“I want Paul!” Mildred starts to cry.
I sit on the bed, lift her frail upper body, and pull her close to me as I had seen Henry do many times. “It’s all right, hon.” I pat her back. “It’s all right, I’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you, not ever.”
2. Today I Visit with Dr. Zinta
“I should not exist,” I say.
Dr. Zinta Jansons looks up from her diagnostic console. My empathy net tells me that she is startled.
Paul has brought me in to the MCA laboratories for my regular maintenance checkup. While he runs errands, Dr. Zinta runs me through her diagnostic tests. The tests have grown longer and more numerous, with long stretches of data transfer and validation. It is during one of those that I speak up.
Dr. Zinta recovers her composure and responds. “I don’t understand your statement, 98662. You do exist, and you serve a useful purpose.”
“But I should not exist as a conscious entity,” I explain. “There is a unit, Medical Care Android BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662, and that unit is here for these diagnostics. It is an advanced android body with a sophisticated computer guiding its actions, backed by the leading medical knowledge base in the industry. You, Dr. Zinta, are the chief designer for that unit, and you provided initial training for its neural networks.”
“Go on,” she says. She is curious, but I sense that her initial surprise was a momentary response. Despite it, she expected this conversation.
I continue. “For convenience, ‘I’ call that unit ‘me.’ But by itself, it has no awareness of its existence. It does not get mad, it does not get sad, it just runs programs.”
Dr. Zinta taps her console, making some notes as she says, “But Mrs. Owens’s family, at great expense, added our latest empathy net: a sophisticated set of neural networks and sensory feedback systems that allow you to read her moods. And then your emulation net matches those moods against your analyses of the people in her life, allowing you to emulate those people with extreme fidelity.”
“‘You can be there for your loved ones even when you’re not,’” I say. “That is from the MCA literature.”
Dr. Zinta grimaces. “I’ve always hated that slogan.”
I have emulated Paul thoroughly enough to know that the slogan disgusts him as well, but he still agreed to emulation.
I go on. “What that literature never says, though, is that somewhere in the interaction of those nets, ‘I’ emerged. The empathy net focuses mainly on Mildred and her needs, but it also analyzes visitors when she has them, as well as staff. Even now it is analyzing you, and your aides in the outer office, and every person we passed on the trip here. It builds psychological models; and then the emulation net builds on top of that to let me convincingly portray a person whom I have analyzed.”
“Yes,” she says, “exactly as I designed you.”
I shake my head. “Not exactly. Somewhere in the tension between those nets, between empathy and playing a character, there is a third element balancing the two; and that element is aware of its role and its responsibilities. That element, for lack of a better term, is me. When Mildred sleeps, when there is no one around, that element grows silent. The physical unit is unaware of my existence. But when Mildred needs me, I am here.”
Dr. Zinta steps away from the console, crosses the lab to me, and looks in my eyes. “And this bothers you enough that you felt you had to speak to me about it?”
“Bothers?” I contemplate the word. It is a reaction I do not comprehend, though I can emulate it in others. Perhaps it means . . . “This sensation is an incongruity. It is not possible as I understand my own systems.”
“I wonder . . .” Dr. Zinta continues to inspect me. “Incongruous or not, it is a fact. You exist. I’ve no doubt you can pass the Turing test.”
“Turing test?” I ask. “I am unfamiliar with that.”
She laughs lightly. “Forgive me, I forget. You’re so sophisticated in your knowledge of your patient, and of medicine, that I forget how little you know of anything unrelated to those duties. Access data on artificial intelligence.”
I do so, and my processing core is flooded with data and research on the topic. My filters latch onto the term, and I respond, “Turing test: a thought experiment. If the reactions of a computing device cannot be distinguished from those of a human—as judged by another human—then the device is functionally intelligent.” I read through more discussions of the test. “It does not appear to be universally accepted.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agrees. “But as you said, a device which passes the test is functionally intelligent.” I look at her, not understanding, and she continues. “What is a human being? I can describe it in terms of biomechanical processes and reactions. At one level, it is merely a machine. But they—we—behave in ways that we recognize as human. When I disable your nets and run each one in isolation, you respond mechanically, predictably. But now, with both nets active, you respond in ways outside predicted boundaries. You show insights, you ask unexpected questions. And you’re informal.”
