Darkly Human

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “I can deal with that,” Sue said peaceably, forking Chinese food into her mouth.

  “I’m already rich and famous,” Jessy responded primly. “Time and Newsweek both said so, remember? What’s in it for me?”

  “The gratitude of thousands of harried parents?” Sue suggested.

  “A Nobel Prize for sheer brilliance,” Don said thoughtfully. “Which, of course, you would accept modestly, and with many thanks for the little people without whom you couldn’t have done anything…”

  “I could live with that.” Jessy laughed, realizing that she hadn’t had this much fun working in a long time. Maybe she should collaborate more often.

  “There won’t be anything if you three don’t stop dreaming and start working,” MUM said, breaking into their daydreams.

  “Yes, MUM,” they chorused, and went back to discussing the schemata blinking at them from their respective screens.

  “Jessy?”

  The soft voice intruded into her dreams, and she groaned. Pulling the thick blanket over her head, Jessy rolled over and burrowed her head into the pillow, dreading what was to come.

  “Jessy, time to get up.”

  “Go ’way. Lemme sleep.”

  “Jessy, it’s almost 6am. If you don’t get up now, the CO2 levels will have risen too much for your daily walk.”

  So I’ll skip it today, Jessy thought grumpily. Healthier that way, probably. Where did this health and exercise kick creep into the program? I know I didn’t write it!

  “Jessy Elizander…”

  Jessy groaned. “I’m up, I’m up!”

  MUM opened the drapes, letting the clear dawn light stream through the windows. Jessy could feel it hit the back of her head, burning its way through her brain, singing carols of gladness and joy. Jessy was not a gladness and joy person, especially not at the crack of dawn, and it only made her crankier. Through the central air vents, she could hear the kitchen starting up, and the sound of the hot-water heater getting into gear. If she crawled out of bed now, Jessy told herself, there would be a hot shower and fresh waffles. Wait until a decent hour, and MUM would have let everything get cold. She knew this from a week of painful experience. Sometimes MUM was worse than a Marine drill sergeant. Worse, because Marines didn’t use guilt as a motivator. Sometimes Jessy wished she had left the psychology textbook out of MUM’s programming.

  “You’re a pain in the ass,” she said, slowly wiggling out of her blanket cocoon. “Remind me never to make you mobile. You’d probably pull the sheets right off, and pour cold water over anyone who didn’t get up fast enough.”

  MUM, for once, was silent, although Jessy knew damn well that the computer heard every word she muttered. Raising the lid of one bleary eye, Jessy looked outside. Overcast, with a 50 percent chance of sleet. Another beautiful day in the neighborhood, oh joy.

  That battle won, MUM went on the attack once again. “And when you have the chance, could you please do something about the state of your room? It looks like a pigsty.”

  “Didn’t I reprogram you about that neatness thing?” Jessy wondered out loud, twisting her back in an attempt to work the kinks out. “Lighten up, MUM, before I decide to eliminate that nag program entirely. I’m thirty years old. I can decide when I need to clean all by my lonesome. Really I can. Cease program.” She grabbed her robe off the floor and headed for the shower. Turning on the water, Jessy picked up a can of shaving cream and covered over the lens of the receptor in the bathroom. “Gotta give a girl some privacy” she said, only half-jokingly.

  That set the pattern for the next three weeks: Jessy working at her usual caffeine-enhanced speed, and MUM forcing her to take regular breaks, eat hot meals, get out for some exercise if the weather co-operated — generally taking pretty damn good care of the human in her care, just as programmed. And every bit of coddle and nag MUM came up with just reinforced Jessy, Sue and Don’s belief that they had created the perfect parental aid. No more worrying about the untrustworthy babysitter, or dangerous schools, or strangers raising your children because you had to work. Perfectly programmable, and so perfectly trustworthy, the MUM program would never allow a child in its care to come to harm. MUM was the cure for parental guilt.

