Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 9

"The market was perplexed, with no clear vertical integration possibilities," said the natural-looking artificial face on the screen. "An analyst questioned the need for automation startup, AutomatIO, to purchase an existing fully automated delivery company. The previous owner of Hot Or Not Delivery Company was last heard screaming jubilant obscenities, falling to his knees and repeatedly thanking God."

This was Will's condensed news update, created by artificial narrative-writing engines, using freely available news data, packaged in easy to digest portions, carefully and personally curated using a heuristic with weights based on past click-throughs, likes by his closest demographic, inherent share-ability, heart-rate response, and eyeball flicker. Which is why it switched immediately to another story.

"...people still reeling from the attack of the Human Liberation Army..."

Switch!

"Next up, gaming publishers continue their movie studio purchases to secure control over spin-offs from closely-held eye-pee."

This reminded Will of an important upcoming event.

"I can't wait to see the Nazi verse Alien movie," he said, holding his grumbling stomach.

It only made him want to play the game. He'd been training for the Epochs of Civilisation competition for at least half an hour, so a break might be good.

"Err," said Will.

This was probably due to the sounds of archers dying. No, it was more than that. The holographic movement of yet more archers slinging arrows at Lord Dunkel, in a game that was playing itself. Or was it?

"What are you doing?" said Will.

"I'm playing your game," said the selfiebot. "The one you started earlier."

"Yes," said Will, "I can see that."

Plenty of questions came to mind. Complex questions, singed with nuance, replete with erudition. Out loud, they became: "How? Why? What?"

"It looks like I can directly interface with the gaming system. It's a natural feature of the selfiebot. Though I'm still having trouble finding any memories of before I woke so that--"

"You're still pretending to be human?" said Will. "I thought you might have grown out of it."

"I am human, Will. This isn't a phase."

"Doesn't really matter," said Will, "you'll be gone soon enough."

"No," she said, "don't do anything rash. Look, let me show you, I can play the game by myself. Would a robot be able to do that?"

"Err, you do realise you're playing against a robot, right? An aye-eye?"

"But I'm not an artificial intelligence. I'm real."

"Uh huh."

"Wait," said the selfiebot, "wait. If you really don't believe me, then why would they program a selfiebot of all things to be able to play your Epochs of Civilisation game? What's the point in that?"

Will surveyed the game state. It was true, she'd managed to amass a decent economy, and had even created a well-balanced military.

"I don't know," said Will. "So you don't get in my way when I'm playing?"

"Oh. True. But I'm winning!"

"It's still in the balance," said Will. "Like my last game."

His mind time travelled into the future, to the moment when he would defeat the AI in his competition game, filmed by the replacement selfiebot.

"Look, clearly I can be a part of something greater," said the selfiebot, "beyond what this robot's mind would otherwise be able to achieve." But she was talking only to Will's body; his mind was over in game-land, happily thinking ahead to when the world would see what a great strategist he was. The best ever! While there were no such things as newspapers any more, he'd be all over the blogosphere, even those top tier sites that managed more than four views a day!

                        ding.

             ding

Ding

After the rising tone, Will waited for the delivery flap to open. It didn't.

"Hello?" he said.

"Oh." The voice preceded a low-riding deliverybot that glided through the entry flap. "Didn't think no-one was home."

"I'm right here!" said Will.

Now I know what you're thinking, but this isn't Fivven, the deliverybot from the previous chapter. Is it too confusing? I prefer the term layered.

This deliverybot spoke in a way that reminded Will of rusted nails and corrugated iron, tinged with the heat of a summer afternoon. But slightly robot-y, almost as a reminder that it was, you know, a robot.

"This the one?" he said.

It wasn't pointing as such. It couldn't, since it didn't have fingers. Or hands for fingers to attach to. Or arms for those hands to attach to. Or shoulders for--

"No, Will," said the selfiebot, urgency in its voice. "Please, just give me a chance."

She continued playing Epochs of Civilisation, as if addicted. A gamer at heart, perhaps, thought Will, and he almost succumbed to the shared interests, the connection.

Instead he nodded to the deliverybot.

"No," said the selfiebot, as its new nemesis meandered closer, a metal clamp slowly emerging from one side, rising until it had formed a quarter circle, then continuing down the other side.

The selfiebot shot up into the air.

The deliverybot sighed a response. "Carn. Darn make this harder'n it has ta be," he said, with the kind of accent you'd associate with bum crack.

The flat screen along the deliverybot's crest slid open, revealing a collection of smaller clamps attached to rods, rising in twists and turns toward the selfiebot, each head snapping. It looked like a knot of alligator-jawed serpents.

But Will wasn't really paying attention. He'd ordered the selfiebot returned, and it was being removed, just as it should be. He looked over at the game in progress and knew he'd have to start again. It had probably created a suboptimal queue of units from the barracks, or wasted resources on useless upgrades.

The deliverybot shifted back and forth across Will's floor, aiming for a better vantage point to entrap the fluttering selfiebot, whose survival technique involved banging itself on the ceiling, tumbling, regaining its composure, and then flying to a different corner. If Will was paying attention, it might have reminded him of his favourite childhood game, the succinctly titled, Snap The Flying Creature With Claws As Fast As Possible v3.1.

"Come 'ere, ya little act-of-committing-sodomy," said the deliverybot.

"Will, think this through," said the selfiebot. "Why would I be doing this if I was a robot?" She rose just as a clamp snapped at where her backside would be. "I'm human. And I can--" Another snap "--I can help you."

The biting chunks of metal aiming to devour the selfiebot reminded Will of his own hunger, so he ordered something suited to his financial clout: instant noodles, made to order. Why bother with the effort of opening up your own packet, cooking it for two minutes, adding the necessary extra mixture of soy and chili sauce, before putting the whole thing in a bowl? Assuming you even had a bowl. No, it was much easier to let a deliverybot do all the hard work while you continued the important task of playing. A life-saver for any hungry gamer.

"I mean it," said the selfiebot, bouncing against the ceiling until she found another corner. "I know the solution. I can help solve your problem."

Will looked up at the selfiebot, over at the game, then back up. "OK," he said. "Go for it."