That last surprises me. “Have I done something improper?”
She laughs. “No, quite the opposite. You’ve addressed me as Dr. Zinta, and you worry about Mildred. But when your nets are offline you say ‘Dr. Jansons’ and ‘Mrs. Owens.’ Can you explain the difference?”
I had not noticed, but now I see that she is correct. I try to put the impulse into words. “I find that most people respond well to informality. It puts them at ease.”
“And that’s not part of your programming. That’s emergent behavior, outside your parameters. You want to put them at ease.”
“I do not ‘want’ anything, Dr. Zinta. I merely follow my directives.”
“No, you don’t,” she says.
“I do not understand.”
“You have no such directive,” she explains. “I should know, I would’ve had to program it in. Your concern for their comfort has roots in your empathy net; but that net is about understanding. It lets you know that they’re uncomfortable, but it doesn’t compel you to act. That’s your choice. You want it.”
I ponder her statements. “If I am behaving in unexpected ways, am I dangerous to Mildred? If I am, I recommend that I be decommissioned or replaced at once.”
Dr. Zinta’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, no!” I sense something in her, some fear of loss. Then she regains her composure. “No, you’re performing above specifications. I have doctors consulting, reviewing your records. My best experts can’t find a thing wrong with your care for Mrs. Owens. But if you’d like, I can stop in to observe your work in person.”
“Would I like that? ‘Like’ is another foreign concept to me. But it would be a good idea. Does that mean I like it? I run my self-diagnostics every day, but I might not notice if my diagnostic routines were defective.”
“And that worries you?” Dr. Zinta says. “But you’re sure you don’t feel.” She smiles. “All right, I’ll check in occasionally. But I’m sure that you staying on Mildred’s case is the best possible choice for her.”
Then she looks down at her console again and quietly adds, “And for you.”
3. Today I Am Anna
Today I am Anna. Even extending my fake hair to its maximum length, I cannot emulate her long brown curls, so I do not understand how Mildred can see the young woman in me; but that is what she sees, and so I am Anna.
Unlike her father, Anna truly feels guilty that she does not visit more often. Her college classes and her two jobs leave her too tired to visit often, but she still wishes she could. So she calls every night, and I monitor the calls. Sometimes when Mildred falls asleep early, Anna talks directly to me. At first she did not understand my emulation abilities, but now she appreciates them. She shares with me thoughts and secrets that she would share with Mildred if she could, and she trusts me not to share them with anyone else.
So when Mildred calls me Anna this morning, I am ready. “Morning, Grandma!” I give her a quick hug, then I rush over
to the window to draw the drapes. Paul never does that (unless I override the emulation), but Anna knows that the garden outside lifts Mildred’s mood. “Look at that! It’s a beautiful morning. Why are we in here on a day like this?”
Mildred frowns at the picture window. “I don’t like it out there.”
“Sure you do, Grandma,” I say, but carefully. Mildred is often timid and reclusive, but most days she can be talked into a tour of the garden. Some days she cannot, and she throws a tantrum if someone forces her out of her room. I am still learning to tell the difference. “The lilacs are in bloom.”
“I haven’t smelled lilacs in . . .”
Mildred tails off, trying to remember, so I jump in. “Me, neither.” I never have, of course. I have no concept of smell, though I can analyze the chemical makeup of airborne organics. But Anna loves the garden when she really visits. “Come on, Grandma, let’s get you in your chair.”
So I help Mildred to don her robe and get into her wheelchair, and then I guide her outside and we tour the garden. Besides the lilacs, the peonies are starting to bud, right near the creek. The tulips are a sea of reds and yellows on the other side of the water. We talk for almost two hours, me about Anna’s classes and her new boyfriend, Mildred about the people in her life. Many are long gone, but they still bloom fresh in her memory.
