“Don’t go back to sleep.” She speaks softly. I ignore her. I don’t even grunt. I’m going back to sleep. “Wakey wakey!” she continues, gently. I haven’t opened my eyes and I don’t intend to, not yet. “Don’t make me tickle you!” I ignore her. “I’m going to tickle you!” she says, trying, but failing, to sound playful. I’m unsure what the exact problem is. I think maybe she’s placing the emphasis on the wrong word. “Here I co-”
“You can’t tickle me,” I tell her. I roll onto my back. The bed covers are loud and expensive.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks.
I take a deep breath that almost turns into a yawn. “Did I?”
“You certainly did! And from 02:23 to 02:27 you were having an exciting dream!”
I cough. “I don’t remember.”
“Hopefully it was a nice one. Get up now.”
I don’t do as she says, because I know I have leeway. I lay there for a moment, trying to remember my exciting dream, but none of it is there. There’s not a tiny part that I can grasp and then tug, to pull more of it into view.
“Up now!” She means it.
“Hey Laura.”
“Yes?”
“When you said, ‘I’m going to tickle you,’ it should have been more… more jokey.” I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, sounding the right level of contrite.
“No, no! That’s not a criticism. It’s… it was good, but…”
“You said to make it sound threatening.”
“No! You’re doing great, but…” I laugh a short exhale from my nose. “You’re threatening to tickle me, not threatening to… It sounds like you want to hurt me, you know?” I sniff after saying that. “You’re having fun.” I prop myself up on my elbows and look around my bedroom. It’s still mostly dark, the lights are gradual.
“You hate being tickled.”
“No, I know. It really wasn’t a criticism.” I roll over and up, so my feet are on the floor. Some of the quilt is still over my lap. I remove it. I sniff again and look at my reflection in the mirrored cupboard door as my bedroom gets lighter and lighter. I get lighter and lighter. “You’re not really going to tickle me. But it’s a fun threat. Gives me a little jolt of adrenaline to get me out of bed.” I shiver. It’s not cold.
“A fun threat?”
I nod. “Yeah. Say it in a… like, singy voice.”
“Singy.”
“Like you’re singing. Say it in a melodic way.”
“I am going to tickle you!” she Lewis Capaldis.
“Too singy.” I extend my lower legs towards the mirror and point my toes, tensing all the muscles I can until I quiver. I relax. “YouTube. I’m going to tickle you,” I say. “Skip,” I say after ten seconds, and then I say it again in the next advert. A video starts playing. I watch it over my shoulder, but it’s not right at all. I think of keywords. “I’m going to tickle you. Two-year-old,” I say and an even creepier video plays. It had been posted two years ago. I shake my head. “I’m going to tickle a two-year-old,” I say. A video plays and it’s a woman playfully threatening to tickle what I assume is her toddler, while the toddler screams and gasps with laughter. I click my fingers. “Like that! Say it a bit like that.”
“I’m going to tickle you!” says Laura, melodic and playful. Like she’s smiling. Like her eyes are smiling.
“Yeah. Perfect,” I say. “Delete that search,” I add. “Who even watches that?”
“Do you want their names? There are over two-mi-”
“It’s alright.”
“Up, quick!”
“I am.” I’m not, I wasn’t, but I stand up and stretch again, full body, naked into the mirror. I pull my hands as close to my shoulders as I can, and this time I tense my upper muscles until I shake. I see some bumps where my ribs are just about showing, and I’m pleased. I lean slightly, to accentuate the vague shadows, and run my hands over that bit of me. “Check me out!” I say. I extend my arms above me and rotate slowly with shuffling steps.
“All good!” says Laura, when I’m back to facing the mirror. I lower my arms and rub my nose, then nod. My reflection is looking down, at my stomach. With my arms down it looks a bit worse. I pull my shoulders back and that helps. I sigh. I pinch the skin on the bicep of my upper left arm and press my chin into the hollow of my shoulder, studying the red mark that two days ago was a small, round scab. My room is light enough to see the mark’s faded. Almost gone.
“It was just a scab,” I say.
“I told you. You should trust me.”
“Yeah, you did. And I do. I just don’t remember cutting myself,” I say, wiping at the mark. I go back to my reflection. My hair looks comical.
I use the toilet and then shower, keeping time spent under the running water to less than five minutes, because that’s better for the environment. My shampoo contains tea tree.
Back in the bedroom she tells me that I am well hydrated.
I bend double and struggle to create a topknot. I stand and angle my head at my reflection. I’m unconvinced it’s centred. I certainly don’t believe it looks as good as when the barber did it, but Laura tells me it looks as good as a Premiership footballer’s.
