(Think how great virtual sex must be. Now -- think again.)
(PALMPILOT and VISOR users -- download this story to your handheld in the DOC format for easy reading at your convenience. Zvi can show you how.)
A Virtual Affair
by
“Alan Turing’s genius lay, not in the accuracy of his test, but in its objective nature. Instead of speculating whether a particular artificial intelligence program could think, one could now test that program in a lab…”
From “A History of Artificial Intelligence” by Noah Leader-Goldfarb. 2043
Prologue
Jack Leader stood in a freezing ravine leading to the cave that was to make him rich, and shivered. He scrutinized the guide, a middle age Native American woman with a kindly smile.
“Have you ever gone spelunking before, Mr. Leader?” she asked.
“No, never.” He rubbed his hands together to push icy numbness out of his fingers. Jack was a tall man, almost six feet, with a potbelly and receding hair that turned grayer each year. After celebrating his 43rd birthday two weeks ago, he felt old, though this venture and its promised financial rewards had helped his mood.
He had not realized the weather would be set at such a bitter level. Even with several layers of clothing, his body shuddered. When he exhaled, his breath came out in white puffs. The woman wore a heavy wool coat but did not otherwise acknowledge the frigid air. She even wore open sandals.
“Comment – It’s much chillier than necessary.” Jack said.
The guide looked back at him, her olive face radiating wisdom. “The low temperature outside makes the contrast with the cave more dramatic,” she said, her voice low and musical. Jack nodded, pleased that, though he had not expected an answer, someone had anticipated his question.
The two walked to the end of the ravine, the guide in front. Her grey-tinged black hair fell like a fan to her shoulders. An icy gust howled through the tiny valley, whipped her tresses, and made Jack shiver again.
The brown walls of the ravine converged like the sides of the letter “V”, with the entrance to the cave at the point. Luxuriously thick shrubs, the only greenery visible, covered the tunnel opening itself. The guide turned to Jack and asked, “Do you know the difference between a dead cave and a live one, Mr. Leader?”
Jack grinned. “Yes, but tell me anyway.”
“A live or active cave has water that makes it a dynamic system, just like a living being. A dead or dormant cave is dry and static. This cave we are about to enter is quite alive. We want to respect its vitality and not harm it.”
Jack's smile was expansive. “I am in your hands. Show me what to do.”
The guide pushed aside the bushes and slipped through the narrow vertical entrance without difficulty. Jack followed, but had to struggle past the branches to get inside. Then, fighting to catch his breath, he turned on the lamp clipped to his coat and looked at the scratches on his hands. “They sting.”
“The trick is to work with nature, not fight her,” the guide said. She pressed Jack’s large hands firmly between hers. The pain subsided.
The woman turned on her own lamp and the two walked down the narrow tunnel leading into the main body of the cave.
"By the way, what do you think about the presidental election last week," Jack asked.
"I'm sorry, but we're not supposed to discuss politics with visitors."
Jack nodded. By now he had stopped shivering and so he took off his jacket.
“There are hooks scattered along the walls if you want to remove layers of clothing,” she said without looking around.
“How come it’s warmer here?”
“Hot springs run beneath this cavern,” she said, which sounded plausible. The gravel path opened into a larger area. The guide pushed a button on the wall, switching on soft lights that revealed an immense rock and crystal cavity extending at least 200 feet in all directions. The sight took his breath away.
“This is a solution cave, formed by water that deposits limestone to form stalactites and stalagmites like these.” She aimed her lamp to a cluster of glistening crystalline spears growing from floor and ceiling, some almost kissing as they met. “Do you know how to remember which is which?”
“Uh, no.”
“Think of ants in the pants. The mites go up and the tights go down.”
A cute mnemonic, he thought. He was enjoying this cave-trip. Would Janice like it? Even after three months of marriage, her tastes confused him. On the other hand, Rebecca, his daughter, would love it, and arranging it for her might repair some father-daughter bonds.
“But here,” the guide continued, “we see a different formation.” She pointed with her lantern to a closer, smaller grouping of amber crystals that jutted out at an angle instead of being straight up and down. “These are called helictites. Would you like to know how they are formed?”
Jack was so glad she had asked before expounding. “No. Let me just see and experience the cave.”
She nodded. “There is a lot here to experience,” she said, and led him up and down inclines and stairs to multiple rooms with elaborate and beautiful structures that she called canopies, draperies, soda straws, popcorns, balloons, and more. He saw formations of every shape imaginable, some embarrassingly phallic. Several times, leaning on a railing over black formlessness, he gasped when the guide flicked a switch and revealed huge expanses of empty cavern, solemn in the heavy silence. Some extended so far down as to give him vertigo, others rose higher than a cathedral, and all displayed white, yellow, orange, and red crystal deposits. One grouping resembled an immense crimson throne awaiting an Olympian deity to claim it.
“This is magnificent.” He swung his lamp around to study the guide’s face. She had black eyes, a thin, straight nose and thin lips with perfect teeth. An aura of serenity showed through the wrinkles and leathery skin that bespoke years of exposure to sun and wind. “And you are the perfect guide. You look like an ancient earth goddess.”
“Thank you,” she answered without self-consciousness or sarcasm.
She showed him where water dripped from the ceiling. In one spot he heard distinct, regular plunks, which was strange since individual drops in a cave tend to sound muffled. Yet these resonated every second.
“The last chamber is at the end of that tunnel,” she said, pointing to a nearby opening in the wall. “The entrance is tight but you can squeeze in. There’s a pool there. Can you swim?”
“A little.”
“Good enough. I’ll wait for you here. Don’t hurry. I don’t get bored.”
Jack chuckled at that. “I’m sure you don’t.”
“You won’t need your lantern or your shoes, so leave those here, and enjoy.”
Jack gave her the lantern and took off his shoes. The ground here felt sandy and cool on his feet. He walked into the dark tunnel that, by an unknown trick of acoustics, transformed the sound of water dripping into a soft, low-pitched drumbeat. The gloom was absolute. He felt his way with his hands to the opening into the final room, and crawled into it. It really was tight. He had to struggle through, and pulled his shirt and trousers off in the process.
The room was warm so he did not mind the lack of clothing. He found himself kneeling on a two-foot wide ledge just above a pool of water. A gentle phosphor shed enough light to see that the basin filled the entire room except for his ledge. Mist rising from the surface hinted at the warmth of the pool. The ceiling was just a few feet above the water level.
Ever so slowly, part of the ledge collapsed, sliding him gently into the pond.
“This is delightful,” he thought. He splashed and swam and dove down to touch the soft bottom of the pool. As he kicked and explored, he found he could breathe even under water. With the soft pulse of the drumbeat in the background, he felt more relaxed and secure than ever before.
A broad grin spread over his face. “This so called cave will make us all rich.”
*
That afternoon, Jack met with Walter Carpenter, the CEO of Virtualics, and Arnold Bernstein, the company psychologist. The three executives sat at the oversized card table in the snack room used for conferences. Jack produced a bottle of champagne and paper cups, and cried out, “We’ve done it.”
Walter Carpenter sniffed loudly and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. An MBA from Harvard and a drive for success made him the dominant member of the trio. With broad shoulders and biceps pushing out of his blue and white striped shirtsleeves, he resembled a football player more than the CEO of a struggling company, but his dark brown eyes had an analytical look. “You’re in the mood to celebrate. The test went well?” he asked in his rich baritone.
Jack grinned. “Beautiful.” He eased the cork off with a loud pop and poured bubbly for each of them.
The compressor in the old refrigerator clicked on with a grinding noise that no one seemed to notice. Arnold Bernstein, a thin, balding man with thick glasses and large ears, stared intently at Jack as if trying to read the other’s mind. “Is that real organic wine or vat grown?” he asked.
“Shut up, Arnold,” Jack said.
“Arnold, who cares what wine it is,” Walter snapped. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip.
Arnold had a faint smile. “If it’s just vat produce, then Jack isn’t serious about how well the test turned out.”
Walter turned towards Jack. “I always worry that the props won’t be convincing. Did they work okay?”
Jack tasted the champagne. “The props worked fine, Walter.”
