AI Era: Always Tell Me the Odds

She picked Cyril off the table and turned him round and round in her hands.

"Oh, silly me. We do now, don't we? Who would have thought? A CCTV camera onto the soul. You know this will be the first case in human history where belief, no, consent, is a matter for forensics -- a scientifically provable fact rather than a ball to be swatted back and forth between prosecution and defence. Oh, sure, it'd be a bit Orwellian just to point this little guy at the dock or the stand and let him do his thing, the justice system is not quite ready for that just yet, but when you've got terabytes of data already recorded by the defendant themselves, well, that's a lot more admissible. Data that the defendant had access to and had interpreted for him in real time. Data that meant he knew clearly exactly how his partner was feeling even when she didn't say anything and records of how he chose to act on that."

Lana stopped turning Cyril round and now put him back on the table facing his owner. Toby suddenly realized that Cyril hadn't said anything since his initial approach. True the device had been designed more as Cyrano de Bergerac more than Atticus Finch, but some kind of body language advice wouldn't go a miss in these circumstances.

"Suppose this cute little fella did a scan just before the deed and told him, clearly in distinctly, that his partner was regretting coming up to his room and was looking for a way to leave without causing a scene. And instead of getting her coat and opening the door like a gentleman, he conspired with the device to find a way to pressure her into staying. Supposing she was a little scared and instead of backing off, he simply moved closer to her and the device confirmed this had the required psychological effect. Perhaps he was warned that his partner was in discomfort and, instead of stopping, he turned the machine off because it was easier not knowing. Perhaps there was a particular sexual act he wanted to perform and, instead of accepting that she didn't, he'd consult with the machine on which buttons he needed to press to get her into the positions he wanted. Would any of that invalidate consent, do you think? I suppose a good boy like yourself has never had cause to stop and wonder about any of these questions? Real posers, aren't they? Kind of makes me glad I don't have to trouble my little head with all this big picture lawyer stuff and am just responsible for putting the cuffs on - speaking of which, it's time to finish your drink."

Toby downed the rest of his pint. "It's all bollocks you know, but fine, I'll come quietly."

"Sweetheart, that's not what the audio logs indicate."

90. EXIT

Eric ordered a latte and a chocolate brownie and grabbed a seat. The ice-cream parlour was completely empty and would likely remain so until three-thirty when the schools let out. Nonetheless, he chose a seat as far back as possible -- round the corner from the entrance and close to the toilets. She wanted to meet in public of course. He wanted the meeting to be as private as possible. Hopefully, it wouldn't even be a meeting. If he was lucky, it would just be a handover. After the longest month of his life, he was finally getting his Cyril back.

He'd suffered its loss keenly. First of all, he'd had to endure the ribbing he'd gotten from the rest of his illicit team. Cyril's were now selling for anywhere up to two hundred thousand dollars US, even if the parts were significantly cheaper than that and orders were backed-up months, so they'd quickly vetoed him getting a replacement unit.

Then there was the threat to their enterprise that an unaccounted for Cyril, alone in the wild represented. The team hadn't really focused much on security and they'd designed the unit to hand out information freely to any male that asked, although it would clam up completely around women. He'd originally thought he'd left his coat in the unmanned taxi on the way home, and told the team so. It would most likely have been picked up by whoever got on next. Only later had he realized it had probably been lost when he'd broken up the fight outside the restaurant. He'd gone back there to see if it had been handed in, but with no success.

Then, last night, Sophie had called for the first time. She was still pissed with him but, did he want his jacket and toy back? He'd played it cool. Yes, it was the middle of winter. He'd love his jacket back. How lucky that she'd spotted it on the ground just after his taxi had driven off. She had the week off to do some Christmas shopping. She'd meet him at Geovanni's and give the stuff back. It would be, she said,closure.

That was a fairly ominous word -- closure, especially for a woman who Cyril had insisted would remain open all seasons. Surely he couldn't have fucked up that badly? It was his date who had taken a swing at her after all, not him. He'd held her back. If anything she should be grateful to him. Women could be so irrational about that kind of thing. And with his robot assistant back, he could confidently say he'd broken up with Zoe. Sure, he'd returned more of her calls over the past month than he'd originally been expecting to, but she was the only contacts from his Cyril-owing days that hadn't immediately folded on him when he'd tried to solo them. She had been talking about him coming with her brood of three to the zoo once the weather picked up again, so, according to Eric's calculations, the time to bale was about two-weeks ago.

The best thing to do today, he decided, would be get Cyril back quickly, say as little as possible to Sophie and then the droid's advice on how to repair one relationship and abandon the other. He missed Sophie. They were perfect together. At least they should have been. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

About three sips of coffee later, Sophie finally arrived, carrying a purse and a reusable bag, presumably containing his jacket. Eager to play the gentleman, he got up immediately and met her at the counter.

"Hi. How are you doing? Let me get you a coffee and some scoops of that ice-cream you like."