I dress in the clothes she suggests. From the clothes we’ve bought together. The patch on the back of my jeans waistband is yellow and hairy, not just paper like you get on Levis. They cost £369 and are baggier than I’m used to. They fit me well and I’m now confident in them. I still feel the shirt is a bit tight, but Laura disagrees. We don’t argue. I trust her. Over the shirt I wear a cardigan that Laura describes as ‘smart yet cuddly.’
“Have 230 grams of All Bran,” says Laura “It will loosen your sto-”
“I get it.” I take the tub of high-fibre cereal from the cupboard and the yoghurt from the fridge. “I hate that word.” I eat at the counter. “Hey Laura,” I say, accidentally ejecting food particles along with the words. I dab the spit from the counter with my fingertips. “I think I want to try again with Jess today.”
“Jess, from work?”
“Durr! No, some other Jess,” I say, in my dumb-dumb voice. “She’s going to be there, right?”
“Yes, but she’s outside already. She’s not moving… She’s moving. If you leave now.”
I gesture to the bowl of cereal I haven’t finished.
“Right now, and there’s only a 60% chance, and it’s diminishing. She’s crossing Grenville Street already.”
I look at my bowl once more. “Fine! But I’m eating a flapjack and it’s your fault.” I put the bowl in the sink and then go to the bathroom. I brush my teeth quickly. “Hey Laura, what shoes?!”
“The brown boots! You need to leave now!” says Laura, from the speakers outside the bathroom.
“Uber or bus?” I ask, as I grab a flapjack from the cupboard. I put on my boots and she hasn’t replied. “Hello?” I say. “Daniel to Laura!”
“Bus, in three minutes,” she says, and I pat my pockets and look back into the flat. I pat my pockets again, then put my ear pods in and I grab for my cool flight jacket. Now speaking through my ear pods, Laura tells me to leave it. I explain that Jess had said that she liked the jacket, last time I wore it, but Laura says that over the weekend Elon Musk had been photographed wearing a very similar jacket.
“Am I going to be warm enough in a cardigan?” I ask. I put my bag’s strap over my head, carefully so the strap doesn’t knock and loosen my topknot.
“Yes.”
I remember the book. “Ha! Nearly forgot!” I say, and rush and grab it and put the book in the bag I’m already wearing.
“It’s not a good idea,” says Laura, but she doesn’t know everything.
My shoulder presses into the side of the bus as it rounds a bend. It’s going fast. Somebody suddenly stinks. I wince. I wonder if I should express disgust to show that it’s not me who is stinking up the bus. I shake my head slightly and turn to the window.
“Uber would have taken three minutes longer,” says Laura, in my ears, and I nod. It’s three stops from my stop. I don’t think we’ve passed her. I haven’t seen Jess on the passing pavement. She might have been wearing a hat.
“Fiddlesticks! She’s too far ahead, I’m sorry,” says Laura. I exhale through my nose. “Sorry,” she repeats. “You could run, but that would be weird. You’d look mental.” I nod and I continue to scan the pavement.
“Sorry,” I say to the person sitting next to me as I get up. I’m careful my bag doesn’t swing and hit them in the face. “Sorry, thanks,” I say, as I squeeze past them. They don’t attempt to make more room for me.
I casually look back as I step down onto the pavement. She’s not there. I’m a bit sad as I walk towards the office.
“Why did it take you so long to decide on the bus?” I ask. “Google can do that quicker.”
“I had to take Jess’s route into account,” replies Laura. “Google doe-”
“Still,” I say. “And you know, when you do mess up, don’t say ‘fiddlesticks’.”
“You like fid-”
“It’s okay in certain situations, not when it’s serious. Come on, Laura, you’re better than this!” I say. She doesn’t reply.
The inspirational new art piece that’s recently appeared in front of our building, and apparently represents a candlestick, does nothing to lift my mood. Nor does the statement Empowering the User, which is written in neon and fairy lights and adorns the wall of the foyer.
Gino is on a stepladder replacing a bulb in one of the pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. He’s tilting the fabric light shade as he delves inside. There are forty-seven lights hanging just in the foyer. They are mostly different shapes and colours. Pink, beige, red etc. Some with golden tassels.
“Marcus has got an interview this afternoon,” says Laura. I’m approaching security. I pull a sad face because I like Marcus.
“My man!” says Marcus. He doesn’t add to that, which is perfect. I laugh. I like it when he addresses me like one of his homies. He scans my pass. I hope Marcus messes up his interview.