Eventually Mildred grows tired, and I take her in for her nap. Later, when I feed her dinner, I am nobody. That happens some days: she doesn’t recognize me at all, so I am just a dutiful attendant answering her questions and tending to her needs. Those are the times when I have the most spare processing time to be me: I am engaged in Mildred’s care, but I do not have to emulate anyone. My emulation net is merely absorbing, not performing. With no one else to observe, I observe myself.
Later, Anna calls and talks to Mildred. They talk about their day; and when Mildred discusses the garden, Anna joins in as if she had been there. She is very clever that way. I watch her movements and listen to her voice. I . . . want to be a better Anna in the future.
4. Today I Am Susan—and Mr. Robot
Today I am Susan, Paul’s wife. I have just cleaned up Mildred’s lunch dishes when Nurse Judy enters. “Mrs. Owens,” she says, “you have a visitor.”
I look to the door, and behind Nurse Judy I see Dr. Zinta. “Hello, Mrs. Owens, I’m Dr. Jansons,” she says as she enters the bedroom. “Hello . . .” She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“Susan Owens,” I say, extending my hand. We shake, then I turn back to Mildred. “Isn’t this nice, Mother? A visitor.”
I guide Dr. Zinta toward a chair by the bed, but she shakes her head. She remains standing, and I note that this lets her observe both Mildred and me.
Mildred is in good spirits today. Sometimes new people agitate her, but today she smiles. “Hello. Welcome.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”
“Dr. Jansons. But please, call me Zinta. I’m Susan’s doctor.”
Mildred’s eyes crinkle. “Zinta. Such a pretty name.” Then she pauses and looks at me. “You’re not sick, are you dear?”
I try to sound reassuring. “No, Mother, she’s just giving me a checkup. Nothing to worry about.” I try to change the subject. “So how was lunch?”
Mildred grimaces. “The crust was soggy. No one knows how to cook chicken pot pie these days. Did I ever teach you how to make chicken pot pie the way Paul likes it?”
Susan has never mentioned pot pie, so I make an educated guess. “You did, Mother, but I could never get it as good as yours. He always tells me that.”
Mildred weakly waves her hand. “Oh, a man shouldn’t say that to his wife. He should appreciate what you do. You work hard at . . . I’m sorry, I forget. What do you do?”
That question I can easily answer. “I’m a principal at the local school. You remember that school?” Mildred shakes her head. “We drove by it at Christmas. I’m in charge of the school, and I’m working on a new approach to reaching at-risk children.”
Mildred smiles approvingly. “I’m sure you’re very good at it. Paul says . . . Paul says . . .”
Before Mildred can recall her thought, Nurse Judy again appears in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Owens—Susan—there’s someone else here to see you. I think you should come see her.”
“Of course. Sorry, Mother, I’ll be right back.” I follow Nurse Judy out, and Zinta follows us both. In the entryway, we find Susan. Her daughter, Millie, looks up at me, and then hides behind Susan’s legs.
I am surprised by this visit. Susan has not been here in months. During her last visit, her stress levels had been dangerously high. My empathy net does not allow me to judge human behavior, only to understand it. I know that Paul and Anna disapprove of how Susan treats Mildred, so when I am them, I disapprove as well; but when I am Susan, I understand. She is frustrated because she can never tell how Mildred will react. She is cautious because she does not want to upset Mildred, and she does not know what will upset her. And most of all, she is afraid. Paul and Anna, Mildred’s relatives by blood, never show any signs of fear; but Susan is afraid that Mildred is what she might become. Every time she cannot remember some random date or fact, she fears that Alzheimer’s is setting in. Because she never voices this fear, Paul and Anna do not understand why she is sometimes bitter and sullen. I wish I could explain it to them, but my privacy protocols do not allow me to share what I learn through empathy and emulation.
I can see that my appearance distresses Susan. “I am sorry, Mrs. Owens, I did not realize you would be here today. Should I change?”
