Spambot Love, pt. 6
Valerie woke up the next day, or the next night, she wasn’t sure, with a thrumming headache and a belly full of peanut butter and SoCo…
Valerie woke up the next day, or the next night, she wasn’t sure, with a thrumming headache and a belly full of peanut butter and SoCo. WillJa was on the other side of the room, cleaning Valerie’s desk with a moistened clump of paper towels. Some of Valerie’s old textbooks had been rearranged and her dissertation was neatly stacked on the windowsill; the torn pages had been all taped up.
“Will,” Valerie began, “I want to touch base with you, about what last night means, or, or, doesn’t mean, I don’t know.”
The robot turned to her. Her worn copy of The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker was squeezed between its sinewy animatronic fingers. It pivoted back and forth a few times, centering on her finally. Then it dropped the book, to cross the room and throw out the empty SoCo bottle and a wad of soiled tissues.
“We can see how it goes,” Valerie said. “We don’t have to decide anything yet. I don’t want you to ever feel like you owe me anything.”
[what a privilege it is to have a body. to breathe. to walk. to BE.], the robot said contemplatively.
Valerie blinked and opened her email. Projected into the space before her, there were several messages — the regular pablum from Gus, a Burritos Noches gift certificate from a concerned Andy — and an inquiry from an assistant in the department of Artificial Socialization Studies at Carnegie Melon. Valerie had sent a video clip of herself interacting with an early prototype of WillJa several months prior. A few researchers were interested. They wanted to meet the robot.
Valerie jumped from her seat, squealing and tossing her days-unwashed hair over her shoulder. “Will, look at this!” She read the emails aloud, her voice climbing in volume and pitch with each word, until the room was echoing and pulsing with screeching excitement. WillJa joined in, beeping with excitement. It took Valerie’s hand in its own and squeezed it with just the proper intensity.
“That’s perfect,” she said in awe, quieter now. “You didn’t snap a bone or even crack a knuckle. You’re so perfect…I love you.”
The robot was quieter than usual. It bumped against the chair and beeped a few times. [the world is like a pimple, everything is about to explode and release the truth onto everyone’s patios.] it said, finally, at thirteen decibels.
“I understand,” Valerie said.
Originally published at erikadprice.tumblr.com.