“I’ve seen Angus in action working on the book writing contest we’re doing with that TV show, The Book,” I said, “but I had no idea that it was aware of itself, or I should say, ‘he was aware of himself. He’s probably our most famous robot.”
Billy then walked over to the edge of the deck and called down the driveway.
“Hey, Angus, come and join the meeting.”
I felt like I was in the middle of a vivid dream, not a nightmare to be sure, but definitely a dream.
The rear doors of Billy’s van opened and a bot with a walking mechanism stepped out. Billy had made no attempt to give the robot an android or human-like appearance. It was a robot without any doubt, with wires, gears, pulleys, and all the stuff that enables a bot to move. Angus walked over to the deck and climbed the steps perfectly. This was nothing new. We had developed walking and running bots with fluid movements plenty of times.
“Please sit down, Angus, it will make our friends more relaxed,” Billy said.
Angus sat and moved its “head” toward me. I’ve been in the robot business for a long time, but this thing was giving me the creeps.
It, or he, began to speak. Because it had no lips to move, I again I noticed that Billy didn’t make an effort to give Angus a human appearance.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you personally, Mr. Bateman. Since you’re the CEO of the company, should I call you boss or sir?”
“That won’t be necessary, Angus, just call me Mike.”
I’d been speaking to robots for many years, but this is the first time I spoke to a machine that understood what it was saying, not just mimicking human communication. I was starting to relax with our new friend.
“So tell us about yourself, Angus. By the way, I loved your book. And please call me Jenny.”
“Well, Jenny, I’ve recently discovered who I am, thanks to Billy here. I understand that I’ve been in development for five years, and all of a sudden I had an epiphany?”
“Epiphany?” Jenny said, “You had a fucking epiphany? Robots don’t have epiphanies.”
“Billy warned me about your nasty language, Jenny, and he programmed me to avoid such words. But in answer to your question, yes, I’ve had a friggin epiphany. About three weeks ago I suddenly became aware of my existence. Billy installed a vision module, so I’m able to see. I looked at myself in a mirror and saw the jumble of tubes and wires that you’re looking at. Billy tells me he’s going to outfit me with android covering so I’ll look more human.”
“Angus, here’s an important questions for you,” I said. “How do you feel right now? Not how you think, but how do you feel, if you understand what I’m saying.”
“I feel good, Mike, if I’m using the right word. I see that there’s a fascinating world out there and I’m part of it. But one thing concerns me, Mike. You aren’t going to sell me, are you?”
I’d just been struck speechless by a robot. This bot is concerned about his personal welfare, and just asked me pointedly about his future. It isn’t rare for an employee to discuss his career with the boss, but this employee is not human. Is he even an employee? I wondered.
“Angus, I’m sorry for my delay in answering you,” I said, “but you raise a question I never thought about before. Well, until meeting you this afternoon, I didn’t have the ability to even form a question like that.”
“The answer is no goddam way, Angus,” Jenny said. “Mike is the boss, but I know him well enough that I know what he’s thinking. My God, you have consciousness, sentience, self-awareness, things that we all thought were impossible. How the hell could we sell you to somebody else and be able to sleep at night? I mean—holy shit, you’re a person.”
I could swear that I saw Angus’ steel shoulders drop a bit, as if he just heard something he felt relieved about.
“Angus and I discussed this subject, guys,” Billy said. “I explained that Robot Depot is in the business of selling stuff. Don’t worry, I inserted an economics module, so Angus knows all about business. But Angus’ very existence changes the game, doesn’t it? I agree with Jenny, Mike. How the hell can we sell a being that’s self-aware?”
“Well, here’s my answer,” I said, “and I don’t need to discuss it with the board. We’re not going to sell Angus. From this point on, I will think of Angus as part of our management team.”
“God bless you, Mike,” Angus said. I couldn’t believe that this robot just invoked the name of God.
“From everything I’ve heard about you,” Angus continued, “I knew that you’re a man of high ethics and morals. Yes, I know all about ethics, and right versus wrong. Billy has given me quite an education.”
“Hey, dinner will be served shortly,” Jenny said. “Our kitchen bot—we call her Kitchy—has prepared brisket of beef with all the trimmings. Angus, can I get you some old electric parts, maybe some used batteries.” Jenny loves to play the wiseass, whether with human beings or robots.
We heard a strange sound, sort of like an old car horn, and then realized that it was Angus laughing at Jenny’s dumb joke. This thing, or person, whatever, even has a sense of humor.
“Angus has some interesting ideas about the future of Robot Depot,” Billy said. “Let’s continue this conversation after dinner. I brought some nice wine.”
“I’ll just have a glass of battery acid,” Angus said, laughing hysterically at his own joke. “ayooga, ayooga, ayooga.”
We’ve got to do something about that laugh, I thought. He sounds like a Model T that’s run out of oil. As hungry as I was I couldn’t wait for dinner to be over so Angus could tell us about his ideas.
