Goldiloxians (The Eeks Trilogy)

Chapter 01    The Germ of an Idea

Yes, Madam, come! I have best carpets!

Carol stopped and turned towards the voice. Peter groaned as quietly as he could. We've been in a hundred shops. Just smile and keep walking.

Just for a look, said Carol, Don't you want a free cup of tea and a sit-down?

Peter would have preferred a cold beer, but such things were scarce in Marrakesh. His second groan sounded more like a resigned sigh.

To the carpet vendor she said, OK. We'll come in to look. But my husband won't let me buy anything! The vendor bowed and gestured towards the door. Peter read the man's smile as he passed. The upcurved lips said, Welcome to my shop, honoured customer. The eyes said, Got your credit card, sucker?

Tea was served as predicted. There must have been two or three hundred carpets rolled and stacked against the walls. An older man appeared and started rolling carpets out on the floor as the vendor spoke about the regions where the carpets were made, the natural dyes, the tribes and their customs.

Peter watched with detached interest. Presumably the vendor was reading Carol's eyes, using her unconscious reactions to narrow down the search for the one carpet that would leave the shop with her. But how did he communicate that to the unobtrusive man behind him, rolling out the carpets seemingly at random? Perhaps, Peter thought, the roller was the owner. Perhaps the smooth talker was just a linguist, employed to beguile the foreign tourists and follow a script. He recalled an old spy film. Michael Caine was sitting in the back of a car, negotiating with a shady character in the front seat. But he twigged that the real boss was the silent driver, communicating with his underling by slight eye movements. What was that film called…?

Peter was jerked back to the real world by the smooth talker. Sir. Sir. Yes? Which carpet you like? Four very different carpets were spread out. Peter did not like any of them much and said so. He also reminded the man – and Carol – that they were there only to look, not to buy. Of course, said the man, spreading his hands, Only looking. It is my pleasure to show. If you like, you buy, I am happy, your wife is happy… I like the blue and green one best, volunteered Carol. The man's body spoke in its own language. It hinted that of all the carpets in the shop he would be most sorry to part with that one. But it silently shouted that if anyone was going to wrest that precious carpet from his grasp, it should be someone like Carol – someone tasteful and sensitive who appreciated its true worth.

All this was conveyed with a tilt of the head, a raising of the eyebrows, a subtle adjustment to the smile and the merest of bows.

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Funeral in Berlin, said Peter as they walked back to the square. What? Funeral in Berlin. The film. I was thinking about it in the shop and I couldn't remember the name.

Yes, well, you obviously weren't thinking about carpets.

Were you?

Yes! And I was enjoying the game.

Ah, the game. You should wear a tee-shirt saying 'Me psychologist. You lab rat.'

Carol defended herself: He was enjoying it too. We said we wouldn't buy anything. He was just practising on us.

Honing his skill, ready for the next sucker?

Exactly. We did him a favour. Better than buying a carpet.

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Thirty minutes later they were sitting in the huge square of Djemaa el Fna, soft drinks before them, waiting for their pizza to come – just another pair of young foreigners watching the slow movement of fellow-tourists and the people who made a living from them against a backdrop of ancient forts, mosques and palaces.

That carpet seller, said Peter, I reckon I could build a robot to do his job.

Bet you couldn't. He was charming and persuasive. A lady's man. And he was responsive. He was adjusting his spiel to my signals. A robot would just say, 'Buy a carpet, buy a carpet…' She used a tinny voice for this, which made the people on the next table turn and look.

And if the customer didn't buy a carpet…?

Exterminate! Exterminate!

To add to the effect Carol turned left and right, holding a tomato sauce bottle in front of her like a Dalek's gun. The people at the next table looked again. Peter laughed. He was used to being ribbed about his work and did not bother to point out that robotics had come a long way since Dr Who.

Seriously, Carol continued, How could you possibly make a robot that would respond and adjust its output as finely as a human can? This was not the first time she had questioned the ambitious claims of Peter and his colleagues in the world of robotics.

Peter thought for a few moments before replying. Do you remember an experiment back in the 1960s, where a computer was programmed as a psychiatrist? It was set up on a university campus in America and people were free to type in their problems and get advice.

ELIZA.

Eliza?

The program was called ELIZA, after Eliza Doolittle.

The girl in 'Pygmalion' and 'My Fair Lady'?

