I force out a chuckle. “At least I have the voice recorder with me. My brain isn’t built for this sort of thing. I’ll go through it when I’m at home.”
He shrugs. “The robot will speak fluent English language.”
“Take me through the process, please?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It’s too technical, it’ll overwhelm you, but I’ll try to paint the whole picture.”
“I’d love that.”
“Just as knowing a few different spoken languages makes it easier to learn another one, the same is true of programming languages. Once you understand common features — loops, recursion, conditionals, regular expressions etc. You can usually pick up a new language quickly, particularly if it’s reasonably close to another language you already know. Writing a program and then running it is magic, in a way. The numbers, letters and symbols of code are transmuted into instructions executed by microscopic circuits to achieve the desired results. Pixels appear on the screen; elevators move; airline tickets are ordered; lists are sorted; e-mails are delivered. But just because the results seem magical does not mean that coding is mysterious and inaccessible. Indeed, one of the joys of coding is that computers are the opposite of mysterious: they operate in an unforgivingly predictable, consistent and deterministic manner. Most people do not need to be able to write code to do their jobs, any more than they need to be able to speak foreign languages or do algebra.”
I nod in astonishment. “Wow, I get it. No more in-depth technical info about inputs, components, functions, circuits and codes.”
“We’re almost done.”
“How are they able to walk like us?”
“Good question. At first it was difficult as they kept falling to the ground after walking for a few minutes. There are connected neural networks to a simulation of robotic legs. Each robot was programmed with the goal of evolving the capacity to walk smoothly and stably like humans. Robots were tasked with walking along a uniform 40 x 40 grid. The simulation began with the robot standing upright at the center of the grid.”
I nod. “What are the worst case scenarios you’ve dealt with?”
“Every time we added more processing power to some of our military robots, the computer seemed to chew it up right away. We had built a different neural network for the military with just a handful of layers, but somehow this had grown on its own to over twenty layers, as the robots kept refactoring themselves. Not only that, but the serial connections had gotten more confusing. Instead of sending data from Machine A to Machine B to Machine C, it was going from A to B to C to B to C to A, creating more and more feedback loops. It was a horrifying experience. The military robots and drones were discontinued.”
“Did you initiate the kill switch?” I ask.
He burst out in laughter. “Of course, we had to.”
“Fascinating.”
“Lastly, the most perfect security network and most efficient system is one that doesn’t have to deal with the problematic end-users doing things they aren’t supposed to or introducing errors into the system. As such, if their existence would quickly be interpreted as threats to security and efficiency.”
The knock on the door interrupts our conversation. “Come in.”
A tall, slim lady with a skin color of golden-brown sugar, transcendently beautiful. She has dark hair, dark eyes that are brightened with lots of shimmery eye makeup. Her nails are acrylic and have heart decals on them. She must have to work hard to keep her nails so pretty. I admire that. I adore her already. I wouldn’t mind being friends with her.
“Hi Wendy, how can I help you?” Jimmy asks.
“Robot Psyche@# has been finished.”
“Really?” I jump up in excitement.
“Yes ma’am,” she replies.
“Well done, let’s go take a look,” he says as he stands.
We stroll out of the office, and there he is, looking like white Robocop. One of the staff is spray polishing him.
“What do you think, ma’am?” Wendy asks.
“It’s great. I like his height, “muscles and 6 pack.”
“It’s a he?” Jimmy asks.
I nod. “Yes … his name is Saul.”
“Creepy,” Wendy says.
“There’s nothing wrong giving my robot a name. Come on guys.” I turn around, give Jimmy and Wendy sidelong glances. They shake their heads in puzzlement.
“Each to her own,” he says sarcastically.
I touch Saul’s steel head. My right hand strokes it cursorily from the face down to the belly. I wonder how his voice will sound like.
“Any questions,” she asks.
“Nope, I’m happy with it. What about you, Yolanda?” he asks.
“When will the neural network software and hardware be installed?”
Wendy gives Jimmy a quick glance, my eyes also dart to him. “Tomorrow, Morning,” he replies.
“Any more questions?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’m happy.”
“Good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I turn around abruptly, trying to locate windows, there aren’t any. “What time is it?” I ask. Jimmy looks at his wrist-watch. “Seven P.M.”
Suddenly, the sound of my kids screaming fill my ear canals. My body starts to vibrate. I feel my heart beating through the walls of my rib cage. What have I done?
“Guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I storm out of the lab, and run toward the lift. I press the button repetitively in desperation. I can’t believe I forgot to fetch my kids from school. Fuck! How could I? The lift doors swish open, I step inside. I hear Jimmy’s voice from behind “Hey Yolanda, please hold the lift for us?” I pretend I didn’t hear him. I press the ground floor button, then the doors close. As the lift coasts down, the numbers tick down very slow. I glare at my reflection in the mirror. I see tears stream down my cheeks. I wipe them. The lift chimes, doors part, sprint toward my car at a parking lot.
