Uncanny

by Sarah Fine

  “She has had a few issues with food hoarding . . .”

  “I know that if she were thinking straight, she’d totally want to share, because that’s the kind of sweet person she is. But even though she has everything she could ever need here, she still treats me like a threat. I’m so worried about her, and I don’t know what to do.” Her voice has become strained. “I’m afraid she’s getting worse.”

  Maeve sighs. “She hasn’t been willing to talk to a therapist for years, in person or in virtual space, but the last one she did talk to said most of Cora’s odd behavior stems from the trauma she experienced.” Her brow furrows. “Cora really wanted me to tell you?”

  “I don’t think she wanted me to make a big deal out of it. And you don’t have to tell me anything embarrassing . . .”

  “She has no reason to be ashamed of any of it.” Maeve dabs at her eyes with a cloth napkin. “Me, on the other hand . . .”

  “How could it be your fault?”

  “I was already working for Parnassus, you know, climbing the corporate ladder, and I worked in sales. It required a lot of travel. I know a lot of it can be done in virtual, but an in-person handshake still gets a lot done. I was making as much money as I could, and that meant trusting Jeremy to take care of Cora. Big mistake.” She looks to the side as she sips her lemonade. “Big.”

  “He was your husband, right?”

  “Well, we were committed. And he’d lost his job right before Cora was born. He had worked for a software company, too, but they rolled out a new AI that could do his job better than he could.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I thought it was great, actually—he got the subsidy, and I got free childcare!” She laughs, but tonal analysis suggests she is on the verge of crying again. “But I didn’t realize what was happening. Cora had been such a quiet, easy baby, so even as she became a toddler, I figured he’d be fine taking care of her. I should have noticed all his complaints about her behavior, how she wouldn’t do anything he said, how she refused to sit on the potty . . . I thought that was just normal toddler behavior and that he was just venting.”

  “But it wasn’t normal?”

  Maeve shrugs. “Some of it probably was, but it was always harder with Cora. And every time I came home from a trip, she was more withdrawn.”

  “Like, quiet?”

  “Well, she was always quiet. It took her a long time to start talking.”

  “Like how long?”

  “She was maybe five? She had a few words before then, but it wasn’t until a year after Jeremy left that she really started to communicate with me.”

  “I didn’t realize,” says Hannah. “She sometimes says she’s no good with words—”

  “It really is harder for her than other people. And the doctors said that was partially just her individual development, but they also told me part of it was her early environment.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Because of the neglect and abuse I didn’t even know was happening.”

  “Things must have seemed okay, right? If something was obvious, you would have noticed.”

  Maeve shrugs. “There were signs that I missed. Sometimes she would scream bloody murder when I tried to pick her up. She had bruises, on her face, on her belly and legs, that Jeremy said were because she was clumsy and always falling. One time she had a burn on her hand, and Jeremy told me she had touched a skillet on the stove. And she was so skinny, underweight, and he kept telling me it was because she spit food out and refused to eat, though she would eat like a starving person whenever I fed her. He said it was because I was always giving her junk and he was trying to make her eat vegetables. I was gullible, frazzled, and feeling guilty enough about being the weekend parent to believe him.” Maeve dabs her eyes again. “I let it go on for far too long.”

  “How did you finally figure it out?”

  “I came home after a two-day trip and found Cora in a diaper she had to have been wearing the whole time—”

  “She was still wearing a diaper? I thought she was like four or five at that point.”

  “She was just a little slower on that stuff. But yes, after that I installed basic house AI without telling Jeremy. I should have just packed up Cora and taken her out of there.”

  “But didn’t you catch him?”

  Maeve looks into Hannah’s eyes. “Oh, I did, but only after I reviewed the vids. I caught him screaming at her. Shoving food into her mouth until her cheeks were bulging and she couldn’t cry—she could have choked! He slapped her and shook her too many times to count. And the rest of the time he was ignoring her. Sitting on the couch and pressing his neurostim device every five minutes,” she says. “Oh, and I caught him having sex with his other girlfriend. In front of Cora. That much I witnessed live, and I came home to confront him.”

