Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 22

"And if we're over three point one four metres apart..." said Will. "What happens then?"

"We can't be," said the selfiebot. "I'm obliged to stay within that radius. It's in my programming."

"Obliged? Aren't you supposed to be a human? Don't you have free will?"

"Yes, but it's more complicated than that."

"I don't think it is," said Will. "Just fly away from me."

"I can't."

"OK, so let me do it for you."

Will grabbed the selfiebot and in one motion flung her away. She shot above the grass and kept going, missing a few scattered trees before suddenly stopping in mid-air as tiny blue electrical currents coursed through her metallic body, visible through small cracks and indents. A yelp of pain accompanied the drop to the ground. But the currents didn't stop, and the selfiebot, between small moments of flight, hopped and skipped back toward Will, until finding herself within a safe radius.

"Please..." she started. "Please don't do that again." There was a sense of whimpering in her voice, the quiet pleading of servitude.

"Great," said Will, dejected, easing his back against a metal pole. "So now I'm stuck with you."

"Yes," said the selfiebot, quietly.

"And worse, I'm stuck helping you, since it's my only chance at learning how you beat the aye-eye."

What a wonderful summation of your predicament, Will. It's almost as if you said it for the benefit of the reader.

"Hey you!" said another voice. Strong. Commanding.

Will looked up with fear, searching for the purple and gold woman -- he really couldn't handle another bout of fast non-sitting. But he relaxed when the owner of the voice was only a ninety-eight kilo statue made from moulded muscle and an angry snarl.

"Get off the sculpture," said the man.

Will stood erect. But it wasn't enough to satiate the man, who lumbered closer.

"This area's designated for artwork, not taking selfies."

Will looked around at the parade of artists all sculpting and painting and candlestick making, a cornucopia organised as a scattered and dyslexic jamboree.

"It's beautiful," said the selfiebot, admiring the man's sculpture.

He instantly cooled. "Thanks, but it isn't. All I can see are the flaws." He switched on a holographic overlay, perfectly scaled to fit over the sculpture. "I need to bang out that corner and bring in the windows to create less of a bevelled feel."

"Is it of a real building?" said the selfiebot.

"A scaled version of the Schuvantz building in lower Middleton," he said, sharing a few reference images on his screen. "You know, the old psych hospital. One hundred percent hand-crafted! I'm using the overlay as a reference, of course, everyone does, but that's where I draw the line. If I wanted a perfect replica I'd get a three-dee print made up. Nah, it's all bent by this mallet."

Will sighed heavily, in a clear attempt to gain attention and express a particular emotional state.

The selfiebot ignored him, and said, "But how did you create the intricate parts? The crossed window frames and that bulge, the slight curve along the second storey?"

"I've got a lot of experience with metal," said the man. "Was a panel-beater when I had a job: cars, fences, whatever. Now they've got robots that'll come to you. And do the job faster."