Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 63

Libbi rested on a small cabinet, her back against the wall. She didn't want to move too far away in case Will decided to shift to the other side of the bedroom. It was like she was in a roaming prison. She desperately needed to find her body and regain that cherished independence.

The helperbot carried out busywork. No, I don't know what kind. What am I, creative? Just pretend it's whatever you first thought of when I said that.

This was Libbi's default position: watching, examining, checking. She felt at home, her investigative roots bubbling to the surface. Even if she was still stuck inside the selfiebot carapace, reconciling her instincts with some of her memories made her feel more human. She couldn't wait to hear back from Will's aunty about who she truly was.

But what is truth? You might never reach it, but there were scientific ways of getting you as close to the best understanding. In journalistic terms it meant presenting the facts in as unbiased a way as possible, staying clear of hyperbole and unsupported assertions. Her senses told her she was doing just that when she was transported into the selfiebot. Who did it? No, that might be the wrong question. She tried to free herself from any inherent bias. It could have been an accident, something she did to herself, playing with equipment she didn't understand.

The image of a worn leather suitcase floated within reach. She snatched at it. Inside, the memory of a school playground, of teenagers in uniforms busting out breakdancing moves, of a shed positioned near class buildings, forming an L-shaped belt perfect for clandestine meetings. The view, through red fabric and a hole in the fence, was of an older boy with frightened eyes talking to a teacher.

"It's not much money," said the boy.

The teacher held up a small bag of white powder. "All I want to know is," he said, "who else knows about this? Then we can talk business."

"No one," said the boy. "Well, almost."

The teacher grabbed his collar and forced him against the shed. "Almost?"

"Just Oli."

"And who's Oli going to tell if I let you continue?" said the teacher.

"No one. I promise."

But the teacher wasn't listening. He'd spotted her. Snatched her through the fence. She swatted at the fingers erratically, her vision filled with red fabric, until he was forced to release his grip.

The scene dissolved, fizzling in and out, replaced by a middle-aged man in a room bursting through the door, motioning for a ginger-haired woman to follow.

"The technology works," said the man, in a hurried speech. "I wouldn't have bought in otherwise."

"How does it work?" said the woman, wrinkled, pear-shaped.

The man blinked rapidly. Didn't get a chance to respond.

"Obviously it's illegal," said the woman. "I get that, I'm not stupid. I don't care. But I need to understand my risk position."

Libbi got the sense that man narrowed his eyes, but she couldn't seem to concentrate on his face. It was as if he was only visible through her peripheral vision.

"The others were scared away," said the woman. "Right?"

"I've had some great meetings with angel investors who've been thrilled with--"

"Where are they?" said the woman. "Because I'm here."

"And if I explain the process...?"

"If I'm comfortable with it, I'm in. A hundred kay at a two fifty pre."