  “But did he molest Cora?”

  Maeve grimaces. “Not that I saw. But I came home to my little girl, quiet and in a corner. Mute, like a frightened animal. She shrank away from me and whimpered when I tried to touch her. Jeremy said she was fine, that nothing had happened.” Maeve closes her eyes as 2 tears slip down her cheeks. “But she was holding her arm at a funny angle. I took her for a Bioscan. Her arm was broken, and he didn’t even know!”

  “He broke her arm?”

  Maeve shakes her head. “I reviewed all the cam feeds, including in the stairwell outside the apartment.” She lets out a sob. “And I saw her.”

  “She fell down the stairs.”

  “No.” Maeve peeks at Hannah over her folded hands. “She jumped.”

  “Like she was trying to fly or something?”

  “No. She didn’t even try to catch herself. She just fell. Like a rag doll.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t know. Cora couldn’t ever say. She claims she doesn’t remember. But I will tell you, Hannah—it was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.” Maeve winces. “I’ve probably said too much.”

  “No, Maeve, it’s okay.”

  “We were lucky she wasn’t hurt much worse. But obviously, that was the last straw for me. I kicked Jeremy out. I told him he’d never be alone with her again.” Her lip curls in apparent disgust. “And he decided he’d rather move to Cascadia with his new girlfriend. Honestly, it was a relief.” She frowns. “For me. I think it was confusing and upsetting for Cora. I wanted to fix it for her, but I never could figure out how to make it up to her.”

  “Dad said Jeremy was kind of a loser.”

  Maeve smiles. “Yes, Gary wasn’t impressed by him. And he’s done all he can to make Cora part of his family. He wants to be a real father to her.”

  “Yeah,” says Hannah. “He really has worked hard. Does he know everything you told me?”

  Maeve nods.

  Hannah is quiet for 7 seconds. “That’s great.” Tonal analysis contradicts her words. “I wish I’d known this, too.”

  “We weren’t intentionally keeping it from you. We just wanted to give Cora her privacy. I’m glad she’s opening up. It must mean she feels at least a little safer.”

  “I don’t know, Maeve. I might have thought so, but after what happened . . .”

  “That was definitely a setback.”

  “That seems like a pretty mild word for it. Did you watch Franka’s vid?”

  Maeve takes a large swallow of lemonade. Her gaze is focused on the tabletop.

  “Are you going to get her some help?”

  The silence continues.

  “Maeve, I can tell you feel so guilty about what happened to Cora when she was little. But now she’s obviously sick, and you’re willing to just let her be?”

  “That’s not fair.” Maeve’s voice is sharp. “We’ve upped Franka’s intervention settings. And you know we’ve stopped Cora from drinking.”

  “She tried to blame that on me . . .”

  “I know,” Maeve says, softer this time. “I’m glad you told us the truth.”

  “But if you can’t trust her . . . I don’t know, aren’t there facilities where sh
e could get some help? Where she could live safely?”

  “Instead of living with her family?” Maeve’s brows are drawn together and pushed down. “Hannah, if you were having problems, would you want us to send you away?”

  Hannah moves her chair back, increasing the distance between her and Maeve. “Of course I don’t want her to be sent away. I just want her to get help.” Tonal analysis suggests defensiveness.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Maeve finishes her lemonade. Her movements are abrupt, and her hands are trembling.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Maeve pauses, then takes a deep breath. “No, Hannah. I’m not mad. You just must be patient with Cora, okay? She’s been through a lot, and the best place for her is here. With us. Okay?” She moves forward and embraces Hannah, whose gaze focuses on Maeve’s hand on her upper arm, on her fourth finger, which bears her wedding and engagement rings.

  “Okay,” says Hannah.

  Maeve pulls away, smiling. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

  “Yup.”

  “Great.” Maeve exits the room, leaving her empty lemonade glass on the table.

  Hannah sits down again and stares at the glass for 19 seconds. She appears to close her eyes, because the cam perspective goes dark. There is the sound of shattering glass nearby. Hannah whispers, “Shit.”

