by H. R. Moore
Madeline all but rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Sunflower, let’s bring you in here,’ said Humphrey, as though he were still in control of the interview. ‘Tell us about your community and why you live the way you do.’
‘I live with a large group of similarly minded people, in an old fishing village here in Suffolk. We are committed to living tech-free lives wherever possible, living lightly on the planet, and turning our backs on the consumerism that has sadly taken over our society.’
‘But you still use some technology, is that right?’ asked Humphrey.
‘Yes. We use technology where it helps us to be more self-sufficient and sustainable, so, of course, we generate our own energy from renewables, we farm our own food, and use modern technology, where appropriate, to help with this.’
‘But you believe that too much technology is a bad thing?’ encouraged Humphrey.
‘Well, yes. We work with nature wherever possible. We grow fruit and vegetables in line with their natural growing cycles, meaning that we eat seasonally, and mostly grow things that thrive in our climate. We only use hydroponics in moderation. We reuse and recycle pretty much everything, and we never use virtual reality rooms, butlers to clean up after us, or technology to mindlessly play games online. We try to lead more balanced, natural lives.’
‘What would your message be to those of us who lead lives filled with technology?’ asked Humphrey. ‘I have to say I’m guilty of this too, Sunflower.’ Humphrey laughed in a well-rehearsed manner.
‘The most important part of our existence is our community,’ said Sunflower. ‘We help each other in every aspect of our lives, from raising our children, to producing our food, to helping people through illness and hard times. We try to minimise our use of technology, and instead, focus on what makes us human; relationships with others.’
‘So what do you think about the reports of butlers acting strangely?’ asked Humphrey.
‘I think it was inevitable that this would happen eventually. Whether the butlers are learning to be human, or have been hacked, this technology is dangerous. Technology is fine, in a limited capacity, but bringing these things into our homes is like welcoming in a ticking time bomb.’
Madeline was shifting beside Sunflower, clearly itching to get involved. ‘Madeline, as a technology expert, how would you respond to that?’ asked Humphrey.
‘Firstly, I would like to reiterate that these butlers have not done anything dangerous or harmful to anyone.’ She paused briefly to emphasise the point. ‘There are overrides in every butler to prevent any action that would harm a human, or an animal. There has never been an instance of any robot injuring a human. Yes, people have tripped over them or hit them and hurt their hand, but, even when attacked, butlers do not retaliate, they simply shut down.’
‘So you don’t think the robots pose any kind of threat?’ asked Humphrey.
‘I think that trying to use recent events as proof that butlers are dangerous, or like “ticking time bombs”, is both inaccurate and unnecessarily inflammatory. Inciting panic is not helpful to anyone, and will not help us get to the bottom of this. Even Sunflower has said that her community both recognises the utility of AI and uses robots in their lives. Robots have transformed our lives for the better, it’s as simple as that.’
‘And what do you think is the most likely explanation for recent events, Madeline?’
‘We don’t currently understand what caused these glitches, but my money would be on code being accidentally deployed from inside Cybax Technologies. The best course of action is to stay calm, report any unusual activity immediately, and wait for the authorities and Cybax to do their job.’
‘But do you think it’s possible that the butlers are developing feelings?’ asked Humphrey.
‘No,’ said Madeline, firmly. ‘Butlers are made up of good old-fashioned code. They don’t have feelings. If they did, through some kind of machine learning, develop feelings, we could reprogram them to remove the code responsible and instruct them not to develop ‘feelings’ in the future. People are forever getting confused between the development of artificial general intelligence, or robots which can genuinely think for themselves, and narrow AI, like butlers, who can only act within certain parameters. We are still decades away from creating something that can really think for itself, that has feelings, and that could theoretically be a danger to society. Whatever the current problem, there will be a rational explanation, and it will be fixable.’
‘There you have it,’ said Humphrey, smiling his end-of-segment smile, ‘stay vigilant, but don’t panic. Back to you in the studio, Andrea.’
Guy ended the projection. ‘What do we know so far?’ he asked, looking around the board table at the group of people, and robots with faces of people, who were joining from elsewhere. Benji had gathered the defence minister, technology minister, their close aides, representatives from the team investigating the unusual activity, two of Guy’s engineers, and their respective public relations leads. PR was one of those areas which should be automated, but it was hard to teach a robot to tread the nuanced line between a spun truth and a lie, or that sometimes they shouldn’t answer the question they’d been asked. Consequently, PR still employed a healthy number of humans, although a lot of the tracking and analysis was done on an automated basis, as was a great deal of story and opinion seeding.
The minister for technology, Tina, gave them a summary. ‘It’s been over a week since the first reported case,’ she started, ‘and my team have been trying to find the source of the “emotions” in the butlers’ code. The problem is, so far, we haven’t been able to find anything that looks remotely relevant. After the first couple of days, we realised we were going to need help from your team, so we reached out to your engineers.’
‘Benji let me know,’ said Guy. ‘And? My understanding is that we couldn’t find anything unusual either?’
