Catch Me If I Fall

by Barry Jonsberg

‘Hi, kids,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ said Aiden. ‘Got that solar sail gleaming?’ Dad smiled at us over his shoulder.

  ‘Beautiful and at full efficiency,’ he said. ‘At least the half I’ve done today. I’ll do the other half later, once I get dinner organised.’

  ‘You could pay someone to do that,’ said Aiden.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dad, drying his hands. ‘But I enjoy it and what else am I going to do with my time?’

  ‘Something useful?’ said Aiden.

  Dad gave us both a strange look at that. He sat slowly at the kitchen table and scratched his head.

  ‘How about a video game?’ he suggested after a long silence. ‘If you guys have finished breakfast, I’m willing to kick your nearly-birthday bums at a game of your choice. You have been warned.’

  ‘Sounds great, Dad,’ said Aiden.

  And the smile he gave appeared warm. And genuine.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ I said. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  Mum placed the box down carefully on the kitchen table. There was a scuffling sound coming from it and the box rocked gently. It had air holes punched in its sides and a big red bow perched on the top.

  ‘And how would I know what you think it is?’ Mum replied. She smiled. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Ashleigh, but my psychic powers are a bit off today.’

  ‘It is what I think it is,’ I said.

  ‘Then you won’t need to open the box,’ said Dad. ‘Let’s put it away.’ And he pretended to start doing just that.

  I glanced at Aiden. He was looking a lot better now. He’d had a long sleep after we’d thrashed Dad at four different video games and his eyes were shining with excitement. It was almost unbearable for both of us. We wanted to open the box, but the anticipation was so delicious it seemed a shame to ruin it.

  ‘You open it, Ashleigh,’ said Aiden.

  ‘No, you,’ I replied. ‘I’d like you to open it.’

  So he did. He shouted with delight and put his hands into the box while I forced myself to be patient. In fact I even closed my eyes. I didn’t know whether it was a cat or a dog, but I really wanted a dog. Please make it a dog. Look, it’s fine if it’s a cat, but…

  It gave the most adorable woof and I opened my eyes immediately. Love at first sight. Before first sight, really. The dog was small and furry and it had a little pug nose and its tail was wagging as if it was polishing the kitchen table and it was the most glorious, wonderful, fabulous, amazing birthday gift we’d ever got and I just had to hold it and stroke it and cuddle it and …

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Mum,’ said Aiden. He looked up, eyes still shining, but immediately looked at the dog again, which sat on the table, tail still swirling, moving its head from side to side, and watching us with spheres of liquid brownness. I moved over next to Aiden and ran my hands through the dog’s fur, scratched under its chin. It gazed up at me and I swear I saw love in those eyes.

  ‘Is it real, Mum?’ I said, voice all whispery and choked with emotion.

  Mum laughed.

  ‘Of course not, Ashleigh.’ She sat at the table and ran her hand through the dog’s fur. ‘You know it’s illegal to own pets.’

  ‘Some people have real dogs,’ said Aiden, but Mum held up her hand.

  ‘I know, Aiden, but they’re breaking the law and we won’t ever do that. No. This is better than real. This won’t get sick and it won’t die. At least I don’t think it will.’

  ‘You made it,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Mum. ‘It’s state-of-the-art.’ She gently opened the dog’s mouth, exposing a pink tongue and a set of small teeth. When she let go, the dog sneezed and we all laughed. ‘Based on some AI devices I’d already engineered for work in dangerous environments. War zones, places like that. Though we have sold or given away a number to blind people for use as guide dogs. But matey here is different.’

  ‘Why?’ Aiden and I asked together.

  ‘Because those dogs were nothing like as realistic,’ said Mum. ‘They didn’t have to be because basically they were designed for functionality, rather than aesthetics.’

  I opened my mouth to ask, but Mum beat me to it.

  ‘They were meant to work, rather than look good,’ she said. ‘For the guide dogs, I put fur on them and gave them the ability to lick their owners. Sometimes it’s important for a machine to give the impression of friendship – love, even – and some blind people need all the love they can get. But your dog … well, he can do things that the others simply can’t.’