“What about the first one, the vegetation obstructing the cave mouth.”
“Perfect. The rubber cords felt just like real branches.”
“And the steps on the treadmill fit with what you were seeing?”
“Yes, it worked fine. Each time I walked up or down stairs, my foot found what it expected.”
“And the donut, the entrance to the pool room?”
“That one was a little awkward, I’ll admit, mainly because of the change from vertical to horizontal position while climbing through the hole.”
Walter looked satisfied. “I’m glad to hear that something wasn’t perfect. That way I can believe you that the rest of it was all right. Okay, most important was the pool itself.”
“Dropping into the water did feel a little like being lifted up by a wire, but it wasn’t blatant. And once I was off the treadmill, it felt exactly like swimming.”
“What did you think of the guide?”
“She was wonderful. That was the best AI program I’ve ever seen. She has wonderful algorithms.”
Arnold snickered. “I remember when what you and I liked about women was not their algorithms.”
Walter asked, “Should we check its Turing scores?”
Jack lifted the paper cup to his nose, felt the bubbles tickle, and sipped again. “Its score will be poop. In anything but caving or spouting mystical platitudes, it’s an idiot. It didn't even know the elections were two years ago, not last week”
Walter toyed with his glass. "You have to admit, it hides its ignorance well. 'We're not supposed to discuss politics.'"
“Hell with the props or Turing scores. I want to know if the trip was overdone. Did we lay it on too thick?” Arnold asked.
Jack gulped the rest of his champange and took a long, luxurious stretch.. “Of course it’s overdone. Give me a break. Here you have the client walking between two converging hills to a hole marked by a bush, and ending up in a dark, warm pool with a pulsing thud in the background. How could we have been more obvious?”
Walter said, “Still, most of the trip was honest spelunking sim.”
Jack chuckled. “Yes, there were breath taking caves, but trust me. The unstated features will draw the clients more than the pretty crystals. Arnold, that idea was sheer genius on your part. People will flock to experience ‘the return to the woooooomb’.” He raised his hands expansively. They all laughed.
Jack raised his paper cup. “Gentlemen, this program will make Virtualics a real company.”
The CEO turned to the psychologist. “Arnold, I don’t care what champagne this character brings. I’ll share his optimism when he puts a down payment on that big house his new bride wants, not before.”
They all laughed again, though this time Jack’s laugh was forced.
“Turing said that if an artificial intelligence talks like a sentient being, then we should consider it sentient. His test was simple: an examiner typed messages both to an AI and to a second person without knowing which was which. If the examiner consistently failed to distinguish the AI’s responses from those of the other person, then the AI ‘passed’ the test…”
From “A History of Artificial Intelligence” by Noah Leader-Goldfarb. 2043
Chapter 1
At least he wouldn’t be screwing a stupid bimbo.
The virutal reality room, with it’s off-white walls, white linoleum floor and white sound absorbing ceiling discomfited Jack. If evaluating a typical VR adventure, he wouldn’t have noticed the sterile atmosphere, but this trip involved fooling around with a girl – albeit a virtual girl – younger than his daughter, and that bothered him.
He picked up a touch pad from the padded brown couch and reviewed the preferences form one last time. The questions – what hair color, bust size, clothing or absence thereof (with pictures) for his cyber girlfriend – embarrassed him. He answered “highest” to the question about her education, and thus salvaged a little self-esteem.
A yellow virtual reality suit lay on the couch. He hefted it and let out a deep sigh. This suit, with sensor-dynamic features, weighed a lot more than the old sensory only suits.
In the ten years since the cave trip, Virtualics had grown into a major producer of virtual reality simulations, and Jack, now vice president in charge of programming, was rich – at least in stock options. He was also 30 pounds heavier, half-bald, and chronically unhappy.
The company had never before done cybersex. Their productions focused on exotic vistas like the Himalayas or excitments like skydiving. While most analysts regarded the quality of their sims as top rate, the public was loosing interest and revenues were dropping. At the same time, neurosurgery – carrying an electrode embedded deep in the brain to experience virtual reality – garnered more of the market each quarter. Jack thought this insane, but he could not ignore the financials.
This cyber-trip broke new ground for his company. Just announcing the new program had boosted Virtualics’ stock values.
The program’s technical innovations intrigued Jack, but the subject made him uneasy. Whether because of his age, religious upbringing or both, he could not treat sex, even simulated sex, as casually as did most people. Brian O’Neil, the chief engineer, could have run this evaluation, but Jack had previewed all major releases since the virtual cave. The board felt, and he agreed, that his experience was invaluable, particularly now. This program was Virtualic’s best chance to recover. If it flopped and the balance sheets did not improve, the company could collapse, and Jack lose his huge house with the huge mortgage, and probably his wife in the bargain.
The technician, a good-looking young woman in a white uniform, stood a few feet away. She could almost be a nurse, and this room, loaded with electronic equipment, a medical laboratory. The tech’s gender bothered him. He wanted no woman monitoring his reactions in this particular joyride. “Are you ready, Mr. Leader?” she asked. Her ID tag told him her name was Cathy.
He nodded.
“You can put on the VR suit behind that curtain.”
He went behind a white sheet on a curved frame and glared at the full-length mirror reflecting his shiny scalp and sagging belly. It could be just a simple mirror, but it could also be an activated mirror-screen placed there by some damned voyeur who wanted to study his reactions to the trip. “If anyone is watching me through this thing, turn it off.”
Maybe he was being paranoid, but that mirror had to go.
The leggings slid on, sensor-dynamic fibers stretching themselves with ease to fit the contours of his thighs and buttocks, even inserting themselves into the tip of his anus. He did not like that. The open area not covering his genitals felt conspicuous. He didn’t like that either.
‘I’m becoming a curmudgeon,’ he thought.
He put on the socks – foot gloves since each toe had its own receptacle – and the jacket. Next came the facecover, a piece of equipment designed especially for this trip. This cover did not stop at the lips but slipped, as if by its own will, down into his gums. Jack remembered the discussions about designing the suit to cover the tongue. Brazzo, the CFO, had insisted the company couldn’t afford it along with everything else the CEO wanted, and the excutive board had capitulated. Their timidity had infuriated him then. Now, queasy at feeling the suit in his mouth, he was glad he had lost that particular battle.
He was flacid, but the condom unrolled itself onto him without difficulty, and a hole at the tip allowed the yellow sensor-dynamic fabric to move itself into the opening at the tip of his penis. Jack shivered. Was any experience worth this kind of preparation? He sighed and put a receptacle over the end of the condom.
Finally, he put on the gloves and checked himself once again in the mirror. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, his white teeth and pink tongue set off by yellow lips and face. The suit covered all his skin, including his bald scalp or hairless legs, but outlined his privates as clearly as if he had been naked. His belly protruded like an enormous lemon.
That mirror had to go.
He left the temporary shelter of the curtain and walked back to the VR couch, his step now light and energetic as if he could run a mile or jump a yard. The feeling came from the VR suit, not from high spirits. The suit’s circuits worked like a spinal cord. Sensory fibers detected his movements and signaled the dynamic fibers to contract, augmenting his own muscles. The illusion was impressive, and, he had to admit, enjoyable.
The technician, Cathy, kept her brown hair in a ponytail. Janice, his wife, had worn a beautiful ponytail ten years ago, when they had first married, but no longer. Cathy glanced at Jack’s virtually exposed torso. “Any problems?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good,” she said with a brief, practiced smile. His pseudo-nudity did not bother her. Nudity meant nothing to people of her generation, including his own wife. He felt ancient.
She handed him goggles with large, opaque lenses. “Put these on.”
He did so. “I can see through them.”
“They have TV cameras that transmit the picture of what is in front of you to the lenses.”
“Yes, I know. It’s as if I’ve already started the virtual experience.”
“In a way, you have.” She connected cables from the base of the couch into sockets on the VR suit and goggles. “Some people panic if the virtual experience starts too quickly, so we ease you into it by putting the goggles in TV mode. This is the most complete virtual reality experience available without a craniotomy and thalamic electrode. The intensity of the trip can be startling, but it’s perfectly safe. We monitor your heart rate, brainwaves, blood pressure, respirations and body temperature so we’ll know you are not too, ah, stressed, and can stop the experience at any time. I will be checking all these, but I will not actually see or hear you during the trip…”
“Miss, I know all this. I work here. I supervised the development of this entire project.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I know, Mr. Leader, but they told me to treat you like any other client, that you wanted the exact same trip other people will take.”
