by H. R. Moore
‘Sorry?’ replied Thomas, not sure whether Marvin already knew the message he was about to deliver, or whether he was referring to some other bad news.
‘You went to see Richard, all secretive, smug and superior, although you thought you were hiding it masterfully, and now, on your way back, you’ve come directly to see me, a look of triumphant celebration not quite hidden behind your well-rehearsed corporate veil.’
‘Um,’ said Thomas, wondering who this man was and where Marvin, the timid, naïve, easy-to-manipulate accountant had gone.
‘I’ve been around for long enough to spot people like you,’ Marvin continued, basking in Thomas’ surprise, ‘and I know you’re plotting your way into Richard’s job. He’s too self-obsessed to see it; he’ll probably be surprised when you make your move on him.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Thomas, weakly, trying to pull together some semblance of composure.
Marvin laughed. ‘Of course you don’t. You’re just an innocent little do-gooder from accounts. But, a word of advice, from someone who’s been around for a while: all that matters, as humans, is our relationships with others. That’s what makes us healthy, happy, fulfilled. When you reach the summit, looking down on all the ants below you, who will be standing there with you to admire the view?’ Marvin turned and started towards the lift. ‘And remember,’ he said, walking away, ‘those you trod on whilst scaling to those heady heights, won’t be there to catch you when you fall.’
CHAPTER 9
‘Lulu,’ said Guy, smiling broadly, ‘let me introduce you to Tony, my grandfather,’ he said, excitedly, as an old man approached their table.
‘Uh, hi!’ said Lulu, standing up to shake his hand. ‘Grandfather?’ This was not what she’d been expecting when Guy had told her there was someone he wanted her to meet.
They sat in the roof garden café of Guy’s office building in Bristol, which housed a strange mix of the old and worn, alongside the shiny and new. Solar panels and greenhouses filled with hydroponics surrounded them, robots silently tending the plants, but the planters outside, full of herbs and flowers, were made from reclaimed railway sleepers. There were old wooden benches dotted around amongst long swaying grasses, and reclaimed industrial-style tables and chairs to sit at. The café had a series of secluded, cosy spaces and felt like a cottage garden, which made it Guy’s favourite meeting venue in the building. He’d even been known to drag people out here when it was freezing cold and blowing a gale. He said getting out of their normal, comfortable environments and being exposed to the elements for a while would do them good; blow away the cobwebs and help them see things from a different perspective. Guy was always putting in walking meetings for the same reason.
The greenhouses met pretty much all of the fruit and vegetable requirements of the workers in the office, the produce used in the kitchens to make a sumptuous variety of free meals. Guy and Lulu were sipping coffees and eating raspberry muffins and Tony ordered the same.
Tony laughed. ‘Yes, you heard right! You would have thought being this whippersnapper’s grandfather would afford me a little more respect around here, but Guy doesn’t believe in special treatment apparently.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ said Lulu, sitting forward in her seat, bursting with questions to ask him.
‘I was just explaining the fundamentals of AI to one of the new recruits; the young’uns think they know everything because they’re masters of their online games, or they’ve built some software for something or other. But, you know, often, when faced with a problem, they have a shocking and callous disregard, or maybe lack of knowledge, I suppose, of the basic principles. It’s fundamental to understand what everything rests on, and to take problems back to those principles, otherwise the products end up botched, with patchy code and structural flaws.’
‘Thank you, Tony, for the lesson in AI,’ said Guy, teasingly.
‘You, my boy,’ said Tony – he had only recently taken to calling Guy and those around his age ‘my boy’, but he was quite taken with the expression – ‘learned everything you know, from me. Not your father; he was a businessman,’ the word came out with a great deal of contempt, ‘and as such, thought I, a mere engineer, was ten-a-penny, but you,’ he paused, shaking his head, ‘you, paid attention to my base principles, and it got you and the company where you are today,’ he said, waggling his finger.
Guy laughed. ‘Indeed, the success of the entire company is down to you and you alone,’ he said, warmly.