  ‘Like?’ prompted Aiden.

  ‘He can learn. He has the new generation of artificial intelligence algorithms installed and this means that, basically, he interacts with his environment, learns from it and changes behaviour accordingly.’ Mum was in full lecture mode now. ‘A machine will keep getting burned if it strays into a fire. A proper AI machine will do that maybe a couple of times, but then it will learn to recognise that fire is unpleasant and avoid it. In many ways, the principle is exactly the same as the way babies learn about the world. This dog will just do it a lot quicker.’ Mum ruffled the dog’s head and it stood up on its four stubby little legs. ‘Try getting it to sit,’ Mum said.

  I looked at Aiden and he looked at me. He nodded, giving me permission.

  ‘Sit,’ I said. The dog cocked its head to one side, regarded me. But it stayed standing. I tried again, this time, putting gentle pressure on its back, close to the tail.

  ‘Sit,’ I said. The dog yawned and walked off. Aiden and I laughed.

  ‘You’re going to have to teach it,’ said Mum. ‘It will learn, trust me. It’ll sit, roll over, play dead, come to heel, do everything a real dog can do. It’s just going to take time.’

  ‘Could we teach it to talk?’ asked Aiden. There was silence for a couple of beats and then I burst out laughing. But I was the only one. ‘If it’s AI, then it shouldn’t be restricted just to things a dog can do,’ he continued. ‘It could learn anything. How to play chess, how to paint, how to talk.’

  Mum rested her chin on her interlocked fingers.

  ‘That’s true, up to a point, Aiden,’ she said. ‘But it does depend on the programming and, most importantly, physical design. This dog does not have opposable thumbs, so it’s going to have real difficulty moving a chess piece, let alone picking up a paintbrush. Its vocal cords and all the physical stuff associated with sounds are based on a dog’s anatomy, so it won’t be able to speak, even if it becomes super-smart.’ She smiled. ‘I made you a dog. If you want to play chess and talk, that’s what your sister’s for. She’s just not as cute and adorable.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I don’t want this dog to talk. I want it to be a dog.’

  Mum told us a number of other things about our present, like how it would find a patch of sun when its energy levels started to fall, so that it could recharge. I picked him up from the table and placed him carefully on the floor. He licked my hand and I nearly died with pleasure.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s your present,’ Mum said. ‘You and Aiden will have to work that out between you.’

  ‘Was it expensive to make?’ asked Aiden.

  Mum pursed her lips and shook her head.

  ‘I’m not saying,’ she replied. ‘Not because I don’t want to tell you – and I do know, down to the dollar, how much Fido here cost to manufacture.’ She paused. ‘I just don’t want to say the figures out loud. They’d scare your father half to death and I know this because they sure as hell scare the living daylights out of me.’

  That was fine by me. I didn’t care.

  You couldn’t put a price on this present.

  8

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’s adorable. What’s his name?’

  ‘Zorro,’ I said. ‘Z for short.’

  ‘That’s a strange name.’

  Aiden had suggested it. He pointed out that the dog had a dark patch over both eyes and there was a kind of zigzag pattern
on his back where black fur was mottled in with grey. According to Aiden, Zorro was a really old fictional character, a bit like a superhero. He always wore a mask and he’d slash a ‘Z’ into things with a sword, like a sort of old-time tag. So Zorro it was.

  It had only taken the dog a day to learn the sound of his name and it was incredibly cute when he jumped up and looked at you. He was also sitting on command, though sometimes he wouldn’t bother if he didn’t feel like it. I thought that was brilliant and just the way a real dog would behave. I didn’t always feel like doing what I was told, so why should a dog?

  ‘How does he get his power?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘You see his fur? Each strand is a tiny fibre optic cable. All together they act like about a zillion solar panels.’

