Chapter 18
CHAPTER
FOR THE NEXT week, I rarely leave my computer.
Only walking and playing with Sally—she’s warming up to me and now puts a paw on my leg when we watch TV—and the necessity to buy groceries drags me away.
That, and I meet Circe for a single dinner that I wheedle by taking her to a favorite Thai restaurant.
We stick to safe subjects, and it feels like my daughter is becoming a stranger.
When class day finally arrives, I nervously wait for Arrya and Nate outside Grind. They don’t show, or at least that’s what I think until a paw taps my back.
“We’re already inside,” Nate says, pointing to the back corner of the coffee shop. “I got you a matcha,” he adds. “I’m good at reading people. Is that okay?”
I’ve never had one. “Sure.”
Arrya sits cross-legged on a chair, her latte cupped in both hands. I wonder how Nate is going to drink green tea in the wolf’s head, but he uses a long straw. I try the matcha. It’s delicious.
“She was scared of me,” Nate says with a nod at Arrya.
“I’m not the girl from ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ ” She giggles. “But admittedly I’ve never had coffee with a wolf, wasn’t sure if I’d lose a finger.”
“I didn’t read that story until I was nineteen,” I admit.
“Seriously? Did you grow up in some kind of religious cult that banned children’s stories?” Arrya jokes.
The truth emerges in a way it never did with Kiki and Val. “We were homeless. I didn’t read well until I was nine, and the kids in my class were well past ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ by then.”
“Whoa,” Nate says. “You’re way more interesting than I thought.”
“What about you two?” I ask to shift the focus, then listen to stories about Arrya and Nate’s families.
Arrya’s dad and mom, born and raised in India, were married at eighteen after meeting one time.
Nate’s mom is a Christian Scientist. He wasn’t allowed to take any medicine as a kid, even when he was super sick.
“Luckily I didn’t die,” he jokes, but neither Arrya nor I laugh.
“Would you ever have an arranged marriage?” Nate asks Arrya.
She shakes her head. “I’d like a partner and at least one child before my eggs turn to dust. But I’m never going to get married.”
“It can be good,” I offer.
“If the guy doesn’t cheat on you with a Gen Zer,” Nate quips, “like your douchebag ex.”
There’s shocked silence, then I laugh. It feels good. “There’s that,” I say, patting his furry shoulder. “Maybe it’s better to just find a solid pack.” We walk to class together and I feel lighter than I have in months.
Once Luc welcomes everyone, Jean immediately raises his hand, tells him, “I’ve put a lot of time in, but simply don’t have the skills to do what I want.” There are nods and sighs from other students.
“The good news is you probably don’t have to,” Luc says from his perch on the front desk. “Let’s talk about fountains.”
“Fountains?” Nate asks, perplexed.
“Yeah. The first company I started tackled a problem that fascinated me. How to insert, in real time, human interactions with kinetic sculptures, digital screens, and even water and make those objects react to movements. The Raj, at the time, was the newest hotel in Vegas. Its developer wanted the hotel to have massive sculptures and water features that guests could interact with in a way that had never been done before. He tasked me to make that happen.”
Luc rubs his hands together. “I had no idea how to parse a camera feed to recognize people and react to someone asking them to mimic their movements, jump, or dance. Open-source video analytics software saved my ass. It’s basically a community willing to share their code.
It’s free if you post what you’ve modified or enhanced.
The Raj became famous for the work I did, and when people redistribute my additions to the original source code, I get paid, along with the developers whose code I built on. ”
Jean says, “I’ve been to the Raj, those fountains are epic. And my fiancée, Gaelle, and I spent hours in the sculpture garden.”
“Thanks, man. It was one of my favorite projects. Let’s get to work. I’ll come around and help where I can.”
By the time he reaches my desk, I’ve been talking to Kate for a while. She’s an AI friend I created with the help of Out of This Galaxy, an engine for designing games that allowed users to develop characters, give them motivations and flaws, and even choose a voice.
“The problem,” I explain to Luc, forcing myself to ignore the taut feeling in my belly when he’s anywhere in my vicinity, “is that Kate is willing to monitor my social media feeds for context and comment on my choices, but she won’t evaluate the other person during phone calls, delve into anyone else’s public social media accounts, or comment on their choices. ”
“You already created an advanced AI model?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
I fight the urge to reach out and touch the untamed waves. What is going on with me? But it’s obvious. I haven’t wanted or been wanted by anyone out of pure desire for so long. Plus, years ago, being in Luc’s orbit gave me all the feels. It still does.