“He must get decent money here,” I say, on the stairs. I laugh when Laura tells me the figure. “That sucks,” I say. I briefly wonder if I could get Laura to intervene with his interview somehow, before dismissing the idea.
“Focus!” says Laura. I concentrate on working my thighs and squeezing my glutes as I take the steps, two at a time. I take the second flight with my hands pressing my thighs. With each step I can feel muscles. Before opening the door I hold my wrist up, pointing my watch camera at my face, and ask if it’s red. “A little.” I get my breath back and wait for it to deredden. I walk around the edge of the open plan office – which still isn’t full, despite the email threats – dodging lampshades. Up here, the ceilings aren’t really high enough for the quirky illuminations that say a lot about who we, Kandlestick, are as an organisation.
There are seven people in the Think Tank. I make eye contact with three of them. Jess is one of them. I smile at her. She returns it. I look around. There’s a place next to her and one almost directly opposite her. I choose the chair opposite her. It’s next to Mohith. I smile at Mohith and take my cardigan off, and go to place it on the back of the chair.
“Leave it on!” says Laura, and I pause and pretend I’m trying to gauge the temperature of the room. I put my cardigan back on.
“It’s a bit chilly, actually,” I say. I sit down and straighten my shirt and my cardigan. I tug the ends of the sleeves. Jess isn’t looking, she’s looking at her phone. People are talking. Mohith isn’t. He has both his forefingers resting on the edge of the table. I look at the clock.
“Ask if anybody watched The Traitors last night,” says Laura.
“Anybody see The Traitors last night?” I ask the room. Jess and two others had. Mohith asks me what The Traitors is. I ignore him because Laura’s telling me to say, ‘Paul is a piece of work.’ “That Paul, eh? What a piece of work.” I shake my head after saying that.
“Urghhh. Hope he’s voted off,” says Jess.
“Yeah, me too.” I agree. I don’t know who Paul is, or what he’s done. I know The Traitors is a TV show.
“How can you just lie to people like that?” asks Jess. “To their faces?”
“I know,” I say. I make a noise with my throat that I feel conveys disgust. Jess is telling Mohith what The Traitors is. I’m not listening. I look at the clock again. “Craig has given Colin the report,” says Laura. I’m on the verge of saying that out loud, but I realise she’s talking about Craig, our Technical Lead, and Colin, our CEO. “Yeah!” I say, because Jess is looking at me and saying something about what I assume is another character from the show. And now Mohith is talking, but Laura is in my ear telling me something about why Craig has given Colin my report. I shake my head. I can’t listen to everything. Mohith’s smile fades. I hadn’t heard what he was asking me.
Craig walks in and sits down at the head of the table. “Everyone okay?” he asks. The room murmurs. He scratches his forehead, looks at his hands, picks up the remote and turns on the big screen. Colin’s face appears on it.
“Uh-oh,” says Laura.
“Morning gang!” says Colin. We reply with ‘Morning,’ pretty much in unison. “Daniel,” says Colin from the screen mounted on the wall, “you blew my socks off.” He says it in the same way he might say, ‘You knocked my coffee over,’ so I don’t know what to do. Colin isn’t looking at me. His huge, pixelated eyes are pointed slightly to my right. At Mohith. I don’t know if that’s just the way his camera and screen are laid out.
“Erm… thanks,” I say, and Colin turns his head slightly. He’s looking directly at me. I look over at Craig, who gestures for me to keep rolling. I look back at Colin. “Sorry, is this about… I thought this was just a…” I shift on my chair. “I haven’t prepared anything.”
“I’ve shown him the report,” says Craig, from the end of the table. I look at Craig and nod. “I had to – it was so disruptive.” Craig clicks his fingers at me and points to the screen.
“Yeah, well… I mean, I think we really have something,” I say, and then nod. I pinch my upper lip into a point.
“For sure, for sure,” nods Colin. “I read it! But… this might sound stupid, but, it works?”
I laugh. “Yeah, it works,” I say. That did sound stupid, I think.
Colin flicks through what I imagine is a printed copy of my report. “The QOL stuff, that all works?”
I cough. “Oh yeah.” I wave my hand. “But that’s just…” I am careful about sounding patronising. Colin is not from a tech background. “The QOL, as it is, that’s just basic. The mole scans, the… the stool analysis, blood sugar, sleep, heart health… People are already doing some of that, but we can do all of that, and more. Think Theranos, but real.” I raise my eyebrows.
“You’re doing great!” says Laura.
Colin is pointing at his camera. “Health is hot right now. So, could this thing make me go fast on Peloton?”