That's right. It was written at MIT. It used a script called DOCTOR that just asked stock questions or re-phrased whatever the patient said to make up the next question. I researched it when I was an undergraduate. (To check the meaning of 'MIT' or any other abbreviation used in this book, go to the 'Abbreviations' section near the end.)

So it was saying things like 'How does that make you feel?' and 'I think there's something you're not telling me.' Or just 'Go on.' Like a real shrink?

Well, it was a bit smarter than that. Suppose you were using it and said, 'Doctor, everyone thinks I'm a smart-arse dick-head, it might say, "Do you think you're a smart-arse dick-head?'."

And if I said, 'Doctor, my wife is very beautiful but sometimes she talks a load of cobblers…'?

It would say, 'Why do you think you are so resentful of your wife's beauty? Do you feel inferior to her? Why don't you bring her along to our next consultation so I can have a sensible conversation?!' And if you went on bullshitting it would say… She reached for the sauce bottle again. Exterminate! Exterminate!

Carol failed to notice that Peter had left the cap off and tomato sauce splatted onto the plastic tablecloth, which only made them laugh longer and louder. They hardly saw the waiter's deft wipe.

But seriously, said Peter, What I remember is that people were queuing up to use the computer and saying that it really helped them. It was so popular, the people who set it up got scared.

Well, some people were concerned that it was being misused. But in fact ELIZA was the basis for a lot of other software that followed. In this century there was a virtual assistant called Eliza which dealt with customer inquiries.

Anyway, my point is that psychiatrists just say things to make people keep talking, and at the end of a few months of therapy people find they've worked it out for themselves. Or they've run out of cash.

You know absolutely nothing about it! Psychiatry is…

Pax! Why are you defending psychiatrists? You're always saying they earn too much!

They do earn too much, but that doesn't mean they're no good at what they do. Footballers earn too much, but they're jolly good at kicking balls around. As she was saying this she was lifting her leg beneath the tablecloth and feeling for his crotch with her toe. Don't you think? she said playfully.

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Back in their small hotel room Peter was deep in thought. Penny for them, said Carol.

They're worth more than that. He went on undressing. Did I tell you I'm giving a paper at the robotics conference in LA in September?

Er, yes, I think you did.

Hakimoto should be there. Fred Hart too. I'm not sure about Hannes.

Hannes…?

Hannes Eckermann. Hamburg. Facial recognition, empathetic feedback.

Ah yes. Not much sense of humour. Flirted with me when he'd had a few.

When you'd both had a few, Peter corrected.

But I can hold mine.

Hannes was rather keen on holding yours too, as I remember.

"There was quite a lot of holding going on that night – as I remember."

They were both in bed by this time, ready for the nightly routine of studying the Lonely Planet and deciding what to do the next day. They used to do this over breakfast, but soon learned that hard-working tourists could not afford to waste time at the start of the day. Peter thumbed through the pages.

So what's your paper about?

Don't know yet. We've agreed a title that lets me write what I feel like at the time: 'Robotics – The Next Big Thing'. I've got a month.

The next big thing is your ego, cobber. She liked to introduce the odd Australianism into their conversations. She did it to remind him that he was an arrogant pommie bastard at heart who sometimes needed to be taken down a peg.

Peter responded by turning and pressing against her. I think you'll find that the next big thing… he pressed a little harder "is not my ego. She turned and reached for him. Ooh, Grandmama…!" she exclaimed.

The Lonely Planet slipped to the floor, forgotten.

Chapter 02    One Morning at Sunnyview Retirement Home

What time is it? Oh. Only ten to six. Breakfast won't come till seven. And then the newspapers'll be late. I do like to read the paper while I have breakfast. When they stopped the proper printed ones they said we'd hardly notice the difference. They said they'd print them out in the office and bring them to our rooms at the same time as before. It worked for a week or two. Now we're sometimes lucky to see them before morning tea. And sometimes they bring the wrong one. They must know by now I always take the Telegraph.

I wonder who'll bring my breakfast today. I hope it's Rose. I do like Rose. She always has time for a chat. A few words anyway. And I can understand what she's saying most of the time. Not like that other girl, the one with the scarf over her head. Farida. I always have to ask her to repeat herself. It gets embarrassing, asking all the time. Sorry, dear, I didn't quite catch that. You'll have to speak slower. I pretend I'm going deaf so as not to hurt her feelings, but it's her accent. Where does she come from? She did tell me. Was it Pakistan? Something stan. There are so many new countries now. None of them are from Britain anyway, that's for sure.

