Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 34

It was the kind of place looked down upon by scummy and unscrupulous landlords. That may be why it was so easy to infiltrate, the front door of the building barely attached by a single hinge.

Now, on the fourth floor, Adelaide leaned her ear against the apartment door. It was hard to hear much of anything, especially with her handbag in the way, so she swung it to her other shoulder and tried again, making out a mumbled voice. She cupped her hand to amplify the sound, in a reversion to movie physics.

The door creaked open to the touch. He must have left in a hurry. A foul smell emanated from within. But she didn't enter, instead first checking the long corridor for busy-bodies. The only sign of life was a single conspicuously placed pot plant, as if left by a narrator.

She used her fingernails to push the door fully ajar, revealing a tiny apartment covered in delivery cannisters and filth, with a side order of dirty clothes strewn on every available surface, as if by an artist creating a post-modern take on post-modern art. She covered her nose and stepped inside.

The voice she'd heard came from the holographic display of a game or something equally as pointless. Was he here, playing it? She tried the only other door, which lead to a cramped bathroom. Also empty.

"How can anyone live like this?" she said. "It's so small."

Another game was being played on his screen, the player's face composited into the bottom corner. She wondered why you'd want to watch someone else play.

"Now displaying suggested video, xxLubo19 dash let's play Zombies vee ess Nazis dash forty nine," she read. "Whatever."

The player was reasonably handsome, if a little chubby.

"Maybe I should try young-and-dumb," she said, "instead of old and gold."

When she looked closer -- hey, there's nothing wrong with looking! -- it was clear a selfiebot was recording the boy's face. Being in the business, the tell-tale smooth sway of the camera and the way it searched for the player's perfect angle suggested House of Paschar.

"Is it possible..." she mused, quickly scouring for any streams belonging to the other selfiebot, the one whose AI she'd sell to Josef.

Her voice app went off. Guess who was calling? I know, I'm not even making it up. It was almost fate, pre-destination. Was I wrong about that whole compatibalism thing?

"Yes, yes," said Josef, "I'm the real one. Not some computer."

"Wonderful," said Adelaide, flinging her handbag to the other shoulder.

Every livestream posted by Libbi came up on her screen. Or to put it another way, no results popped up. Which made it a kind of a result. If you squint hard enough.

"What do you want?" said Josef. "I'm busy."

"Did your TrueRealVoice tee-em fill you in on my opportunity?"

"No," he said. "I can't stand those things."

The good news was that Will Lurner wouldn't be returning for some time. She'd noticed him slipping inside that robotics shop, clearly intending to find another potential buyer for the selfiebot.

She explained the deal a second time, while inspecting the disgusting piles of mess. It wasn't at all what she expected. Instead of being the trophy, the princess, she'd fallen into the role of house cleaner. Or worse, home-maker. And it was all Mr matted-tangle-of-hair-or-fibre-ing Borken's fault. She imagined his wife cleaning up after their sprog and shivered.

Maintaining arms length on any objects she picked up was her only option in overcoming the stench. No, there was another way. She sprayed her Jungle Fever perfume at anything that moved. And anything that didn't. Then, to make space, she stacked the home delivery cannisters in a few piles, tossing clothes aside as she went. This revealed a host of electronic equipment, but not much else.

"Wait," said Josef, putting her on hold.

She didn't exactly know what she was looking for, just something of value. Then she saw it. Something of value. And it was fitted inside a container shaped like a selfiebot.

"Another one?" she said. "You don't seem the vain type to me. Why would you need a brand new-- Unless!"

She looked again at all the electronic equipment, and the flashing holographic display. No one had home computers these days, not in her experience.

"Of course," she said. "You greedy man, Will Lurner. You need all this so you can copy the aye-eye into a new selfiebot and sell it to a rival vendor. And I'm sure you'll repeat the process as many times as you can. You clearly have the technical skills."

We both know that last part was a poor assumption. It would only be representative of his abilities in the same way that building a sand castle is indicative of one's abilities to design a real castle.

She looked around at the tiny studio apartment, tip-toeing past some of the more suspect refuge she hadn't been game to interact with, and straightened the cannisters away from the wall, leaving a small gap.

"No wonder you're so dogged, living such a horrible life in this horrible place. At least you're hustling for more. But it won't work, Will Lurner. I'll get the selfiebot and with it the aye-eye. I'll be the one to do the deal with Josef, not you."

The room darkened until she was lit only from below. A cackle emerged from her mouth. She tilted her head back extravagantly. What I'm trying to get across here is the return of the evil laugh. I hope that's clear enough. Use your imagination if you want additional detail.

It was broken by Josef.

"Why do I want this?" he said.

"You're an automation company," said Adelaide, squeezing behind the columns of delivery cannisters. "And this is an aye-eye that's been developed to solve just those kinds of problems." At least, she assumed so.

"So you say," said Josef.

Adelaide peeked through a small gap. It gave her a great view of the door while her body was completely hidden.

"This is something you'll be interested in," she said.