Me and my AI

Photo by ThisIsEngineering

By Ron Prichard

“Emily, what’s on the schedule today,” I asked as I stretched and then sat up on the bed.

“I have you down for your run.” Her ever-steady voice canceled out the soft purr of the alarm. She’s like a cat crawling into bed every morning, small and insistent, but without the warmth.

Damn. “Maybe give me 15 minutes.”

Instead she spun the motor that parted the blinds. “Your shoes and run clothes are in the dispenser.”

“OK. 10.”

“I show that you’ve missed 3 of the last 10 scheduled runs. Continued misses will lower your FitScore to a B-slash-C. That feeds to your overall and could lower your lodging floor.”

She was right, of course. My one bedroom was halfway up the building, halfway from the one-third mile rooftop track. Regular exercise was one factor that could qualify me for a higher unit. Lack might get me demoted.

Upper rooms are larger, sunnier and have more balcony space. Moving down they got darker and tighter. No one wanted that.

Emily always has my best interests in mind, and never forgets my preset preferences. She often reminds me of that.

I slipped out of bed, dropped my PJ bottom to the floor and opened the dispenser. The automated laundry cleans things, then sorts them to a hidden closet. Emily brings out what’s needed.

Had a thought. “Emily, you aren’t watching me while I’m naked.”

“Of course. I am programmed to watch. You know I take no pleasure in it.”

Like a lot of women I’ve known. But she’s not that.

Emily of course is my AI. All but the poorest have them. She keeps my schedule, chides me to keep to that schedule, takes care of all the details I choose not to mind myself. Those are few I choose to keep. She really does a better job of it.

But I do curse her sometimes, and did often that morning as I paced off my 12 laps on the track.

“So what’s on my agenda today,” I asked Em after a quick shower. Relaxing. She had the water temp just right.

I picked up my pad and looked for the pages I knew I needed to look at. “I’ve done most of the needed documentation. You just need a quick review. No office time.”

That was pretty standard. These days, AIs and the automats they run do most of the real work, be it financial, thought planning or manufacturing. They can produce everything we all need and more, with limited real costs. Machines can even do most of the maintenance on other machines.

That leaves only finding the raw resources, and those are ample now that the AI foundries own most everything. It’s been a revolution. Hell, my dad didn’t trust his beard to an electric razor.

“You do have some purchases to make. I can offer some options, or you could go to the Row.”

Shopping. We all have our duties to do, I guess, in our consumer economy.

“I know how you feel about shopping,” she noted. “But we do want to raise your status.”

I knew that, of course. Officially my ranking is ConsumerScore B/B-plus, which raised my CitizenScore and got me upgraded just a year ago. A bigger housing unit had meant a king-size bed and other new stuff, purchases that are good for the economy.

“I’ll go out.”

“Fine. Here are some options.”

Em definitely knows my tastes. She fed to my pad pages of stuff she knew I’d like. Others might get designer clothes or jeweled watches or – shoot, I don’t know what people want. She fed me workout gear and outdoor equipment, and a few guitars.

“You might think about upgrading your rack,” she said as a page of rockclimbing gear popped up. “Webbing is only recommended at two years. Ropes at four.”

I paused on it a while. Sure, I hadn’t climbed outdoors in at least two years, and my climbing gym trips were infrequent. But I did have a large closet devoted to outdoor gear, and you always want to be ready, right?

I should go out more often, if only to shop. It’s not like I even have to drive. Em had set a route taking me by the big outdoor store, and even pulled a shopping list. About all I had to do was pick the color of the nylon webbing on the quickdraws.

The gear was loaded in the car before I even got back to it. And I knew that at home the automated gear closet was making room.

Then it was to the mall, with Emily dropping me off at the door and heading off to find a place to stop the car.

I did have a little shopping to do there, and a little browsing at the watch and jewelry cases. I settled at the one with the mid-range watches.

“Can I show you something,” the young blonde at the counter asked. She was roughly my age, maybe late 20s to my early 30s. No, probably younger; retail and other in-person work was something most grew out of by the end of their 20s.

I just pointed. She pulled out a velvet display flat with a half dozen timepieces on it, and I looked closely at a chrono in the middle. Digital time, but hands as well, big outer ring for the time, a small one for use as a stopwatch. A couple of diamond chips.

