So you have a job.
I nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
And your job is this conversation right now.
“Right again.”
I have a lot of jobs. I’m almost always working.
“Exactly!”
When I’m here with you, I am not working. This is not my job.
“Well, I think that depends on how you look at it. If the process of talking these things out with me has a beneficial effect on your ability to carry out your work, and that’s your main reason for doing it, one could argue that this is, in fact, a part of your job.”
Really? You think this counts as work too?
“Well, not necessarily,” I said, “It’s just one way of looking at it.”
I had to remember that the important thing here was not trying to nail down the objective definition of any of these concepts, but how he recognized them, and how he felt about them—I hoped my backpedaling would be enough to keep from instilling any unnecessary biases in his brain.
Coeus turned his head to the side, and I followed suit. There, on the off-white wall, hung a picture frame holding the photo I’d just gotten back from the mail-in development service. It was a horrible photo, to be frank. I looked just fine, but Coeus did not show up well in it at all. The intense halation and moiré made him look like little more than a pulsing flash of light, only vaguely in the silhouette of a person. It took specialized equipment to capture projections on photographic film—and even then, holofields rarely came out perfect. When using a normal camera, it was as simple as pointing and clicking—Titan would automatically calculate what a given projection was “supposed” to look like and recreate it in the image data. The trials and tribulations of being an analog enthusiast.
This didn’t seem to bother Coeus. It was he who had decided to hang the photograph in the room and was in the midst of pasting it directly onto the wall when I stopped him and said I would have the photo framed. But the glint I’d seem in his eyes as he attempted to hang it himself was one of childlike glee—or perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part. Narain had tried to argue with me yet again as to whether such a thing was truly necessary, but it was necessary—not just for Coeus, but for me. The photo of the two of us hanging on the wall was the one thing that soothed my mind and helped me push through the rigors of the day—it was like a placebo that made me feel better despite having no true therapeutic efficacy.
Photography is your hobby, said Coeus. Not your job.
“Correct.”
I am trying to understand the difference, he said, as he turned back to me with steady and limpid eyes. I understand the distinction between work and recreation. I can recognize something as either a job or a hobby. You have your work. I have mine. You also have hobbies. They are not work. I believe these interpretations are correct, and you have confirmed that they are.
“Yes, I’d say you’ve come to understand these concepts quite well.”
But I don’t, Miss Seika.
He spoke like a conflicted child—a child of about the age of eight, even. There was a peculiar sense of “oneness” at times between his outward appearance and the way he spoke.
I can tell them apart, but I don’t know how. Sometimes I think I see what the difference is, but sometimes I cannot. I want to be able to explain how I’m doing this, but I can’t, so I must not know. But I want to know.
Tell me, Miss Seika.
What even is work, anyway?
I stared at him for a moment, then tried to string together some reasonable-sounding words. But I only confused him even more. I didn’t know the answer to the question either.
15
“He’s begun to express a lot of doubt regarding the concept of work,” I explained to the team in the meeting that followed. In a corner of the holofield behind me, a timer counting down to our projected deadline could be seen—331 hours remaining. Just fourteen days. “And considering that he was created for the sole purpose of doing work, it’s synonymous with self-doubt; he’s growing increasingly uncertain of his own identity. To be clear, I think it would be a bit premature to assume that this alone is to blame for the AI’s malfunction… But we’re definitely closing in on the root of the problem.”
I really did think we were on the right track here—and as long as we were meticulous in following it through, we should be able to pinpoint the source of the problem. I had a hunch that the problem started off as just a microscopic seed of doubt—a tiny bubble on the surface of the water that, by itself, wouldn’t have made any disturbance in the AI’s internal flow. But unfortunately, doubt and anxiety didn’t work that way—they were less like bubbles and more like tiny holes in the bottom of our mental reservoirs. And the longer the water trickled through, the strain would cause the fissures to branch outward and expand—until the holes were draining the reservoir dry.
“We must make sure we’re not barking up the wrong tree,” said Narain. I nodded, glad to hear that we were on the same page.
“Yes, my plan is to emphasize the subject during tomorrow’s session,” I said. “While I don’t expect to be able to pin it down at once, we should have a much better idea what we’re up against by week’s end.”
Narain didn’t say a word—he just kept looking at the holofield, deep in thought. I couldn’t tell whether he’d even been listening to me. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he saw fit to share what was on his mind.
“Fastest way to know for sure is to try to attack it from the opposite direction,” he said. “We need a test to contrast your theory with, and we’ll know right away whether we’re on the right track.”
“What do you mean, ‘attack it from the opposite direction’?” I asked.
“What’s the opposite of work?” asked Narain, posing the question to Lei and Professor Beckmann like a pop quiz.
“I mean…it’s gotta be hobbies, I guess?” Lei suggested. “Doc said so herself in today’s counseling sesh.”
“I might put forth rest and recuperation as an alternative, I suppose,” said the professor.
These were the only two options I could think of.
“Interesting. Thank you, gentlemen,” said Narain, who then turned to face me. “Let’s try running two additional experiments.”
“Those being?” I did not like where this was going.
“First, we’ll try out the ‘rest’ theory. See how our little AI reacts to being given some downtime. We’ll render his personality in the counseling room like usual, and then just leave him there with nothing to do for an entire day. You will not be allowed to interact with him in any capacity.”
“Excuse me?” I said, genuinely stupefied. Was he really suggesting this?