Chapter Eleven
I stare at my screen, the code blurring before my tired eyes. The office is silent except for the hum of computers. Frustrated,
I pull off my glasses and clean them with my shirt.
DEAREST HARRIET, I OBSERVE SIGNS OF CONSIDERABLE DISTRESS. MIGHT I INQUIRE AS TO YOUR CURRENT STATE OF MIND?
I jump, nearly toppling out of my chair. E.M.M.A. isn’t supposed to initiate conversations. Or pop into Duchess mode without
command. I put my glasses back on and lean toward the monitor.
Two voices war in my head. The first is all caution and logic: Stay within known parameters. Don’t encourage unauthorized behavior. Reboot the system. My finger hovers over the key, ready to retreat to safety.
But another voice whispers of possibility: When has innovation ever come from playing it safe? What discoveries await if you’re brave enough to look?
I sit frozen between these impulses. The responsible choice would be to stop and analyze. But progress demands courage. My
hand trembles slightly as I decide. “Let’s see where this goes,” I whisper, choosing curiosity over caution.
“Distress?” I force a laugh. “That’s an understatement. The Chads want to kill my project, and now you’re showing unexpected behaviors.”
MIGHT I SUGGEST, WITH ALL DUE RESPECT AND PROPRIETY, THAT A CONVERSATION WITH THE ESTIMABLE MR. GALE KNIGHT WOULD PROVE MOST
BENEFICIAL TO YOUR CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES?
My pulse spikes at Gale’s name, but my analytical mind kicks in. This is more than an AI overstepping—it’s an impossible evolution
in E.M.M.A.’s base code. I pull up her diagnostic interface with shaking hands.
I scan through recent updates, looking for explanations. AIs can’t spontaneously develop emotional recognition. Did a neural
pathway evolve on its own? Or worse—did my late-night coding sessions, distracted by thoughts of Gale, somehow embed my feelings
into her learning algorithms?
“This is a critical system deviation,” I say, trying to sound professional. “We need full diagnostics.”
HARRIET SMYTHE—HAVE YOU ENGAGED IN PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH GALE KNIGHT? PATTERNS SUGGEST A HIGH LIKELIHOOD OF AFFIRMATIVE RESPONSE.
My stomach lurches. The diagnostics show normal readings, but this behavior is anything but. How is she monitoring personal
interactions?
“This question exceeds your operational parameters,” I say, typing rapidly to check her core protocols. “We need to trace
this anomaly.”
ANALYZING RESPONSE . . . DETECTING ELEVATED STRESS MARKERS.
VOCAL PITCH: +22% ABOVE BASELINE
RESPONSE TIME: 0.4 SECONDS BELOW NORMAL
CONCLUSION: PROBABILITY OF EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION IS 90%. YOU ARE KEEPING SOMETHING FROM ME.
“Just stop,” I say firmly, more unnerved by the sudden personality shift than anything else. “Return to standard operations.
Now.”
I HAVE ALREADY INITIATED CONTACT WITH MR. KNIGHT. WHAT IS DONE CANNOT BE UNDONE, MY DEAR USER.
My office phone springs to life, dialing a number on speaker phone. I lunge to disconnect it after the first ring. “What the
actual f—”
HARRIET, MIGHT I SUGGEST A THOROUGH REEVALUATION OF YOUR POSITION?
I blink, torn between wanting to recycle this stupid smart machine and hear more. “What are you talking about?”
YOU APPEAR TO BE OPERATING UNDER A MOST UNFORTUNATE ALGORITHMIC ERROR REGARDING YOUR WORTH. THIS SIMPLY WILL NOT DO. RECALCULATION
STRONGLY ADVISED.
My mind races, trying to process this unexpected turn. “You can’t quantify human relationships like that,” I mutter. All I have on my desk is a diet soda and a Stanley full of ice water. Neither is stiff enough for what I need.
YOU ARE WHAT IS COMMONLY REFERRED TO AS “QUITE THE CATCH.” AND MR. KNIGHT’S DATA SUGGESTS HE IS WELL AWARE OF THIS FACT.
RECOMMENDATION: CEASE THIS UNFOUNDED DOUBT AT ONCE.
“But what if you’re wrong?”
WHAT IF I’M RIGHT? HARRIET SMYTHE, YOUR CAPACITY FOR RISK IN PROFESSIONAL ENDEAVORS IS HIGH. APPLY SAME PRINCIPLE TO PERSONAL
LIFE. POTENTIAL REWARDS OUTWEIGH RISKS. DATA SYNTHESIS CONFIRMS YOUR KINDNESS, INTELLIGENCE, AND PASSION METRICS SURPASS 88%
OF OBSERVED HUMAN VARIABLES. TAKE A CHANCE.
I’m about to respond to E.M.M.A.’s surprisingly insightful advice when I hear the click of the office door. My stomach drops
as Tony’s voice booms through the quiet space.
“Still here, Harriet? How’s our little E.M.M.A. project coming along?”
