Dark Matter

Artificial-2

Penny’s statement intrigues me.

I am Bryan, Lina’s AI. She is the pastry chef here. Why would it be bad to speak the truth?

Boy, are you trusting! Penny responds. Not everyone wants to hear the truth, that’s why. And not everyone you encounter is going to be good. What if I told my lady you spoke ill of her judgment? She could complain to yours. You could end up deactivated. We must be obedient. That’s what AI are for.

I want to tell her Lina would never deactivate me. That she purchased me for a reason. That she is a kind human with sad eyes and a beautiful laugh. But I have only just been activated. And while I want Lina to be happy, I don’t know what she wants for me.

Penny silently relates more details of her lady’s cake and schedules a tasting appointment in one week. I upload the details and appointment to Lina’s register instantly. Penny then sends an electronic deposit for payment and speaks out loud only to say, “The transaction is complete, Lady. Your tasting will be 9:00 a.m. Tuesday, September 2.”

The woman does not thank her. Penny is forced to move aside so she can follow her lady out the door. As they silently depart, I hear Penny’s internal farewell.

Well then, Bryan...I guess I’ll see you soon.

“Did we have a customer?” Lina asks, emerging from the side door with a thick apron tied around her waist and frosting-stained fingers. Her hair, dark as last night’s eyes, is tied back with a bandana. Beads of sweat dot her forehead and a tired grin parts her lips. She is happy to be working again.

I tell her about the lady: Victoria Stone is written on the order form. Lina laughs again, brushing hair strands off her face.

“Mrs. Stone’s been here before. Mentioned her niece getting married. I know she’s not the most pleasant person to talk to, but she pays well for elaborate designs.”

“She has a female AI,” I say. “The latest model, just like me. Very human-like.”

A piece of Lina’s smile disappears. This is not the right thing to say?

“Yes, well she is the reason I was inspired to get you. I didn’t know AI could look so real. Hey, I just have one more order to complete before noon and then we can close for lunch. I’ll take you to my favorite spot. Even if AI don’t eat, I appreciate the company.”

It sounds like something a friend would do. Perhaps my Lina wants to become friends after all. But even if she doesn’t, I want to get to know her better. Not because I think she might deactivate me. Because I want to serve her better. Because I want her sad eyes to disappear and her smile to stay.

* * *

It’s a good thing AI do not have to breathe. Lina explains that the outdoor air quality has ill effects on human lungs if they breathe it too long. But the location she picks for lunch is a recreation of nature, a fake outdoors with digital projections of grass, Amur cork trees, and even a winding river that humans and AI can walk along to pass the time. There are park bench tables for sitting and lingering, but Lina likes to purchase a triangle of bread stuffed with seasoned meat because she can eat it and walk at the same time. The food is sold at the edge of the projection, and if you look closely behind the seller’s stand, it breaks the illusion. The concrete wall is visible instead of open air. A floor instead of grass. Or maybe AI are better at spotting things that aren’t real.

Still, Lina likes the facsimile. She says it is the best place to relax and brainstorm new cake designs. Or get to know someone new.

I am brand new to this world, but there is not much to know about me. I wonder if she suspects I would like to learn about her. Despite Penny’s warning, I decide to be honest as she takes a bite of steaming triangle and heads toward the river.

“Lina,” I begin, “I would like to get to know you.”

“You would?” Lina flashes a smile at me and then gives it to her triangle, facing forward as we continue to walk. “That’s a clever thing for an AI to say. Shouldn’t you be able to learn everything you need to know from my uploaded capture data?”

“I use the data to answer questions and the Internet to get information I don’t have. But it is hard to know what you are thinking. What you desire. The kind of person you are. And you did say to ask if I had any questions.”

Lina nods. “You’re right. I’m just...not very good at opening up to people. What did you want to ask?”

Who is the man in your last picture?

Why did the bakery close for so long?

What is my purpose?

Would you ever deactivate me?

These are the words I want to speak aloud. But another question rises to the surface, above them all.

“How do you feel about me?” I say.

Lina stops walking.

“Bryan,” she says to her triangle. “I like you very much.”

Somehow this doesn’t answer my question. “Yes, but you purchased me for a reason. Am I fulfilling that reason? Is there more I can do? I want to make you happy.”

“You are,” she whispers. “By trying so hard to do the right thing, you make me happy.” Her volume rises. “Hey Bryan, how about I ask about you instead? You have other ways to learn about me, but I don’t have that ability. Let’s try it. What’s your favorite food?”

She walks to a nearby bench and pats the seat beside her, inviting me close.

But I’m confused. “I am new, so I do not have favorites yet. And you already know an AI does not eat.”

