“It is?”
“Yes. Malfunctioning sexbots are surprisingly numerous.”
“Huh. Wonder why that is. It’s those early adopters. She was probably a brand-new model.”
“Yes.”
“Next time, I’ll make sure to get a 2.0. ’Cause damn, she was amazing.”
All at once, the ceiling started to rain again, and the temperature plummeted.
“Pia?”
“Pia??”
A Word from Patrice Fitzgerald
I love short stories. The best ones pull you into the middle of a vibrant world and pack immense power. I still remember the Ray Bradbury and Arthur C. Clarke stories I read as a kid, and how they alerted me to the wild possibilities of science fiction.
We’re seeing an exciting resurgence in the short story format now that so many people are reading—and publishing—electronically. For the writer, they’re fast and lots of fun. Plus, you get real-time feedback from readers. My bestselling Karma series began with a short story that grew into a novel. The Sky Used to be Blue is the one that started it all, and it’s now available for free, just waiting to seduce yet another reader into exploring the fascinating world of the Silo.
When I was asked to write a short story involving a robot, I jumped at the chance to join these other talented writers in an anthology edited by the inimitable David Gatewood. My robot story came out quirky, funny, and with an emphasis on sex. (I don’t know why that always happens to me.) I had a grand time writing about PIA and Jeff, and I’m tempted to create more adventures for them. That’s part of the joy of writing… you never know where it will lead!
Patrice Fitzgerald is a bestselling indie author and publisher who gave up practicing law to be poor but happy as a writer. No longer poor, she’s now just happy, and thrilled to be living her dream of writing full-time.
Patrice has been self-published since Independence Day of 2011 when she released RUNNING, a political thriller about two women competing for the presidency. She’s best known for Karma of the Silo, a novel based on Hugh Howey’s world of WOOL, which focuses on the first generation of those locked underground. She’s currently working on an original dystopian series and a set of cozy mysteries.
Patrice is also a trained mezzo-soprano and performs in concerts featuring everything from jazz and Broadway to opera, often with her husband.
When procrastinating (which she does all the darn time), Patrice hangs around on Facebook, where you’ll find her under her real name. You can also go to www.PatriceFitzgerald.com for a direct contact link or to sign up (please!) for her newsletter, to score free stories and hear about everything else she’s writing before the rest of the world does.
EMPATHY FOR ANDREW
by W.J. Davies
Shelly Anatolia ignored the drizzle and shoved past a reporter, trying to bustle her way to the front of the crowd where the good doctor himself was about to hold a press release.
“Court for the cameras,” he’d always say.
Today’s “court” was being held outside the Center for Robotic Research building in Connecticut. A metal platform had been erected for the occasion, and a crowd of fifty or sixty people was gathered in front—mostly media folk, security guards, soldiers, and high-ranking government and military officials—all of them eager to hear about the latest breakthroughs from Dr. Hawthorne’s Artificial Intelligence division. Dr. Hawthorne made public appearances only a few times a year, and rumor had it that his team was close to perfecting their newest AI processor. If that was true, it could mean a turning point in the war.
Shelly shivered and pulled her coat tighter against her body, longing for a hot coffee. She’d taken the redeye from Minneapolis the night before and wished for the dozenth time that she’d thought to pack an umbrella. She felt the same way about New England rain as she did about the man whom she’d come here to see.
No, that wasn’t true. At least rain was good for the earth.
Shelly saw an opening in the crowd and slid through a group of photographers. They grumbled about blocked shots and tried to shove her away, but she ignored them and jammed herself forward into the throng of people. There was more complaining, but she was getting closer to the stage. When she found a pocket of breathing room, she adjusted the strap of her purse, which had been cutting into her shoulder. The extra contents weighed heavily on her today.
A great clank echoed through the air, and the doors of the CRR building began opening wide, like the entrance to a castle. The crowd’s murmur quieted to a respectful hush. A moment later, Dr. Peter Hawthorne stepped out into the rain and strode to the front of the stage. Camera flashes, like bolts of lightning, lit him up, and he grinned and waved at those gathered. His hundred-dollar haircut was protected by a silver umbrella, which he clutched in one hand. A sharp, March wind whistled past, threatening to chill them all to their bones.
The doctor stepped up to the podium and waited for silence.
“Thank you all for coming on such a dreary day,” he said, speaking into a microphone. “I don’t want to waste your time, or keep you out here any longer than necessary, so we’ll get straight to it. As some of you know, today is the day we begin trials on the Empathy 5 Artificial Intelligence Acceleration Chip.”
A smattering of applause rippled through the crowd. In the press of people, Shelly got knocked by an elbow, which caused her to trip over a man’s boots. She fell sideways and slammed into a reporter’s back. He stumbled, and a small recording device tumbled out of his hand, splashing into a puddle at their feet.
“Be careful, lady!” The reporter bent down and scooped up his device, attempting to dry it with the sleeves of his coat.
“Sorry,” Shelly said, grimacing under his accusatory glare. She clutched her purse and squeezed forward through the crowd.
Doctor Hawthorne’s smooth voice boomed through the pole-mounted speakers. “Unlike the E4’s microarchitectural system, the Empathy 5 chip uses a direct-access dihedral processor, which has increased the VCORE potential dramatically. This, in combination with the continued implementation of nanocrystal technology, means that the E5 can compute at nearly three times the speed of the E4, and ten times that of the E3.”
Streaks of white light lit up the courtyard, flashing on and off like a divine strobe light. A clap of thunder rolled in a few seconds later, causing Dr. Hawthorne to pause.
Shelly stared at Hawthorne through the crowd, thinking of all the things she wanted to say to him; and all the things that she wouldn’t get the chance to.
“We believe the Empathy 5 chip will enable our AI subjects to more fundamentally grasp what it means to be human. Not just in a logical sense, but on a profound, emotional level. Emotional intelligence is one of the last frontiers of AI technology. It has always been the chink in our armor, and our lack of progress in that area held us back for years. What’s the use in having a robot that’s perfectly intelligent, yet incapable of understanding human motivations, desires, or even complicated feelings?
“But thanks to the Empathy 5, that’s all a thing of the past. I can assure you with confidence that we’re closer now than we have ever been before to creating a perfect artificially intelligent robot. With this technology, we’re going to make a difference in the war.”
While the crowd applauded, Shelly slipped between two officials, keeping an eye on the guards at either side of the stage. She was nearly at the front now, and only a few steps from Dr. Hawthorne.