‘Quite right,’ said Tony, smiling mischievously, before taking a bite of his muffin. ‘These things used to be delicious before they took out all the sugar. Now they’re perfectly ordinary.’
‘And diabetes has been reduced by twenty percent,’ said Guy, bantering, ‘who would have thought? You see it’s all about base principles.’ Tony waved his hand, as though diabetes were a trivial matter. Guy continued, changed the subject. ‘How are this batch of trainees getting on? Anyone worth watching?’
Guy’s company, along with every other large tech organisation, took on new employees straight from school and trained them up themselves. There were universities with AI and robotics departments, but most of them had become broadly irrelevant since company taxation had gone through the roof. Instead of managers taking home massive bonuses with the profits, as happened in the early part of the century, companies, now not allowed to pay anyone over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds a year, poured most of their profits back into Research and Development and training, for which there were massive tax breaks. This meant that the pace of innovation was significant, with pretty much unlimited money behind it. Companies such as Guy’s recruited the brightest and best, setting hacking competitions and robotics competitions, recruiting people who had already done a significant amount of inventing for fun by the time they reached working age.
‘One of the girls, Jenny, seems to have a bit of something about her,’ said Tony, moving his head from side to side as though considering it. ‘As usual, most of them aren’t as good as they think they are.’
Having a bit of something about you was high praise indeed from Tony, so Guy nodded with satisfaction. ‘How’s the retirement village?’ he joked.
‘Splendid, as always, thank you,’ he replied, then spotted Lulu’s perplexed expression. ‘I live in a village built especially for, ha-hum,’ he said, clearing his throat, pretending to be uncomfortable, ‘those over a certain age.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘However, although it might sound sedate and humdrum, I can assure you it’s a veritable hotbed of activity. Many still work, although usually on a consultancy basis, here and there, you know. Most of the people in my village aren’t short of a penny or two, so they just do it to keep their minds going. Anyway, there are plenty of social events, and fitness classes, and food festivals, and plant growing, and sheds full of kit to tinker with. We’ve got virtual reality rooms and all the rest of it, but I think most of us are bored of all that now, preferring a more ‘in person’ kind of life.
‘I have the perfect balance. I come here four days a week, and spend the rest of my time growing vegetables there, whilst trying to avoid my wife! I’ve heard from friends that not all of us oldies are quite so lucky. I think in some retirement villages they just sit around doing things online, complaining that their families are too busy to visit in person, or indeed, virtually, but people never blame themselves when that happens, do they?’
‘I thought that people, over a certain age,’ she said, in her most diplomatic voice, ‘weren’t allowed to work.’
‘A lot aren’t, like those whose careers were in capped areas. Of course, the cap didn’t exist when they chose their lines of work, so it’s all a bit unfair really. But those of us lucky enough to be in uncapped areas, like me, are still allowed to work, if we can find someone willing to employ us. People mostly tend to do advisory roles, contracting back to their old companies. It can be very helpful to have someone around who wrote the original code
, or made original manufacturing decisions. We can add a huge amount of colour, supplementing the documented records, which, especially in the early days, were often sketchy at best. Now the robots do all the documenting for us, but a lot of what we do today has its roots in work from years ago.’
‘How’s my grandmother?’ asked Guy, changing the subject to spare Lulu the lecture that would likely follow.
‘Oh, that old battle axe? She’s fine, I think. She lives next door,’ Tony explained to Lulu, when she gave him another confused look. ‘I see her often enough, but she’s a journalist, so she’s always on some rampage or other. Anyway, some of us have work to do,’ he said, abruptly getting up and giving Guy a playful squeeze on the shoulder. ‘Guy, don’t work too hard,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘and Lulu, it was an absolute pleasure to meet you,’ he said, before leaving them to it.
‘Bye,’ Lulu called after him, ‘lovely to meet you too.’ Tony waved a hand in farewell. She waited until he was out of earshot before asking Guy how old he was.
