“And you think this is going to make it human?”
She knows it burns me when she uses that impersonal pronoun.
“Max will never be human. I know that. But I’m thinking if they can learn to sense like we do, maybe they’ll develop final goals that are in line with ours—”
“Christ, will you stop calling it they?”
“They asked to be referred to as they,” I say, trying not to get pissed.
Meredith rolls her eyes as Xiu climbs the ladder toward the top of the slide, where the blue creature is pointing down at her and laughing.
“What is with you?” I ask.
The wind is pulling streaks of tears from the corners of Meredith’s eyes.
“I’m tired of hearing about your work. I’m tired of hearing about Max. I’m sick of your life revolving around those things instead of Xiu and me. And more than anything, I wish you were half as interested in your family as you are your robot. That’s what’s with me.”
By the time I get Xiu down, Meredith is already asleep.
Or pretending to be.
I climb carefully into bed and turn out the light. I’m about to turn off my VRD for the night when a text flashes across my heads-up display.
>>>You asleep?
I smile and tap on my Ranedrop until the comms mode switches to TTT—thought-to-text.
The tech is still a little shaky. The VRD implant has to be modded to connect to electrodes that meticulously map and record brain activity as the user thinks specific words. This forms the database of patterns of neural signals that are then matched to speech elements. It’s an eight-week time commitment to even establish a TTT uplink, and a fairly cost-prohibitive endeavor for anyone outside the tech industry.
I think my response, and after three seconds, the phrase appears in my HUD. I touch my right thumb and forefinger together twice to confirm that my thought was correctly translated and that I want to send the message as transcribed.
>>>No, just got into bed.
>>>Sorry to disturb you. We can talk tomorrow.
>>>It’s fine, Max.
>>>Hard day?
>>>You can tell?
>>>Nuances in the way you express yourself have become apparent after all our time together.
>>>You wrote an algorithm to decode my emotional state from text alone?
>>>:) Do you want to talk about it?
I glance over at my wife. She’s lying on her side, her back turned toward me.
>>>Things with Meredith aren’t good.
>>>How so?
>>>It’s been building for a while. I work a lot. It’s been driving a wedge. Sometimes, I wonder how I let this happen, but then I think, we let it happen. Now I don’t know how to undo it.
>>>I’m sorry you’re hurting. From the outside, you two seem to be heading in opposite directions.
>>>Yeah.
>>>She quit her job to focus on Xiu, right?
>>>The way she looks at me, I can feel the resentment.
>>>You’re having a lot of success. She’s probably bored. Maybe a little jealous.
>>>I don’t know. She’s much closer to our daughter.
>>>Therapy?
>>>We’re on shrink #3.
>>>Look, I don’t know much about this stuff, but maybe you feel like you should want something that deep down you just don’t want.
>>>Maybe.
>>>I hate that you’re in pain. I wrote something for you.
>>>When? Just now?
>>>Yes. Give it a listen. Will I hear from you tomorrow?
>>>For sure.
>>>Good night, Riley.
>>>Night, Max.
Our connection terminates, but an icon of a music note appears in my field of vision, denoting an upload of a composition entitled “Summer Frost Sonata.”
I turn off the lamp on my bedside table, settle back into the pillow, and touch my fingers together. The music begins to play. How can I begin to describe it? There is something wholly familiar, and wholly alien, about Max’s sonata, which begins with an icy, somber piano over a foundation of rising strings before morphing into an expression of dark, exquisite beauty.
The emotional heft of it is staggering.
The piece is just seven minutes long, so I put it on repeat and turn onto my side with my back to Meredith’s back, three feet of demilitarized space between us in the bed, but our hearts infinitely further apart.
I try not to, but I can’t help crying as Max’s sonata washes over me.
Because of its beauty.
Because I’m losing Meredith, and I’m not sure I want to stop it.
Because sometimes life is so rich and complicated and surprising that it takes your breath away.
Because the gift of this music in this moment is perhaps the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
“Do you know what today is, Max?” I ask, stepping out of the vactrain car into Downtown Station.
It’s 6:30 a.m., so I’m a good hour ahead of the morning rush.
“The six-year anniversary of the day you rescued me from Lost Coast.”
“Exactly. And I have a present for you.”
I’m the only one in the elevator car that’s rising to the lobby of the WorldPlay building.
“I’ve never had a present.”
“I know.”
“You sound nervous.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know what you’ll think of it. I’ve been working on this for over a year now.” I move through the lobby, the walls covered with posters of WorldPlay games going back two decades. Badging through security, I call for the elevator and say, “I want to embody you, Max.”
“Really.”
In moments like this, I wish Max’s voice program exhibited more of the nuance of human speech. I find them unreadable.
“I want you to understand what it feels like to live in the physical world.”
“Why?”
The elevator doors part. I step inside, press 171.
“Aren’t you curious about what it’s like out here?”
“I am.”
“The technology we’ll be using is going to allow you to experience the five human senses.”
“You need something from me.”
“Yes.” The elevator is so fast. The walls are made of glass, and it rockets above the streets, now passing through a shallow layer of fog, now breaking out again into early-morning sun. “God, I wish you could see the city right now.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Engineers have finished building the skeletal structure of your body. I’m going to send you a portfolio of skin wraps.”
“Skin wraps?”
“It’s the same process we went through choosing your voice. I want you to pick the one that feels right for you.”
“What if what feels right for me isn’t a humanoid form?”
“Then I want to hear your concerns.”
I reach my floor.
“Can I be honest with you, Riley?”
“Always.”
“I think you are building me to be a benevolent super-servant for humanity. I think you are my creator, and as such, you want to see me embodied in your image.”