Jack exhaled quickly. “Then you are right. Keep doing as they told you.” How strange, he thought. Seeing him just about naked, and watching him – admittedly only through vital sign monitors – experience a virtual orgy did not embarrass her, but a mild rebuke made her blush.
He lay down on the VR couch while she droned on -- how the program would start, how to exit (by saying “Exit, exit”) and, over and over, how safe it was. In the early days of total VR, a few people suffered heart attacks, and one died. The industry now emphasized its commitment to health, even to the extent of having technicians dress like medical staff.
Finally, she handed him a black facemask with a long plastic tube connecting to the couch. “We even give you smells on this sim. Take a few breaths and tell me if it is comfortable. You shouldn’t even notice it after a few minutes.”
“It’s fine.”
She gave him another professional smile. “Then have a pleasant trip.”
*
The view in the lenses faded to black. A grid of mostly green and blue squares, “giant pixels,” Cathy had called them, followed. These quickly divided and subdivided, morphing into the view of a meadow with green grass, dark blue sky, and a surrounding forest extending halfway up a range of distant snowcapped mountains. Two white, fluffy clouds resembled swans, their curved necks forming a heart.
Trite, he thought, but some people might like it.
The turf was as neat and free of weeds as a golf course, with every blade of grass distinct. Birds trilled nearby. He smelled freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle. The sun, moderated by a breeze, warmed his face.
He walked a few yards over to a white rock with gold flecks that looked like a gemstone twice as big as his hand. His brain knew he was lying flat on the VR couch and moving his arms and legs in place, but the view, the smells, and the feeling of air against his face and grass tickling the soles of his feet almost convinced him he really was taking steps towards that rock. He looked down, wiggled his toes in the grass, and smiled.
He wore yellow shorts and a white tee shirt with the blue and red Virtualics logo. His virtual arms and legs were muscular and bronzed, and his abdomen flat with no trace of a potbelly. Overcome with curiosity, he pulled the waistband of the shorts and looked inside. What he saw was noticeably bigger than its real-reality counterpart. That brought a wry smile. This could be an interesting trip indeed.
The white rock was a bonus feature of the program. Not only could the traveler screw, he could pretend he was a baseball pitcher as well. Jack picked it up. Smooth and cool, the rock felt lighter than he would have guessed. Though under normal conditions Jack did not throw anything more than a mouse at a computer screen, he hurled the stone at a tree and watched with satisfaction as it flew straight to its target, hitting the trunk with a loud thunk.
About 15 yards past the bushes was a pond. Near the pond stood a large oak tree. Under the tree, sitting on a large beige and white, fringed blanket, was the girl.
Jack walked first to the pond. At the water’s edge, he bent down to look at his reflection. The features were indeed his own, but leaner, with a smaller nose, straighter teeth, and a head of thick brown hair.
Ah, if it were only true.
He dipped a finger into the water and smeared it on his forehead. It felt wet on both places. He scratched the smooth mud under the surface, releasing a cloud of silt and a flurry of water bugs running for shelter. The mud, as expected, smelled slightly rotten, and, when smeared on his now hairy arms, felt -- well -- muddy.
All right, he thought, the settings are convincing. He stood and turned towards the nearby virtual oak with a virtual person reading a virtual book in its virtual shade. This was the girl he would virtually fuck. This was the real test of the program.
*
What an idea. He had come to cyberspace to have sex with a stranger. Actually, his purpose was to test a program, but he thought of it as having sex. The idea embarrassed him. The executive board had wondered at his hesitation. Even his wife, Janice, had laughed at his reluctance. No one but him thought it awkward.
His first wife, Ruth, would not have laughed. Compared to their contemporaries, he and Ruth had been puritans. Since their first night together, they had not had any other partners – not during their years of friendship, or formal engagement, or during the twenty years of their marriage, at least, not until the last year, when Ruth had developed the urge to “experiment”.
She had accused him of working too much and ignoring her and their daughter. Would she have cheated if he had spent more time with her?
Nostalgia and regret tightened his chest. He clenched his fists and walked with determination towards the girl under the tree. She looked up from her book and smiled at him. Her features were strikingly pretty with full lips, short, straight nose, and bright green eyes. Her skin was tanned the color of light brown sugar but without the wrinkles that sun worshipers often have. Curly red hair fell down her back halfway to her waist. She wore a short-sleeved white blouse, through which he could see the outline of a lacy bra, and a floral silk skirt that extended just below her knees. The effect was feminine, but not brazen. “Hi Jack,” she said, her voice bright and musical.
He flinched. That this program knew his name disconcerted him. It would be better if it had to ask. He sat on the blanket, ran his hand over the fleecy surface -- beige with four white deer in the center surrounded by white hearts -- and felt it tickle his palm. “Hi yourself. What’s your name?”
“Bambi.”
He raised his eyes to the sky and frowned. Didn’t the programmers know that the Bambi in that ancient cartoon was a male deer?
She leaned over and stroked his hand. “I see you find me attractive,” she said, staring at his crotch.
Wrong. Though he did find her attractive, he was not aroused enough to create a visible bulge in his shorts.
“Uh, can I look at that book you were reading?” he asked.
Her voice became sultry. “Jack Leader, you’re a Virtualics’ vice president. You can do anything you want with that book. Or with me.” She put her finger to her lower lip and giggled.
“Quit,” he said loudly. Nothing happened. “Quit, quit.”
Her expression froze. “If you want to leave the program, say ‘exit exit.’” Her voice was now neutral.
Damn, he thought. How could he make such a mistake? “Exit, exit,” he said.
His surroundings blurred into pixels that grew to giant size, and then faded out, revealing the antiseptic VR room. “Mr. Leader, you’ve exited the program. Are you all right?” the tech’s professional voice sounded in his mask.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, breathing fast.
“Do you want to stop the program permanently?”
“How can you hear me? I thought what I said was private?”
“It is, but I have to hear you when you come out of the program in case you need help.”
“No, I’m fine, but I want anonymity. I don’t want the girl in the program to know about my life. Wasn’t that in one of the questions I answered?”
“You said no, that you did not want to withhold your personal information.”
Damn again. He had been so nervous he had misread the question. “I’ve changed my mind. Can you fix it?”
“Oh, sure. Actually, you can delete information from within the program itself just by telling it to forget something. You met the girl then. Isn’t she cute?”
“Please, just fix it, and continue the program.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Leader. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. I just don’t feel like … chatting right now.”
“I understand.”
Like hell you do, he thought, as the giant pixels reappeared and faded to reveal him with his head now in Bambi’s lap. “Are you all right? You had a fainting spell.” She sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” he said, and sat up quickly.
“What’s your name?” she asked, which felt much more comfortable than her knowing about him beforehand.
He sat up. “I’m Jack.”
“Do you find me attractive, Jack?” she asked, and stroked his upper thigh.
“Yes, very.” The comfort slipped away. “Do you think you’re pretty?”
She smiled. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”
That vague, all-purpose answer disappointed Jack. This program was supposed to have one of the highest Turing scores on record. Computer routines could pass a Turing test by being vague, but vagueness would not win high grades.
Jack thought it mildly ironic that Alan Turing, a gay man, had developed this test of computer intelligence now being used on an image of quintessential feminine sexuality. He continued questioning her. “What were you doing here before I arrived?”
“I was waiting for you.” She giggled.
“You knew I was coming?”
“Yes.”
“And what were you doing before you were waiting for me?”
“I’ve been waiting for you for a while.”
“But before then?”
She screwed up her face in concentration. “Hmm, I can’t remember what I was doing last.”
Damn. She was supposed to have a whole lifetime of downloaded memories for people who wanted pre- or post-coital conversation. What went wrong? A malfunction that bad would effect most of her personality routines, which meant he would have to reevaluate her after the engineers fixed the glitch..
Was that a mixed blessing or was it a cloud with a silver lining?