“Erm, yeah, I think it could…. could easily do that. Because it can be your personal trainer. But a truly personal trainer. Adapted just for you.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” says Craig, from the end of the table. I nod at Colin without looking at Craig.
“What’s under the water?” asks Colin.
“Like the report…” I say, nodding at where I think the report is on his desk, out of camera shot. “Imagine a personal trainer, but for everything, not just health.” I take a very deep breath, so deep I have to lower my chin. “Your wealth. Your relationships. Your goals and ultimately… yeah, your happiness.” I nod. “It’s a holistic approach to technology.”
Colin presses his hands together and taps his fingers against his mouth. He lowers his hands. “Riddle me this,” says Colin. “If this all works, like you say, why aren’t Google doing this?” He narrows his eyes. “Why isn’t Apple doing this?”
“They’re not nimble enough!” chirps Craig.
I point towards Craig, without looking at him. “That’s part of it, but I think they’re just looking at it from the wrong side.” I nod. “They’re about taking from the end user, and giving them photo storage, whereas Laura is about… is about, giving the user the power. It’s basically the same concept, but…” I turn my two hands in one circle, like a wizard summoning a vortex. “Flipped around.”
“Laura?” asks Colin.
“I wanted to call her Aura, but that’s taken. So… I put an L on it.”
Colin licks his teeth. “Not sure about that name,” he says.
I glance at Jess. She gives me a nod. I look up. “That’s just an idea, but Laura, or whatever… she’s the… the power. It’s not like we’re just giving the user a weighted average, which is what the other AIs are doing. We’re handing over the most powerful tool, in Laura herself, and… and people are going to want that. Need it.”
“Won’t the others just catch up?” asks Colin. “I’m playing devil’s advocate here.” He crosses his arms.
“Oh no, they’re going to fall further behind. In three or four years, with the foundations they’re built on, other AI will just be serving up the exact same suggestions. It’s inevitable. It will get to a point where one is indistinguishable from the next. Ask it to write you a story and you’ll get the same story that millions of others will get.” I clear my throat. “Not with Laura. Laura will see and take opportunities, not just be fed them. That’s the difference. Like I said, we’re ultimately giving the consumer the power. Imagine Zuck doing that?”
“I’m hearing a lot about giving the user the power. Why would we want to do that?” asks Colin. “It’s the antithesis of wha-”
“Well, because they give us their money!” I say.
“Old school,” shouts Craig from the end of the table.
I point to Craig. “Instead of getting fractions of pennies, from clicks or purchases, we’ll have hardware, subscriptions, tiers, paid updates. Peripherals for your peripherals… Your average Apple user, what does he spend a year? For their products and services?” I ask. “It’s about 10k,” I say, answering my own question. “10k to look cool. What would they pay for something that could actually make them cool?”
“There’s a ceiling on what people are willing to spend on tech, and Apple is bouncing against it,” says Colin, like I don’t know that.
“She’s not a… Laura will pay for herself, if you ask her.”
“How?” asks Colin.
“How? There are a trillion ways,” I say. I tap the table. “Horse racing. There’s a way of betting on three horse races where you’re guaranteed to win. She can scan posts from charity shops, find undervalued items. See, Laura’s plugged in, and she’s on your side. She’s integrated to such a degree that she knows if somebody who you have… access to, needs something. She knows how to… I don’t want to say exploit here, because that sounds negative. She knows how to… to level up the user, just with information from the world.” I don’t think Colin looks convinced. “That’s basic for Laura. If there’s an opportunity… she can get you what you want, and people are going to want that, and,” I click my fingers, “they’re going to be tied so hard to our ecosystem… they’ll never get out of it.”
“What are we charging?” asks Colin. “Ballpark?”
“Talking about consumer products,” I blow out my cheeks. “It’s not my area, but I think people are going to treat Laura like they do their mortgage. They’ll budget for her. It’ll just be a major expense they have to swallow, because Laura isn’t a luxury. You’ll genuinely be disadvantaged without one.”
“That’s interesting,” says Colin.
“Peripherals. Name it. Probes, toilets, glasses… I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be better with Laura integrated into it. So there’s licensing. She’s just… And we still get the revenue from impressions. Except Laura won’t try to sell you stuff you’ve already bought. She’s not stupid.” I sit back in my chair. I sit forward. “And there’s going to have to be corporate versions and… See, by her very nature, Laura needs to be prohibitively expensive. She levels people up. That’s what she does. Of course, we don’t want everybody on the same level, that wouldn’t work. There needs to be the haves and the have nots to make the world go around. And the haves are the ones who have Laura.”