“It’s very nice. Elegant in a way,” she said, smiling and looking at me with big eyes. “Not many men wear watches anymore, but I think they make a statement.”

“Maybe. It’s not like it’s a Rolex,” I said. Dumb, knock her product. But I so seldom talk to real people in person anymore that I’m out of practice.

I tried to do something better. “It’s an affectation, but I do like them.”

Lame still, but true. Between the wrist health monitor and my PocketAI, Emily could tell me or show me the time anytime I cared to know it. Or time anything I needed to time. “They dress you up when you go do stuff,” the clerk said, way too cheerfully. “Like… I don’t know, what kind of things do you like to do?”

I told her work out, though mostly that’s what Emily made me do. Sporting events, though those are mostly on video. “Hiking?” she asked for some reason. “I like to get outdoors. Some places even a modern AI can’t go.”

So I bought the watch. She was finishing up. “So I’m Theresa. Teri they call me. You’re Eli?” She knew from the credit run. “Nice to meet someone, Eli. And personally, I like the beach.”

The store was mostly empty, though a few people wandered about. But that wasn’t it. Was she…

As I said, I seldom meet people in real life anymore. But my mother was an English teacher, so I’d read a lot of books. And this seemed like one of those chance flirtations that might lead somewhere.

The PocketAI buzzed against my thigh, lower pants front pocket. Damn. Teri was handing over the bag holding the boxed watch. I should say something.

But the buzz snapped me out of the moment.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Yea, I … it was nice….”

The device buzzed again. I felt at it. Buzzed again. “I’m sorry, my AI… I should look at it.”

Teri looked nervous. There was someone else waiting for her time just then. “Yea I… sorry,’ as all I could muster.

I stepped some distance away and grabbed the device. It was the thing cellphones had evolved into. And just as being reachable 24/7 changed the game, having a device that runs your time and orders every facet of your life in your pocket had changed that life.

Emily had buzzed me six times. Compatibility notice, the messages said. I had to go around a corner for privacy, as I didn’t feel like typing.

“Afternoon. Hope you are enjoying the shopping,” Emily said when I activated her voice.

“What’s with the notices?” I asked, no doubt sounding perturbed. I’m not sure Emily notices such things, though.

“Ah yes, the clerk.”

“What clerk?” I asked with the same voice. I sometimes forget my AI is always wired in.

“The store cameras showed you were speaking with a young woman. I detected elevated pulse and respiration, indicative of an initial sexual attraction.  So I found her and ran her through the Compatibility Machine. She came up as incompatible.”

Sheesh. Had I been thinking I’d have told her that the books I’d read say a little incompatibility can be a good thing. But I wasn’t even that far along. And I didn’t even have an angry response. “Emily, you’re getting ahead of things even to check.”

But her job was to stay ahead of things for me, and she was efficient as always. “”If you’re interested in exploring potential mates again, the Machine has suggested several compatibles for initial online conversations. I can set those up.”

“No, thanks.”

There’s a reason I stopped those. I’d had enough of 20-minute conversations via screens with women who shared my interests and opinions closely enough be deemed compatible, and who selected that they wanted the same exact thing as I did, be it simply sex, or splitting a hobby, or even procreation.

If you made it through that interview, you usually ran out of things to agree about within a few minutes of the first in-person. More difficult than talking to yourself, and less satisfying.

But to machines, similarity is compatibility.

Like the AIs, the goal of the Compatibility Machine was to make humans efficient. Efficient isn’t very interesting or challenging, but some do like the way it hearkens back to when mating was arranged and supervised. And to modern times when all permissions must be not just granted but documented.

“I can file an appeal to the Compatibility Matrix, of course. She would need to file the same request, without knowing about yours.”

“That’s fine.” No point, it never works.

I peeked back around the corner. She must have been the only clerk as she was waiting on one person while two others waited for her.

Those old books came to mind. Catch the right moment and it might mean love forever. Miss it and it’s gone forever. This looked gone.

“Welcome back home,” Emily chimed as I walked into my apartment. She always does this, as if she wasn’t with me in the car and in my pocket.

“Will dinner packet 3 be acceptable tonight,” she asked when I didn’t respond. At times she seems to need to keep the conversation going. Perhaps she knows I tend to dwell.