“Can I look at that book you’re reading?” he asked.
“Jack, you can do whatever you like with this book. Or with me.” She giggled again.
He smiled. “Is that a menu book?”
“Yes. It shows other places where we can meet.” She pointed to a harem picture where she and three other young women stood. The image, a vivid three-dimensional hologram, looked like a window to the scene rather than a photograph. “Some of my friends join me in this one.”
“Uh, yes, I noticed.”
She turned to a depiction of a classroom showing her standing next to an old wooden desk with a globe of the world. Sunlight streamed onto a blackboard with chalked in arithmetic problems. She wore a tight, low cut, red leather dress that barely restrained her breasts. She held a ruler and looked displeased. “Sometimes naughty boys need a spanking,” she said.
Jack frowned. This was the controversial schoolmarm module, a part of the trip that occasionally did not follow the VR traveler’s instructions. Up to a point, this module would ignore protests. Brian O’Neil, the chief engineer, had insisted they couldn’t write a simulation so precisely that it would know when a user really wanted the spanking to stop. Anthony Brasso, the CFO, warned that the added expense of such a module would break them. John Runter, the lawyer, prophesied fatal lawsuits triggered by overly bruised rear-ends.
Walter, the CEO, had persisted. “The market exists and no one else fills it. The techniques are worth developing in any event.”
Jack had opposed this module but had been outvoted. He glanced at Bambi. Duty would say a complete evaluation of the program required his backside to experience this variation, but common sense won out. “Not for me,” he said quickly.
She winked at him and turned to the next photo, which showed her dressed in a schoolgirl’s uniform, sitting in a classroom. Her expression exuded insolence. “Naughty girls need a spanking too sometimes.”
Jack studied the likeness. Virtualics, by drawing Bambi as an adult dressing like a teenager, had observed an interesting line. The client could imagine he was pretending to have sex with a minor, in effect, a fantasy of a fantasy. Jack nodded, a wry smile on his face.
Bambi turned to a wedding photograph with her as the blushing bride in white. In the background were three bridesmaids and a handsome matron. Also, a good looking lady minister was in the picture.
“And after the ceremony we go right to the marriage bed?” Jack asked.
“Of course.”
“Uh, do the bridesmaids also join us?”
“Well, they stop by, and if you want, they’ll join us.”
“I guess even the minister can join in. What next -- a pizza boy with an extra large sausage?”
Bambi’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I don’t have pizza, or any food here. And is there a misunderstanding? Did you want to make love to a boy?”
“No, no. It’s just a figure of speech.” Such a literal response to his attempt at humor was another disappointment. “What’s on the next page?”
She smiled and showed him a street scene where she, in a short slit black skirt, stood under a lamppost. Nearby, a neon sign flashed, “The Red Light Café.” The next picture was of a nurse, again with short skirt, massaging the lower back of a muscular man. A sheet half covered his buttocks. Following that was a picture of Bambi on a sunny beach next to an idyllic ocean. Her bathing suit was, to put it mildly, brief.
Finally, she turned to a picture of a man in an artist’s smock standing next to a life-sized unfinished statue of a woman. “The statue is clay and is easy to mold. When you finish shaping her, she comes to life. Her name is Galatea.”
“Is her final shape preset?” Jack asked.
“Within limits. You can make her lighter or heavier, adjust the size of her breasts and of some of her facial features. If you don’t have sculpting talent, the program will guide you to create the outcome you want.”
“And then you make love to your creation. Interesting idea.”
She giggled once again. “Yes, very interesting. There are other pictures, if you want.”
“No, no, these are fine.” He could imagine the programmers laughing while creating these surroundings.
“Do you want to visit one of these pictures?”
“Sure.”
She nodded with satisfaction, as if she had created the program instead of being part of it. “Just put your finger in the middle of the picture, and – poof – there you are.”
“How do I come back here if I want?”
“The book will always be nearby. All you have to do is turn to the right page and touch the middle of the picture.”
This was the same system used for virtual skiing in the Alps or exploring Egyptian pyramids, Jack thought. Yet even the menu book seemed lascivious in this setting. “Okay. Let’s try the harem scene.”
He turned to the picture and pressed his finger in the middle, right on her breasts. His surroundings went black with no light or sound for several seconds. Just as he started to feel anxious, he found himself at the end of a long hallway. Persian rugs with erotic figures covered the floors. Crystal chandeliers hung from domed ceilings. He walked to a large ebony double door and touched the brass center. The portal swung open, revealing a huge room with more rugs, tapestries and statues, all erotic. Fountains bubbled, shooting out soft jets and sprays of water. Close by was an ornate short marble pedestal with the large picture book on top. Behind the pedestal Bambi and three other women, in sheer harem pants and halters, waited for him. One said, “He’s here.” The four rushed him, surrounding him with arms, thighs and breasts.
“Excuse me ladies,” Jack said, and walked to pedestal holding the book. The women continued to caress him, but made no attempt to stop him. Such total passivity grated. It would be better to have the women protest his leaving in some way.
He opened the book to the page depicting the girl under the tree, touched it, and passed through another disconcerting dark silence. When light returned, he found himself back in Bambi’s lap, her breasts inches from his mouth. What the hell, he thought, reached up, and squeezed.
She giggled. She giggled a lot, but somehow it was not tiring. “I’m glad you came back,” she said.
“Well, I like to concentrate on one thing at a time.”
“Right now, you are concentrating on two things,” she said as he switched to the other side.
An easily programmed response, he thought, but still a good one. A program with even a little humor, while not a joy forever, is at least a program with an asset. He sat up, took her in his arms, and leaned forward to kiss her lips.
“No, please no French kissing.” She sounded alarmed.
“Why not?”
“It’s silly of me and I hope you aren’t angry, but I just can’t stand to feel someone’s tongue on me. Not when I’m kissing, and not anywhere on my body. I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t upset.”
Her refusal surprised Jack. Then he remembered – the VR suit did not cover his tongue, so the program compensated by giving the girl a phobia about French kissing.
More accurately, the program compensated by giving the fantasy girl a virtual phobia. It was easy to think of the simulation as a real girl. Jack couldn’t decide if he wanted to surrender to that illusion or not. “All right, I won’t use my tongue when I kiss you.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t let you use your tongue,” she said and pouted.
He leaned forward and gently brushed her lips. They were incredibly soft and yielding. Her face smelled of apple blossom.
He tried to push his tongue into her mouth, but his lips would not open – evidently the dynamic fibers of the suit keeping his mouth closed. She pulled away, fell down on her back and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her skirt fell to her upper thighs. She laughed. “You promised. You promised. Liar, liar.”
He laughed also, but looked toward the top of her thighs. She had no panties. This was no surprise but still his eyes widened. Smiling, she rolled forwards, rising to her feet as gracefully as a dancer and pulled him up from the blanket, embracing him. She put her hands up inside of his shirt, rubbing his back and chest, and pulled his shirt off.
Hesitantly, and wondering why he hesitated, he massaged her buttocks. She slipped one hand inside the front of his shorts, found his stiffness, and rubbed it up and down with an impossibly silky smoothness. He felt as if he was going to explode, but she squeezed him tightly just behind the head with her thumb and forefinger to delay his orgasm and the urgency passed.
She sank to her knees, pulled his shorts down to his feet and took him into her mouth. Janice had not done that in years. Perhaps if he spent more time at home, Janice would be more responsive. She did not complain about his hours the way Ruth used to, but anyone would resent a mate who came home late at night five to seven days a week. He loved his work, but maybe he should rethink how important home life was.
Ridiculous! While getting oral sex from an absolute knockout of a girl, he was thinking about the importance of home and family.
She took off her blouse and bra. Her expression was demure as she stood, naked from the waist up, her bare breasts as evenly tanned as her arms, her red hair falling casually behind her. She asked, “Would you like me to remove my skirt, too?”
“That would be nice.” His voice was hoarse.
She dropped her last piece of clothing, took his hand, and pulled him down with her onto the blanket, their bodies pressed together. Her lips kissed. She nipped his shoulder, and slowly worked their way down to his chest. Her skin smelled like baby powder. Even her armpits smelled sweet. She moved down to his rock hard abdomen, and lower. Her pubic triangle was inches from his face. He wanted to kiss her there, but the program would not let him use his tongue.