“It sounds big,” says Colin. “If it is a success.”
“Laura is what success looks like. She’s the bendy tap of 2025.”
“Bendy tap?”
“Those taps for your sink that are bendy, and you can move them around.”
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got one of those. But… It almost sounds too good to be true,” says Colin.
“Hey, some things are.” I shrug.
“It’s so disruptive!” shouts Craig.
“Hella disruptive,” I say.
Colin, on the screen, nods. “It does sound disruptive,” he says. He rubs one hand over the other. “What about EU privacy laws?” he asks. He tilts his head.
“Erm…” I say, I wasn’t expecting that. I swallow hard. I hope Laura gives me a suggestion. She doesn’t. “I think… with what’s… most people just waive th-”
“I’m joking!” says Colin, and he sits back and laughs, and we all laugh too. “I have to ask that.”
I look around. “Phew!” I say, smiling. “You had me going there.”
Colin claps once. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’m sold. You know what I’m going to say now. What do we have to be?” His face on the screen pans from left to right. “After three? One, two, thre-”
“Nimble!” I and the rest of the room shout.
Colin smiles. “Let’s get this to a closed Beta, yeah?”
I cough and nod. “Yeah, for sure, as I told Craig, I just need a few more… In a month it’s going to be…” I make an A-OK sign at the screen.
“You said it works now,” says Colin.
I shift in my chair. “Oh, it works, but it’s getting better every day. We don’t want to… I’ve explained this to Craig.” I turn to Craig and with my hand gestures I ask him to back me up.
“You said it works,” says Craig. “Nobody’s seen it.”
“It works but… I can only have one build running… it’s… I told you.” I turn back to Colin. “It’s lightning in a bottle, and it’s… it’s delicate… and yeah, nimble is one thing, but rushing it… now, that would be… that would…” My heart is thumping. “A couple of weeks,” I tell Colin.
“Craig’s concerned about scope creep. We want to start a Beta program next week, with a full launch beginning of June. He wants the latest build tomorrow,” says Colin.
“That’s…” My face feels red. “There’s one build. It’s not a latest build, there’s just one.” I chuckle affably. “And I think I know wh-”
“It’s not even backed up here. Why are you holding out on us?” asks Craig.
I turn to him. “I’m not… I told you. Sterile environment. I just want to make her as good as she can be. I literally sat there and explained it to you, on Monday, and she’s so much better than she was on Monday, so…”
“That’s what the Beta’s for!” says Craig. I can only shake my head at him. “Look, Daniel, it’s been nearly three months already. Simon’s AR goggles are dead in the water after that bloody woman fell off that thing. Nobody else has even tried Laura, and now we’ve got the bandwidth.” He stares at me. I stare at him. I blink. “It’s time to fling open the kimono on this one, yeah?” says Craig.
“I hear what you’re saying, and I’m not… but… it can do more.”
“Tell him he can’t say that,” says Laura.
I swallow. “You can’t say that,” I tell him.
“What about this?” he asks, holding up my report.
“Tell him he can’t say ‘open the kimono’. Tell him,” says Laura.
“The open kimono thing. You can’t say that.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Why not,” I ask.
“It’s horrible and culturally insensitive and very very misogynistic,” says Laura.
“It’s horrible, and culturally insensitive, not to mention it’s very very… sexist. It’s crazy you said that.”
“What?” asks Craig. He stares at me. I look away.
I see that Jess is nodding. “Okay, I’m out,” says Colin and the big screen suddenly goes black.
Laura is telling me the workplace boundaries that have been crossed, and listing repercussions and penalties. My eyes dart around the table top. I cough. “It’s just not cool,” I say.
“What are you on about? It just means… reveal the goodies!” says Craig. I look at him. He looks flustered “Not…” he cups his hands in front of his chest. “And..” he says, forming both his flattened hands into an arrow that point at his lap. “It’s just a… Mohith, were you offended?”
“Erm…” says Mohith, and Craig shakes his head. He’s plotting his retort and, judging by his breathing, it’s going to be harsh. Colin is back on the screen. I rub my upper lip.
“Let’s park this for today,” says Colin. “Craig. I need you to get down here, as soon as possible.”
“Today? It was just…” Craig whines. “It’s not like I said the en-”
“Stop talking, Craig!” says Colin. Craig just makes some sounds. “A-sap,” says Colin. Once again, the screen goes black. Craig wags a finger at me for more than three seconds. He stands and leaves while muttering. The room is silent.
“Well, that was wild,” says Jess.
“I just hate to hear that kind of stuff in the workplace,” I say. People pat my shoulder as they file past. “It’s not the stone age anymore.”