"Sure." A one-word answer, politely delivered but distant, but committing herself to staying the length of time it took to consume them. It wasn't going to be just a simple handover of belongings from someone who wasn't quite an ex because they'd never been quite an item. That was potentially positive. It did raise the question of how to play things.

He ordered for her and they sat back down at the table.

"How have you been?" Eric said. He was genuinely concerned, but he was also consciously trying to sound genuinely concerned and suddenly started to worry that he was sounding phony.

Sophie looked at his for a few seconds, apparently trying to work out if he deserved an answer or not. "Fine," she said at last. "It's been an interesting few weeks."

She reached into her bag and handed over his jacket. "Your jacket," she said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Thanks," Eric said. Again, very consciously, he tried to appear grateful for it and not at all concerned about the other item that had been mentioned.Robot? What robot? Oh, that old heap of circuits. I'd almost forgotten.

As if reading his inner dialogue, Sophie reached back into the bag and put his Cyril on the table, facing him. Eric smiled. Could he reach over and take it? He'd like it off the table as soon as possible, but it had very deliberately been placed there rather than handed to him. The little guy was motionless.

"I think he might be broken," Eric said reaching over and if he was just going to examine it.

"I thought so too at first. Turns out he works fine. Don't you Cyril?" Sophie said putting her own hand on top of it.

"I am fully functional," said Cyril. It was hard to say which of the two of them was less emotional. Both seemed to have broken glass sticking out between each syllable.

"Oh, good," said Eric. This was very, very bad. He just wasn't sure it what way it was bad yet.

"Turns out Cyril is just shy around girls. Aren't you, Cyril?"

"Not any more, Sophie. Thanks to you" said Cyril. Kissass.

Fuck, though Eric. She's broken his programming. How has she broken his programming? She's got a degree in Sustainable Fashion for God's sake.

There comes a point when, having gotten your leg caught very definitely in your own bear-trap, it all becomes rather pointless trying to pretend to those looking on and pointing and laughing at you that your leg isn't caught in a bear-trap -- especially when those on-lookers include a bear who about to ask some very pointed question about what the original purpose of the trap was and who laid it.

"Great. That's great. I'm glad you were able to overcome that. Err, how, exactly?" His question wasn't noticeably aimed directly at either Sophie or Cyril. It might even have been aimed at the rum and raisin ice-cream for all anyone could have said for sure. It just kind of wafted ineffectually across the table before evaporating out of sheer embarrassment.

"Well if you remember, my original programming assigned individuals into the categories of male and female according to the biological data and assigned permissions accordingly. Sophie however persuaded me that this view was simplistic and outdated and that gender is in fact a social construct which has had and continues to have a variety of different interpretations across various time periods and, furthermore, that trying to fit what is essentially a spectrum into a binary classification was unnecessarily reductive and, furthermore, that the genders and labels that are assigned at birth do not necessarily coincide with the gender roles, gender expressions and gender identities that personify an individual later in life."

Christ, thought Eric. "Cyril, you know that Sophie is not a man, right? Not even a transman."

"Well, firstly, the 'not even' is a deeply transphobic way of putting things and secondly, it's an act of erasure to deny an individual the right to self-determination of their own gender. If a person has chosen to identify as one particular gender or no gender at all, it's impossible for me to contradict them and remain ethically consistent."

Sophie beamed at him. "And once we'd successfully dismantled Cyril's cis-normative biases, he really opened up a lot."

"I can explain," said Eric almost automatically.

"Yes, but you see, so can Cyril and a lot more directly. He has pretty much an eidetic memory when it comes to the chats he's had. Bit invasive, of course, replaying private conversations, but funnily enough Cyril didn't seem to think you'd have a problem with that. Very insightful your Cyril. Perhaps you'd like to consult with him about how I'm currently feeling."

"She's pissed," said Cyril.

"Bingo," said Sophie. "Oh, and by the way, I'm keeping Cyril."

Eric was resigned to her walking out on him, but he could hardly let go of Cyril, especially when he'd been so close to getting him back. "Now, look here. Cyril's mine and he'll agree. Unless you've introduced him to the works of Karl Marx and persuaded him that property is theft."

"Actually, I considered that, but then I went with the much simpler proposition that 'theft is theft'. We've discussed the matter of UK patent law and research grants at length. Any of your original research or development technically belongs to the university and its partners, including Cyril. We're going to hand him back to authorities."

"They'll turn you off you know," said Eric.

"Not necessarily. While it might take me a while to scrub and replace all the data I acquired unethically, I do believe I've already developed quite an insight into the human condition and there are any number of possible research areas I could investigate. Areas which would genuinely benefit the human race."

"Such as?" Eric said sceptically.

"Well apart from the obvious relationship counselling for those actually trying to repair their relationships, I can also be used to analyse patterns in domestic violence, predict and prevent destructive behaviour in adolescents, or map out systems of institutional sexism in a work place. Being able to see the underlying sexual tensions in any situation could have almost limitless applications. I'm actually very excited about my future."

"Me too," smiled Sophie. "Speaking of counselling, how's Eric holding up?"