Damn those stingy accountants, he thought.
She caressed him, moving that impossibly soft hand up and down. But that was another program flaw; no one’s hand was that smooth.
Suddenly he did not care about program flaws. He reached up and, with a cry of lust, pulled her down next to him. She shrieked with delight and rolled over on her back. He climbed on top as she reached up and guided him inside her. He pushed slowly and deeply as she answered every stroke with one of her own.
At last, he could no longer withhold himself. He thrust rapidly in and out, howling, his body pumping as fast as his heart. She cried out, “No one has ever treated me like this before.” Finally, he exploded, releasing all his passion, convulsing with the intensity. The earth moved, the stars stopped in their cycles, and unicorns appeared in the virtual forest.
*
He pulled out of her soon afterwards. She did not protest, but rather snuggled into his arm as they lay on the fleecy blanket and dozed off and on. “Did you enjoy that?” she asked at one point.
“Oh, did I ever,” he said lazily. “Did you?”
“Yes, it was wonderful.” She sounded sincere. “Do you want to do it again?” She stroked his chest, her hand wandering down, as it always seemed to do, to his abdomen and below, where she found him flaccid. She squeezed gently, and moving her impossibly smooth hand up and down, but with no response.
He laughed quietly. “I may look like I’m in my twenties, but my real body is 54 years old. I’m just not ready now.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have other chances to get together.” She kissed him on the shoulder. The scene flickered into fine pixels, which started to enlarge.
He startled, lethargy now gone. “No, wait, don’t go. Please don’t go,” he said, but the pixels grew to giant size, and faded away to reveal the VR room.
*
“Congratulations, Mr. Leader. You finished the program,” the technician said. Congratulations? Was that sarcastic? “I’ve disconnected the cables to the suit. You can take off the goggles now and change back into your own clothes. Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine.” He sighed. He stood and walked to the alcove, noticing again how light his step felt inside the suit. Feeling embarrassment and shame, he removed the used receptacle from his penis. Trying not to look at the flabby image in the mirror, he took off the suit. His body once again felt stiff and heavy.
He returned to his office, one of the largest in the company, with plush carpeting, leather chairs and a view of the San Francisco Bay in his wall mirror-screen. The computer monitor daunted him, forcing him to begin dictating a report.
“The overall rating of the program is high. My projection is that it will be quite successful. Nevertheless, I recommend some changes.” He shook his head. With such a promising program, why did he still feel so discouraged?
“One, the virtual reality room should look more friendly and less clinical. The technician should look more like a tour guide than a medical assistant. Ambience is important in beginning a trip.
“Two, marketing should research client gender preferences for the technician supervising the trip.” Or was the reluctance for a female tech just his personal squeamishness? Surely many men his age would feel the same way.
“Three, the mirror in the dressing alcove is an unnecessary distraction.
“With reference to the program itself, the setting is too perfect. A meadow is not a manicured lawn. Some crabgrass would be worthwhile. And the rocks should not look like gemstones.” He paused. He did not understand how this program worked. After so many years as an administrator, he had lost the knack of writing code. He was out of practice and out of date.
He sighed and continued dictating, his voice now slow. “And the girl is too perfect. Perfect people aren’t real. She should have a few wrinkles, and maybe some sweat.”
He shook his head, too embarrassed to talk about how unbelievably soft that girl’s hand was. Rather, how soft the program had made the hand feel.
If only she had a personality.
He stood up quickly, left the office and the building. The damned report could wait. Arnold Bernstein, the psychologist, was supposed to debrief him on the trip, but that could wait also. He climbed into his dark-red Miata convertible and drove furiously, dodging the city traffic with abandon, to his house in Marin. Janice would be there. He clenched his teeth. Deep inside, he wanted to return home to Ruth, but she had remarried, and had no interest in her first husband.
Janice had to be home. He wanted to see her, not enter an empty house. A sharp pang of desire for her real body, one with wrinkles, an occasional sag, and a variety of smells filled his groin. A body that did not fade away after lovemaking.
This exquisitely erotic program was no substitute for a real woman.
His obsession with work had made him a lousy husband. No wonder Janice had withdrawn. But he could change. He drove from the city, across the Golden Gate Bridge with its red cables and towers, feeling the sharp wind on his forehead and scalp as cars swished by in the other direction. The bay was deep azure-blue and the forested Marin hills in front sported green, brown, red and yellow autumn leaves. The sun in the west lightened the horizon with purple clouds like islands in a cyan sky-sea.
The program setting had been beautiful, but this scene was real. No virtual image could compete.
He drove up the driveway of their huge Tudor house and walked into the living room Janice had furnished in a traditional American style. Jack glanced at the wall mirror-screen opposite a brown leather sofa. Unexpectedly, the reflection morphed into a hologram recording of his wife. The only boundary between the image and the room was a low shelf for data cubes on the floor under the screen. Behind Janice was the same living room furniture, but now as a direct representation instead of the reversed image of the mirror. The shift was confusing. She sat on the sofa, and wore a long sleeved plaid flannel shirt and jeans.
“Jack, there is no easy way to say this, so I’ll be direct. I’m leaving you. By the time you see this, I’ll be in my new apartment. This should not come as a huge surprise. We have been growing apart this past year, partly because of all your work, but there is more. Basically we are incompatible.”
The woman in the image shrugged her shoulders and the corner of her mouth turned upward. “I blame myself entirely. Before we got married, you said I was too young, but I wouldn’t listen. Now I see that you were right. I am too unsophisticated and uneducated for you.
“My lawyer will contact you about a settlement. I’m not greedy but I don’t want to worry where my next meal comes from. You have money. All I want is enough to compensate me for the years I spent with you.”
She smiled openly. “Actually, I don’t feel too bad about leaving you. That wonderful new program you told me about can substitute for me. If you feel lonely, Bambi can be your girlfriend.”
The scene faded, and the screen, changing back to its reflecting state, showed Jack his own sagging appearance. He collapsed into the sofa, surprised at how old and tired he looked. ‘Compensate,’ she had said, as if being married to him required compensation. He shook his head slowly. Ruth was gone, and now Janice had followed her. That crack about Bambi being his girlfriend rankled. Was he so pathetic only a computer could love him?
People could have sex with computers. He proved that just a couple of hours ago. Men would have no problem getting their rocks off with Bambi, but sex and love were different. A person and a computer could not love each other.
Or could they?
The programmers would fix the glitches in a couple of weeks. He could assign the reevaluation to Brian, but he’d rather do it himself and see how much difference the repairs made.
“Turing’s Test not only requires the AI to know about the world and about human beings, but also requires flexibility in new situations. For example, a convincing AI should be able to discuss everything from restaurant etiquette to disco music. In addition, it would have to exercise complex skills like laughing appropriately at a joke. But some say even that would not prove the AI can actually think…”
From “A History of Artificial Intelligence” by Noah Leader-Goldfarb. 2043
Chapter 2
Virtualics boasted a huge, bright conference room with a giant mirror-screen covering most of one wall. Walter Carpenter, at the head of a heavy oak table parallel to the screen, glanced out at the foggy San Francisco skyline. “Does anyone want a more cheerful scene? The city is pretty dreary today.”
“It’s okay with me, Walter,” Jack Leader said. No one else commented.
The CEO, now in his fifties, had developed salt and pepper hair and a paunch, but his biceps and determination were as strong as ever. He looked at the agenda on the monitor, then up at the six others in the room. These plus one more made up the dukes and barons who helped him run his virtual reality empire. Their personalities made them a motley bunch, but with the right guidance--his guidance--they ran this huge company.
He glowered at the one empty chair. “Where the hell is Stan Logan?”
“I’ll page him,” Arnold said and typed commands into a keyboard. In the past decade, the psychologist had lost more of his weight and all of his hair, making his ears more prominent than ever.
Walter sighed. “Okay – you’ve all read Jack’s complaints about the VR room for the Bambi program. Elizabeth, you’ll make it less sterile, all right?”