  Charlotte was jealous, and who wouldn’t be? Normally, I’d be happy that she was jealous of what I had, but for some reason that didn’t seem as important today. This was the first time I’d seen her in person since camp, though we’d video-called each other heaps. On one of those occasions I asked her what had happened to our official complaint against Mr Dyson. She said she’d had a bit of a rethink after he dived in to save me when I was lashed to the rock, and she didn’t like to ask Mr Meredith what had happened. I was pretty sure Mr M hadn’t done anything about it and it wasn’t difficult to get Charlotte to agree to forget the whole thing. I felt loads better when she did.

  I took Z into the pool room with us, partly to show off, I guess, but mainly because he was so adorable. He’d spent two nights curled up on Aiden’s bed, and after all Aiden had been through I couldn’t bring myself to ask for my share of the dog’s night-time company. Anyway, I was still hoping Aiden would come back to our room when he was feeling a little better. Then Z could sleep between us.

  Mum had said I could swim, provided I didn’t ‘overdo it’ and she’d also said there was no reason why Zorro couldn’t either.

  ‘Totally waterproof,’ she said. ‘To at least one hundred metres. Beyond that, I wouldn’t risk it.’

  So the dog ran up and down the side of the pool while Charlotte and I drifted and floated and swam. Z occasionally gave a small yip as if he wanted to join us and was just waiting for permission.

  ‘Well, come on then,’ I said, clapping my hands. ‘Jump in, you goober.’

  And he did. It was amazing. One moment the dog was turning in tight circles, the next he had launched himself straight into the pool. Charlotte and I shrieked with laughter as he hit the surface.

  I stopped laughing when he sank like a stone.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ I said and duck-dived immediately. Z had gone off into the deep end, naturally, so it was a bit of an effort to make it down to the bottom of the pool. When I got there, he was sitting on the floor tiles looking up at me; it was so funny I nearly burst out laughing, which is probably not the wisest thing to do when you’re on the bottom of a swimming pool. I managed to get to the surface, spluttering and choking, holding a wet dog that was as heavy as a brick. I placed him on the edge of the pool and he just stood there, dripping and blinking.

  ‘Shake yourself,’ I said. ‘That’s what wet dogs do. They shake themselves.’

  But he drip-dried instead, while Charlotte and I nearly died laughing. I guessed Zorro was going to be relying on me and Aiden for a lot of training over the coming months. I was putting my hand up for swim instructor.

  Our birthday dinner was terrific. Dad had gone to town on a cake that was shaped like a dog. It even had Zorro’s markings in icing on the side and thirteen candles along its spine. Aiden and I blew the candles out and Dad cut slices of cake for me, Charlotte and himself. Mum was at work and wouldn’t be back until late, if at all. Sometimes she slept at the office.

  Aiden watched us eat. I don’t know how he does it every year. The cakes are yummy. But I guess it’s what you get used to. Then Charlotte gave us our presents. She’d got us the same thing, which I suppose is sensible – a hologram app for our tablets. We already had one of those installed, but it had bugs and the hologram it generated of whoever you were talking to was grainy and disappeared at odd moments. This app was terrific. I took my tablet into my room and called Dad, who was, of course, still in the kitchen cleaning up. As soon as he answered, this miniature Dad appeared on my bedclothes. Really lifelike and so solid-looking that I felt this irresistible urge to poke him in the stomach to see if I could make him fall over. I couldn’t. My finger disappeared into the hologram instead. It was brilliant fun.

  Charlotte and I talked until nearly midnight. About school and what had been happening since I’d been away (not much, it seemed), but mainly about camp. The kids were bummed that it had all been called off, even though they were the ones who had insisted because they were scared. Charlotte was annoyed that she’d missed out on the horseriding.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to ride a horse,’ she said. ‘When I got back from camp, I made Mum and Dad promise they’d take me. There’s a pony club on the other side of Sydney, apparently, but it’s really expensive and there’s a waiting list to join. Dad’s taking me to see it next Monday after school. Perhaps you’d like to come along too, Ash. Then you could sleep over at my place, if you want.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. Actually, I wasn’t sure about the horse business. I’d kinda changed my mind about it being an ambition. From the movies I’d seen, being perched on top of a horse just meant you had a long way to fall and the landing was always going to be hard. Plus, they appeared to be dangerous at both ends. I’d think about it.

