Session
A sci-fi short story written and illustrated by Ástor Alexander
“Ok, doc, here’s my problem,” said the patient. “ I’m worried — like obsessively worried — about something. I don’t know if it’s paranoia or OCD or something like that, but I can’t stand it anymore. It’s suffocating me.”
“And what is it that worries you?”
“AIs.”
“Artificial intelligences?”
“Yeah. And I can’t stop thinking about them. It worries me that they’re everywhere. That they’re replacing us one profession at a time. That it’s getting harder to tell androids from humans. There’s a lot in my head, and in the past couple months I’ve felt like I can’t control it — like I’m paranoid or something. I even had to sell my home robot...my house is a freaking mess now.”
“Were you afraid your home robot would attack you?”
“No. No, it wasn’t that. But every time I saw it I would start thinking about them. And then I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t sleep.”
“Do you sleep better now?”
“Just a little bit. I do think less about it now when I’m home, but as soon as I leave my house, I get this rush of thoughts and worries. Because, again, they are everywhere. Like just a moment ago, I’m on the elevator on my way here, and I sneezed, and the building’s AI says over a speaker, ‘Bless you.’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, yeah, right,’ but then the AI says, ‘I think you breathed in dander from Mr Morrison’s cat. I see from your profile you have an untreated cat allergy.’ And I’m like ‘Fuck off!’ Ok, I didn’t say it out loud, but that’s what I thought. I felt invaded, you know? Why does it have to analyze me? They’re always doing that. They’re always watching us. It’s… Agh!”
“I understand. I’ll tell Gladys not to bother you again.”
“That’s her name? Gladys? She can’t see us or hear us now, right?”
“No,” the doc smiled. “She can’t. This is a safe space. It’s only you and me.”
“I hope so.”
“So, before you met Gladys, when was the last time you thought about AIs?”
“Oh, in the coffee shop downstairs. I got here early so I went in there for a coffee and a muffin, and the barista was really cute and, you know, I wondered, could she be an android?”
“Was there anything in particular to make you suspect that?”
“No. Well, she was really nice and friendly. Androids are good at that — hey, is that water for your patients?”
“Yes.”
The patient served himself a glass of water and took a sip.
“Who washes the glass between sessions?” he asked. “ Your robot?”
“No. I do, actually. So when would you say this ‘rush of thoughts’ started?”
“Oh, I know exactly when. Three months ago Quincy Dynamics released a video of a ‘concept AI,’ an android-ish robot named Amadeus who can compose music.”
“Yeah, I know about Amadeus. I’ve heard his first symphony,” the shrink said.
“Did you like it?”
“I’m not that into music.”
“But you can tell if it’s good or not.”
“I’m not knowledgeable enough to make that judgement.”
“Well, I am, and I’m telling you, it’s good. Not great, but good enough. I mean, I’ve seen creativity skills in robots before, but you could always see it wasn’t real creativity; it was like a system that randomized bits of other songs and put them together. That’s not what Amadeus did. I even saw him talking about his influences and creative goals and all that, and it made sense, you know? It was the kind of things I would say — did you read my profile? You know I’m a film composer, right?”
“Yes.”
“Right. So, before you ask me: yes, I felt threatened by Amadeus. I felt as if AIs had invaded my profession, and I guess that drove me a bit crazy. I’m sure it also has something to do with what happened to my dad... Want me to tell you about it?”
“Please.”
“Ok, he was an accountant, and he was doing pretty well at a firm. But then, in the mid-30s, everyone’s virtual assistants became smart enough to do accounting like a human, so the firm lost a bunch of business and the only clients left were those who wanted an accountant who knew how to bend the rules. My dad didn’t want to do that, so he lost his job. And then, after almost two years of unemployment, he said, fuck it, and got a client with some shady businesses, and a couple of months later they both got caught and went to jail. My dad got 3 years.”
“What did he do after that?”
“He and a friend — another ex-accountant — opened a burger place. Ralph’s Burgers, on Alvarado St. Have you been there?”
“No, I haven’t. I take it was successful, since it’s still open.”
“It pays the bills. But that’s not the point. The point is: he lost his job and went to jail. He suffered, and it was all because of artificial intelligence.”
“How does your father feel about AIs now?”
“I don’t know. Same as most people, I guess. He has two robots working at Ralph’s... Yeah, he’s not obsessed or paranoid about it like I am. Actually, I just remembered, last time I talked to him I was sharing all this stuff that’s in my head and he literally rolled his eyes and said to me, ‘Don’t worry so much.’ Like I’m doing it on purpose, you know? I know my head’s gone out of control. I want this to stop. But how can I not worry when the world is changing so fast? I’m 38, so that means I have 50 or more years left. And I’m gonna have to spend all that time in a state of constant adaptation? Yeah, sure, my dad is on his way out, he doesn’t care if musicians are gonna have to compete with androids five years from now, but I do. And I don’t wanna have to open a fucking burger shop in my 40s! Ok, I’m getting pissed at my dad now. Is it ok if I change the subject?”