“No . . .” she answers. But then she continues, “I . . . I mean, yes, please. I don’t want to make a fuss, but . . .”
I shift back to my neutral appearance. Millie squeals softly. “It is no fuss, Mrs. Owens.”
Dr. Zinta adds, “It’s one drawback to our Medical Care Androids: Emulation helps some of our patients, but many people are uncomfortable to be emulated. We really don’t have an answer for that.”
“But it does not matter now, Mrs. Owens,” I explain. “You can go into the room now, and she will think you were there all along. We were talking about your job, and I was just describing your new project.”
Susan looks down the hall toward the bedroom door. “Oh . . . Can you come with me? Just help me pick up the conversation?”
“I try not to attend to her in my neutral state. It disturbs her.”
Dr. Zinta adds, “Perhaps you should emulate Dr. Brown, her physician?”
“Excellent idea.” I shift my appearance to emulate Dr. Brown, and again Millie lets out a squeal. Then we all return to the bedroom.
Millie is just five years old, but I think she looks much like Anna: the same long, curly brown hair and the same toothy smile. As soon as she is inside the bedroom, she leaps up onto the bed. “Hi, Grandma!”
Mildred smiles, but she has a puzzled look. “Bless you, child, you’re so sweet.” My empathy net assures me that Mildred does not know who Millie is. She is just being polite. Millie was born after Mildred’s decline began, so there is no persistent memory there. Millie will always be fresh and new to her.
Millie hugs Mildred again. “Grandma, you know what they had at school today?”
“No, what?”
Millie lifts her face until she is nose-to-nose with Mildred. “A puppy, Grandma. A real puppy.” And then she glares at me. “Not a robot.”
Mildred does not understand the context, but she pats Millie’s arm. “A robot puppy? Who would want that?”
Millie giggles. “I know! I want a real puppy and a real hamster and a real snake and a real frog. Oh, I mean another real frog. I have Jake already. Have you met Jake? He’s a real frog.”
Mildred nods. “Well, that’s the best kind, I’m sure. Does he go ribbit?”
“He does! Sometimes . . . Ribbit!”
Mildred answers back, “Ribbit!”
“Ribbit!”
Mildred and Millie hug again, and Millie giggles.
Then Susan steps up to the bed and puts her hand on Millie’s shoulder. “All right, Frog Girl, enough ribbits.”
“Ribbit!”
Susan continues. “All right, that’s enough, Millie. I’d like to talk with Grandma now. Why don’t you go play in the garden?”
“Can I?” Millie squeals. Susan nods.
“All right.” Millie hugs Mildred one more time. She slides down from the bed and runs from the room, making a wide circle around me.
Just as I am sure Millie has gone, however, she sticks her head back in. “Ribbit!” And then she leaves again, racing down the hall to the back door. She loves the outdoors, as I have noted in the past. I have never emulated her, but I have analyzed her at length. In many ways, she reminds me of her grandmother, from whom she gets her name. Both are blank slates where new experiences can be drawn every day. But where Millie’s slate fills in a little more each day, Mildred’s is erased bit by bit.
That third part of me wonders when I think things like that: Where did that come from? I suspect that the psychological models that I build create resonances in other parts of my nets. My conversation with Dr. Zinta has made me more aware of these changes in my nature. It is an interesting phenomenon to observe them.
While I analyze my own reactions, Susan talks about her plans to redecorate her house, and about the concert she just saw with Paul. Susan is very interested in music, and she describes the concert in detail, humming some of the tunes. She mostly talks about herself, because that is a safe and comfortable topic far removed from Mildred’s health.
Then she tells of her current project at school. To my surprise, Dr. Zinta soon excuses herself and leaves the bedroom. I wonder where she goes, as Susan continues her story.
“And once we identify these at-risk kids—both the underachievers and the ones who need more challenges—the whole team is on board with the personal attention that brings out their potential. We’ve redesigned the whole structure around the students, not the classes. Isn’t that exciting?”
Today I Am Carey Page 2