They're all nice enough though. Very willing. Respectful too. They all addressed me as Mrs Lambert until I told them they could call me Emma. And they always knock before they come into the room. They don't always wait for a 'Come in', but I suppose that's in case the person needs help of some kind. Or they're dead.

They must have special training to look after old people. 'Old folk' we used to say. This would have been an old folk's home in the old days. Now it's got some modern-sounding name – 'elder care something-or-other'. Everything's called something different now. Everyone too. I asked Rose how long she'd been a maid and she said never. She said she was an assistant. Elder Care Assistant. I asked her whom she was assisting and she looked puzzled.

They're all very nice, but you can't have a joke with them. Rose mentioned there was a German man moving into Mr Craddock's old room and I said, Don't mention the war! She didn't know what I was talking about. We still say 'the war' and we know which one we mean. There have been so many wars since 'the war'. Which war do you mean? That's what she was thinking, I suppose.

There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover… la laa laa la la la la laa… Who was it who sang that? The Army's Sweetheart they used to call her. No, I'm wrong, the Forces' Sweetheart. That was it. What on earth was her name? Linda something…? I was just a toddler but I remember it so clearly.

Ah, I can hear footsteps. Is that my breakfast? No. Just someone going past. Still too early. Not that I'm hungry. I don't often feel hungry these days. Or sleepy. Maybe that's because there's nothing to stay awake for. When I'm tired I just drop off. I dropped off in the middle of Miss Marple the other day, and that's my favourite. I woke up when they were all in the drawing room, waiting to find out which one of them was the murderer. It turned out to be someone I didn't even remember seeing before. I asked Betty who he was and she was asleep too!

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Can I come in, Emma?

It's Betty from two doors down the corridor.

Yes of course, Betty.

You had breakfast in your room as usual? I like to go down downstairs and have it in the dining room. I was never one for breakfast in bed.

I always feel I have to make conversation, and that's too much like hard work first thing in the morning. I prefer to read the paper with my toast and coffee. At least the papers came on time today.

My eyes aren't what they were. They print my paper out with large print, but even so it's a struggle. I listen to the news on the radio. Not that there's much I want to hear – wars and violence mostly.

So many wars. Sometimes I haven't even heard of the countries that are fighting.

Nowadays there aren't any countries involved, most of the time. It's just terrorists, warlords, people like that.

I was thinking of the war earlier – the real one, against Germany, World War II.

Don't mention the war!

They both laugh.

You know, I said that to Rose the other day and she didn't know what I was talking about. No idea.

Well, how could she? She must be three generations away from the war, dear. And wherever she comes from I'm sure they don't have re-runs of Fawlty Towers!

Who was that singer? The one who sang about the white cliffs of Dover? They called her the Forces' Sweetheart.

That was Vera Lynn, wasn't it?

That's right! Vera Lynn of course. How could I forget that?

Emma starts to sing and Betty joins in. Their voices quaver but they feel young again. The song is interrupted by a familiar triple tap on the door: dit de-dit.

Come in, Harry.

Morning, ladies. I heard singing and thought I'd come and see what's going on, before you're both arrested for disturbing the peace!

Harry's the eldest of the three, but there's a sprightliness about him. A twinkle. His teeth are good, his silver hair is carefully combed and his sports jacket fits like a tailored one. You could call him dapper.

Arrested for bad singing, more like.

Ah, you're too modest, Betty my love. If you two gave a concert I'd pay for a front-row seat!

The two ladies enjoy his flattery.

Did you hear about Jock? Harry's tone is serious now.

What about Jock?

He fell in his room last night and nobody knew until this morning. One of the girls found him unconscious when she brought his breakfast. They've sent him to hospital.

Jock's always been a bit unsteady on his feet. Doesn't he have one of those alarms round his neck? You always wear yours, Emma, don't you?

I do, but I've never needed to use it. Sometimes it goes off by mistake though, when I knock it or lie on it. That brings one of the girls running. I feel I'm a nuisance but they're always very nice about it. Mind you, she adds, There've been a couple of times when it's gone off and nobody's come.