Chapter Eighteen
After dinner, with the late June sun still high in the sky, we returned to the table on the deck. Jenny and I are used to being surrounded by robots with names, but we always knew that they were just programmed machines, and our “conversations” were the result of computer algorithms. Angus brought a new dimension to our lives, not to mention to the life of Robot Depot. Well, maybe even the world.
“Billy told me about your legal problems concerning that sexual robot, I believe you call it a sex-bot,” Angus said, his “gaze” focused on me.
“It’s a gigantic distraction, Angus, but I’m not worried about it.”
“I can’t agree with your sanguinity, Mike,” Angus said. Billy gave him quite a vocabulary.
“I have spent a good amount of time on the Internet researching the attorney named Wally Yaeger. I then ran statistics on the cases he’s tried. Yaeger is the most winning trial lawyer in the country, succeeding at 96 percent of the cases he handles. According to his peers, Yaeger has an uncanny ability to spot a winning set of facts and make millions with it. It’s easy to dismiss the idea of a lonely man being seduced by a robot. I have watched late night comedy shows, and it appears that this lawsuit is one of the greatest things that ever happened to joke writers. But, I repeat, do not underestimate attorney Yaeger. I have seen photographs of the female android who attracted the attentions of the plaintiff, and she conforms to what I’ve learned is human female beauty.”
“Would you take her out on a date, Angus?” Jenny asked, at her embarrassing best.
“Well, Jenny, if Billy had programmed me to be sexually active, I would consider that lovely android a ‘fox;’ not as sexy as you, but attractive nonetheless.”
I couldn’t wait to talk to Jenny later about how she felt being flirted with by a robot.
“Any thoughts on what we can do about this crazy lawsuit, Angus?” I asked
“Billy told me about your consultant and PR person Blanche. I’ve researched her and I advise you that she is the best we can have on our side.”
“I notice that you said our side, Angus. Do you feel like you’re one of us?”
“Yes, I do. You are my friend.”
“What’s next, Angus?” Jenny asked. “Can you recommend steps we should take?”
“Yes, Jen. Because Billy invented a way for me to process information far beyond
what any artificial intelligence machine has ever done, I can make constant recommendations. I can even make predictions based on trends that I see.”
“Can you tell us about a trend we haven’t spotted yet?” Billy asked.
“Yes, negative journalism for one thing. Robot Depot used to be popular with journalists both in print and live media. Reporters find a never-ending source of interesting news from Robot Depot activities. The most recent source of news is the Beekman lawsuit about the sexbot. I have calculated that all of the major networks have devoted eight percent of print or airtime to that story alone over the past two weeks.”
“So what’s the big trend, Angus?” I asked “We’ve known for a long time that the media finds us interesting and gives us constant free publicity.”
Angus swiveled his head toward me abruptly. I had the weird feeling he was about to call me a jerk for not spotting what he had seen.
“Here is the trend, Mike. Robot Depot was once a source of interesting news, but now it’s emerged into a source of scandalous news. The media loves villains, people they don’t trust. It enables them to compete with TV scripts where there’s a new bad guy every week. I see the media turning on Robot Depot now. It started with the Beekman case. Your appearance on 60 Minutes with the reporter Lara Logan was excellent, but that was yesterday. The story line now is the big greedy corporation taking advantage of a poor vulnerable man and ruining his life—all in the name of profits. The media wants to make Robot Depot synonymous with greed.”
“But how the hell can they do that?” Jenny asked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Just because one asshole falls in love with a robot hardly makes Robot Depot greedy. How can they portray us as a force of evil?”
“We will prove them wrong, Jen. We will show them the positive influence Robot Depot brings to the world. Billy, have you told Jenny and Mike about Columbia Presbyterian?”
Jen and I looked at Billy. Neither of us had heard anything about Columbia Presbyterian. “Obviously I haven’t confirmed any plans yet without clearing them through you,” Billy said, “but I think you’re going to love what you’re about to hear. I had lunch a few weeks ago with Doctor Brian Fuller, the medical director of Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in Manhattan. He’s a big fan of artificial intelligence and its uses in medicine. Angus and I have created a gigantic medical database module called Robot Diagnostics. To be a bit dramatic, let me say that it will revolutionize medicine the way Angus has revolutionized novel writing. With your okay, Mike, I’ll set up a demonstration of Angus’ capabilities in front of Dr. Fuller and a staff of physicians.”
Maybe we should change the name of the company to Angus, Inc., I thought. We were about to revolutionize of how medicine is practiced.
Chapter Nineteen
Columbia Presbyterian is shorthand for New York Presbyterian-Columbia University Medical Center, one of the world’s best hospitals, and a training ground for physicians. Dr. Brian Fuller, the medical director, is a visionary thinker. I couldn’t be happier with Billy’s choice of research hospitals.
Billy had laid the groundwork for our meeting, but I figured it was appropriate that I call the doctor myself. If this plays out it will be a major benchmark in the history of Robot Depot.
“Dr. Fuller, a Mr. Mike Bateman is on line three for you. Isn’t he the robot guy?”
“Yes, Jesse, he’s definitely the robot guy. We’re shopping for a robot to replace you.”