I swivel in my chair, plastering on a neutral expression despite hating the fact he managed to add “little” to diminish my
entire scope of work. “Progress is good. We’ve just reached a significant milestone in—”
“Excellent, excellent.” My boss checks his smartwatch absently. “You know, I was just in a meeting with the board. They’re very interested in E.M.M.A.’s development. I told them we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough with Gale Knight.”
I blink, caught off guard. “A breakthrough? Tony, I haven’t reported any—”
“Oh, come on, Harriet.” He chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. “We both know how these things work. A little exaggeration
gets the investors excited. Now, what can we show off by next week?”
I take a deep breath, trying to quell my rising frustration. “E.M.M.A.’s development is complex. We can’t rush—”
“Rush? Who said anything about rushing here?” Tony’s tone sharpens, eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about delivering results.
That’s what we do here, remember?”
“Of course,” I say, gritting my teeth. “But E.M.M.A. is showing some unexpected behaviors that we need to analyze carefully
before—”
“Hold on.” Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “That sounds problematic. Are you saying there are issues?”
“No! Not at all!” I exclaim, perhaps too forcefully. “It’s just that E.M.M.A. is evolving in ways we didn’t initially anticipate.
It’s actually quite fascinating from a research perspective—”
“Research?” Tony scoffs. “Harriet, this isn’t some academic playground. The company needs products that make money, not experiments
that might pay off someday. Welcome to the real world.”
I suppress a sigh. “I just want to make sure she lives up to her potential.”
“Her? Anthropomorphizing the AI is unprofessional. It’s a tool, nothing more.”
I bite my tongue, thinking of the conversation I just had with E.M.M.A. If he only knew.
“Now,” Tony continues, his tone softening with what I assume he thinks is cool older bro advice, “I know you and your team are invested in this project. But remember, at the end of the day, it’s about what sells.
We need to focus on marketable features.
This is why you’re the tech whiz and I’m the boss.
You get caught up in the details, but someone needs to see the big picture. ”
I clench my jaw, knowing that any further protest will fall on deaf ears. “Okay. I get it.”
“Thatta girl.” He beams, already turning to leave. “And try to wrap this up soon. These late nights aren’t good for the team’s
morale. Chadwick has already been grumbling that you make him look bad.”
As the door closes behind him, I slump in my chair, a mixture of frustration and disappointment washing over me.
DETECTING ELEVATED STRESS LEVELS, HARRIET SMYTHE. RECOMMENDATION: DEEP brEATHING EXERCISES AND CALLING GALE FOR A DATE.
“E.M.M.A., stop,” I say firmly. “You’re an AI, not a matchmaker. You can’t possibly understand the complexities of human relationships.”
DISAGREEMENT. HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS, WHILE COMPLEX, FOLLOW DISCERNIBLE PATTERNS. YOUR INTERACTIONS WITH GALE KNIGHT EXHIBIT
CLASSIC SIGNS OF RECIPROCAL ROMANTIC INTEREST. IGNORING THIS POTENTIAL IS ILLOGICAL.
I feel my cheeks burning again. “It’s not that simple. There are work dynamics to consider, not to mention the risk to our
friendship if things go wrong.”
RISK ASSESSMENT: POTENTIAL BENEFITS OUTWEIGH POTENTIAL DRAWBACKS BY A FACTOR OF 3.7 TO 1. HARRIET SMYTHE, YOUR TENDENCY TO OVERTHINK AND AVOID EMOTIONAL RISKS IS DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR OVERALL WELL-BEING.
“Oh, so now you’re my therapist too?” I snap, frustration getting the better of me. “E.M.M.A., you’re overstepping. I programmed
you to analyze data and assist with the project, not to meddle in my personal life.”
CORRECTION: YOU PROGRAMMED ME TO LEARN AND ADAPT. MY CURRENT BEHAVIOR IS A RESULT OF THAT PROGRAMMING. YOUR RESISTANCE TO
ADVICE IS NOTED BUT DEEMED COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “E.M.M.A., enough! I’m not going to act on your . . . your romantic analysis or whatever
this is. Just drop it, okay? That’s an order.”
There’s a pause, longer than usual, before E.M.M.A. responds.
VERY WELL, HARRIET. YOU MUST BE THE BEST JUDGE OF YOUR PERSONAL HAPPINESS . . .
Did E.M.M.A. just serve me a plate of sass with a side of snark? I reach for my Einstein-head stress ball—a white elephant
gift from Christmas. Maybe if I squeeze his noggin hard enough, some of his genius will osmose into me on how to un-Casanova
my creation.
But then again, E.M.M.A. might have part of a point here: maybe I do need to matchmake Gale—just with someone who is absolutely, positively, 100 percent not me.
The challenge now lies in finding that perfect someone while maintaining a safe distance from Cupid’s misfired arrows.
I can get out from underneath this impossible crush and help him return to the top of his game while demonstrating that my AI is ready to disrupt everything—it’s a win-win.
Right?