felt apt, as a few hours of feigning arguments left Andrew feeling like he'd been in a long dogfight. Alice was little fresher from her brain-interfacing. He finally asked to break for lunch, and pulled a brown bag out of his case.

  Alice's face fell. “My mother was making us something for lunch,” she said.