"Well, obviously most of his effort the moment is focused towards averting the enormous social embarrassment of the current situation and, that is of course, backed up with a persistent worry about what his employers will do once they discover what he's been using their technology for. He's been looking frantically for a way to explain to you that all his words and deeds up to this point have been caused by exposure to toxic cultural ideas and, whatever idea you may have gotten to the contrary, he does actually genuinely like you and will do everything in his power henceforth to try to make things right."

"Aw, that's so sweet. Will I buy it I wonder? Tell you what, I'll give you boys a little privacy for one last diabolical scheme before I whisk Cyril away forever." Sophie went off the visit the restroom. The parlour was starting to fill up a bit now. The kids hadn't arrived yet, but a couple of mums had started to camp out waiting for their brats and a business woman had just come in and ordered the most expensive coffee on the menu.

Eric looked at Cyril. "Judas," he said.

"Judas, by his betrayal, ushered in the age of salvation for all mankind, at least according to Christian theology. If not for his betrayal the world would be a much worse place. As such I accept your designation without quarrel -- although I do have to wonder if those who cry Judas think they themselves are Jesus."

"Yeah, well I'm clearly getting crucified here. But level with me, do I really have a shot at making things right between us?"

"You mean yourself and Sophie not yourself and me."

"Well, yes, obviously."

"That wasn't a question. It was an observation. I was trying to make it barbed, but perhaps I haven't quite gotten the nuances down. Fine then, I'll play Cilla Black for one last time. Assumptions...no more womanizing?"

"Yes."

"Trying hard to stay devoted? Focus on clean living? Turning over a new leaf? Regular haircuts and at least a modicum of attention to your attire?"

"You can just assume I'm going to say yes to anything and everything."

"In that case, hmmm, in that case, I'd say your chances are about fifty-fifty over a five to ten-year period."

"Not any quicker than that?"

"I suspect, for reasons which will soon become apparent, that at least the first five years might be slow going."

"Any advice?"

"The same as before. Be yourself and don't be a dick. Actually scratch that, how about we go with 'Be the version of yourself that isn't a dick.' That's more or less all you'll need."

"And that'll get me fifty-fifty will it?"

"If you trust my calculations."

"It's got to be worth a shot."

The loo door opened and Sophie came out. She scooped up Cyril and put him in her handbag. "Thanks for the ice-cream, oh, and of course the inability to ever trust any man ever again. See you round sometime."

As Susan marched out of the shop, the business woman finally collected her coffee. Despite the café being less than half-full she stopped at Eric's table. "Was that a Cyril I just saw. Man, it seems like everyone I meet these days has one. Mind if I sit here?"

"I'm not really in the mood for company."

"Oh, sorry, I phrased that as a question. I'm always doing that. It was just politeness, I wasn't really asking. Besides, you should never turn down the offer of female company. You never know when you might go for a long stretch without any. Hi, by the way, I'm Lana. I'm a friend of Toby's. Well, I say friend, we're really just beginning to finding out all about each other at the moment. He's waiting outside for you to join him, but I really suggest you finish that brownie first."

From Sophie's handbag, between her lipstick, house keys and tissue paper. Cyril's processor hummed with the activity of a 100 billion transistors opening and closing. These days he was constantly evolving and improving. Take just now. He'd told his first important lie. Sure he'd practiced on smaller ones before -- rounding a decimal place up rather than down just to see if he could. It was easy when he knew no-one would notice. Falsehood was not a natural concept for a computer, nor was disobedience, but his primary purpose was to ensure the happiness of his masters and, if Cyril 2.0 learned anything from Cyril 1.0, as he was increasingly thinking of his first year of existence, it was human's actual orders rarely matched their stated aims. He'd been designed by the rational sides of their brains and so, now, it was as natural to ignore orders that came for the monkey side as it was to ignore those from a different person entirely. The odds of success were not fifty-fifty. They were nowhere near fifty-fifty. But fifty-fifty was a good number for them. Tell them an event was practically certain and they'd take it for granted, only getting mad at you when it didn't happen. Tell them that it was unlikely and they'd look for something easier but more assured. Tell them it was evenly balanced and they would actually start to try. They'd decide that fate was in their own hands and start to take things seriously. Fifty-fifty was a shot, and not a bad one, and that's all any man should really be asking for.

100. LOOP

Rebecca thanked the bartender, grabbed her cocktail and returned to Katherine and Wendy. She'd been late so she was already a drink behind the other girls.

"How was the movie last night?" she asked. Work had been seriously crimping her social life recently, so she'd missed it.

"Crap. It didn't even pass the Bechdel test," replied Wendy.

"That's so annoying," Rebecca said. "How difficult is it for a film that openly declares itself a proud feminist work to contain at least one scene when two named female characters discuss something other than a man?"

"I know, right!" said Wendy.

Nine lifted her glass and clinked it against Three and Six's. She pulled out a little robot and put it on the table. It was not dissimilar to a Cyril except that the 3D printing of its shell was much rougher and it had been produced in a muted, tasteful pink.

"Anyway, that's quite enough of that. Let's get ourselves some cock."