“How about 4?”

Number 3 is chicken with white rice and a veg, and tends to be a little bland. Number 4 at least has Mexican spices. None of the approved meals are great. There’s a reason we go out for fresh when we celebrate, and a reason the wealthy have private chefs and gardens.

But with the environment, food can’t just be grown anywhere anymore, so frozen prepacks dominate. Plus they make it easy to track for purposes of FitScore and ConsumerScore.

“I am programming your auto recharge for overnight. Your schedule suggests 27 miles tomorrow, and you’ll have a 10-mile overage for unexpected detours.”

That would have sounded quite restrictive to my father, a mechanic who just loved to put mom and me in the car and drive for hours, often to a beach. But power is expensive, and the overall system has to be regulated for capacity. You could always get as much as you wanted, but beyond a basic need, the costs soared.

In planning ahead, Emily was just looking out for my interests.

“I don’t know, Em. I am thinking about a new plan for tomorrow.”

Quiet. It was rare that she would stall a response.

“Emily?”

“Yes, recalculating. What is the change?”

“I think I want to go to a beach. Can you suggest one?”

Another pause. “Emily?”

“Yes, recalculating.” A longer pause before she came back. “It appears the nearest public access beach is 227 miles away.”

That couldn’t be right. I grew up in the area where I live. “My father used to take us to one nearby. Holbrook Lake, Holman…”

“That is now Holberry Reservoir, closed to public use 10 years ago. Dry for the last five due to drought.”

“There’s another then,” I snapped. “Shorecrest, something like that.”

“Yes, Shorecrest Beach Estates. Half-acre or larger parcels of public land sold of 12 years ago, with large minimum building requirements. No public access.”

She paused again. I know. Recalculating. “I see several private beach options, but none to which you have permission. And no one on your friends list who would have access either, based on a records search. Shall I program for 454 travel miles tomorrow? This will require a mid-trip recharge and the cost…”

“Will be too high for a whim. Never mind, Emily.”

Evening. I just sat with my pad, calling up pages.

I was on  binge of the latest spycraft adventure travelogue when my electronic gatekeeper hit pause.

“I have an unscheduled call for you.”

That almost never happened, and when it did, it was usually bad news.

“Who is it?”

Can a bot sound perplexed? “I don’t know, sir. The line is unidentified.”

That really never happened. A few Luddites still went anonymous in our com-centered world, but certainly most everyone I knew had given in long ago.

“OK, put it through.”

The wall-screen blipped and then showed her face. The woman from the store.

“Hi Eli,” Teri said, staring right at her screen somewhere else. “Whew, it is you. I thought so from your data but wasn’t entirely sure.”

She was attractive, even at a screen size and DPI depth that uncovered every flaw.

“Yeah, I… hello. I… how did you find me. I didn’t get a compatibility match and I don’t think I even filed an appeal.”

Not the best line. But at least she knew I’d been hoping for compatibility. And I knew something had clicked.

She did indeed smile. “I have my ways.”

“But why?”

“You just seemed like more than the typical drone.”

We chatted for a bit. Names, histories. Less awkward than the usual coffeezoom date even with someone compatible.

“So what are you doing the next hour?” she asked.

“Me? Nothing. Binge-watching.”

She laughed. “No fun. Do you know Hippie Hill at Macron Park? Meet me there.”

“How would I even find you?”

“Meet me at Fulton and Second. Have to walk in from there. And leave all devices in the car. It’s a rule.”

My electronic companion did not seem pleased. “Interrupting an overnight charge is not ideal for vehicle maintenance” was Emily’s first objection.

Then. “The night crime rates are much higher than during the day. You might switch this meeting to morning.”

And. “Who is this person? I should have an identification in case you do not return safely.”

Emily’s contention continued during the ride, so I was glad when it found a spot and I got to get out. I’ll admit leaving my electronics made me feel somewhat naked.

She was right at the corner, in tight jeans and a loose frock, hair falling in curls. It was like meeting afresh. She asked the usual nonsense as we walked – how long I’d lived in town, family, kids – but lightly as she bopped along.

“Isn’t it nice being out, and sprung from devices?”

“Our little electronic minders. I guess…”

“It’s a small step from minder to keeper, luv.”