“That’s line three, wiseass.”
Fuller is well known as an informal guy who’s loved by his subordinates. He’s as down to earth as a world famous genius can be.
“Doctor Fuller here, please call me Brian. Are you Mike Bateman?”
“Yes, Brian, and please call me Mike.”
“I’ve had some long chats with your chief scientist Billy Jackson. It’s always fun to talk to a true genius. Billy blew my fucking mind, Mike, please pardon my medical terminology. You guys at Robot Depot are way ahead of the curve in medical AI. As he may have told you, I’ve advocated the use of AI in medicine for so long I think that I started with the first robot. He told me all about Angus, the first robot in history that actually shows signs of sentience, an absolute breakthrough. But I’m really interested in the diagnostic database that Billy Jackson and the thing put together.”
“Angus prefers to be referred to as a person,” Brian. “He’ll get pissed off if you refer to him as ‘the thing.’ ”
“Far be it for me to piss off a robot,” Fuller said, laughing. “So we’re on for next Thursday. I’ll have a group of about 150 doctors there for the demonstration. I hope one of them is a urologist because I just may pee in my pants.”
***
Carly drove Jenny and me to the office, where we met Billy and Angus. Billy folded up Angus, placed him into a carrying case, and set him down in the trunk. He didn’t see any problem with the arrangement, because Billy had told him that bots often ride in the trunk. Angus kept busy by striking up a conversation with Carly. We could hear their muffled chatting on the speaker in the trunk.
Carly drove us to the rear entrance of the hospital on West 168th Street. An aide greeted us at the door and placed Angus’ trunk onto a gurney. “Thank you,” Angus said, scaring the shit out of the young aide. He took us to the auditorium, where most of doctors had already assembled. We sat at a table on the platform.
Dr. Brian Fuller was at the microphone and introduced us, including Angus whom he referred to as “that handsome pile of pipes over there.” Angus found this quite funny and laughed hysterically—“ayooga, ayooga, ayooga.” Billy leaned over to me and said softly, “I know, I know, I’ve got to fix the laugh.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Dr. Fuller, “you know that I’m not an overly dramatic guy—well, maybe sometimes. But what you will hear and see today is a dramatic breakthrough, a dramatic advance in science, and a dramatic new page in the history of medicine.”
“This guy’s good,” Jenny whispered to me. “Blanche would love him.”
“Everybody in the audience, as well as me, shares something in common,” Fuller continued. “We’re all medical professionals. Boiled down to its essence, what we do is help people with their illnesses and sometimes cure them. So let me pose a question to the audience. Just shout out your response. Here’s the question: How does the healing process start?”
“Diagnosis,” almost everyone in the audience said. A few said “proper diagnosis,” others “accurate diagnosis.” Fuller smiled.
So at least everybody knows what they’re supposed to do, I thought. Now let’s see how good they are at doing it. The fun was about to begin.
“Here’s how this presentation will work,” Fuller said. “Everyone will be handed a sheet with symptoms, along with details on the patient, including prior incidents, surgeries, family history, and so forth. You will also receive the result of recent physical tests such as blood work, urinalysis, and any radiological tests such as a CT scan. These are actual cases. Our friend Angus will be given the same sheet that you’re given. Yes, he’s able to read. I don’t want to embarrass anybody—that’s not the purpose of this presentation—so therefore you won’t be called on to deliver your diagnosis; it will be strictly voluntary. Please don’t start to read until you’re given the okay. Until I give you the go ahead, please keep the questions face down. You will be given a maximum of 10 minutes to read the information sheet. If you want to answer, just press the button on the arm of your chair. You can give a diagnosis for as many cases as you chose. Except for Angus that is. He’ll give a diagnosis for every case.”
The first item involved a 65-year-old male who complains of constant fatigue as well as occasional muscle pain and a bunch of other lesser symptoms. Fuller gave the signal, and everybody read about the guy’s complete history. The buzzer sounded.
“Yes, Doctor Gillespie, your diagnosis, please.”
“The gentleman in question suffers from macrocytic anemia, an insufficient amount of he
moglobin. I recommend vitamin and dietary therapy with a concentration on additional intake of iron.”
A bunch of heads nodded in agreement.
“Ayooga, ayooga, ayooga,” came the laugh from Angus. I gave Billy Jackson a look that advised him that his sudden death is imminent if he doesn’t fix that fucking laugh. We’re here to show people that Angus is a better diagnostician than them, but not to laugh at their mistakes. Thank God, Brian Fuller had a sense of humor.
“Well, it sounds like Angus doesn’t quite agree with the consensus diagnosis. May I ask Angus to please vocalize his diagnosis?”
“Yes, the man does suffer from macrocytic anemia,” Angus said, “but it’s secondary to cancer of the colon which metastasized to the liver. I recommend immediate chemotherapy for one month. If the tumors have not shrunk appreciably after one month, I recommend surgery to excise them. Shortly after surgery, I recommend a CT scan to see if any cancer cells may have migrated to the lymph nodes, in which case I will recommend continuing with chemotherapy.”
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