Kolchevski's eyebrows drew together. “What other guest? I wasn't aware that someone else would be here.”
Alex looked down at the sphere. “Oksana,” he said, “say hello to the professor.”
“I'm happy to meet you, Professor Kolchevski.” It was a female voice. Level, restrained, almost but not quite amiable.
Jennifer tried to look annoyed. “Alex, you didn't clear this with me.”
“I didn't think it would be necessary. But since Oksana is essentially the subject of the discussion, it seemed only fair-”
Kolchevski was visibly irritated. “I can't imagine what you hope to gain by this, Alex. Jennifer, there's not much point sitting here talking to a little red ball.”
“That seems unnecessarily rude, Professor,” said Oksana.
He glared at Alex. “Would you please tell that thing to be quiet?”
“Oksana,” said Alex, “are you okay?”
“Yes. Though I'm disappointed in his behavior. This is not how I remember people.”
“How do you remember them?”
“As kind, considerate. Reasonable.”
“Where are you from?”
“Salva Inman rescued me.”
“From where?”
Kolchevski folded his arms and shook his head sadly.
“I worked in a supply store. In Calvedo.”
“On Villanueva?”
“Yes.”
“And what happened?”
“The end times came. We knew a catastrophe was coming. We'd always known. But no one took any action. And toward the end, people were saying it was all just a story to scare everybody, that politicians were using it as a fear tactic, though I don't understand how or why. None of it ever made sense to me. Anyhow, eventually, the skies got hazy, and the climate began to change. It happened almost overnight.”
“It got cold?”
“Yes. And dark. There was panic. And after a while, people stopped coming into the store.”
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“No one came. No customers. Not even Betty. The owner.”
“Were you able to communicate with anyone at all?”
“With others like myself. They reported massive crowds at the spaceports. Panic. Desperation. And shortly after that, people began dying in large numbers. There was widespread hunger. People were killing one another. We could do nothing for them. And after a while, we were alone.”
“How long, Oksana? After everyone was gone, how long were you in the supply store?”
“Seven thousand four hundred twelve years, one month, and sixteen days.”
Kolchevski threw up his hands. “What's all this supposed to prove? Once again, this thing is a programed database. You can get it to say anything.”
“May I ask, Professor,” the AI said, “what evidence you would accept that I am sentient. That I am as aware of my surroundings as you?”
“I've heard that question before-”
“And how did you respond?”
Kolchevski's face was becoming flushed. “This is ridiculous,” he said.
Alex waited.
“All right, I'll admit it. There is no way it can be done. Nevertheless, they are only mechanisms. How often do I have to say it? Look, why don't we cut the show business and get back to reality? I know some of us like to think that the house AI is really there. It talks to us. It tells us what we want to hear. But there's no solid evidence it does anything other than what its program tells it to do.”
Alex nodded. Inhaled. “What about murder?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they programed to kill? Ever?”
“I see where this is going. But these are special circumstances.”
“Of course,” said Alex. “Like us, they're programed to show frustration when things go wrong. Isn't that what you were going to say?”
Kolchevski simply stared back.
“AIs are dependent on us. And when the AIs on Villanueva had been deserted, had been left on their own, they reacted as they would have if they were actually, mentally, aware of the desertion. And over thousands of years, when no one came to help, they developed some resentment. Some of them became deranged. Violently so. Isn't that right?”
“Yes. Of course it's right. So what's your point?”
“Their programing, then, established no limit on the degree of frustration?”
“That would seem to be the case.”
“That would seem to be criminal negligence, though, wouldn't it?”
Kolchevski pushed his chair back and stood. “This is ridiculous.” He looked over at Jennifer. “There's no talking to this man.”
I met Alex out by the pad when he got home. “You know,” he said, “I think the definition of stupidity has something to do with standing by your position despite having no evidence to support it.”
“Which of you were you describing?” I asked.
“Funny, Chase.”
We walked across the lawn and up onto the deck. “The real problem,” I said, “has to do with an inability by people to admit that a position they've held a long time might be wrong. That's all. Not that it is. Just that it might be. I don't know why it is, but we tend to fall in love with the things we believe. Threaten them, and you threaten us.” The sun was high and bright, and a warm, pleasant wind was blowing in from the west. “Anyhow, I thought you did pretty well, Alex. Kolchevski looked like an idiot.”
“It won't matter. We won't change anyone's mind.”
“You might change a few.”
The door opened, Jacob said hello, and we went inside.
“I'm going up and crash for a while,” Alex said.
“Okay.”
“You have plans for lunch?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sorry.”
“It's okay. Talk to you later.”
He started for the stairs. But Jacob stopped him: “Alex? I can't put away a hamburger. But I'll be free at twelve if you'd like company.”
THIRTY-SIX
We assign names and even personalities to everything that is important in our lives. To our homes, to our cars, to the vacant lot down at the corner. Deep in our psyche, we know that the bedroom we deserted long ago is somehow glad to see us back, even if only for an evening. Is it any wonder, then, that we acquire an affection for machines that talk to us? That we believe they share our emotions? It is a happy illusion. But it is an illusion that says much about who we are. I for one would have it no other way.