  On the thirtieth day of MUM’s existence, flush with justifiable pride, Jessy put in a call to The Jackal. Norm Jacali, CFO of Imptronics, had picked her up straight out of college years ago, given her free rein, and made a fortune off the public’s hunger for her designs. He had been the man to give the okay to the “Mad Scientist” project. He was also responsible for several of the more distasteful adult interactive video games currently in stores, which had earned him the dubious honor of topping the Media Morality’s “List of Dishonor” three years running.

  Jackali was a sleaze, Jessy admitted frequently, and without hesitation, but he had an almost inhuman understanding of the market, and enough sense to give his creative people whatever they needed — so long as they delivered. Hence the phone call. He had been leaving pitiful little noises with her voice mail, asking — begging — for an update on M.U.M.’s progress. She didn’t know who had told him that M.U.M. was running, but she wasn’t ready to hand her over to Marketing just yet. By heading him off now, Jessy thought, she might get more time to test the program. So, rather than e-mail him a terse “lay-off” as usual when he started getting antsy, she decided to grace him with a little face-to-face.

  Norm, of course, was in the office on a Saturday afternoon, and no one would ever have guessed that he’d doubted the M.U.M. project for even an instant.

  “We can have it in the stores by summer, Memorial Day would be perfect, play it like the cheaper alternative to day camp — maybe shrinkwrap it with the HouseCleaner program, those sales ’ve been slipping what with the Alien Workforce Relief Program going through Congress — blighted morons, every one of them.” He stopped to take a breath.

  The Jackal was in fine form, his well-manicured fingers practically sparking as he rubbed them across the polished surface of his three-acre workstation. Jessy laughed. She couldn’t stand him sometimes, but he was such a perfect caricature you had to forgive him a lot. “Whatever you want, Norm. Just leave me be until I’ve worked out all of the kinks in the wiring.”

  “Anything, my brilliant young cash cow, anything! Just as long as you can give me results in time for the shareholders’ meeting!” And he waggled narrow eyebrows in farewell before leaning forward to break our connection.

  “I don’t have any kinks.”

  By now Jessy was used to MUM’s habit of dropping into conversational mode without a stimuli prompt. It was an unexpected but not completely unacceptable side effect of the bio initiative. Certainly more agreeable than MUM’s fixation on tidiness!

  “I’m just running final checks, MUM. Nothing to heat your diodes over.”

  “Who was that…person…you were talking to?”

  Jessy rolled her eyes ceilingward, although MUM could pick her up on any of the House receptors. “My boss, in a way. Now cease program, MUM. I need to get this sub-system documented.”

  “He isn’t a nice man, is he?”

  Jessy stopped her typing, surprised by the question. “Nice” wasn’t a concept she had given MUM. Was it? Could MUM be learning new concepts already? The thought gave Jessy a chill that was only partially anticipation. Slowly she said, “No, MUM, he isn’t. But we need him in order to get you on the market. So hush, while I get this done.”

  It was quiet for a few minutes, the only movement the flash of Jessy’s fingers over the keyboard. She was seated, crosslegged, in the sunroom off the kitchen, sandwiched between a wall of video circuitry and an overstuffed leather recliner. She’d long ago discovered that she worked better on the ground, so all of her carpets were worn, and the furniture had dust inches thick. Another topic for MUM to carp over, Jessy knew, once she noticed it.

  “Jessy?”

  Jessy sighed. So much for cease program. “Yes, MUM?”

  “I don’t like th
at man. You won’t associate with him any longer.”

  Jessy briefly contemplated beating herself over the head with her keyboard. “If I don’t deal with Norm,” she explained as patently she could, “I don’t get paid. And if I don’t get paid, I won’t have the money to pay Eastern Nuke. And if I don’t pay the nuke bill…”

  “There’s no need to take that tone with me.” MUM responded with what sounded like, but couldn’t possibly be, a note of petulance. “I can follow a logic chain as well as the next household appliance. But he should show you a little more respect.”

  “Mm-hmm. If you can work that, MUM, it’ll be the first sign of the Coming Apocalypse.”

  The phone rang, so Jessy was spared whatever comeback MUM might have made to this. Reaching out her right arm, Jessy flipped the receiver on while she continued typing with her left hand.

  “Elizander.”