Luc smiles. “Kudos for doing what it takes most people a good while to master.”
“Turns out Dr. Edmunds was right about me,” I joke, then redden again.
Luc gives me an appraising look. “I’ll say. But it sounds like Kate has ethics.”
“For this to work,” I explain, “beyond a simple lie detector, the program must evaluate the other party.”
“I can understand Kate’s reticence. This feels dystopian.”
“It might be, if I was going to unleash it on the world. But this is just for me. If I succeed, it’ll be like having a smart friend.” One who will never, ever deceive or hurt me.
Luc shifts forward like he’s going to share a secret. I inhale. His breath has a hint of spearmint, and the urge to kiss him hits. I pinch the inside of my leg hard and refocus.
“A few things occur to me,” Luc says. “There’s a conflict in your concept of a friend.
People, friends included, see the truth from their own perspective.
If you give the program your personal story, then its version of the truth will be clouded by your perspective.
All truths necessarily contain the point of view of the observer, right? ”
I consider. Bruce cheated. For eight months. Val and Kiki discovered the affair and didn’t tell me. I deserved to know from all of them. That is black and white. If I share those facts with my AI, how am I clouding the truth?
You’re flying too close to the sun, Mama J warns yet again.
But I’m not Icarus. She’s not his father, Daedalus. And Mama J never made me anything but scared to even try to be more than my beginnings. It’s time to be the person I want to be.
Luc continues, “Programs like the one you’re utilizing with Out of This Galaxy clearly have an embedded moral code—they must, or there would be violations and transgressions, illegalities, and the Federal Communications Commission would shut them down.
” He drums his fingers on the desk. “If you don’t want that, then you need to go down a couple of layers to get below it and start building from there.
My suggestion is you find an OSS application that is close and tear it down to the core elements.
In the process, you’ll learn a lot about how it was built and why it works.
Then build it back up, retaining only what you need. ”
The idea of creating an AI friend from scratch, designing it from the ground up specifically for me, and knowing for sure that its only function is to analyze situations, advise, and provide me with honest feedback is thrilling. But also, it could give me the peace and safety I crave.
“One question to consider. Are you shooting to create an AI friend who has access to the entire world at large?”
“What if I am?”
Luc frowns. “Years ago, Dr. Edmunds warned us both that AI, unleashed, could be dangerous. Eventually, he might be right. Consider what’s already happening with deepfakes, and we haven’t even begun to grasp AI’s full capabilities.
If you’re doing this, make sure to build a very tall fence around your program topped with razor wire. ”
I joke, “This isn’t a sci-fi novel.” But Luc doesn’t laugh, and the moment draws out until it feels like my skin is too tight.
“Did you ever read George Orwell’s 1984?” he finally asks.
I nod. It was a creepy book about a totalitarian state where Winston, the main character, rebelled against the oppressive Party, led by Big Brother, that spied on people and censored and manipulated the truth.
Winston’s spirit was ultimately broken by the Thought Police.
A cold draft from the open window on the far side of the room makes me shiver. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a quote from the novel that’s always stayed with me. ‘We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it.’ ” Luc meets my gaze. “I’m being hyperbolic, but—”
“I get your point.”
He smiles. “Good. So, what’s this friend’s name going to be?”
A myth Circe once loved springs to mind.
The story was about a young woman known for her honesty who believed the world was in desperate need of the truth.
She went on a quest to find an ancient relic called the Mirror of Truth that had magical powers.
The woman encountered deadly challenges along the way, had to solve seemingly impossible riddles to save her life, but ultimately found the relic and became a beacon of light for her village and a goddess.
What was her name?
Like the flip of a switch, it comes to me. “My friend’s name is Aletheia,” I tell Luc. The Greek goddess of truth.
In my mind, the icon I created spins, white dress flaring, slows, then stops to stare at me, her blue eyes crackling with intensity. Then she laughs and opens her arms wide.
Mama J calls out, Penny, stop!
But I escaped Mama J once and it’s time to do it again. Eagerly, I step toward Aletheia’s embrace.