One of Guy’s engineers shook her head. ‘No. We haven’t been able to find anything out of the ordinary. There are six butlers under investigation now, and we’ve tested them all. They seem to be fine.’
‘Is it in dispute whether the butler owners are telling the truth?’ asked the defence minister, Rebecca.
‘No,’ replied the engineer. ‘All of the butlers’ activity logs and video recordings are intact. They clearly show that the strange behaviour did take place.’
‘So what are the options?’ asked Rebecca.
A member of the investigating team spoke up. ‘A prankster hacking into the butlers and altering the code for fun, before wiping out any evidence. Someone working alone, or in a small hacking group who’s maliciously hacking into the butlers, testing the art of the possible. Or, hackers from another country, testing the water and trying to spread suspicion and fear.’
‘This might sound like a stupid question,’ said Rebecca, ‘but we’re sure the butlers aren’t actually spontaneously developing feelings?’
She flushed at the ripple of snickering that washed around the table.
‘I can’t see how that would be possible,’ said Guy, sending harsh looks at his people. ‘If they were developing feelings, through some kind of machine learning, then there would be evidence of it in the code. Given that there isn’t any, I think we can rule that option out. And,’ he said, frowning, ‘for the avoidance of doubt, no, the butlers are not becoming sentient. They’re robots. They’re made of simple code. That message needs to be clear and consistent from us all,’ he said, sternly, looking around the room for agreement. The ministers nodded.
‘So what’s the most probable option at this point?’ asked Tina.
‘We have no idea,’ said the lead investigator, ‘but, whatever the cause, it means the butlers are vulnerable to attack, and when it becomes public knowledge that there’s a known way in, it’s going to attract a flock of hobby hackers trying to see if they can find it.’
‘Okay,’ said Guy, ‘have we found out how they’re getting in?’
‘Not yet,’ said the eng
ineer, shaking her head.
‘Is there anything else I can do to help?’ asked Guy. ‘More people? Anyone we can reach out to who used to work for us who might have an idea?’
‘If there is anyone, we can compel them to help if needed, given that it’s very much in the interests of national security,’ added Rebecca.
‘There are a couple of people who might be useful,’ replied the engineer. ‘I’ll get you a list.’
Tina nodded. ‘And if there’s anything else you need, let the investigating team know, and I’ll approve it. We need to contain this before it gets out of hand.’
‘Which brings us to PR,’ said Guy, everyone’s heads swivelling to the end of the table where the PRs had congregated. ‘How are we going to handle this?’ He looked expectantly at his head of public relations, Michele Anderson.
Michele breathed in, taking a considered pause before responding. ‘As I see it, the options are, one: tell everyone the truth and advise them to switch off their butlers until further notice – not ideal in terms of the inevitable fallout.
‘Two: say we’re all working together in a highly collaborative way, and that we’re homing in on the problem. Everyone should continue as normal, as there’s no evidence that there’s any threat. Essentially this is a continuation of the communications strategy utilised by the Department of Technology to date, but we’d add confirmation of Cybax’s involvement. People will accept this for a short time, but the press will continue to apply some heat and the grace period will only last for so long.
‘Option three: we keep Cybax’s involvement so far quiet. Tina’s department issues a statement saying they can’t find anything suspicious. The next step, according to protocol, is for Tina’s department to reach out to Cybax and conduct a full-blown investigation, to see if we can jointly find the source of the problem. This buys us a bit more time, but would, in all likelihood, be spun to the detriment of both Cybax and Tina’s department by the press.
‘Obviously, this isn’t great timing, given the investigation already underway by Iva’s department.’ Michele paused, thinking. ‘And there’s plenty of video footage, which has already gone viral, of six separate and seemingly unconnected incidents, so there’s not much chance of trying to cast doubt on the whole thing. A fourth option would be to imply that we think some test code was accidently released as part of a software update. On the plus side, this may reassure people, because it takes focus away from the idea of an external attack. On the other hand, it would be difficult to explain why only six robots have been affected. Equally, if there were to be another incident, we’d look like fools and would be accused of lying.’
‘What’s your gut telling you?’ asked Guy.
‘Honestly, the threat doesn’t seem big enough to justify telling everyone to turn off their butlers. It would cause hysteria, and I don’t think that’s warranted at the moment. So, we try and buy ourselves more time. I don’t think another investigation is in anyone’s interests, so we say we don’t think that’s necessary or required in this instance. We say we’re collaboratively working on the problem and will report back when we know more. It’s also the straightforward, honest truth, which means when Iva comes sniffing around, there’ll be nothing for her to spin.’
‘Fine,’ said Guy. ‘I don’t see that we have much other option. Are you happy with that, Ministers?’
Tina and Rebecca nodded. ‘As you say, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do,’ said Rebecca. ‘I think it’s time to get GCHQ involved too. I’ll inform them of the potential threat and see if they’ve got anyone who can come and work with us. God, can you imagine if this originates from Russia?’
‘The stuff of nightmares,’ said Guy, reflectively. ‘Let’s hope it’s a disgruntled ex-employee, or a teenage hacker whom we can buy off by promising them a job.’