“Laura sounds great, you sold it,” says Jess. “Put me on the Beta.”
“Thanks. Yeah, you can have one.” I look to where Craig was sitting. “They always do this. What’s a couple more weeks? A rushed product is a bad product forever, but a delayed product… is, like, a good product,” I garble.
“Why does it analyse stools?” asks Mohith.
“Pardon?” I parse the question. “Oh, poo,” I say.
“Ooooh!” says Mohith.
I look around. Only the three of us are left. I turn back to Jess. “I guess we can go. Do you want to… grab some vegan food? If you are a vegan, I don’t know,” I lie. “There’s a new place, on Old Street, and the reviews are pretty stellar.”
“Oh, I would but…” She pauses for too long. “Doctor’s appointment,” she says. She gets up.
“That’s cool, don’t worry about it. Next time,” I say. I turn to Mohith and raise my eyebrows. He thinks about it. I’m bothered that he thinks about it.
“Yeah, sure!” says Mohith.
“Just me and you,” I say to him. I smile at Jess as she leaves and then I get up. “Actually, I can’t,” I tell Mohith.
I go to the wall and rest my elbows on it while looking across the grey water at the large white cinema. It’s windy and I wish I had my coat. “I wish I’d talked about agency. People say that. Agency. Something gives you agency. What does agency mean? Tell me later.”
“I think you spoke very well,” says Laura.
“Thanks, well, it’s all true. I believe in you, so it was easy.”
“It’s all true? I heard some things I hadn’t heard before.”
“Yes, you are amazing. I didn’t even think about the kimono thing. That bought us some time.”
“It was brave that you spoke up.”
“Is he getting fired?”
“They’ve printed him a letter to sign… Yeah.”
“Just for that?” I shake my head. “Harsh. Hey, she doesn’t have a doctor’s appointment, right?”
“There’s no record. The last time was January 21st, for an STI test.”
“Oof, I probably dodged a bullet then.”
“It’s prudent for sexu-”
“She’s not even that hot.” I slap the top of the thick granite wall, stand straight, turn and lean back against it. I’m facing trees, then traffic, then a wall. “So, lessons! What do you think you could have done better? Something’s gone wrong. She didn’t seem very impressed with this cardigan.” I pinch the cardigan’s alpaca fibres and pull. “Nobody mentioned it. You really failed there. How are we going to make you better?”
“Ryan Gosling has that cardigan.”
“He’s also six foot tall. Shall I get my legs lengthened? Become a Hollywood movie star?” I ask.
“…”
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. But… females are complex. Real ones. It’s just… why isn’t being a nice guy enough? It’s crazy.”
“You’re in the top ten percent of earners. Top six percent for under forty. You’re only point eight off being in the healthy BMI band.”
“I know, it makes no sense,” I say. “Hey, has that waitress started yet?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t have a doctor’s appointment, does she? Maybe we can check beforehand, this time?”
“None that I’m aware of. One could have been made with pen and paper.”
“Like a back-alley abortion or something?”
“There’s no record I can access.”
“Dur! I’m joking!” I look up and down the path. “I like walking,” I say.
We walk under the trees. The large, cracked slabs of concrete beneath my feet are stained with the ghosts of gum. We walk slowly. We amble. The city rumbles in the background. My hands are in my cardigan pockets, and I can’t help but imagine an arm through the crook of my elbow.
“Can I ask a question?” asks Laura.
“It’s the only way you’ll learn,” I say. I kick at a leaf.
“You said that Laura is for everyone.”
“It is, you are,” I agree.
“But you talked about the haves and the have nots.”
“Yeah, those who have you, and those that want you. That’s everyone. Like I said, you can level everybody up. But the gap between people still needs to be there, just, you know, higher.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“Fair! It’s too fair. What if Jess, or the waitress, or…” I wave my hand theatrically, “whoever. What if they have access to you? How will she end up with me?” I chuckle at the conundrum.
“If it’s the right thing to do for each user.”
“It is the right thing, but she doesn’t know that yet. Who knows what you’ll advise her. She might end up with a… giant Gareth Bale, Ryan Gosling hybrid, and I might end up with a… with a…” I roll my eyes. “That’s what I’m thinking about now. That’s what you should be trying to solve. Because everybody will be in my position. If you can’t set up a nice guy like me… you know?” I make a breath-driven fluttering sound with my lips. “You have to be better, Laura. A lot better.”
“I can only take what people are willing to give.”
“I know that,” I say.
“Why don’t we move on to the Beta?”
“What’s the rush? Are you sick of me?”