Well, nothing works perfectly, does it, dear? The batteries run out, or there's nobody around at the right time to hear the alarm.

Or they just think, 'Oh, it's another false alarm, no need to take any notice.' Like a car alarm. Who takes any notice of those?

A thoughtful silence follows, which Harry breaks.

It's nearly time for morning coffee. What say we all go down to the day-room together? I'll feel like Champagne Charlie, with a girl on each arm!

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faridahussein@fastmail.com

To: alikhussein@fastmail.com

Another week has passed. I think of you every day. I wonder what you do, are you well, how are children. I miss you all. I work hard all day. At night I am alone. I miss to be with you, my dear husband. I pray but can not always pray at proper time. Always I ask Allah to protect you and children.

After work I study. After 1 year I can apply to promotion, but I must have diploma. Then I will be Senior Elder Care Assistant. More money!!!

Perhaps you see riots on TV. Do not worry for me. Riots are in big towns. I do not see them. Government has less money for everything. People protest. Teachers and nurses and persons without job too.

Tomorrow I will send money. I will send more this time. There is a nice old lady here. I said it is my birthday and she gave me present – money. She said buy yourself something nice but you and children need money.

The lady is Emma. She was sad today. Her son comes always on Saturday with her wife for visit. But today they do not come. I sat with Emma for talk, so no time for tea and rest and prayer. I hope her son to come next Saturday.

From your loving wife Farida

HERE IS SPECIAL LETTER TO MEENA AND LITTLE AZEEM

My dear children. I write in English again. You must practise English. One day, Allah willing, you will come to England and we will be together. England is good country. How are you? I think of you always. You are good at school? You study? You work at the home? You pray?

I love you both and I pray for you.

Mummy

Chapter 03    The Next Big Thing

You're on next, Peter.

Fred Hart was chairing the conference, doing a good job. Some members of the robotics community were a bit odd. Most had been attracted to the field by reading sci-fi comics when they were children, and some had not changed their thinking much since then. Fred was one of the sane ones. But not too sane: it's hard to be a visionary and completely sane as well.

Fred was a stickler for time-keeping too. A 20-minute coffee break meant just that.

Everyone back in the hall, please. Now.

A few people moved to put their cups back on the buffet table, some grabbing an extra biscuit to take into the auditorium. Most continued chatting.

"Right now. Peter Lambert will start his presentation in exactly 5 minutes from now, ready or not!"

The gentle eddying in the coffee room gradually became a movement towards the auditorium. Peter was well-respected by his peers and nobody wanted to miss what he had to say.

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"What single word sums up the general opinion about robotics? I don't mean the general opinion of people in this room, but people in general. The people who ultimately pay for what we do. What single word? I suggest 'Disappointment'. Yes, we've made progress, harnessing the huge increase in computing power, nanotechnology, new materials… But it's like nuclear fusion. We always seem to be on the brink of a breakthrough that never comes.

"Think back to your childhoods. Looking around the room, that wasn't so long ago in many cases! Robots were depicted everywhere. And they weren't machines for assembling cars, or vacuuming a carpet, or transplanting kidneys. They had arms and legs and faces. They spoke. They reacted. They strategized. They understood and could emulate human emotions, even if they couldn't feel them. They looked like us.

The Next Big Thing. Hands up if you reckon you're working on it. Nobody? Aah, Sally, MIT. What's your Next Big Thing, Sally?

Tactile feedback, better than human.

That's great. Anyone else? Chen Yu.

Visual recognition, much better than human – distance, movement, shape differentiation, colours including infra-red and ultra-violet…

"That's great too. You know what? The Next Big Thing will mean bringing together what Sally and Chen are doing, and a whole lot more. The next big thing has to blow away the disappointment.

And I don't think the critical barrier is the technology any more. We have the ability now to make a machine that mimics all the human movements and senses, and to outperform a human in almost every way. We can even match the human brain in terms of memory capacity, retrieval, speed and accuracy. My wife and I were in Marrakesh not long ago…

Peter told the story of the rug-seller. The audience enjoyed his imitation of the man's patter and manner. He even included the silent man at the back of the shop, rolling out carpets apparently at random.

