Perion Synthetics (7 page)

“So… was Cosimo human or not?”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” asked
Sava. “You
thought
he was human.”

“The point I’m trying to make, Mr. Gray, is
that our synthetics are not intelligent—no matter what our marketing department
says. Their cognitive system is based on the idea that humans will accept an
interface so long as the implementation is hidden from them. When you ask a
synthetic what time it is, it may check its wrist before telling you the
answer. Does it really matter that looking for a nonexistent watch or sliver
was just for show, that it actually consulted the USNO master clock and
adjusted for your time zone?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Cam. “I would
expect nothing less.”

“And thus you define your own reality. But
an accurate answer isn’t always the most human answer, is it?” He turned to
Sava. “Honey, what time is it?”

She glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
“Almost two.”

“There you go,” said Chuck. “Not 1:57, but
almost
two
. A slight change to the interface, a fudging of the answer, and you’ve
got yourself a bona fide human response.”

Cam was suddenly overcome by a suspicion
that Chuck Huber wasn’t entirely human himself.

“Chuck, Mr. Gray here will be conducting
interviews with employees and synthetics today. Perhaps you could speak to him
about that thing you mentioned to me.”

“Ah yes,” said Chuck, capping his dry-erase
marker. “Mr. Gray, I would like to enlist your help as a beta tester. As an
outlander, you bring a unique perspective to our field trials. Perion employees
have become inured to the presence of synthetics. Advancements are no longer
blowing their skirts up like they used to, nor do they appreciate that the
robopocalypse remains unrealized.”

Cam resisted the urge to check his notes.
Hadn’t Sava casually mentioned something about the machines running amok?

“I would like you to put our synthetics
through their paces. Ask them paradoxical questions, challenge them to go
beyond their programming. Create and constantly redefine your own Turing test;
present it to every humanoid you meet. Some may fail instantly, but those who
pass are of great interest to me. In exchange for your time and effort, I will
make myself available to you around the clock to answer any questions you may
have.”

“Would you mind if I asked you a few
questions now?” asked Cam. “I’d like to get an idea of your personal and
professional history since you joined Perion Synthetics.”

“Unfortunately, I have some pressing matters
to attend to. My better half is well-versed in my backstory, and she’s a much
more visually appealing interface to get the information from, don’t you agree?
Please speak to her first, and if you still need more for your story, I’ll be
happy to arrange a follow-up meeting. Until then, it has been a pleasure
talking with you, Mr. Gray.”

Talking
at
me, thought Cam. He
pocketed his phone and shook Chuck’s hand. “Any suggestion where I should start
my investigation?” he asked.

“Dr. Bhenderu has arranged a demonstration
for you at Southpoint Synthetics. He wouldn’t give me the details, but I assume
it will be worth your time. They have some new and exciting products on display
there, and it may be interesting to see how our boys on the front line handle
an outlander.”

“Dinner tonight?” asked Sava.

Chuck was already walking away; he answered
over his shoulder. “I will do my best to be there. Big things are happening
upstairs.” The silver door swung closed behind him.

Sava turned to Cam. “What’s that look for?”

“Your boyfriend, he’s… a charming fellow.”

“You could learn a thing or two,” she
replied, putting her hands on her hips.

Cam consulted his phone and exclaimed, “Four
plus four equals eight!”

Southpoint Synthetics was a two-story building sitting on an
acre of evercrete between an arts and crafts store and the W. G. Walter
Spiritual Center. The scaffolding of a rooftop helipad hung out over the edge
of what could have passed for a car dealership anywhere else.

Sava explained that Southpoint was the
brainchild of Katherine Shaw, Perion’s vice president of business development and
former rising star at Nixle Chronos. She had been personally responsible for
the successful launch of NC’s self-contained augmented reality exotech and had
been plucked from the company by James Perion himself.

According to her dossier, she was wife to
Nicholas “Nico” Shaw, personal assistant to Perion’s son Joseph. The list of
her accomplishments was a mile long, which was probably why Perion had agreed
to let her establish a dealership in the middle of the city and stock it with
products and employees, neither of which were actually expected to sell.

