“Is this where you…? I mean we’d like to see about a child,” said the woman’s voice.
There was no need for confusion. The kiosk was clearly labeled. It was going to be another case of Green’s rule: “If someone sounds like a bozo, he’s going to act like a bozo. Mother initiated the conversation with some misgivings.
“What kind of child were you thinking of?”
“Well, we thought you might be able to help us there.”
A sharp snap of electricity flashed through every semiconductor in Mother’s Cincinnati server. Who were these people? Didn’t they know there were several thousand fetuses in stock right now? Wasting hours helping some couple make up their minds wasn’t Mother’s idea of a good time.
“What happened to the lights?” the man asked.
Mother chastised herself. She was embarrassed that her anger had shown in the dimming of the lights. She set half her circuits to reciting logarithms to calm herself, and patched into her counseling software.
“What categories were you considering?”
“We’re not sure,” the woman said.
Oh my programmers! Mother exclaimed to herself. Though the couple was at the Cincinnati office, the annoyance pulsed into circuits as far away as Denver, causing a lapse of several nanoseconds at every kiosk inbetween. Mother’s counseling cache came to her rescue however.
“Perhaps if you tell me about yourselves, I could make a suggestion. What are your model numbers?”
“I’m an SM-194-821507-B, and my husband’s a PS-682-315891-D.”
“Would you perhaps want another shot putter’s model?”
“No,” the man said, “I’m full up to here with medals and trophies. I won the silver at the last Olympics.”
“Maybe you’d prefer a PS model of a different type? My new PS-118 combines excellent visual acuity with optimal bone structure in the more compact form well-suited to a variety of sports. They’re available in extended leg and arm lengths depending on your preference. The genes for eye-hand coordination have never been isolated, of course, so I can’t guarantee success on that score, but my track record is good, and I’m working hard on it.
“No, no, we’re sick of what we are. We want our kid to be different.”
Oh programmers, save me, Mother muttered to herself.
“There are over a hundred main categories alone. Perhaps we could narrow it down a little. Would you prefer a sedentary or active life for your child?”
“Well, I really don’t care. John?”
“I kind of thought he might want to make his own decision.”
“Well, of course,” Mother replied, a little peeved. “Every human being has complete freedom of choice. That’s what I’m here for, to give you a choice as to what kind of child you want. The child will decide for themselves, but the probability of an EM-541-203884-D, that’s an executive model, wanting to have an SM, that is math-related science career is–”
“Please,” interrupted the man’s voice, “spare us the figures.”
“No Honey,” his wife objected, “this is interesting.”
Indeed, there was no stopping Mother’s pride from gushing out now.
“That probability is only .000135%, that’s one in every 741,000 children,” Mother beamed. “The overall probability that any model will choose a career they weren’t designed for is 1.5381%. That may seem terribly high, but most of that 1.5381% stays within the sub-category. The chance of a mismatched category is much smaller. Certain categories are more consistent than others, and I’m constantly learning and improving my methods. Twenty years ago, the percentage was 1.8561. That’s a 17.13% improvement. Excellent work considering I can only approach 100% success asymptotically in–”
“All right, all right,” the man interrupted, “Forget the figures.”
Mother had calmed herself now, and none of her irritation showed.
“Maybe you’d like a creative model? The CC-100’s have a greater degree of randomness than any of the others.”
“I don’t know. What do you think Honey?”
Mother knew it. These people would short circuit and double relay on every subcategory and division, then probably decide to go home and think about it. It would be much easier when the government passed the Uniform Simplification Act, allowing Mother to offer a much more limited selection. Most people didn’t need that much variety, and some models were almost never purchased.
“How about an AA-100-300045-B, the best there is? An AA-100-300045-B is well-suited to nearly everything. They can’t compete too well in another model’s individual specialty, but they do everything well, a truly renaissance man or woman.”
“That sounds good,” the husband said.
“But expensive,” the woman added, “Can we afford it?”
“I could arrange an eight-year mortgage on your purchase with only a small downpayment.”
They’re sold! They’re sold! Mother exulted to herself, Now finish it off.
“The AA-100-300045-B comes, of course, with the standard 10 year warranty. If you’re not fully satisfied, you pay only the minimal adoption costs, and a new AA-100-300045-B is supplied free of charge.”
“That sounds good,” the man said, “We’ll take one.”
“Fine,” Mother said, totally pleased with herself, “Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Female.”
A hundred chips began to buzz with excess stimulation as Mother listened anxiously. She heard them get up to leave, still arguing.
“I can give you a special discount on twins!” she called desperately as their footsteps faded out of her microphone range.
2 responses to “Mother Inc.”
Only 900 words, but brilliant in its honest insight about humanity. This could be the real future of AI, the machines become more human than the humans.
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entirely entertaining with a splash of actual worry- great story to suck down on a cool spring night!
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