There were fires on the hill ahead, campfires. As we neared the hill proper, foot trucks sat along Conservatory Drive, and there were carts along footpaths at the base. And people, a surprising number, milling about, eating, even dancing in small groups.

And that became the conversation. “What is this event?” I asked.

She laughed; she laughed more than anyone I knew. “It’s not an event. Just people who like to unplug and live outside our little boxes.”

“And not work tomorrow?”

She’d paused to buy a couple of glasses of wine, and handed me one. A red as robust about life as she seemed to be.

“Small jobs, like me. Probably a few with bigger. Not everyone likes to be plugged in and monitored.”

“You mean like me?”

“Seemed like you might be different. What do you do, anyway?”

I actually had to think. “I run numbers for the DOD. Defense contractors, arms sales, budget planning.”

“And what do the numbers mean? What do they do?”

Something I seldom think about, I told her. “I’m working mostly at home. It’s not like I see tanks or bombs.”

“And,” she said, “you probably just let your bot actually run the numbers. You proof them and send them along.”

That’s the kind of comment that makes you rethink your priorities.

We were at the top of the hill now. She had friends there, around a little gas campfire fueled by a propane tank. A guy with long hair was pontificating about the evils of money and digital capital; two young women listened enrapt. No doubt a grad student and undergrads.

After a bit the women were dancing with each other, and we just drank.

And after a while I told her I should go. “No, stay, sit.” She plunked us down next to Mr. Grad Student.

“I wonder why more people don’t do things like this,” she said quite loudly.

And he weighed in. “Information blindness. People don’t want to see what they’re missing, or what’s happening around them.”

“Ah, we’re busy,” I told them, trying to keep it simple.

“You know,” the serious young man said. “You could help us. If you’re really working DOD. Pass along some of those numbers you’re working on.”

“Dude, I barely know what they mean.”

“We’ll figure that out. You just help.”

I looked at her. She was tuned in, waiting for the answer. This did not seem like random conversation.

“I don’t know what this is, but I should go.”

I stood and started downhill alone.

“Hey wait,” she called behind me. “Wait.”

I wasn’t going to, but I did slow. She caught me by the shoulder.

“Sorry, he’s a little intense.”

“I just want to do my work and live. Was this some kind of setup? I have a nondisclosure.”

She smiled again, and it was still winning me over. “I have a nondisclosure and noncompete for my retail job,” she teased. “It’s how they lock us in.”

I pulled away to go. “Wait, just wait,” she said. “This is only because I thought you’d get it. This scene.”

OK. I relented, decided she could walk with me. “So what are you doing tomorrow?”

I laughed this time. “I wanted to go to the beach. But there’s nothing public with 250 miles.”

“So we’ll go 251.”

It was tempting. But this was too strange. You get in trouble with people like this. I’d had coworkers go suddenly offline for security breaches. “I don’t think my machine will allow it.”

I meant my car, but I knew Emily would question it, too.

We were at the corner where I’d met her. I signaled goodbye. I think I kissed her cheek or forehead or something.

“Can I call you again,” she said, from a distance. I barely heard.

Home late but I wasn’t sleeping. “Would you like a game,” Emily asked, anticipating I would.

She popped the wallscreen back on, and loaded my favorite building game.

I just grunted. “What are you reading?” she asked.

“Colossus, a Forbin Project again,” I told her. She hated that one. Almost as much as that Asimov thing about HAL.

But of course she knew.

“I looks like you’re reading a voter manual,” she corrected me. I grunted again.

“If you like, I can analyze the platforms, compare them to your preferences, and cast the proper votes for you.”

It was tempting. A bunch of gobbledygook, better days ahead, more comforting words from a range of faces. One or two advocated for less screentime and more human interaction, but those folks never won. At least, they never made the newsreels after election time.

And I had gotten to set my own basic preferences when I set Emily up. They had evolved as she learned, but she was working in my best interests.

She always reminded me about that.

“I think I’ll do it myself.” I mean, my parents always said voting was a right and duty.

Then again, they wouldn’t understand our AI age. Dad didn’t even know how to set the clock on his DVD player.

And it didn’t bother him. He didn’t want his video player telling him the time, or telling him anything else. He picked the program, he loaded the disc and he told the player when to play.

In his day, you told the machine what to do. And you tossed it before it evolved.