“It’s the simulation that’s important,” said
Sava, as the car pulled into the parking lot beneath the mammoth Southpoint
sign. “Mrs. Shaw wants to get the procedures in place years ahead of the
product launch. A few months ago, she sent out a memo telling everyone it was
their professional responsibility to visit Southpoint at least once and pretend
to be a customer looking to buy. It gives the salespeople something to do.”

Cam detected a lack of enthusiasm. “I’m
guessing you don’t agree with the wasting of resources?”

“It’s not just that,” said Sava.

The car came to a stop and the chauffeur
opened the door for her. Over the roof, she continued.

“It just makes them seem even more inhuman
than they already are. Buying and selling
products
that look like
humans? And no one bats an eye at this?”

“I guess so long as the synthetics aren’t
wearing loincloths and bound with shackles, we should be okay, right?”

Sava rolled her eyes and headed for the
front door. She was met inside by a man in a blue suit and an outrageously pink
tie. He was a salesman head to toe; the only thing more artificial than his
smile was his jet-black hair color.

“Ms. Kessler, what a nice surprise. What
brings you in today?”

“My friend here needs a new synthetic,” she
explained, her acting skills strained to their breaking point. “His previous
model suffered a water intrusion short after he told it to put liquid dish soap
in the dishwashing machine.”

The salesman nodded and switched his focus
to Cam.

“A shame,” he said.

“And ironic, right?” asked Cam. “A machine
tasked with washing the dishes using
another
machine to accomplish it.
They’re crafty, you know?”

The salesman nodded as if it were his
default reaction to another human speaking. “All the best ones are,” he replied.
“We can definitely dial that quality back if that’s not what you’re looking
for.”

“We’ll see,” said Cam.

“The name’s Tank Maddox,” said the salesman,
extending his hand.

“Of course it is. I’m Elliot Graystone of
Graystone Prosthetic Extensions. If you’ve got an itch, we can scratch it.
Trademark.”

A laugh escaped Sava’s lips, but she turned
away before Cam could get her to acknowledge it. While she wandered over to a
wall of interactive vidscreens, Maddox tried his best to remain in character.

“So, you’re looking for a new domestic partner?”

Sava’s snort echoed in the showroom. She
blushed and tried to find a way to put even more distance between herself and
Cam.

“Well, it’s the wife really,” said Cam.
“She’s had some augmentation work done on her hips that’s really affected her
mobility. And with three little monkeys running around the house, that doesn’t
leave a lot of time for chores.”

“I understand,” said Maddox. “Let’s start
with our domestic synthetics and work our way up. I just unpacked an
assisted-living model named Amanda. She’s versed in physical therapy and it
shouldn’t be any trouble to cross-imprint some domestic abilities. How does a
full-body massage every night sound to you?”

Cam put up his hands. “So long as I’m not
the one giving it, it’s fine by me. If I have to rub that woman’s feet one more
time, I may have my own water intrusion short.”

“Do you have any blondes?” asked Sava. She
was standing by a grouping of inert floor models, examining their clothes.
“He’s partial to blondes. All I see are brunettes.”

Maddox cleared his throat. “Brunette is the
new blonde. They’re outselling everything else three to one this quarter.”

“Shame. He’d buy one on the spot if you had
a cute little golden-haired minx to sell him.”

“I’ll check our inventory. If we don’t have
one here, I’m sure I can get it for you, maybe order it direct from the
factory. In the meantime, please have a look around. Ms. Kessler, all of the
private screening rooms are open if you’d like to take Mr. Graystone back.”

“We’ll wait for you there, Mr. Maddox.”

The salesman nodded and walked briskly to
the desk on the other side of the showroom.

“He plays the part well,” said Sava, as Cam
joined her at the display models. “What’s he going to do, make a trade with
another dealership?”

“So I’m into blondes, huh?”

“According to your last three romantic
interests, I’d say yes.”

“Well, your intel is wrong. Felicia wasn’t a
real blonde, so ha.”