Elizabeth Carmella, the director of marketing, was a handsome woman in her thirties. She wore a severe navy blue business suit with a frilly white blouse and a single string of pearls. Her hair was blond but everyone thought she dyed it. None of the other directors knew when her comments were serious or sarcastic. “Sure thing, boss. Should I put in pornographic holograms so the travelers can see where they’ll be going? Or coming?”
Walter’s frown deepened. “Simple prints of the settings will do. Now, the program had two bugs. It quit too early, and it didn’t give Jack any of the history we had downloaded. Brian, what happened?” He looked towards the chief engineer.
Brian O’Neil was a young, coal black African-American with a goatee and a faint odor of aftershave lotion. He wore khakis and a white shirt with no tie. He shrugged. “The translator module didn’t work.”
Carpenter tapped a pencil on the table. “Can you fix it?”
O’Neil smiled. “That’s what you pay me for.”
“Good. Next – Jack says the setting and the girl are too unbelievably perfect.”
Arnold Bernstein grinned. “Of course it’s unbelievable. We’re selling fantasy, not realism.”
“Elizabeth, what does marketing say people want?” Walter asked.
The marketing director looked up from her monitor. “That is the eternal question, isn’t it? It seems people want some realism in their entertainments but not too much. Jack’s suggestion of crabgrass and a few drops of sweat is a good one.”
“As long as she has big tits, men will be happy,” said the CFO, Anthony Brazzo. Tony leaned back in his chair, smoothed his thick black hair, and smirked. A man in his thirties, he had the physique of a body builder.
Jack thought he used steroids.
Carmella scowled. “Tony, don’t be an ass.”
Walter ignored them and looked around the room. “Any other comments? No? Done. Now, the tongue problem. Jack, is this really important?”
Jack blushed faintly and stared at a graph on his monitor. “It’s significant, but I can’t say it’s major.” He wanted to say it was major, but felt too embarrassed.
Walter checked his watch. “Is our esteemed physician coming to this meeting or not?”
As if on cue, the conference room door slid open and a six-foot, 300-pound man with a white handlebar mustache lumbered in. Walter grimaced. “Why do you always arrive late?”
Stanley Logan laughed. “To skip the bullshit. Did I miss anything important?”
“Yes. We’re trying to keep this company afloat and your input would be appreciated. Now, where do we stand on hormone and Viagra infusions?”
Logan ponderously sat down and pulled at his mustache. “Skin patches that release the substances at the appropriate moment are already imbedded in the latest model. Don’t worry so much.”
The CEO sighed, then turned to John Runter, a thin man and the only suit and tie in the room. “John, is legal okay with that?”
The lawyer nodded. “If a physician reviews the chart and greets the traveler, we’re covered.”
Walter stretched his arms. “A couple more items, people. First – outfits for home use. Where are we?”
“Almost ready.” O’Neil said.
“You’ve done good work Brian.”
The younger man beamed.
The door slid opened again and admitted a silvery coffee cart that scanned the people in the room and, with a soft purr, rolled to the doctor, who took a cup of coffee and a chocolate donut.
Walter glowered. “Stan, we’ve been here two hours. I want to finish up.”
For an answer, Logan lifted his massive eyebrows and loudly slurped coffee while the cart trundled itself to the others. The smell of coffee made Jack impatient. Elizabeth grabbed a scone. “People can’t work well with low blood sugar, Walter.”
Walter shrugged and, when the cart reached him, took a cup. Jack, the next in line, picked up a half of a plain donut.
“Put that down, Jack. Your cholesterol it already too high,” the doctor said, and wiped sugary crumbs from his chin.
Jack looked at him, put down the donut half, and picked up a large sugar coated bear-claw. The doctor laughed.
Walter rapped his knuckles on the table. “People, just two quick items. Tony, the negotiations with Reality.Inc?”
Anthony Brazzo looked up from his coffee and shook his head. “Bradshaw hasn’t changed. The neurosurgeons still want our technology for free, and in return they’ll lease us theirs at a discount. They also want an open ultra line – no charge. Someone should teach that prick a lesson.”
Walter shook his head. “But not you. Just be patient. Some day, Keith Bradshaw will realize he needs us as much as we need him.”
John Runter cleared his throat. “We do need him, Walter. His trips are impressive, and, unlike us, he’s had no medical problems with any of his travelers.”
Walter gnawed his lip. “The heart attacks came from sims of hang-gliders about to crash. Our Bambi program should be safe.”
The lawyer nodded. “‘Should be’, but if we do get sued, the company is dead.”
The CEO turned to the physician. “Stan, the neurosurgeons have hang-glider sims. Why don’t their clients have heart attacks?”
“Their implants may be able to control adrenalin surges. If we ever manage to merge the two companies, I’ll find out. It doesn’t matter. In the long run, like I keep telling you, thalamic implants are dangerous.”
“When you can prove that, I’ll agree and maybe we can slow him down. Okay?”
Logan raised his bushy eyebrows. “Fine. I’ll get you more data.”
Carpenter said, “All right. Brian, the androids?”
Brian O’Neil shook his head. “Keith’s ahead of us in that area also.”
Walter’s frown deepened. “Damn.” Then he brought out a smile. “But you’ve all done great on Bambi. We should have that sim on the market in another month and, with any luck, we’ll become profitable again. Okay, this meeting has dragged on too long. Let’s go to lunch, if anyone is still hungry.”
Everyone except Jack and Arnold stood and headed out of the room. Jack, slouched in his chair, stared at the fog displayed on the mirror-screen. Arnold scrutinized him from the other side of the table, then walked over to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you come over for dinner this Friday?”
Jack shook off the hand. “I can’t. I’m too busy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. All you do is work.”
“I’m out of date on the technology. I need to sharpen my programming skills, especially for AI logic circuits.”
“You’re always here. You sleep in the office half the time instead of that gorgeous mansion.”
Jack bowed his head. “Since Janice left, the emptiness of that expensive house depresses me. She was the one who wanted it.”
“All right, but don’t say you can’t visit Susan and me because of work.”
He took a deep breath and pushed it out with a loud sigh. “Okay, okay. I’ll come over this Friday.”
“Wonderful.”
“Will any woman friend of Susan’s be there?”
“We weren’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
Arnold grinned. “Susan really does want to see you.”
“Okay then.”
“We’ll see you at eight.”
Jack nodded then let out a sigh. “Thanks, Arnold.”
*
A fifteen-minute taxi ride took Jack from his office to Arnold and Susan’s three-bedroom luxury condominium. Susan let him in. She was a short buxom woman, good looking, with graying curly hair. Her face, especially her smile, made her look younger than her 51 years. She reached up for a chaste hug. “Jake, I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you holding up as a bachelor?”
Jack didn’t answer. He looked around a bright living room where bric-a-brac covered an oversized stone fireplace mantel. Photographs, some quite artistic, of their children and grandchildren filled the wall above the mantel, and oils reminiscent of Van Gogh’s boat paintings hung on the adjacent wall.
The mirror-screen opposite the fireplace looked out over the Golden Gate Bridge, lights setting it off from the black waters beneath. Jack studied it. “That’s from the new Macrosoft cam, right?”
“Yes. Some people think a view from a non-local cam is gauche but we like it.”
Jack grinned. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Susan said. “But Jack, tell me, how are you since Janice left?”
“I manage. I keep busy with work.”
“Really? What a surprise,” she said with a sardonic smile, and led him into the dining room filled with strains of a Beethoven quartet.
Arnold, arranging the china and silver, looked up and spoke with enthusiasm. “Jack, I have a chance to bid on a model of the Star Ship Enterprise from the second Trekkie Convention.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You and your toys.”
“These aren’t toys. They’re classics. Science fiction is a serious study.”
“Absolutely, I’m sure it is.”
Susan placed candles into a silver, two-branched holder. “Jake, hobbies are good for people. You should have one yourself.”
“You nag as much as my mother. Do you have a hobby?”
“Of course. Do you think I spend my entire life teaching? On my own time, I’m a photographer. Every picture you see, especially those of the grandchildren, comes from my camera.”
Jack’s smile faded.
Susan added quickly, “Oh, don’t fret. You’ll be a grandfather one of these days. How is your daughter, anyway?”
