I decided he probably felt guilty and wanted to apologize for being a douche canoe. But I wasn’t interested in his apologies. Or, for that matter, hovering in the hallway with Matt the douche canoe.
My patience at an end, I huffed an aggrieved breath and wrapped my fingers over the edge of the door. “Good talk, Matt. See you around.”
“Wait.” He jumped forward, as though abruptly coming out of a trance. “Wait, wait a minute. Can I . . . can we talk for a minute?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I need to get back to the kids. I’m watching them.”
“Oh. I can help,” he offered with a friendly smile.
“No.”
“No?” His expression fell, morphing into a frown.
“No. I don’t want your help.”
“Oh.” He took a step back. When he spoke next his voice dropped an octave. “Then I guess me asking you to sign a consent form for our study so we can use your data is completely out of the question?”
I had no choice. I squinted at Matt Simmons, squinted at him as though he were a peculiarity.
Because he was. Like a stubborn rash.
“Tell me something, Matt.” I made no attempt to hide the hostility in my tone, making sure to over-pronounce the “t” at the end of his name. “What is the purpose of your study? To piss off as many women in Chicago as possible?”
“No,” he ground out, mirroring my eye-squint.
And wasn’t that just the kicker? Him. Squinting at me.
No.
I wasn’t the one who’d lied, misrepresented my identity, and then tried to run an experiment on him. He had no right to squint at me. No right.
“Really? That’s too bad. Because if pissing people off had been the purpose, you’d be achieving your goals.”
“My aims are quite the opposite, Marie.” He over-pronounced the “e,” intensifying my irritation. “And they’re entirely altruistic, which you would have known if you’d stayed through the entire interview.”
“So tell me now,” I scoffed. “Tell me all about your philanthropic objectives.”
“I didn’t say they were philanthropic.” He lifted his chin. “I said they were altruistic.”
My. God.
How could one person be so unbelievably irritating?
“Never mind. Forget I asked.” I cut my hand through the air, stepping back, intent on shutting him out.
Again he stopped me, this time placing his palm against the door. But it wasn’t his holding the door open that kept me from shutting it.
“I’m building an AIC, an Artificial Intelligence Companion—or as mine is called, the Compassion AI—as a replacement for human relationships.” The words tumbled from his mouth, effectively halting my movements. “In simple terms, the goal is to build a realistic, humanoid robot who will hopefully—one day—nullify or supplement in every meaningful way our dependency on compassionate human interactions, emotional, physical, or otherwise.”
I wasn’t aware that my mouth had fallen open. Nor that it remained open for several, wordless seconds. Not until his gaze dropped to my lips, and a small smile—one that struck me as remarkably wily—tugged at the corner of his mouth and kindled a twinkle in his eye.
“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”
I shook my head, snapping my mouth shut and swallowing. “No. I wasn’t,” I admitted freely, still frowning at him while I attempted to make sense of his claims.
“Life is full of surprises,” he quipped, using my earlier words.
But I was stuck on the notion of a replacement for human relationships.
“Why?” I asked before I could catch myself.
“Why?” he echoed, removing his hand from the door and stuffing it back in his pocket.
“Yes. Why would you want to do that? Why would you want to replace human relationships?”
“Because,” his eyes skated over me as though he felt the answer was obvious, “because I can.”
“You want to build a robot to replace humanity because you can?”
“No. Not humanity. Merely our archaic dependence on each other as a source of fulfillment and support.”
“Archaic dependence?”
“Yes.”
“You think relying on another person is archaic?”
“It’s not archaic if it’s a choice, freely made and healthy.” He shrugged, his tone growing lofty, academic. “But, I do think the practice of sacrificing oneself at the altar of physical urges and the fantasy of emotional equivalence in the pursuit of empathy, endorphins, and tachycardia is archaic.”
Sex. He means sex, right?
Right?
. . . Right?
I released a disbelieving laugh, shaking my head at this man. My initial assessment had been correct. He was completely crazy.
Crossing my arms once more, I lifted my chin and peered at him, wondering what kind of odd road he’d traveled that had brought him to this place.
“You don’t like sex?” I asked, because it was the pertinent question.
His gaze narrowed, his features growing irritated. “Of course I like sex. I fucking love sex.”
For some reason, the words fucking, love, and sex coming out of his oddly pouty lips while his remarkably attractive eyes—hooded and provoked—stared defiant daggers at me sent a prickle of awareness shooting down my spine and up my neck.
I ignored it.
“You’re telling me the entire point of your experiment is to create a sex robot?”
“No. Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth. “The entire point is to give the world’s population an alternative to the imperfection and inherently inferior nature of human relationships. To provide healthy companionship, full of compassion, when the only other alternative is dysfunction, disappointment, indifference, and pain. I would no more call my AIC merely a ‘sex robot’ than I would call Greg and Fiona merely ‘sex partners.’”
This analogy and claim gave me pause, partially because I could see he believed what he was saying, and partially because his aims—to alleviate and remove disappointment and pain from a relationship—struck a chord.
“This is crazy,” I said without conviction, because it felt like the right thing to say.
And yet, even as I spoke the words, a voice somewhere inside my brain whispered, Why?
Why is this so crazy?
Because it’s new? Novel? Cutting-edge? Revolutionary? So was Galileo’s theory that the earth revolved around the sun and not the other way around. For that matter, so was electricity. So were cars and planes and computers and the Internet. Maybe this wasn’t crazy. Maybe this was the next logical step in our evolution.
If you can’t find companionship with another person, why not find it with a compassion robot?
5
Buddy
A companion robot that is meant to improve your everyday life. The robot protects your home, offers assistance in the kitchen, entertains the family with music and videos, acts as a calendar and alarm clock, and interfaces with popular smart home solutions.
Source: Blue Frog Robotics
“I think it’s brilliant,” Greg declared, leaning back in his chair.
As usual, no one knew if Greg was serious, or being sardonic to make a point.