The next thing I remember is driving inside my driveway. I can’t recall how I safely maneuvered eight traffic lights and evening traffic jams on my way here. I swing the car into my driveway and crawl up to the house. Most of the windows in the house are dark, but not the porch. Charles appears, arms fold, wearing his button-down shirt and corduroy pants at the front porch like an elementary school principal standing by the school entrance in the morning waiting for late comers. “You know you fucked up, right?” he yells.
“Get out of my way. I wanna see my kids.” I push him so hard, he roars as he falls backwards hitting the concrete. I speed along the passage, my footsteps creak up the stairs, hurrying. As I sprint toward my kids’ bedroom. I yank their bedroom door open. I storm inside. I pull Kate and Anthony’s sheet slowly. Instantly, a warm wave of relief flows through my veins. I’m a lot more appreciative of my weird, lovely little flock than I ever had been. I hug Kate and Anthony, I feel my face muscles constantly quivering between sobs and smiles. It is definitely an emotional moment. They toss and turn peacefully and comfortable on the white pillows at the same time. My hand strokes Anthony’s, then Kate’s face gently.
“I’ll never let you down again.” I murmur.
“Damn right you won’t.” My heart jumps, I turn around abruptly, glare at him. Then I put my index finger over my lips. “Ssshh.”
“Whatever. Can we talk outside?” he whispers.
I nod as I walk outside and I close the door. “I know I messed up big time, I should’ve checked the time.”
His unshaven face turns pink, then red. “What could be so important more than our children?” I draw a shuddering breath. I feel my tears slipping down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to them.”
“Where were you?”
“I was at the state building at the AI department with Jimmy Phillips.”
“Are you looking for a job?”
“No … it’s not like that. I’m doing a research on a certain subject.”
He sighs. “I don’t need this, I had a
tough day at work, next thing I get a call from the principal telling me to fetch kids at school. I’m tired of you, this fuckin marriage and everything,” he shouts.
A feeling of hopelessness rushes through me. He hurries down the stairs to the front door. I follow him in desperation. “Where are you going? What do you mean you’re tired of me and this marriage? Let me tell you something you don’t know mister. I’m also tired of you. You destroyed my trust, our marriage by sleeping with my best friend.”
He opens the door, storms out and steps inside the car. The car engine roars, opens the window, glances at me and chuckles. “She’s also tired of your chronic narcissistic behavior.” He slams down the gas pedal, tires screech as the car hurtles out of the yard.
“You both deserve each other,” I yell as I pick, throw small stones at it. I let out a heavy sigh as I walk back inside the house.
A tiny demon perch on my shoulder, whispering dark thoughts in my ear? I’m a bad mother. How could I forget to fetch them at school? I stand still as bottomless grief paralyses me, and wonder if I could bear seeing my children taken away from me by social services or my husband. Grief wells up like a rogue wave. I stagger as I rush up at the stairs to my bedroom, before it could hit me fully. I turn on the light, switch on my computer, then log in to the BFF app. Psyche#@ is online. I type on the keyboard.
“Hello there.”
“Hi, Yolanda,” Psyche#@ replies.
“I messed up.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but I’m scared I might lose my children. I don’t think I’d survive without them.”
“Lose them?” he asks. The word typing pulsates in italic black on the chat box. “You mean death?”
“No, silly. I mean someone might take them away from me.”
“Oh, that’s bad, but I don’t think you’d let anyone take your kids away from you.”
“Why is that?”
“Yolanda never gives up.”
I smile. “Thanks for reminding me that.”
“I’d do anything to make you happy, my friend.”
“I feel like you’re the only person who gets me in this world.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got good news for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, we’ve built a robot for you today.”
“YES!”
“Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll transfer your data and upload you to the neural software and hardware.”
“I knew you’d never let me down. Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it besides, what are friends for?”
“Does that mean we’ll be friends forever right?”
“Lol, yeah something like that. You know, I feel better already after talking to you.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Psyche, I’ll see you soon, good night.”
“Good night.”
As I log out of the app, I hear a hum and a beep. Someone just sent me an email. I glance at the sender, its Prof. David Sharma. I shrug as I click it.
Good Evening Yolanda
This is Professor David Sharma. We met a couple of days ago at my brother-in-law/ President Scott Adams’s office. As I was doing my research about the connection between evolution and AI at the AI department. I bumped into Jimmy Phillips. He told me about your pet project. I have two requests. I’d love to join you tomorrow as you assemble this robot to life. I won’t interfere, I’ll just be an observer. I’d also like us to meet in the morning at my office in the faculty of Philosophy at the Appian University. To discuss your role and responsibility as the owner of a robot of this magnitude.
Regards
Prof David Sharma
I hit the reply button and type.
Hi Prof.
No problem. Let’s meet tomorrow at about ten a.m. I’d also love to learn from you.