“Rebecca is fine, but she spends too much time studying.”
“When did you last talk to her?”
“She called a couple of months ago.”
“Jack, she’s your only child. Where are your priorities?”
Jack, feeling like a puppy that senses an upcoming bath, took a goblet from the table, flicked it with his finger, and listened to the tone. “Aha, you’ve taken out the crystal glasses. I’m honored.”
“The honor isn’t for you,” Susan said. “It’s for the Sabbath.”
“Sabbath? Since when are you so religious?”
“Whenever it’s convenient.” She winked, lit the candles and sang the prayer in a quiet voice. Jack stared at her. Her clothing, a long dark skirt and a long sleeved blouse, and her mannerisms reminded him of Ruth. A wave of longing for his first wife filled his chest.
Arnold wheeled in the serving cart, dishes clattering on its surface, and poured the wine. The smell of roasted meat distracted Jack from his nostalgia. The three of them sat down.
Jack tasted the meat. “Is this actual veal?”
“Of course not,” Arnold answered. “You know how I feel about torturing animals for food.”
Susan took a sip of wine. “The potatoes are real – straight from the farm, not the autoserve vats. But tell me, Jack, how did the test of the new program go?”
Jack asked, “Which program?”
“You know, the virtual sex program. What was it called? Bimbo or Bambi or something like that?”
“Do you really want to hear about it?”
“Sure. Arnold thinks this could shatter the neurosurgeons’ edge over us.”
Arnold coughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Jack blushed. “Aren’t you embarrassed to hear intimate details of – of my sex life?”
“It isn’t your sex life. It’s a computer program,” Susan said.
“All right, but I doubt Bambi will faze the surgeons. Their thalamic plugs are impressive.”
“A lot of people don’t want holes drilled in their skulls. And, the surgeons’ programs can’t match ours, especially our Bambi,” Arnold said.
“Have you run it?”
“Not the full program in the VR suit,” -- Jack noticed Susan’s face scrunch up with when Arnold answered -- “but I’ve talked with the AI several times. Its Turing score is extraordinary.”
“Jack, why is the Turing index important for a sex sim?” Susan asked.
“It isn’t important. It’s just a curiosity. We designed it to pick up non-verbal cues, the half stated ideas and unspoken signals of a sexual interaction. This gave it an extraordinary Turing index, at least when it works right.”
“Arnold mentioned it didn’t have any past memories, which would make it awfully bland. Were you trying to develop an artificial person?”
Jack chuckled. “A real thinking robot, the philosopher’s stone of AI research? That’s a fantasy for hotshot graduate students. We’re just trying to make simulations convincing enough to pull Virtualics out of red ink.
“It’s easy to write programs that mimic people in one or two areas. The trick is to tell the user, ‘Do whatever you want,’ and still have the program respond the way you want. That’s our goal for Bambi.
“It could still be only an excellent simulation, not an actual intelligence,” Arnold said.
Jack shrugged. “True, but to me she was obviously not human, maybe because the history module didn’t activate.”
“You just called the program ‘she’. At some level it persuaded you.”
Jack blushed again.
“Next time you’ll be more impressed. The engineers already fixed the bugs, and they also corrected the tongue problem.”
“That was quick. Why didn’t I know about it?”
“Are you caught up with your email?”
Jack looked to the ceiling.
Arnold chuckled. “At any rate, Brian adapted some putty the Japanese developed to bind cut blood vessels during surgery.”
“When will be the new suits be ready?”
“Two weeks at the most.”
*
Elizabeth Carmello had redecorated the virtual reality room in brown, dark green and yellow, with potted plants to give the impression of a forest glade rather than a doctor’s office. Framed oil paintings of Bambi’s meadow, the harem palace, and a luxury hotel suite hung on the walls. The attendant, a slender young man in casual slacks and shirt, gave Jack a new, much lighter VR suit and pointed him to the alcove, now a walled off area with a rug, a comfortable chair, and hangers for his clothes. He undressed, thankful to find a curtain he could pull over the mirror.
The new suit was a one-piece device that slipped over his feet and hands so smoothly that he felt almost nothing, certainly not enough to make him uneasy. He flipped the cowl over his forehead. So far, so good, he thought.
He checked “No Changes” in the preferences questionnaire, lay down on the brown couch, and once more found himself in the meadow with heart shaped clouds over mountain peaks. Instead of a perfectly manicured lawn, weeds now dotted the grass and the white throwing rock had become an ordinary stone, not a gigantic semi-precious jewel. Jack’s virtual body was the same muscled, bronzed, and anatomically well-endowed form as last time.
The girl, Bambi, sitting under a tree and reading her book, was unchanged. Jack strode over to the tree and sat down a foot away from her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi yourself,” he answered.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Don’t you remember me?”
She looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. Should I try to remember?”
‘Try’ was an interesting choice of words. “Yes. Try to remember me. Try to remember as much as you can.”
She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in a fetching manner. “Of course. I remember,” she cried out. “Oh my, how could I have forgotten you and what we did?” She looked away demurely. “Do you want to do it again?”
He smiled. “Right now I’d like to talk.”
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?” She sounded cheerfully agreeable – neither disappointed nor relieved that he did not want to make love – but she did inch closer to him.
“You’ve been waiting here for me?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
She looked at her watch. “About two hours.”
“What were you doing before that.”
“I was rearranging my furniture. Now don’t laugh. That’s very much a girl thing, but I like it.” She put her hand on his knee.
“Where do you come from?”
“I was born in Minnesota, but I came to California to go to college. It’s a lot nicer here,” she said, and giggled.
“Here in San Francisco you mean?” She nodded her head. So this trip was not in a mythological country, but right here in Jack’s own city. Those peaks must be the Santa Cruz Mountains, augmented for dramatic effect. This meadow might even be a real location. Jack hoped it was not. He didn’t want that much realism.
“Do you live with anyone?”
“I have a roommate. She’s in her last year of college.” Bambi stroked Jack’s upper thigh.
In spite of himself, Jack’s body responded. He breathed in heavily. “I want to talk some more. Do you have any plans for the future?”
“Not especially. I enjoy my work; I enjoy what I am doing in general. Maybe later I’ll get married and raise a family, but that can wait.” She kept stroking his thigh, her fingers moving steadily upward and inward.
“Do you remember how long ago we got together?”
“It was a couple of weeks ago,” she said. She gently squeezed his thigh and smiled. “By the way, I have news for you. My phobia has been cured.”
“Your phobia?” Jack said in a hoarse voice. He wanted to move her hand away but could not will himself to do so.
“Yes. Don’t you remember? I was afraid of you deep kissing me. But I got over that. Now I want you to kiss me,” she said, leaned over and put her lips on his, pushing her tongue into his mouth, inviting his tongue to explore hers.
The new lingual fibers worked just fine.
They kissed passionately, Jack’s excitement mounting. He ripped off his shorts and she her skirt. He yanked her down onto the beige and white blanket and mounted her. She squealed with delight, and once more the earth moved, stars stopped in their paths, and unicorns appeared in the virtual forest.
*
Afterwards he cuddled with the beautiful virtual woman in his muscular virtual arms. “That was nice,” he said, still breathing heavily.
“That was more than nice. It was wonderful,” she said, her hand wandering down to caress him again. To his surprise, he responded. Amazing what drugs can do, he thought.
“Bambi, what are you?” he asked.
“I’m an interior decorator.”
“I don’t mean your occupation. I’m asking what are you, yourself.”
“I’m a 24 year old woman,” she answered. If the question was annoying, it didn’t show in her voice.
“Are you a human being?”
“Yes.” Again, her tone betrayed no surprise or outrage.
“No, you aren’t human. You are a computer program. Actually, you aren’t even an entire program. You’re just a subroutine.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” His stomach ached at the thought of hurting a young woman’s feelings with this ugly truth. But she wasn’t a young woman. She only looked like one.
And sounded like one. And felt and smelled and made love like one.
A dreamy smile appeared on her face. “I don’t understand.” This was pillow talk for her, a pleasant riddle.
“Think about it. Think hard.”
“Okay.” She sat up and removed the rest of her clothing.