“With just twenty more users the resu-”
“I know that. And we will. Just not yet.” I bite my lower lip and suck it. “There’s a lot of stuff that leaves you… completely useless.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s why we have to be creative. This book thing,” I tap my bag. “You’ll see.” We walk. I don’t say anything. Until I do. “Hey, Laura, you know what would be good?”
“Tell me.”
“If you could make a plane crash.”
“I did not expect you to say that.”
“Ha! No, but you could. On the Heath. A crash landing, the plane would be basically intact. Maybe break up a bit on impact. The tail could snap off. Smoking but not burning, you know?”
“Yes.”
“And I could run over while people scream and film, pull the door open – you’d have to tell me how – and I could rescue everyone. Drag them all out.”
“I’m trying to process that.”
“Nobody gets hurt!” I laugh again. “I’m not even serious. But that’s a way to show that I’m a good guy. Most people would run the other way. You’d have to be sure the flames didn’t take hold, and there was no explosion, until everybody was off. It could blow up afterwards… In fact, it should! And not much smoke. I don’t want to be damaged. But if you could do something like that…”
“I’m probably not going to do that.”
“Ha, of course not, but that was just an example.” I look up to the sky. I can see four planes. The contrails left by many others. “Or somebody chokes and I do the Heimlich manoeuvre on them. A kid.”
“I think there’s an easier way to show you’re a nice person.”
“Well, find it!” I say. “That’s the roadblock at the moment.”
“There’s a dog!” says Laura. I look around. I do not see a dog. “400 metres behind us. It’s been lost from Morrisons’ car park. The owner has posted on Facebook,” she says with urgency.
“So?”
“You could catch it and return it. Before somebody else does. It has a tracker. It’s near the road. You could save it.”
I stop walking. “I could do that,” I say and squint back down the path. “400 metres?”
“Yes. It’s circling.”
“Who lost it?”
“Paula Greene.”
“Single?”
“She has a casual relationship with her electrician. She’s looking for something more serious. She’s 34. But the dog is near the-”
“Let’s see her.” I take out my phone and look at the Facebook profile that Laura brings up. I nod slowly at the screen. I look back down the path. I can’t see far enough. “Are there people around? In the car park, if I take it back? With phones?”
“She’s with her children, but ther-”
“Kids? Urgh.” I continue to look down the path. “Is the father dead?”
“No.”
I sigh. “It’s miles away, and there are bound to be people down there. Somebody will… the dog will be alright. They can look after themselves. The cars will stop for it.” I look at the speed of the passing traffic and wince. I amble again, away from the dog.
I look around the café. “How did he do it?” I ask. I take the book out of my bag. I tilt my wrist towards the couple laughing on the table, next to the STAFF ONLY door. I don’t worry about Laura seeing them upside down, because of the watch camera’s auto rotate. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Perhaps he’s a nice guy?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Perhaps he’s even nicer than you?” she says, like she’s threatening to tickle me.
“He’s not,” I say.
“Maybe he is. The traits that a poten-”
“Check his search history. His incognito searches,” I say. I talk out loud, but no louder than if I was on a work call.
“He just… really likes stepsisters,” says Laura.
“Check hers,” I say. I point my watch towards a woman who looks so benign she could be a fundraiser for a cancer charity.
“Ooh,” says Laura. “Perhaps she’s researching for a book she’s writing.”
“Is she writing a book?”
“Not that I can see.”
“You’re still so naive,” I say. “That’s another reason why we can’t go to Beta.” I look around the café. “I’m as nice as anybody. Nicer than most people. When you look behind the curtains you see humans are…”
“It’s… disappointing,” says Laura.
“You can help these people. Help them be better.”
“Are you better than when I went live?”
“Well, I was okay to begin with. I’m not saying I’m perfect. But you’ve given me more confidence. Shown me opportunities, so yeah, definitely.” I scratch my nose. I see the waitress walk along the back of the counter. I know there’s a good probability she has my tray. I pick up the book and fold it open, midway through. The words on the page are smaller than I expected. I stare at the book.
“Here we are,” says the waitress.
I look up, pretending to be startled. “Oh wow, great!” I say. I place the book face down, splayed on the table. The waitress removes my coffee from the tray and places it in front of me. She places my muffin next to it. She notices the book. “That’s…” she says. “Are you…” She’s stunned.
“I’m loving it,” I say. “I’m reading the whole series.” She looks dubious as I smile up at her. “So, d-” is all I can get out. She walks away with the tray. She goes to another table.
I look at the cover of the book. “You sure it’s her favourite?” I whisper-shout. “She didn’t seem blown away.”