‘One hundred and one,’ Guy replied, laughing. ‘He lives in the plushest of retirement villages. My father paid for it before he died, and now I pay him a salary significant enough for him to be able to comfortably afford it himself, but all he wants to do is work! He says it makes him feel useful, and like he has a purpose, and like he’s not so old that he’s over the hill.’
‘Did he work for your father?’ asked Lulu, trying to fit it all together.
‘No. Dad and Tony didn’t really see eye to eye and they had a big falling out when I was young. Dad liked Tony to be reliant on him, and in his debt, so Tony kept well clear. He had his own engineering consultancy. It did fairly well, but it never set the world on fire. Tony wasn’t very good at getting clients; he was far more interested in playing around in the lab instead.’
‘Well, I suppose working until you pop your clogs is as good a strategy as any, and what’s the average life expectancy now? A hundred and thirty or something? I can’t imagine sitting around, for what used to be a literal lifetime, doing nothing. And he’s so full of life.’
‘He’s pretty much bionic,’ chuckled Guy, ‘but he’s certainly vibrant. He says people his age who don’t do anything die the most quickly. Now we’ve managed to keep our bodies alive longer, he says that’s the only reason people die. They give up living, or maybe they run out of things to live for.’
‘What about the ones who go on the longest?’ asked Lulu, wondering if they’d found the secret to eternal life.
‘Tony thinks it’s the ones with strong family ties or a supportive community. Generally, he says, it’s the ones with a purpose that keep going the longest. They feel needed and wanted. They’re often the ones who give their time the most freely, and selflessly, who would never consider that they “should” sit down for a rest, or they “should” take it easy at their great age.’
Lulu nodded. ‘I saw a documentary about how isolation still has a huge impact on wellbeing. I can’t believe there’s no tech solution,’ she said, teasingly.
Guy chuckled. ‘We’re actually conducting some research into it at the moment. We’ve worked out how we can use AI to make people feel included without having to do a thing themselves. Just having a butler in the house helps, although it’s not the same as living with a human. But we’re also experimenting with the butlers booking their owners into community activities and then taking them there at the right time.’
‘I guess if people are scared of going somewhere alone, it would feel less daunting if their butler’s with them,’ mused Lulu.
‘And we’re experimenting with introducing people in similar, isolated situations ahead of larger social events. They interact in virtual reality rooms online, and then hopefully attend real world events together, so they’ll have a real person to go with and won’t feel so alone.’
‘Eternal life here we all come,’ said Lulu, sarcastically.
‘Don’t worry, we haven’t cracked it yet. People have often become isolated for a reason. They can have difficult personalities...’ he said, throwing a meaningful look at Lulu. She swiped him on the arm, ‘...or can be stubborn, or have a deep-seated fear. You can take a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, and we’re also looking into genetic and learned behaviours which lead to isolation.’
‘Although,’ said Lulu, cynicism in her voice, ‘you’d think that maybe solving poverty, or eradicating disease around the world would be more important than keeping people alive indefinitely.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Guy, ‘but I’ve got more money to put into research than I know what to do with, and it’s an interesting topic that could help improve a great number of people’s quality of life.’
‘I’m not saying it’s not interesting,’ she replied, ‘but it’s truly a first-world problem.’
‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘and it’s wrong that that expression still applies, given the tech we have today.’
‘Indeed,’ she said, her features dark.
‘Come on,’ said Guy, ‘I didn’t just bring you here to introduce you to Tony. I’ve got something else I think we should take a look at.’
* * * * *
Guy and Lulu walked out of the front entrance together, Guy turning left, then stopping. ‘Here it is,’ he said, lifting his hands and spreading them wide, towards the side of the building.
‘What?’ said Lulu, a little surprised, ‘for your mural?’
‘Yes,’ he beamed.
‘Um, you can’t be serious?’
‘What do you mean? I’m deadly serious.’