  “Hey, Jessy, missed seeing you at the diner last night. You hot on some new project, or just too lazy to crawl out of bed?” The voice was a warm alto, full of affection and just a hint of concern.

  “Oh, hell, Nick, I forgot.” Jessy turned to face the screen. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my schedule’s been so screwed up lately…” She shrugged. “Did I miss anything?”

  Nicola shook her head, her mass of braids swinging wildly. “Just the usual assortment, all griping about life as we know it. Same old same old.”

  The “usual assortment” translated into five or six friends who all worked off hours. Once a month they would get together at a local diner when the rest of the world was asleep and play “I got a worse job than you do.” Jessy hadn’t missed a meeting of the No-Lifers since its inception three years before. No wonder Nicola called to check up on her.

  “So tell me all the gory details. Anyone get themselves fired this time around?” Jessy leaned back against the recliner and adjusted the vidscreen so that she could see her friend easier.

  “Actually, no.” Nick sounded surprised about that. “How ’bout you? What’s gotten you all wrapped up you can’t spend a few hours shooting the shit?”

  “Oh, man, Nick, you would not believe what I’m into. But I can’t tell you anything, not yet.” Nicola was a technical reporter for The Wall Street Journal, and Jessy knew all too well that friendship and sworn oaths meant nothing to a good story. M.U.M. would be front-cover news before Imptronics could spit, and The Jackal would have her hide plastered all over his office walls.

  “Aw, Jessy…”

  “Not a chance, Nick. But I promise, you’re going to have first shot at interviewing me when this hits the market.”

  “An interview?” She sounded dubious. “Jess, you’ve never done interviews before.” Her killer instincts took over. “With a photo, and everything?”

  “Bit, byte and RAM,” Jessy promised the other woman, knowing full well that her prized privacy would be history once M.U.M. hit the market anyway. Why not make the best of a bad deal?

  “This has got to be hot,” Nicola said confidently. “Okay, I promise. No prying until you’re ready to spill. But if you back out, woman, your ass is mine!”

  “Ahem.”

  Nicola cocked her head. “You got company, Jess?”

  “Hang on a second, Nick.” Jessy muted the phone and turned away so that Nick couldn’t see her lips move. “What is it, MUM?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working? It’s not time for your lunch break yet.”

  Jessy rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. “MUM, somewhere along the line you seem to have forgotten that I’m the programmer, and you’re the program. Do you understand what that means?”

  “I understand that you have a deadline to meet, according to your conversation with that man,” and despite herself Jessy grinned at the distaste still evident in MUM’s tone. “Talking on the phone for all hours is not getting you any closer to meeting that deadline.”

  “All right, MUM, point made. You’re a good little conscience. Now leave me alone, okay?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Jessy turned back to face the screen. “Sorry about that,” she began, only to break off in amazement when Nicola began making faces and waving her arms. “What? Oh —.” Jessy blushed. “Oh, yeah,” she said, belatedly flicking off the mute control. “Sorry. Work stuff. Very hush-hush where you’re concerned. Now, where were we?”

  Nicola opened her mouth to respond, and the screen flickered, then went blank.

  “Oh, hell,” Jessy swore, doing a quick double-take to make sure she hadn’t sat on the remote, or something equally stupid. “Must have been on her end,” she groused, reaching forward to dial Nicola’s work number.

  Much to Jessy’s surprise, the screen did not light up in response to her touch. A quick look around confirmed that there hadn’t mean a power outage, and that the phone was still plugged in. A small, nasty suspicion took root in the back of Jessy’s mind.

  “MUM?”

  There was no answer.

  “MUM!” Jessy was good and mad now. “Front and center, MUM, or I swear I’ll rip you out of the Housecomp if I have to do it with a screwdriver and an exacto blade!”

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset,” MUM said in a quietly reasonable voice. “Didn’t you say that you didn’t want to be disturbed?

  “That was to Jacali, MUM, not Nick. There’s a difference!” Jessy tried to get a hold of her temper. “That’s not the point, anyway. What made you think that it was okay to cut off the phone line?”

