5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Peyton
T he next morning, I walk-run to the other side of campus and bound up the stairs to the third floor in search of the Data Science Department. Near the hallway entrance, two males wearing the expected CS attire of jeans and T-shirts babble in what I believe is the language of developers. If only they were wearing hoodies, then I could be completely certain that they’re truly Computer Science students.
I approach them slowly, hoping to catch their attention, but they remain focused on whatever it is they are talking about. If I interrupt, they may find my intrusion off-putting, in which case they’d be unlikely to help me. As I pass, I monitor them for an offering of a greeting—a hello, a head nod, or even a moment of eye contact—to which I can anchor as an excuse to interject. I receive none of that. Maybe I should have called rather than just popping over.
I wander the halls, hoping to find an open door. My luck changes midway down the hall, where I find a shared office space with half a dozen desks arranged around the walls. Inside is a female typing away at her computer. This definitely looks like a grad student office. The clutter and whimsical printouts taped to the wall remind me of my old, shared office.
I’ve found the lair, and now I must decide if I dare to approach the single inhabitant. Her dark hair is pulled back, and her thin shoulders are rolled forward as she clickity-clacks on her keyboard. She seems too busy. Perhaps I should lie in wait for other residents to arrive.
As I vacillate in the doorway, the woman turns. “Can I help you?”
“Hopefully. I’m looking for the Data Sciences Department. Specifically, someone who is doing AI research.”
“You’ve come to the right spot. That’s my research area.”
“Great!” I rush to her side with my hand extended. “My name is Peyton Verona. I’m with the Primate Research Center.”
“Ada Sparck. Nice to meet you.”
We shake hands, and I continue. “I’m hoping to form a partnership with a fellow grad student to develop an AI system to analyze a theory I have.”
She sits up taller, so I launch into my observations on constipation and prosocial behavior and my hopes for help from artificial intelligence. Her face remains immobile during the entire explanation, so I’m unable to read her body language, which is worrisome. Ada’s lack of emotion makes me fear she is internally deriding me in the same way Harris had no problems doing openly. I hesitate showing her the data, especially the poop pivot chart. I dance around the explanation of my analysis, but then decide I have nothing to lose and only the possibility of her help to gain, so I pull up my spreadsheets.
She takes the laptop from me and scrolls. “This is really interesting.” She puckers her lips in a classic expression of primate approval. “Do you have any of the video I can see?”
Ada has earned lots of prosocial points from me. We watch a recent video, and I explain which of Sty’s behaviors are prosocial and which are antisocial. She makes lots of “uh-huh” and “ah” noises, which are usually a good sign.
“I love the idea of partnering with the Primate Center,” she says. “I’m totally going to talk to my adviser, but I have to be honest. I don’t think the whole bowel movement to antisocial behavior link is going to work.”
I slump a bit. “Too weird?”
“No!” She shakes her head emphatically to ensure I don’t feel slighted, but once I give her a reassuring smile, she tiptoes into her true feelings. “Well, if it were the very first thing we study, that might be a tiny bit odd. But the real problem is it’s too complex. In order for the AI to make such an analysis, we’d have to train it on all the ways chimpanzees can be prosocial and antisocial. That’s too advanced for my level of research as a first-year graduate student.”
“Oh, right. Social behavior can be rather nuanced.” After twenty-seven years of living as a human and studying our behavior, I often still find it flummoxing.
“But we can study something smaller. We need something easier to identify, like who pushes what button or something.”
Button-pushing—there must be something I could do with that. This would be a huge benefit to prevent the need for the team to sit through hours of video to capture a few seconds of a button being pushed. Then it clicks—tool usage has been an ongoing area of research.
“Could we train the AI to report who uses a tool and for how long?”
“Yes, that sounds manageable.”
“Then perhaps we could start with studying how tools are adapted within the troops.”
Ada and I use her whiteboard to brainstorm potential experiments. We finish with a list of ideas for both of us to take back to drum up interest in our respective departments. I race back to the primate center and type up my notes to share with Dr. Wahl in our weekly one-on-one. I can’t help but feel like I’m the shit now.
Dr. Wahl reaches across his desk to hand me a printed copy of the grant proposal. “Don’t be intimidated by the number of marks. This really is an excellent start. You’re much further along than I’d thought you’d be.” He rests his elbows on the dark stained wood and steeples his hands in front of him. Behind him is a neatly arranged bookshelf, and he looks as though he could be posing for a contemplative photo. “I’ve noted the areas where I think we need to add more detail and I couldn’t help editing a bit.”
I flip through the red-slashed pages, scanning the copious notes.
“Thank you. This is truly helpful.” His penmanship is legible, so I won’t be guessing what he has written, and from my brief review his comments are fair. And this is the most straightforward way for me to learn the language of grant writing, as well as Dr. Wahl’s personal preferences.
“If you have questions, let me know.” He rotates to his laptop, which is on its own stand next to his desk. He wiggles his mouse.
“Also, I wanted to share my findings on the constipation study.”
His screen wakens and the login box pops up in the middle of the screen. “Well, it wasn’t really a study, per se.” He pecks out his password, then opens his calendar. “But yes, what have you found out?”
I pull up my presentation and put my laptop on his desk. He does a double take before turning around. I quickly go through my results, sensing that even though we’ve used only fifteen minutes of our allotted half-hour, Dr. Wahl could wrap up the meeting at any moment.
When I make it to the summary slide, he pulls my laptop closer and leans in. “This is extremely comprehensive.” He looks at me over the top of his glasses. “Very nice job, indeed. Have you shared this with the veterinarian team?”
“Not yet—”
“Then by all means, take this over to them straightaway. Let’s get Sty some more fiber, don’t you say?”
“Oh, right, of course. But what about the impact on his behavior? Specifically, the decrease in prosocial behavior?”
“All the more reason to make that dietary change. Makes me think I should probably start including some bran in my diet myself.” He pats his stomach and grins before handing me back my laptop. “Tis true one feels best when one’s a well-oiled machine.”
“Good point.” And I’m thrilled that Ada convinced me to change the topic of study for the AI.
Dr. Wahl shifts as though about to turn back to his screen, so I launch right into my idea to use AI to analyze primate behavior, specifically to analyze their use and interactions with tools. He rubs his chin and responds, “Very intriguing. This could be a continuation of previous studies we’ve done with primates and tool usage. It’s an interesting idea, but there are—”
“And Ada thinks the Computer Science department would likely be willing to let this be her research topic. So essentially, they’ll be providing the funding for one of their grad students to work on the project.”
“You don’t say.” He leans back in his chair and studies me. “I guess what’s the harm in a meeting?”
His response lacks the enthusiasm I had imagined, but it’s still a step forward. I seize the win and hurry to tell Ada.