  ‘My house is nothing like as nice as yours, though,’ Charlotte added. Her mouth twisted as if she regretted inviting me. I knew what she was thinking. No house could match up to mine and she was worried she’d be embarrassed. ‘I mean, we don’t have a pool or anything, and …’

  ‘I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I replied. I wasn’t sure, of course, but Charlotte smiled and relaxed, which was the main thing.

  We giggled, we gossiped, we chatted.

  Eventually, we fell asleep, our words slurring and blurring into nothing.

  I have no idea why I woke at two-thirty in the morning. Maybe a sound startled me, though as I lay in the darkness listening, I couldn’t hear anything at all. I strained my ears but there weren’t even the normal sounds of a house creaking and groaning as the cooler night air made the building bend and twist.

  Then Charlotte farted in her sleep.

  It wasn’t very loud, but it was high-pitched, and I knew that I was going to burst out laughing. So I hopped out of bed, bottling up my laughter as best I could – it was a real strain, and I knew I’d have to let it out soon because the pressure was building. Then I thought that was probably what had caused Charlotte to fart in the first place, which only made things worse. I could feel the laughter coming down my nose, but I made it out of my bedroom, shutting the door before letting out a yelp that was almost hysterical.

  There was a light on in Aiden’s room and I tapped gently on his door when I’d recovered a bit, but there was no reply. Maybe he’d fallen asleep with the light on. I thought it would be a good idea to sneak in and turn it off. Mum and Dad were always going on about conserving energy, even though we generated huge amounts through our solar sail and stored it in a massive array of batteries. But, to be honest, that was just an excuse. I knew Z was in there, lying on Aiden’s bed, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him a cuddle.

  Aiden was awake and sitting in the wheelchair, with that strange contraption still framing his skull. He was due to go into the clinic in the morning to have it removed. He’d also been promised that he could leave the chair behind and walk to the waiting car when all procedures had been done. I could only imagine how much he was looking forward to that. His eyes were open and fixed on the wall. He didn’t even turn his gaze to me when I came into the room.

  ‘Hey, Aiden,’ I said. He slowly moved his entire head to face me and smiled, though that was small and faded almost immediately. ‘Can’t you sleep?’ I contin
ued.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he replied.

  I sat down on the edge of his bed. Zorro stirred and uncurled himself from a pile of Aiden’s pillows. I ran a hand through his fur and he rolled onto his back. I knew Aiden had been teaching him about belly-rubbing.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘All sorts of things,’ he replied.

  ‘Give me an example.’

  ‘Is it possible to love a machine?’

  ‘What?’

  He scratched himself under his right eye. He had to do it carefully because of the framework.

  ‘Your tablet with its new whizzy app. Would you say you love that?’

  It was a strange question, so I didn’t reply right away. If Aiden had been spending hours thinking about this, then he wouldn’t be happy with an answer straight off the top of my head.

  ‘I do love it,’ I said finally. ‘It makes me happy, and if it can give me that emotion, then why shouldn’t it loveable?’

  ‘As loveable as Mum and Dad? As loveable as me?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Of course not. We’re all related, obviously. Flesh and blood. My tablet isn’t.’

  ‘But that’s the point I’m making,’ said Aiden. He was really animated now, as if I’d touched on something crucial. ‘Why is flesh and blood so important?’

  I rubbed at my forehead and tried to frame an argument, but it didn’t matter because Aiden was in full flow now.

  ‘I can say that I love Zorro already,’ he said. ‘He’s cute and loyal and funny and … well, just fantastic. But he’s a machine. Really, when it comes down to it, he’s just an assembly of wires and conductors and algorithms. I can’t love a wire by itself or a conductor and I certainly can’t love an algorithm, but when you put them all together like Mum has done with Zorro, then I love the whole. So why don’t I love a solar sail?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t seem alive.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Aiden was so enthusiastic, I felt strangely pleased, like I’d given a teacher the right answer in a particularly tough test. ‘The appearance of being alive. I’ve been thinking about Turing.’