‘But it’ll be huge, and extremely prominent, and this is where you guys make announcements to the world. Every time you say anything to the press, the mural will be in the background.’
‘Exactly,’ said Guy, beaming.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely. It will be amazing.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Okay, if you’re sure,’ she said, knitting her eyebrows in concentration as she starting to take photos on her smart glasses. ‘Dimensions and building drawings please,’ she said, to her glasses.
‘Dimensions determined,’ they replied, ‘but I can’t find building drawings anywhere.’
‘Guy,’ she said, all business-like, ‘I’ll need drawings for the building.’
‘Done,’ he said, pulling out his own glasses and giving them instructions. ‘Now, I know a brilliant walk that starts here and ends at a Turkish joint a couple of miles away. Thought we could chat about the mural on our way to lunch.’
Lulu smiled and took his arm. ‘Lead the way.’
CHAPTER 10
Guy projected a recorded news report onto the wall, the room quieting when the sound started. ‘There have been four more reports of butlers developing feelings,’ said Andrea, the news anchor, ‘with no statement from the technology minister, or her office. Here’s Humphrey Dellers, our technology correspondent, with more.’
The report cut to Humphrey, who was in someone’s living room, with a crowd of people. ‘Thank you, Andrea. I’m here with Sydney Peters, the owner of one of the rogue butlers,’ he said, indicating towards an aging, slight gentleman, ‘Madeline Jones, a technology expert,’ he said, pointing to a young, glamorous woman, ‘and Sunflower Davies, who is the leader of a technology-free community in Suffolk,’ he said, pointing towards a middle-aged woman with out-of-control, greying hair, wearing a floaty, sack-like shirt. ‘Firstly, Sydney, tell us what happened to your butler.’
‘Well,’ he said, slowly, ‘I was just getting through the door. I’d been out for a walk, you see, because my daughter keeps telling me I need to do more exercise. And Dilly-Dally, that’s what I call my butler, was just standing there, with his head down, in the middle of the room, not moving. I spoke to him, asking him if he’d finished all the jobs, I mean, of course he would have done, he’s a robot for goodness sake, he does things exactly the same way every day. But it was more just something to say,
you know, to try and work out what was going on.’
‘And what happened then?’ prompted Humphrey, nodding sympathetically, trying to encourage Sydney to get a move on.
‘To start with, he didn’t do anything. So I asked him another question, something about the weather outside, and then he lifted his head up, looked at me, and told me he needed a break. I mean, I suppose he’s been working every day since my daughter rented him for me; I never really thought about giving him a break. Should I have?’ he asked, looking at Madeline, expectantly.
‘No,’ she said, a little awkwardly, ‘robots don’t have feelings, and don’t need breaks.’ She gave a slight shake of her head. She was doing a reasonable job of keeping herself in check, but just below her TV façade, Guy could see a beast was trying to escape, wanting to shout, ‘You’re an idiot. Butlers are just code and bits of synthetic material.’
‘And what did Dilly-Dally do then?’ asked Humphrey, looking genuinely concerned.
‘Nothing,’ said Sydney, ‘he put his head down, closed his eyes, and hasn’t done a thing since. I called the emergency services and they came to take him away. I think they said they would take him back to the Department of Technology, investigate, and get back to me when they found the problem. But that was three days ago, and I haven’t heard a thing. And my apartment’s getting pretty messy; what am I supposed to do without my butler? They haven’t offered to give me a replacement in the meantime or anything.’
‘Do you think the company who makes your butler should supply you with a courtesy robot whilst yours is investigated?’ asked Humphrey, sniffing the start of something controversial.
‘Well yes, don’t you think so? But the company in question, Cybax Technologies, hasn’t even been in touch with me.’
‘Cybax Technologies, if you’re watching,’ said Humphrey, ‘we would welcome a statement from you.’
‘But aren’t you concerned about the safety of the butlers?’ asked Sunflower, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘I mean, they’re going rogue and developing feelings, it’s exactly what we were all worried about back at the beginning.’