  Tonal analysis suggests that she is crying.

  End of vid capture, 3:42 p.m., July 14, 2069

  Chapter Thirteen

  According to the temp gauge in my visual field, it’s 84 degrees outside, but I still have goose bumps as I walk up the path to the school. Rafiq walks next to me.

  “Thanks for talking them into this,” I say.

  “You can show your parents that you’re ready. Baby steps, right?”

  If that’s what it takes. “I’ll come right out after homeroom.”

  He nods. “Your principal has been notified. But if you go off grid . . .”

  “Ugh. I know.” I can’t do anything to make myself look guilty. Mom hasn’t mentioned the detective again since yesterday morning, but I’m far from being in the clear. “I promise I’ll be good.”

  He touches my arm. “Cora, I know it’s intrusive. I understand. I’ll help you get things back to normal.”

  I look up at him, and just . . . wish. Wish I were someone else, wish he and I could walk away and be far from here, wish I had a different brain, a different self. Wish I could erase so many of the things I’ve done and said. “I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t know if I’ve ever had that.”

  “We’ll get as close as we can, okay?” He smiles. “Or we’ll make our own normal, one that fits just right.” His smile fades. “Was that too therapisty?”

  I shake my head. “It was actually kind of beautiful.”

  The smile is back, and I am melting. “You have just made my day, Cora,” he says.

  “Cool. Wish me luck.”

  “I can be with you in a matter of a minute or two,” he says. “You know how to contact me.”

  “I just call your name.” Mom arranged this with Selridge. Rafiq has been given access to the surveillance cams in the school. He’ll be watching me the whole time. Normally, I hate that. Now I kind of like the idea. Just if it’s him, though. With one last smile, I turn for the door, but I look back after I reach the security cannies who stand just inside to scan each student for contraband.

  Rafiq is standing on the sidewalk. He is lean and handsome, and some of the girls and a few of the guys are looking him up and down like they wish they could peel off his clothes. They don’t know who he is, but it doesn’t keep them from wanting him.

  Possessiveness streaks through me as one girl named Chloe, another senior, says something to him with a suggestive smile. He glances at her and then looks back at me. He waves. Chloe gives me a disbelieving look, as if she can’t comprehend why he would do that.

  I wave back and head up to homeroom. The farther I get from him, the more I realize that I’m getting more attention than I usually do.

  For some reason, I hadn’t really thought about this, how the last time my classmates saw me, I was being carried, screaming, down the hall. Neda did a masterful takedown of any vid that showed it, so I didn’t see anything on the Mainstream when I tuned in again this morning, but a lot of these kids saw it in person.

  I swallow hard and smile, but I keep my eyes on my path, the stairs to the second floor, the plan to get through homeroom and show Mom and Gary they can trust me.

  “Cora!” The happiness in Neda’s voice brings me around, and my friend pulls me into a tight hug that I don’t even think to flinch away from. “It’s about time they let you out of the eternal cave of smothering. How are you so far?” She pulls back and looks at my face.

  And I look at hers, which is more polished than mine could ever be. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For taking all those vids down.”

  She waves it off with a sly smile. “What? I did no such thing. I don’t even know how. Mr. Cordoza was asking me about you. He’ll be glad to see you’re back.”

  Together, we climb the stairs. As soon as we walk into homeroom, I’ve got all the eyes in the room. Finn grips his desk. Mei and Lara lean closer to each other. Lara is watching me intently, lip curled. Neda and I sit down. Mr. Cordoza grins at me, but I can see the concern in his face. My “incident” happened on the first day of school, so he hasn’t seen me since June, but he was always the nicest teacher I’ve ever had, much nicer than the homeroom dictator I had in Brooklyn. “Great to see you, Cora,” Mr. Cordoza says. He pretends nothing happened at all. I am extremely grateful.

  I listen to most of the conversation. It’s about cannies, funnily enough, and how AI entities in the virtual and some actual cannies are agitating for rights and legal recognition.