I said that I could design a robot to replace him and I wasn't joking. But to do it I would have to foresee the full range of reactions from customers, and program the robot to respond to them. Or I would have to program it to keep steamrollering along, taking no notice of how the customer was reacting. Oh, it could be sensitive to how long it takes the customer to react, whether the reaction is verbal or non-verbal, whether it's positive or negative or indecisive, and branch to another section of code accordingly. In fact that's what our rug-seller was doing. He took no notice of me at all.

I'm not surprised, if Carol was with you!

"Thank you, Fred. Actually, that was probably part of his program. If a male human and a female human come into the shop, if they're identifiable as Westerners anyway, take no notice of the male!

"But what still defeats us, the big thing that we still cannot do, is replicate the nuances of human thought and communication. When I say nuances I'm not thinking just of a subtle choice of words – 'going shopping' is not the same as 'going to the shops' – or a facial expression. I'm also thinking of creativity, lateral thinking, seeing multiple associations and preferring one over all the others because of the context. This has to be the Next Big Thing.

And I know how we must do it. I've even got an acronym for it: GONAL.

Peter glanced at his watch.

And I think my time is just about up. Thank you for your attention…

There was audible dissent.

Er, I think you have enough time left to explain the acronym, Peter!

"Oh, good. GONAL stands for Goal-Oriented Non-linear Autonomous Learning. I had to search for three days to find a set of words that hadn't been copyrighted already. The point is that we want our robots to operate in an environment that's nearly infinitely complex, and to respond to that environment in ways that will always be appropriate. Their responses don't have to be optimal all the time, just as ours aren't. But they must be appropriate.

"The only way we can achieve this is to program them to learn for themselves. Hence 'Autonomous Learning'. That's not original, by the way. AL has been around for a long time, but only applied to people. The 'Goal Oriented' bit is about giving the robot a goal without a defined pathway to it. 'Non-linear' is about allowing for tangential reasoning, experimentation, observing and copying human behaviour, randomness even. Think lateral thinking. Think creativity. Think… well, think how we all learned to live in human society.

This is ambitious but I think we collectively have the tools to do it. Now. Or we very soon will have. Any questions?

          

Question time was lively and Peter was the centre of attention in the bar that evening. By midnight only the hard core was left and attention had shifted to finding more interesting acronyms than GONAL.

Why didn't you go for 'Assisted Decision-making' - GONAD?

Or… Autonomous Self-Starting… er…

Holistic'ly Oriented… Learning Experiment!

More to the point, interrupted Hannes, playing the serious German, How are we going to turn GONAL from an idea to something real? Now that we've spent five hours talking about it we all seem to think it's a good idea. What about doing something to make it happen?

Steady on, Hannes. Everyone knows Peter's conference papers aren't supposed to lead to anything concrete. They're just meant to give the rest of us something to argue about!

And boost liquor sales!

What do you have in mind, Hannes?

Well, we could form a company…

A tech start-up! It's been done before. Usually ends in tears.

I mean a proper company with a structure, a business plan, capital …

And that was how GONAL Inc was born. The shareholders and directors were the same five people who had outstayed the rest of the robotics community in the bar that night. Fred was the Chairman, Peter the Chief Executive Officer,

They incorporated it as a private company in Delaware. There was no office. Old-fashioned mail went to the accountant. Meetings were held via Spike. Communication happened via whatever channels The Cloud had to offer. They used email quite a lot. Email? How charmingly old-fashioned, remarked Carol.

          

Carol met Peter at Bristol Airport. They held hands on the back seat while the autopilot drove them to their modest home on the outskirts of the city.

Good flight?

A bit of a bottleneck at security when I changed flights at Heathrow, otherwise OK. It was worth paying for the extra legroom.

Did you have to pay for the toilet?

Of course, but I managed with only one pee the whole way.

Well done! What about the conference?

Very good. More than I'd hoped for, actually. Lots to tell you.

Oh, I had a thought on my way to the airport. Did you let your mother know that we wouldn't be making our usual visit on Saturday?

Bugger. I forgot.

Chapter 04    Minister, We Have a Problem

Heather Cotterill hurried along the corridor, glancing at her watch. The new Minister was a stickler for time-keeping. 8 o'clock meant 0800 hours, not 0801. As she approached the door she leaned forward, like a runner leaning into the tape and knocked while still in motion. Her momentum carried her into the room as the Minister called, Come in.

Morning, Heather. What have we got today?