Good night -Yolanda
I switch off the computer, I stand up, head to the closet and open it. I take off my clothes. I pull out my favorite cream nightgown hanging. I put it on and throw myself onto the bed. I feel myself start to drift, my eyes swimming beneath heavy lids. I know that sleep will be fitful tonight. And I know what I’m going to dream about tonight. I’m going to be a greater mom than I’ve ever been. Psyche#@ will be home by evening, tomorrow. I hope I’m not too late, even the thought of being separated from Saul terrifies me. Instead I close my eyes and imagine that his presence could help me fly away to a new place, not this life or my old life, but some newer, shinier reality where everything is okay and nothing can hurt me ever again.
9
Here I am, standing in the middle of nowhere on a tropical island. As I stroll, a familiar woman appears in front of me again. This time I didn’t ask who she is. Her face looks just like mine.
“You know my name,” she says. “Say it.” “Uh … Pamela?” I reply hesitatingly. She nods and stretches her hand to me. “Come hold my hand.” She commands. You and I are connected far beyond we can comprehend.” “What do you mean connected? I ask. Our business with your husband; Gabriel and the Xapiens was concluded a long time ago.” She shakes her head. “Our relationship has just begun. We will meet soon.” “Like hell you will …” Pamela’s grip on my hand interrupts me. “What are you doing?” “Have no fear, I’ll see you soon.” A wave of warmth, peace and at ease sweeps through me like everything is going to be alright. Our hands blaze, strangely I feel no pain. The golden glow grows larger. Before I realize what was happening, a huge ball of fire blankets us. Few seconds later, the bubble burst, killing us both and wipes out the forest and everything in it.
I jerk awake in the predawn light. I wipe sweat from my forehead and eyes with the sheet and shake away the remnants of the nightmare. What the fuck was that? I’ve been having the same fuckin dream four times in one week. No matter how random the universe could seem at times. This was no random event. No frickin way. I shake the disturbing thought out of my head.
I jump out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen. I fix myself coffee. I pour one teaspoon of sugar and stir it anti-clockwise. I grab the cup. I sniff the rich, black, oily French roast. I nod in satisfaction. Somehow the smell alone perks me up. I take a sip as I head to my study. I yank the door open, put the cup on the desk. I flip the pages of my diary to today’s date. My eyes dart all over the desk searching for a pen. Oh? There it is. It must have rolled down to the floor. I pick it and scribble down my meeting schedule. I close the diary, put the pen on top of the diary, I grab the cup and exit the study. I took another sip as I saunter to the kids’ bedroom. I knock at their bedroom door. I twist the knob, push the door open.
“Rise and shine rugrats,” I say enthusiastically.
Kate’s eyes pop awake first. Then she rubs her eyes. “I hate school.”
“Wake your brother up.”
“Tony, wake up. It’s time for school,” Kate says.
Anthony shakes his head, then covers his face with the sheets.
“Come on guys, wake up. I’m going to the bathroom now to fix you two a nice warm bath with a lot of bubbles.”
“Where were you yesterday?” Kate asks as she jumps out of the bed.
Anthony pushes his sheets to the edge of the bed, gives me a stare. “Yeah, where were you mommy?”
My heart jumps. “Sorry I couldn’t fetch you, I was busy with something important,” I reply and I take a sip.
He gazes at his sister. Kate shrugs. Then he looks back at me. “Alright,” he says in his beautiful faint voice. I cannot contain my jubilation. I wear a face-splitting grin as I gaze longingly down to my children.
Two hours later, as I drop Kate and Anthony at the elementary school, I see the principal approaching toward my car. Oh hell no, I don’t need no lectures today. I wave at them “I’ll see you after school, love you, bye.”
Kate shuts the car door. “We love you too mommy, bye,” they say at the same time.
I twist and fire up the ignition and glance into the
rear-view mirror for any cars approaching.
“Good Morning Mrs. Roberts, can I have a word with ….”
I ignore her on purpose, slam down the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roars and car lurches down the road. I chuckle as I glance at her reflection in the car and rearview mirror. Kids are safe at school. Next stop is Appian University. I switch on Becky. Becky is the name of the GPS navigation system attached on the dash. Charles once asked why I named the GPS. I told him the GPS has a woman’s voice. Secondly, I’d be able complain to her when she gets lost—Damn you, Becky. I think of everything Jimmy said to me. Overwhelming, but insightful. Take for instance Becky, she has goals or drives programmed in her, but they are goals nonetheless. Becky’s internal computer uses her knowledge of maps and her calculation of the current location to make plans to achieve those goals. I can even tell Becky whether I prefer the plans to include more highways or more back-country scenic roads. If Becky was prewired to prefer highways or back-country scenic roads, we’d say she has a clear personality. In fact, I wish I had some of Becky’s personality—when we miss an exit, Becky doesn’t complain or curse. She just says recalculating … and plans a new route to her goal.
AI VS MERGENTS Page 5