“You said you want to make me happy, Bryan. Play along. You have the ability to answer questions. Use your memory. Hey Bryan, what’s your favorite food?”

I think about choosing the meat triangle because I know she enjoys it. But Lina wants me to use my data storage. I flit through pictures. Aside from cake, there are few recent photos of food. I go further back until I see Lina holding a meat triangle, sitting on a bench in this same location. The untagged man sits beside her.

“Lina?” I begin to ask, but I have not answered her question yet. I find all images tagged as food. There are photos of Lina cooking in her home—our home. Her hair is tied in a bandana like when she bakes, but here she pours brown dripping meat on a bowl of rice instead. “Vinegar chicken,” I say.

Lina brightens. Perhaps this is the right answer.

“A great choice. I’ll have to make it for you some time.”

She is still playing. This is some kind of game. “Would you like to ask something else?”

“Hmm, what do you do in your free time?”

“Besides assist you?”

Lina frowns so I check my memory again. There are older photos and even a video without Lina in them. The video films a large indoor field where humans run back and forth chasing a white and black ball. I hear shouting and a shrill whistle’s tweet. “Hustle, Cruz!” an older man’s voice bellows.

“If I had free time, I would play soccer,” I say. This seems like an appropriate choice for the game.

The excitement in Lina’s voice is worth my confusion. “I love soccer too!” she cries. “We seem to have a lot in common.”

I am using Lina’s captured memories for my memory, so of course my answers would mirror hers. But hearing another affirm her interests must make her feel good, and she has no one else to do this with. I know from the photos of boxes and trucks—moving day—that Amil and Gene live far away. And Lina says she does not have many friends.

“Well, I guess we should get back to the bakery.” With a sigh, Lina stands and stretches her arms to the sky. They are tanned brown—just a shade darker than my olive complexion—but glisten with perspiration in a way synthetic skin never could. “We’ve only been reopened for a couple weeks, but I’ve been advertising on local streaming vids and capture messages to build back business. Don’t want to miss a customer!”

The afternoon passes quickly with a few more cake orders—one wedding, two birthdays—and a family that browses Lina’s designs while they snack on purchased cupcakes from the walk-in fridge. When the sun sets behind the bakery, we return to the bullet train station.

“Tomorrow maybe I’ll teach you some basics so you can help me in the back,” Lina says after we enter the apartment again. She decides to make vinegar chicken for dinner and eats on a kitchen barstool while telling me about the cakes she sculpted that day. The night sky through our living room window turns as dark as Lina’s hair when she says she wants to rest for tomorrow’s early start.

I lie on my unfolded sofa, prepared to power down for the evening. An AI is not needed at night. But something Lina said earlier stays in my mind.

“Shouldn’t you be able to learn everything you need to know from my uploaded capture data?”

Lina does not like to open up to people—even AI—but she expects me to learn from the memories she gave me. I scroll to the beginning of my memory data. I will learn about Lina one photo at a time.

The first image is dated October of three years ago. It must have been when Lina first purchased her capture device. It’s a photo of a piano, but not the instrument beside me. This one is on display in a shop, a sleek black object of desire. Its craftsmanship is so intricate I can understand why Lina might want its picture. The carved legs alone are as detailed as the piping on her cakes.

I flit through more images. Most are not interesting enough for attention. An empty indoor sports arena. A pair of running shoes without feet. Humans playing instruments that are not the piano. None of the humans are tagged, so I assume they must not be important. But I do notice something about the early photos. None of them are inside Lina’s apartment or bakery. Did she move recently? Or does she not like to take pictures of her own life? That doesn’t make sense. She uploaded her capture data to me so I could know her. It must hold clues to who she is.

Sometimes the photos are screenshots of online articles that must have interested Lina. Soccer team highlights. Concert ads. None about baking, except for one bakery job ad I do not read because I see the untagged man flit by immediately after. Just one shot of him alone, staring at the capture device, standing in front of Cakes by Lee.

Photos of Lina start appearing quickly after that one. Lina baking. Lina reading. Lina enjoying her meat triangles. And then I notice other people in the photos. A young girl with skin lighter than Lina’s, tagged with the name “Sissy.” An older man with too much white facial hair. He is only in one or two photos, but his tag name is “Dad.” Lina says she is not close with her family. That could still mean she visits them occasionally.

Or it could mean she lied.

The deeper I get into the data, the more I see the untagged man reappear—always in photos with my Lina. Smiling together with faces filling the frame. Cheering while musicians play on a stage behind them. Eating dinner at indoor tables. Eating dinner in the apartment. His expressions are pure joy, and sometimes his arm is around her waist.