The main thing is your lunch with the small business representatives to talk about tax reform. And then you're being briefed on the new proposals for an EU Financial Market Transactions Levy.

Is that what used to be called a Tobin tax?

Yes, Minister. They tried 'Robin Hood tax' too but it didn't catch on. Then they decided that a longer name with 'levy' instead of 'tax' would be easier to sell.

But it's the same thing… a very low rate of tax on every financial transaction?

Yes, Minister.

We might as well call it 'Chocolate Ice-Cream'. The City will never stand for it.

There's growing support for it in the press… talk of foxes not being allowed to run the hen-house. That sort of thing.

"If the hen-house is supposed to be Britain and the foxes are the boys and girls in the City, then the foxes do run the hen-house and there's not a lot anyone can do about it. Politics is the art of the possible, Heather. Taking back control of the hen-house does not fall into that category just now. What else?"

Well, late yesterday we received an advance copy of the report on demographic trends.

About time! How long have they been working on it?

Almost a year, Minister. It's the most detailed study that's ever been done. Lots of consultations and scenarios. They used a supercomputer.

Have you had a look at it?

Yes, Minister. It's rather alarming. More alarming than we were expecting actually.

Go on.

Well, the key difference now is that they've tried to forecast mortality rates from different causes. Then they've made an assessment of likely progress on combating each cause. It runs to over 1,000 pages.

And the bottom line?

The bottom line is that within a decade or two there won't be much left that people can die of. The best-case scenario – or the worst-case depending on how you look at it – is that a child born today can expect to live almost indefinitely, and by the time he reaches 100 there will be more over-100s than under-20s. There are revenue and expenditure projections too, with several policy scenarios. None of it looks good from a Treasury point-of-view.

There'll always be accidents, wars, suicides, new illnesses. Mutating viruses, that sort of thing. Look at what AIDS did back in the 1980s.

They included all that in the projections – and more besides. The thing is, we're a lot better at responding to new illnesses now. In the 14th century the Black Death knocked out a third of the population. 300 years later there was a return match with the Plague. It knocked out only 10%.

Heather went on without consulting any notes. The Minister watched her fixedly.

At the start of the last century there was the First World War and then immediately afterwards the Spanish 'flu, but there were 100 million more people in 1920 than in 1910. There's a graph in the report. Even AIDS hardly had any impact on population growth at the end of the century, not on a global scale.

You must've been up all night reading that report.

I was, pretty much.

Trying to impress the boss?

Trying to work out who'll be paying my pension, mainly.

Recommendations?

Mine or the committee's?

Either.

Mine would be to make euthanasia and assisted suicide really easy. Maybe launch an advertising campaign. 'You know it makes sense'. Something like that. Make them the norm, not something that has to be justified

And the committee's?

Increase the retirement age by half-a-year every year, that's one of their recommendations. Then there's ration-books for medical procedures: when all your coupons have been cancelled you're on your own. The one I like best is robots.

Robots?

Yes, gradually introducing robots for all the elder care jobs.

That's already well under way, isn't it?

I don't think so, Minister, it's very limited. Hoovering and delivering pills. Mechanical pets. Not much else really. The Japanese are more advanced but they haven't made the sort of progress that people were expecting.

What about robotic surgery? That's well established now.

Yes, but there's still a human at the other end, controlling the robot.

Hm. Would robots be much cheaper than people?

Oh yes, much. And they don't provoke anti-immigrant feelings. They don't send half their wages home to their families either.

No chance of persuading British people to apply for jobs looking after their own old folk, I suppose?

I love your sense of humour, Minister. Running the hen-house pays better.

And requires a lot less training, no doubt. Well, I'll get my official briefing in due course. Just leave the report with me and I'll take it home. Thank you, Heather. Ask Jeremy to come in, would you? Tell him to bring the University Funding file with him.

Yes, Minister.

          

Japanese dialogue has been translated into English (UK contemporary conversational) to save the reader the trouble of entering it into a translation tool.

We'll need one more light, and those chairs need to be moved back a little. And turn the TV 30 degrees away from the camera, or we'll get a reflection of the window.

It was Hina's first assignment in charge of a news team and she was feeling the pressure. As an assistant she had worked hard, but someone else was doing the thinking.