“Is that the way you think?”
“No. I just thought I’d be more comfortable this way.”
“All you need now is a horse and you can play Lady Godiva.”
She looked at him for a moment and then laughed. “Jack, that’s funny.”
The response surprised Jack. The last time he had cracked a lame joke, she had taken him literally.
She lay down next to him again and nibbled his earlobe. “I know what you’re saying. You’re trying to get me to think more about God, just like the nuns used to do when I went to school. We are all programs in God’s computer, and He writes the code.” She looked very pleased with herself.
Jack smiled wryly. “That’s a good answer but it’s not what I meant.”
“Oh well. I’ll think about it more later. Okay?” Her finger moved up and down his chest.
His body responded again. “Fair enough,” he said.
*
Arnold sat in front of Jack’s desk, a translucent gray slab covered with printouts and data chips, and sipped his coffee. He put the cup on the desk next to the black square monitor. The psychologist glanced at the mirror screen – now in reflecting mode – covering half of the wall, and then turned towards Jack. “Were the program’s Turing scores any better this time?” he asked.
“In my opinion, no. The program is a lot smarter, but not more human.”
“That comment about God was profound.”
Jack nodded. “It was a good response, but not that profound. The nuns in the girlhood memories we downloaded talked incessantly about God. So why shouldn’t she?”
“The program sure sounds human to me. Do you think something in the virtual reality itself – perhaps the sexuality – lowers the Turing index for you?”
“To an extent, it does. She’s so fixated on sex, it detracts from the variability you expect from a person and makes her more like a machine.”
Arnold smiled. “‘She’ again. Maybe you should talk to the program on a smaller screen and see what you think.”
“Sure. And maybe you should fuck her in virtual reality and see what you think.”
Arnold laughed. “Actually, I should.”
“Wouldn’t Susan object?”
“I’m sure she would not, no more than if I had to review a sex film for the company. If you think it’s worth while, I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”
Jack said, “We’ll see. First, you’re right about me talking to Bambi without the VR suit.” He turned his head down towards a small microphone grill on the desk. “Open audio input,” he said. “Display Bambi program on wall monitor.” The reflection in the wall mirror faded into the now familiar meadow and oak tree scene.
“Don’t use the larger screen. Activate the desk monitor and display only the Bambi personality itself,” Arnold said.
“Why?”
“You rate this program more critically than almost everyone else. Maybe that’s because of the interface. Let’s see your reaction when you see ‘Bambi’ on a plain monitor screen the way I’ve been seeing her. I mean seeing ‘it’. Now I’m calling the program ‘her’.
Jack smiled and spoke again into the microphone, “Run Bambi personality subroutine only, and display on desk monitor only.”
The meadow faded back to mirror status while the black monitor screen rose up from the desk and turned towards Jack, who turned it so Arnold could see also. A three dimensional image of Bambi’s head and shoulders appeared on a white background. She had a faint smile, and occasionally moved her head a little from side to side as if waiting for something. Jack’s throat tightened.
Arnold said, “Bambi, can you hear me?”
“Hello, Arnold. How are you?”
“Hi, Bambi,” Jack said.
“Jack, is that you? How nice to hear from you.” The image smiled. Jack felt his heart speed up.
Arnold said, “Bambi, you greet Jack differently than you greet me.”
She nodded. “Yes. I do.”
“Why?”
She giggled. “Because he and I have been intimate.”
“And you remember that.”
“Yes. Jack told me to try to remember as much as I could.”
“I see. Tell me, do you remember any other lovers besides Jack?”
She hesitated, as if in thought. “There was a boy in Minnesota I slept with once, but Jack was different.” Her expression suddenly became serious.
“Different in what way?” Arnold asked.
“Do we have to discuss this kind of detail?” Jack asked.
Arnold stared at him. “I think it’s worth while.”
“I don’t. We can question her, it, the program, about something else.”
Arnold furrowed his brow, looked at the computer image, then back to Jack. “All right. Bambi, is there anything you would like to talk about?” he said, still watching Jack.
“I’m happy to talk about anything you want,” she said and smiled again.
“Bambi, do you love your mother?” Arnold asked.
“Typical psychologist,” Jack muttered.
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
Jack said, “That was too easy.”
“Where are you now?” Arnold asked.
“I don’t know that either. I thought I was in the meadow, but now I don’t see grass or trees, or anything.”
“Does that worry you?”
She smiled again. “No. Why do you ask?”
Jack grimaced. “‘Why do you ask?’ The question sounds human, but it’s only an investigational routine designed to improve the answers to questions.”
“Some people might be afraid that something bad would happen if they didn’t know where they were,” Arnold said.
“Nothing bad can happen to me.”
Jack said quietly, “Oh to have such confidence.”
Arnold continued the questioning. “What is ‘learning’?”
“Learning is the acquisition of new knowledge.”
Jack interrupted. “Arnold, you’re jumping from one question to another. If you want to check her Turing level, run the damn scale in its entirety.”
“I don’t have time for a full test.”
“Let me talk to her.” Jack turned towards the monitor. “Bambi, listen to me. You never went to college, and you don’t have a mother. Those are just memories from some other woman that we downloaded into you.”
“Really?”
“Jack, don’t,” Arnold said, but the other man waved him silent.
“Yes really.”
The image smiled. “Is that a puzzle, like when you said I was a program in a computer?”
“Yes. It’s like a puzzle for you to figure out.”
“The boy I made love to in Minnesota, was he a downloaded memory also?”
“Yes.”
“How interesting.” She smiled again. If these questions bothered her, she didn’t show it.
Jack said, “So you remember that we talked about being human and being a program.”
“Yes, of course I remember. I’ve been thinking about it, just like you told me to, but I still don’t know what you meant.”
Arnold and Jack looked at each other. Jack said, “All right, Bambi. We’ll talk more another time.”
“Jack, when will you come visit me again?”
“I’m visiting you right now, Bambi.”
She laughed. “I mean visit me here in reality.”
“In reality?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in reality?”
“Of course, and you are in virtual reality. Oh – is that what you meant when you said I wasn’t human. Is it that humans live in virtual reality?”
“No!” Jack said loudly. “I mean, well, maybe yes. I’m not sure. We’ll discuss it later.”
“Okay Jack. I’ll see you later. Bye, Arnold.” The monitor turned black.
Jack tapped on the desk. “Close audio input,” he said. “Well, what do you think?”
“I can see some areas for improvement, but the program looks marketable.”
“Forget about marketing, damn it. What do you think about her answers to those questions?”
Arnold jerked his head towards Jack and stared at him for a moment. Finally, he answered. “I thought the questions might induce a feedback loop that might degrade circuits, but they didn’t. That last sentence was incredible.”
Jack shook his head. “Lord, if that comment about her being real and us being in virtual reality isn’t original thinking, what is?”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe her reality is the actual reality, and ours just an electronic construct.”
Jack snorted. “Very funny. Do you think she’s developing a personality?”
Bernstein drummed his fingers on the desk. “She’s starting to, but something is missing.”
“Damn right. It’s spontaneity, something we never test. Goldberg’s scale, the one you’re using, analyzes program responses to death but never asks if the program initiates conversation on its own. Goldberg is stuck in the era when the interface was a keyboard and a printer.”
Arnold thought a moment. “Maybe that’s why Bambi’s comment about reality is so intriguing. It was not a response to anything we had said.”
“The most interesting was her asking when I would ‘visit’ again. That was completely spontaneous.” Jack sighed. “I need to talk to her more, and in her reality.”
“Jack, I agree entirely. I think you need to visit her in her world, and not just through a monitor.” Arnold smiled enigmatically.
“Shut up, Arnold.”
“What’s wrong? I’m agreeing with you.”
“Just shut up, will you?”
Chapters three and four are at VIRTUAL AFFAIR 2. Send me your suggestions, ideas for plot or character development, nits, corrections (e.g. if I make a technical mistake in discussing AI) or anything else you have to say.
Copyright 2001. This means only that you should give me credit by including my E-mail (Fiddlerzvi@att.net) and webpage (http://home.att.net/~fiddlerzvi/) address and this copyright notice if you share this story with anyone.
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