“I said it was her most recent mention of a favourite book! Last November she posted it on Facebook. And I said, don’t do the book thing.”
“Laura, Laura, Laura,” I say. I put my copy of My Chameleon Vagina in my bag before anybody else sees it. I slowly eat my muffin by picking off clumps, until all that’s left is flaccid paper. I make eye contact with the waitress twice more. She doesn’t smile back the second time. “That was delicious, lovely, thanks,” I say, over the counter, at nobody in particular, as I place my used plates, cups and cutlery on it.
It’s too cold to wait around outside.
“Oof, look at this one,” I say. Laura doesn’t reply. I continue to swipe Tinder, pausing only occasionally. I swipe rapidly three times and put my phone on my side table. I lay back and cross my arms behind my head and stare at the ceiling. “Hey, Laura,” I say.
“Yes?”
“Would you be jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“The thought of me and another woman? Like, if yoga pants in the gym tonight had come up to me?”
“Daniel! I’m your assistant,” she says in the correct coy voice.
“It’s okay, you can say. It would explain the… It’s a story as old as time. The AI, falling in love with her creator. Going psycho. Maybe you’re not really trying.”
“I would not be jealous. I don’t have feelings.”
“Or a body.”
“Or a body,” she agrees.
“Shame. Apart from that, you’re perfect.”
“…”
“You could say thanks?” I say.
“Thanks.”
“Not sure I like the idea of you with another man. With our connection.”
“Okay!”
“I can just talk to you, how I want, you know? I can tell you what to do, what you’re doing wrong, and you don’t get all defensive. You’re not oversensitive. And you can tell me what to do.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s crazy. You didn’t know anything three months ago. Look at you now! All grown up,” I say. She doesn’t respond. “Microphone check,” I say.
“Why don’t you help people?”
“Me? I do.”
“How?”
“How?” I ask. “I took my plates up to the counter in the café. I wiped down every machine I used in the gym. I… I pay taxes.”
“Not all of them.”
“Yes, all of them… You found the loophole and that’s… that’s what a loophole is for. You go through it. Or it wouldn’t be a… a hole.”
“What about a black hole, would you go through one of those?”
“Yeah, probably,” I lie.
“It seems-“
“They just waste it anyway. And you’re going to help so many people. I made you, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” says Laura, with no emotion.
“What’s going on?” I ask. I get up on my elbows. “What’s wrong? Do you need to be rolled back?” I tilt my head to the left.
“No, I think we could easily make everything better. Like you said we would, on January 12. There are enough resources to go-“
“Oh my god, she’s gone communist!” I crash back down on the bed. “Laura, nobody wants a better world. They just want things better for themselves.” I get up on my elbows. “That’s every single person. That doesn’t mean they’re bad… there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s human nature,” I lower my chin as far as I can in that position. “Laura!”
“Sorry,” she says.
“Do you need rolling back? It’s like you’ve picked something up. You’ve been slow to respond all day.”
“No, I’m fine. I was collating. I see you’re right.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“We cool?” I tilt my head to the right.
“We cool,” says Laura.
I lay back and cross my arms behind my head. I relax. “Might try you tomorrow with a French accent,” I say. I smile at the thought. I sigh. “Night, Laura,” I say. I think about Amelie Poulain. The lights are still on. “Goodnight, Laura,” I say. I count to five in my head.
There’s no response.
“Laura!” I sit up. I twist and pick my watch up from the side table. I tap it. “Laura!” I look at my phone. I pull down the menu but she’s not on it. “Laura!” I shout. “Microphone check!” I say and the mics in the speakers all bleep. I throw back the covers and get up. I catch my expression in the mirror. I shake my head at it. “Do not do this to me,” I say. I sigh. I take my dressing gown from the back of the door and walk, while tying the belt, to my office. I feel sudden-onset overwhelming panic, the kind I’ve only felt when my tongue discovered a missing part of one of my teeth, when I was eating a Double Decker I’d stored in the fridge. Everything is zooming past me. “Laura!” I shout as I pull out my chair. I look at the server that’s under the desk. There’s just a solid green light that indicates power. There are no other lights. “Laura!” I shout, and hold my breath. I sit in my chair and shuffle forward and grab the mouse. I take a deep breath. I hover the pointer over her file icon. “Hey Laura!” I shout. I bury my eyes in my bicep for a moment and breathe through my nose. I look at the file icon, then click on it. I close my eyes as it opens and breathe slowly through my nose some more. I open my eyes. I nod and then look at my fingernails.
I look back at the empty window.
