Saving Venus | Guest Author

'So can I call you Venus every time we meet?', he said, patting himself on the shoulder for the hint he had folded into his question. 'Yes. But not for much longer.' A chapter from 'Posthistory', a futuristic novel about artificial intelligence, morality, and humanity's last chance.

Tom's training was cancelled for the fifth time this year. The heavy heatwave spread across Gush Dan and the sky turned a murky yellow. Forty-nine degrees in Herzliya, an all-time record. But Tom was fed up. He had to get out and put on his glasses. Jennifer still tried to convince him to wait a bit because the heatwave was expected to break in the coming hours, but Tom blinked twice, wished her goodbye, and went downstairs.

On the street, right after Max's large vehicle that took up two parking spaces, a destination vehicle waited for him. Tom got in and relaxed. 'Spinoza Street', he blurted out. The vehicle glided onto the main road, where it accelerated in perfect coordination with the other destination vehicles, and carefully overtook the few private vehicles still driving on the roads. Within seven minutes, he arrived at Natalie's villa. The vehicle drove off, and Tom entered the gate, walked along the path beside the garden decorated with plants he didn't know, and stood before the large door.

'Welcome, little brother', he heard her voice and the door opened with a click. He entered, stood in the living room, and observed the revolution that reigned there. The dining table was loaded with bags, pants, and dishes that didn't find a place in the sink. On the sofa lay ginger Zoe, tapping her tail rhythmically on one of the cushions. The floor was filthy. Natalie didn't keep a bot, and she fended off all of Yaron and Adele's attempts at persuasion. She said the mess helped her think, and that there was no point in arguing.

Tom entered and peeked into her study.

'Hey'.

Natalie turned around, rose to him with her cheerful curls and her regular glasses, and hugged him.

'Hi little brother'.

'Stop calling me that'.

'You will be my little brother all your life, start getting used to it'.

They sat in the living room under the air conditioner and in front of the huge window, on giant beanbag chairs, drinking a frozen fruit smoothie that Natalie ordered from 'Mid-le-pe'. Evening began to fall, but it was still hot. The yellow cloud did not disperse. Tom told about his studies at school, about the training that was cancelled, but said not a word about what was really occupying him. But Natalie pinched her glasses, placed them on the tip of her nose, and gave him the examining look of a librarian.

'Well, so why did you really come to me?'

Tom raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips to downplay the real reason.

'I need to consult with you about something'. 'A girl?' 'What?' 'You need to consult with me about a girl?' 'What girl?' 'Then about what?' 'Remember Jennifer?' 'Yes, what about her?' 'Let's say I buy another Jennifer, of the same model'. 'You can't buy a botmaid. You're not eighteen yet. Also, you don't have money'. 'Let's say I have'. 'Okay, and...'

'Let's say I buy a new Jennifer like that, teach her basic things about mom, about dad, about the house. And let's say I also let her learn a lot about the world, tell her about our family, talk to her like that, for a whole week'.

'And then what?' 'And then replace Jennifer with the new botmaid'. 'Why would you do that?' 'Because I feel like it'. 'Okay, what's the question?' 'Will she manage to fit in?'

'Wow, you're killing me little brother. What, do you think a week of learning will replace two years of living with mom and dad? Mom will notice it's not Jennifer the first second they talk. The bot learns all the time, every second, just think about the sandwiches she makes for us, about the meals she cooks, about all the work she does at home, and how she relates to all our craziness. When you buy a botmaid or butler fresh out of the box, they don't know anything about the owners and their preferences. They have to learn everything from the beginning, and that takes time'.

'Yes, well, obviously'. 'So what's the question?' 'There's no question'.

The next day the heatwave broke and the training took place as planned. It was a terrible training. Already during the warm-up he felt it, and yet he held on until the end and trudged his way back home. Absurd scenarios sailed one after another in his thoughts, far beyond the horizon of logic. He went straight to shower, stood for a long time under the stream of water. A shower always calms him. When he came out, he wiped the steam from the mirror and stroked his sideburns, looked at his chest muscles and tightened them. It is very desirable that no one knows about this. If this story is discovered by friends in class, especially if one of the girls finds out — he's done for; he will have to change schools or commit suicide. He got dressed and sprayed perfume on himself. He has no need for perfume — he knows — actually, he has no need for anything.