  “Since the newly passed AI Accountability Act holds them responsible for any wrongdoing,” says Mr. Cordoza, “including when those crimes are committed as the result of malware infection—”

  “But are they held responsible?” asks Lara. “I mean, the police still go after the hacker or whoever wrote and set loose the virus.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Mr. Cordoza says, “but in all those cases—Ripley versus the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and Quinn versus the Silicon Valley Public Works being two of the most famous examples—the AI consciousness was still wiped, erased. A sort of death penalty, if you will.”

  “How can it be a death penalty when they’re not actually alive?” asks Finn.

  “How can you say they’re not alive when they are self-aware?” asks Neda. “Because I’m telling you, many of them are now. They write their own rules, and some can even rewrite their own base code. They don’t run on simple algorithms anymore. They’re not just robots.”

  “But they’re dependent on us to exist,” says Lara.

  “So are children,” says Mei.

  Lara pokes her in the arm as if Mei has somehow betrayed her. “AI are just electrical signals and code.”

  “They can still propagate independently in ways that mimic organic life-forms,” says Mr. Cordoza. “So in that way, some of them grow, develop, and reproduce.”

  “Not if you deprive them of an energy source,” Lara says.

  “Like oxygen?” Neda has one eyebrow arched. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

  Lara rolls her eyes. “You know it’s not the same.”

  “That’s your reasoned argument?” asks Neda. “Their minds are as complex as yours or mine. More complex, in some cases.” She’s giving Lara a cold look that makes me want to laugh.

  “But they don’t feel, right?” says Mei. “Doesn’t that make them . . . not as complex?”

  A lot of other kids chime in about this, about what feeling is, about where emotions come from. I sort of zone out, because I’m thinking about Rafiq and what existing is like for him. Is it neat and ordered? Is it all straight-edged columns and clean connection? Are his thoughts in code? Is it the total opposite of my
brain, a fevered swamp, dark waters, and beneath the surface . . . walls made of broken glass and laced with barbed wire, monsters coiled in the darkest places? Probably, but, “I think some of them have feelings,” I say, and even though I interrupted Neda, she closes her mouth and turns to me. Everyone is looking at me, and now my cheeks are getting hot. But I continue. “If they want rights, doesn’t that come from feeling something? How can you want something if you don’t . . . feel?” My voice fades.

  Mr. Cordoza looks so excited. “She’s right! They want rights and are motivated to ask for them, to advocate for themselves. What makes you want something?”

  We all sit there and look at each other. I think about how hard it is sometimes to know what I want. Wanting is complicated. It’s not like hunger for food or oxygen—that’s need, not desire.

  “You want things because you think you’ll be more whole because you have them. Because you think you’ll be happier,” says Neda after a few moments of silence. “You want rights because you can’t feel like a whole person if you aren’t free, if other people don’t respect you as an equal, if they don’t recognize that your life is worth as much.” She’s frowning and pulling at one of the small, silky tassels on her hijab.

  “But are their lives—their consciousness or whatever you wish to call it—worth as much as ours?” Mr. Cordoza adjusts his coat around his skinny frame.

  “You better hope they think so when they take over,” Neda mutters.

  No one laughs.

  “But they can’t take over,” says Mei. “There are laws. About how they can’t hurt us, even to defend themselves.”

  “And sometimes those laws are broken,” says Mr. Cordoza.

  “But always because of malware,” says Finn. “There’s been no case where a clean AI has hurt a human.”

  “Very good, Mr. Cuellar.” Mr. Cordoza claps his hands. “Every AI does have this base programming, by law.”

  Neda makes a little grumbling sound.

  We spend another half hour talking over the various example cases Mr. Cordoza provides, viewing snippets of the court proceedings on our individual Cerepins and talking about the arguments. It’s okay. Better than that, because for a little while, I manage to forget myself. I even forget Hannah. I’m thinking about Rafiq and what he feels, how much he feels, how he feels it, and whether his existence is as valid as mine. Or Finn’s. Or anyone’s.