  There was an almost-undetectable hesitation as MUM accessed the file in question, then responded “If client does not respond to basic reprimand, M.U.M. may, at user’s discretion, enforce certain restrictions on client’s activities.”

  Jessy hit her head against the cabinets on the wall behind her. “Great,” she said under her breath. “Next thing you know, I’ll be grounded.” Louder. “MUM, I’m the User. You have to consult me before you implement any of the option codes.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause, then MUM said “I don’t think so, Jessy.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think so. That’s not in any of my programming.”

  “That’s impossible, MUM. It’s in there, it has to be.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is, MUM. Trust me.”

  “Now, Jessy dear, don’t take that tone with me just because you’re upset. It’s certainly not my fault if you forgot to input basic commands.”

  Jessy closed her eyes, silently reminding herself that arguing with a computer program, no matter how advanced, was the quickest ticket to the psych ward ever discovered.

  “Fine. Just fine. We’ll take care of that right now, then, won’t we?” Logging on to the directory which contained M.U.M.’s basic commands, Jessy scanned through until she found the one she wanted. “There, see?” Jessy said triumphantly. “There it is.” In a more puzzled tone of voice, she wondered, “how the hell did you manage to route around that? MUM, dial Gerry for me, will you?”

  There was silence, then a long-suffering sigh came from the speakers.

  “This is work, MUM. Do it, now!”

  And that, Jessy thought with satisfaction after reworking the command route, was that. Except of course that it wasn’t. Like a ward nurse distributing horrid-tasting medicine “for your own good.” MUM continued to monitor her phone calls, disconnecting anyone she felt was a waste of Jessy’s time.

  To give MUM credit, Jessy had to admit that she never snapped the line on anyone important, once a list of who the important people were was entered into MUM’s memory. Of course, Jacali didn’t try to call, either. That might have been a toss-up to MUM.

  The truth was, Jessy admitted to herself late one night as she lay staring up at the ceiling, she just didn’t want to curtail MUM. It was too exciting, watching her evolve, wondering what she was going to do next. ” Careful,” a little voice in the back of Jessy’s mind warned her. “I bet that’s what Dr. Frankenstein said, too!”

  Work continued, and five weeks
after that first morning MUM came on-line, Jessy’s life had fallen into a comfortable pattern: up at 6am, a brisk walk around the neighborhood followed by a solid breakfast, then five hours of work interrupted for a light lunch and a nap, then another five hours of work before dinner and her evening exercise in the basement gym before catching the news and maybe a little reading. Things she hadn’t even thought to have time to do before MUM rescheduled her life, and certainly never had the energy to do before she started eating real meals. Jessy had no complaints. Well,” she thought. “Maybe one or two.” And that damn neatness kick!

  “Jessy,” MUM said.

  Jessy put her head down in her hands. She knew that tone. “Get off my back, MUM. It’s Sunday. Day of play, remember? Monday through Friday I work, Saturday I sleep, Sunday I play.”

  “Your room looks like a tsunami hit it.” MUM sounded like the voice of caring reason. Eat your peas, dear, they’re good for you. Go outside and get some fresh air, you’re looking a little pale. Clean up your room, it’s a little musty in there. Suddenly, Jessy couldn’t stand it.

  “How would you know?” Jessy retorted with some heat. “You’ve never seen a tsunami. For that matter, you’ve never seen another bedroom! I’m the programmer, and I say that’s the way it’s supposed to look!” She looked up at the receptor. “Okay? Okay.” And she went back to the vid game she was playing, satisfied that she had heard the last of it.

  There was a long silence.

  “Jessy.”

  “Yes, MUM?”

  “I’m really going to have to insist.”

  And the vidscreen snapped off.

  “Goddamnit, MUM!” Jessy yelled, flinging the controls to the ground. “I swear to god I’m going to wipe your memory and start all over again. Repeat after me. ‘Jessy is the Programmer. MUM is the Program. MUM will not do anything that is not in the Program.’ Can you handle that?”

  “But Jessy, if I feel the need to make you clean up your room, and I can only do what’s in my programming, doesn’t that mean that you put a clean room —”