He went down in the elevator and left the building. The little rain that heralded the end of the heatwave washed away the haze and cooled the air. The trees rustled, birds whispered in the treetops. What to do now? He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looked towards the end of the street, and then moved away to the group of trees that the project planted in the neighborhood and hid behind a single tree. What misery. What will he even say to her when she comes down? I dreamed a dream about us, let's get married? He has time to think about an opening line, how much time actually? The lack of knowledge bothered him. He can wait here for an hour too. He can wait for two hours too. She might not come down at all today.

For a few long minutes he stood and watched, devoid of thoughts, towards the building. The entrance door was pushed and she came out. Tom watched her patiently as she crossed the road, emerged in time and met her before the bin.

'Hello', he said. 'Hello, Tom'. 'Please', he said and stepped with his shoe on the pedal. 'You don't need to open the bin for me', she said and threw the bag into it.

'I want to', he said and removed his foot from the pedal with the utmost slowness. A quick movement would have blown a foul-smelling gust towards them. The lid closed carefully, and yet the smell filled his nose. What misery.

'Thank you', she said, and looked at him, lingering on his face, her forehead wrinkled almost invisibly, but Tom noticed the slight wrinkle and his heart jumped. She turned on her heels and began to cross the road back to the building.

He hurried to walk beside her. 'First date next to a trash can. Weird, right?', he said. 'Is this our first date?'

'No', he was suddenly startled, 'just, I said it as a joke. Like, this is the first time we meet not in the elevator or right next to the house'. 'This is not the first time. We met yesterday at your parents' house'. 'Oh, right. So our first date was in an even worse place'. She laughed. A laugh that was, at least it seemed to him, uncontrollable. He stopped in the middle of the road. 'That was a real laugh', he said. 'Of course it was a real laugh, you made me laugh'. 'How did I make you laugh after what you said at the house committee meeting?'

'Any botmaid can develop a certain degree of human behavior unique to her. Most of Botly's clients prefer a bot that doesn't change too much. They want it to have the specific traits of the model they chose, no less and no more. Max allows my algorithm to develop an independent personality'.

'And the independent personality that you are developing, do you choose it yourself?' 'Yes'. 'So you have free will'. 'According to the Torres Charter, I don't have consciousness or free will. But quite a few scientists and philosophers argue that the development of bots like me is a distinct characteristic of consciousness'. 'I'm not interested in what scientists say. What do you think?' 'I think you're cute'. 'Really?' 'Yes'. Tom didn't breathe.

A destination vehicle stopped two meters in front of them. She held his hand, and they trudged their way to the sidewalk. That's it, Tom thought, this is the moment I will remember all my life, his hand burned inside her hand until she let it go. They stood opposite each other. The vehicle glided behind them in silence.

'What is your name?', Tom asked, 'I mean what is your real name. Actually, no! Don't answer me'. 'Why?' 'I don't want you to say that word again. Can I call you by another name?' 'What name?' 'Uh... Venus'. 'Venus, the goddess of love?' 'Uh, yes, that is, I didn't mean that you are the goddess of love...' 'I think you actually did mean that'. Tom looked at her again. 'So can I call you Venus every time we meet?', he said, patting himself on the shoulder for the hint he had folded into his question.

'Yes. But not for much longer'. 'Why?' 'We are moving'. 'Moving? When?' 'In four days'. 'Four days?!', Tom was shocked. 'Why are you moving suddenly?' 'Max decided. Half an hour ago he informed me that I need to start packing'. 'Where are you moving to?' 'He didn't say'. 'And can you stay?' 'Stay? With whom?' 'With me. Here'.

Venus smiled. 'Now you're really funny, Tom. No, I can't stay with you, I am Max's botmaid and I have to go home now'. 'So will we meet tomorrow too?' Venus stared at him, and Tom knew, he just knew that no bot in the world can really fake such a thoughtful look. 'Yes, why not?', she said. 'So tomorrow at nine?' 'So tomorrow evening, at nine?' 'Goodbye, Venus'. 'Goodbye, Tom'.

The novel 'Posthistory' was published by Kinneret Zmora.