CHAPTER 11
Iva looked out of her office window in London, the view terrible, nothing like the offices of those they investigated. She watched as a delivery hive drove past, drones, like bees in reverse, picking up packages from the automated truck mothership and delivering to pre-designated points in people’s homes and offices. It was a flurry of activity as perfectly coordinated drones came and went at lightning speed, carrying all manner of packages and letters as the truck rolled ceaselessly down the street.
Iva thought, wistfully, of the old Royal Mail, and the friendly postman who had come to her door every day when she’d been little. Her family had always given him a present at Christmas, and they’d had a little chat each day. All gone now. The drones were faster, cheaper, and never took sick days or holidays. Iva liked that her purchases were delivered the same day, but it was transactional and impersonal: the price one paid for hyper efficiency. The drones could say ‘Good morning’, and even make conversation when required, asking where the package should be delivered if it wasn’t obvious, but it just wasn’t the same.
She watched as a butler came out of a house and walked to the designated delivery point in someone’s garden. The protective cover, which had opened when the drone delivered, and closed immediately afterwards, now automatically peeled back, the butler picking up the delivery and taking it inside. Iva thought of the new dress which would be hanging on her wardrobe door, ready for her to try on when she got home. She’d seen it in a shop window on her way to work and used her smart glasses to order it. All she’d had to do was put them on and think buy, and tech had done the rest. Her glasses had suggested the right size, and had even offered her the option of purchasing accessories from other stores to go with it. These had been selected based on a complex algorithm using, amongst other things, data from her past purchases, recent trends, and the store’s recommendations.
If she decided she didn’t like the dress, which her glasses had indicated would be unlikely, her butler would pack it up and send it back for her, and the money would be refunded back to her account without Iva having to lift a finger. Consumerism at its height, thought Iva, both loving and hating it. He would have loved it. She pulled out her smart glasses to look at an image of a man in his early twenties, leaning casually against an academic building.
Iva jumped as Mila tapped on her office door and walked in. ‘Am I interrupting?’ she asked.
‘No, I was just contemplating the double-edged sword of our modern era,’ she said wistfully, before walking to her desk and sitting down. ‘How can I help?’
‘We’ve analysed the data Benji submitted regarding the working hours discrepancy at the Exeter factory,’ said Mila.
‘And?’ asked Iva, holding her breath, but knowing from Mila’s body language it wasn’t good news.
‘We can’t find anything out of the ordinary. The data’s consistent with Guy’s story and we have no evidence that anyone’s been paid for work in excess of their annual hours allowance.’
‘I bet if we were conducting this investigation in December, the story would be different,’ said Iva, cursing that she hadn’t waited just a little longer before launching her attack.
‘Maybe,’ said Mila, ‘but this means we have nothing, and time is running out. I take it there’s been no contact from your source?’
Iva shook her head. ‘You would know about it if there had been,’ she said, irritably.
‘And was there any fallout from your attempted arrest of Guy and those he was meeting?’ asked Mila. Iva scowled; how did she know about that?
‘No. None of them put in an official complaint, but Francesca Miller, Guy’s lawyer, was in contact to say if there’s any more harassment of her client or his business associates, she’ll file a lawsuit.’
‘So what now?’ asked Mila. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘We step up the search for another mole. We interview everyone who works for Guy, both domestically and at Cybax. We look especially hard for any disgruntled current or ex-employees. We offer them anything they want to turn on him. We make it known that we’re generous to both informants and their families, and make it cle
ar that protecting the anonymity of our sources is of utmost importance to us.’
‘Even though we’ll most probably want them to testify?’ asked Mila, with a concerned frown.
‘We can cross that bridge if we manage to get to it. The most important thing is to find some dirt we can work with. We’ll worry about the details later. And, in the meantime, we all have to hope that the original mole gets back in touch with something concrete.’ Iva put her head down and began to read something on her computer. Mila exhaled loudly as she turned and left the room.
* * * * *
Gerry and Penny Watson, Thomas’ parents, walked back into their small, Victorian, worker’s terrace house in Exeter. It was pretty from the outside, the red bricks and climbing roses making it look cosy and cottagey in the sunshine. They entered, however, a dark and gloomy space, the curtains drawn and the smell of smoke hitting them like a slap across the face. Their two eldest sons lounged on the sofas, smart glasses on, playing some kind of starship commander game.
‘There’s one on your tail,’ said Sam, urgently. ‘Head for the asteroid field and I’ll circle back to cover you.’
‘Roger that,’ said Ben, turning his head and presumably heading for the asteroid field.
Gerry and Penny looked at each other, rage building on each of their faces. Penny marched over to the curtains and threw them open, light streaming into the small and cramped space. She went first to Sam and then to Ben, ripping their smart glasses from their faces and throwing them across the room, onto an armchair. She picked up two of the empty beer cans that had been casually discarded on the floor and threw one at each of her lazy, good for nothing sons.
‘Hey,’ said Sam, angrily, standing up and moving towards his mother. ‘We were in the middle of a game. We were about to beat the Andrews brothers and become the highest scoring pair in the universe. We’ve worked our butts off for this.’