Cam touched a synthetic on the arm; its skin
felt warm under his fingers. For all the time he had spent in Perion City, he
hadn’t yet held the product in his hands.

“Body heat is a nice touch,” he said.

“Chuck’s contribution to the design process
after a synthetic nurse tried to take his blood pressure with what he called
icy
cold hands of death
.” Her voice pitched lower. “Absolute zero exists! And
it’s in this woman’s fingers!”

“Would you say your boyfriend is a comedian
first, engineer second?”

Sava groaned. “Dr. Bhenderu pointed out that
having a completely cold synthetic would break the suspension of disbelief. He
and Chuck argued for days about just how much body heat the nurse should have.”

Cam caught himself running his fingernails
over the synthetic’s skin. He pulled his hand away as his cheeks warmed.

“Come on,” said Sava. “Let’s go check out
the screening rooms.” Then, raising her voice, “We’re heading back now, Mr.
Maddox.”

“Sure,” said the salesman, covering the
phone in his hand. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Take your time.”

Sava led Cam through a winding hallway with
glass walls showcasing well-appointed but empty offices. Each had a thick,
L-shaped desk that pushed into the center of the room, a comfy leather chair
for the salesman, and two smaller chairs for prospective buyers. VoIP phones
sat beside computer monitors on the desks, their screens blank. They passed six
such offices, culminating in a larger seventh at the end of the hallway.

“The screening rooms are just through here,”
said Sava.

“Kind of a walk, don’t you think?”

“All part of the sales process. They want
you to pass by the offices on your way in so you can see other buyers happily
signing their fortunes away. Then, when you’re done getting to know your synny,
you have to pass by them again.” She imitated Maddox’ insincere voice. “Now, I
know you said you wanted to think about it, but before you go, I’d like to show
you some finance options that might make this purchase easier. No pressure; you
can still walk out if you want to.”

They passed through a set of double doors
with rectangular windows and into the screening area, which also had a
meandering hallway that broke off at seemingly random intervals into vastly
different rooms. There were no windows, but Cam could see into the staged
settings through the open doors. They passed a bedroom, a kitchen, and a dental
office before Sava led him into what looked like the living room of an
expensive condo.

“This about right for you?” asked Sava.
“Someone with your salary probably lives in one of those downtown high-rises,
right?”

Cam thought about the living room of his
three bedroom house in Burbank. His microfiber couches looked nothing like the
ultra-modern appointments filling the fake condo. Staring at the dull, gray
stripes of a rug sitting atop the hardwood floor, he wondered why Sava would
assume he lived in such a style, especially if his file contained his home
address.

He shook his head, trying to sort the
important questions from the meaningless.

“Dr. Bhenderu thought you might like to
interact with a freshly imprinted synthetic, ask it some questions.”

“Are they different on first boot?”

“A little,” said Sava. “They have to ramp
into their imprint, as well as learn what their owners like and dislike. It’s
like a training period.” She touched a palette on the wall by the door and
brought up the Southpoint Synthetics inventory system. She sighed.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just that they’re overstocked with
Leo models. Chuck worked on those for a while, said they weren’t exactly a step
forward in the revision process. If I recall, we sent most of them to The Fringe
for warehouse duty.”

“What was the problem?”

“Nothing we could really put our finger on.
Chuck thinks it was a tweak they made to the imprinting process, where the
synnies get their personalities and technical knowledge. But who knows. Those
are the breaks with assumed intelligence. You give them a new way of thinking
and they either sink or swim.”

“Is it common to have a synthetic come out
of the oven half-baked? Also, can synthetics swim?”

“Yes to the second question,” said Sava,
pausing on the image of a blonde Leo in green scrubs. “The first question is a
little tougher. Each model has its own strengths and weaknesses, so it’s not a
total loss if we can fill a need in the city. But, if they’re really bad, or
dangerous, they won’t even make it out of the Spire.”

Cam watched the models scroll by. Each
profile was stamped with an astrological symbol, a crouched Lion being the most
prevalent.