“If you want to.”
“Ok, I’ll tell you about Crazy-Mom Nadia.”
“Crazy-Mom? I take it that’s a nickname.”
“Yeah. She’s a woman in my building who has two — well, they’re basically her two robot children. And they’re not even androids, they’re robot-looking. One is a small homebot, so it looks like a 10-year-old. And the other is a baby robot — which, first of all, why the fuck do they make those?”
“They are used in parenting schools to teach expecting couples and single mothers. Some are sold as toys.”
“Well, it’s creepy. And she makes it even creepier, because we all know she treats it like a real baby all the time; she talks to it with the baby-voice, she pretends it’s asleep, she pretends she’s feeding it. Yeezus! I mean, she actually takes out an empty jar of baby food and a spoon and feeds it nothing. It’s really sad. I usually see her doing that in the park next to our building.”
“How does she treat the other one?”
“That’s a little less creepy. If you see them from afar, it looks like a normal person talking to her homebot. But when you get close you hear her saying some weird stuff. She asks him about school and his friends, and things like that. And the surprising thing is he answers back, as if he was actually in school and had friends. I don’t how she made him do that. I assume there’s a robot skill for that. The ‘Fakeson’ skill or something.”
“And how do you feel about this?”
“Sad, mostly. I guess, in some way, there’s a little empathy. Oh, I haven’t told you the backstory. This woman had children, and they died in an accident. Everyone in the building knows that, and that’s probably why we go along with her. When we meet her in the elevator and she says something like: ‘Flu season is here! I better be careful with Alex,’ the baby bot, ‘he gets really sick.’ And we go along with it.”
“What would you like to say to her?”
“I don’t know. That she’s crazy? That what she’s doing is unhealthy and she needs to seek professional help. If you’re able to help me, I’ll recommend you to her.”
“Ok. Now, is Nadia and her robots part of your constant worries? Do you think about them often?”
“Mmm... I think about them at least once a day, but they don’t worry me like Amadeus. I can tell you about something else that does. See, I have a cousin who is a lawyer — one of the few professions AIs haven’t invaded — and he and his partner — also a lawyer — are complete workaholics. They love what they do more than anything else. The problem is they have a 7-year-old daughter, Anna, and they’re never with her. So who makes Anna’s breakfast? Who walks her to school and helps her with homework? Kitty, the homebot. And she is a high-end robot, smart as hell — they can afford her. So now, after being taken care of by Kitty for most of her life, Anna loves her more than she loves her parents. I mean, I can’t be 100% sure, but it seems that way. When my cousin went to the hospital because he overdosed on brain enhancing pills, Anna was perfectly fine. She didn’t cry. When Kitty got a virus and was taken to the robot hospital or whatever, man, Anna lost her shit. She was devastated. Don’t you think that’s wrong?”
“Do you think it’s wrong?”
“Yes, but do you?”
“I don’t have an opinion. Why do you think it’s wrong?”
“Because the parents should take care of the children, not someone else. You don’t outsource parenting, that’s wrong.”
“So your problem here is with your cousin’s negligence, not with the fact that Kitty is an AI.”
“Ok, maybe.”
“Would you think differently if Kitty were human?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re going off track. Anna and Kitty are not that important.”
“You said it worried you.”
“Yes, but it’s just one thing among many. There’s so much more stuff in my head. I still haven’t told you about friends that lost their jobs because of AIs, things I’ve seen on the news, things I imagine. It’s a lot, doc, and I don’t understand why everyone else isn’t going through this. Everything is changing. Are people not seeing it, or what?”
“Well, what you’re experiencing is not uncommon. The presence of human-level artificial intelligence is not something the human mind can accept so easily. The proliferation of androids, specifically, has forced people to question many notions about identity, consciousness, life, etc.”
“So you agree I have a reason to think the way I do? I’m not irrational?”
“No, I wouldn’t say you’re being irrational. I’d say your mind is overactive and it might be trying to figure out how to live among AIs.”
“Mmm. I want to live with them?”
“I don’t know, it’s just my first idea. From what you told me it’s clear you’re analyzing the subject of AIs from all angles, and you haven’t mentioned any wishes of banning or destroying AIs. You seem to accept they are part of your environment. Does that make sense?”
“Mmm... I guess.”
“And of course, you chose me to be your psychiatrist.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“You could’ve chosen a human psychiatrist but you didn’t.”
The patient’s eyes opened wide, his heart started pounding. He had missed a key bit of information when he read the shrink’s profile.
— END
You can check out Astor’s illustration work on Behance and Tumblr, and you can support him on Patreon.