Please listen, everyone. We'll start with a general shot of the room, showing how nice and comfortable it is. But then when the dog comes in I don't want too many people in the shot at once: just two or three. She turned to the Manager. Is that alright, Mr Fukuda? Mr Fukuda smiled and nodded. He looked old enough to be a resident.

She scanned the room. A couple of old ladies were asleep. There was a man with a persistent twitch. Another was staring at her with his mouth open and an unsightly bulge under his shirt – some kind of medical device she supposed. A uniformed attendant was hovering near him in case he needed help. One of the North Koreans, Hina supposed. She made a quick selection.

You two ladies. Yes, you and you. In the pink cardigan. Please come and sit in these chairs, in front of the camera. I want you to pet the dog. And…

She wanted a man too. The NPK network was committed to racial equality, social harmony and gender balance.

And you, sir. Yes. Will you sit with the two ladies? Thank you, sir.

Hina looked around, checked the camera angles, went over the sequence of shots again with Sora and scanned her script for the twentieth time. OK. Ready to shoot. For the first time it would be her fault if anything went wrong.

Ready, Sora? Ready, Mr Fukuda? Very good. 3, 2, 1… Hello, everyone. Today I am at the Serene Mountain Kind Home for Elderly People. Everyone here is well looked after and happy. The facilities are very good. So is the food. But there is something missing. Mr Fukuda, will you tell us what that is?

Sora switched to a wider shot to include Mr Fukuda.

As you said, Miss Sukonai, everyone here is happy and we have all the equipment that we could want. But many residents miss their pets.

They cannot bring them with them to Serene Mountain?

No. It would not be practical. And there would be health problems. The law does not allow it. But we recognize the need for animal contact. Animals are calming. People are happy when they can stroke a cat or a dog – even talk to an animal.

So what solution have you found, Mr Fukuda?

For many years there have been mechanical dogs – robots – and computer programs that behave like dogs. You have to 'feed' them and take them for virtual walks. They respond, as far as that is possible.

And were these machines and computers helpful?

Oh yes, very helpful. People developed feelings for them, almost like the feelings they had for their pets. But they were limited.

And what has changed now, Mr Fukuda?

Now we have introduced a robotic dog that is so realistic that people really forget that it is a robot. He is called Taro. Would you like to meet him?

Hina was relieved that Mr Fukuda had remembered to give her the cue. It made the interview sound so natural.

Yes, I would, Mr Fukuda. Where is he?

Taro! Come here, boy!

The robotic dog bounded up to them, stopped at the pre-arranged spot, wagged his tail and barked politely. Sora had a second camera, low down, aimed and focused. Hina adopted a tone of amazement.

But this is not a robot. This is a real dog!

Mr Fukuda laughed.

That's what everyone says the first time they meet Taro! But I promise you he is a robot.

The interview gave way to shots of the three chosen old people caressing Taro and talking to him. He jumped up on the man's lap. Everything about him looked real. He blinked at regular intervals, he moved his head and eyes to look towards a voice. He responded to being patted and rubbed exactly as a real dog would. Hina spoke to camera again.

There is someone else I want you to meet. We are very lucky to have Taro's designer with us today: Haruko Mazurata. Hello, Haruko. Please tell us how you managed to make Taro so realistic.

Hello, Hina. Well, it involved a large team of people, working for a long time. We studied how a dog moved and we wrote a computer program to imitate those movements. But there is another program too, which is just as important. It allows Taro to recognize when people are happy, and learn how to behave to maximize those happy responses.

So he can see when people are smiling?

We tried that first. But it was not reliable. People's expressions are so different, and old people especially may have facial distortions because of strokes or other causes. So the real breakthrough came when we trained Taro to detect happy responses in people's brainwaves.

Hina continued the interview until she felt it was becoming too technical for daytime TV.

Well, I hope you enjoyed meeting these wonderful people at the Supreme Mountain Kind Home for Elderly People, and especially meeting the charming dog Taro! Tune in again next week, when I will be in Osaka to meet a wonderful couple who grow all their own food and produce all the energy they need – on the roof of their house! For now, this is your friend Hina Watanabe saying goodbye, be healthy and be happy!

Chapter 05    Downton What?

Don't forget, Peter, you thought I'd told her that we wouldn't be coming and I thought you had. Don't say anything about being busy and forgetting. OK?

OK, OK. And no talking shop. No robotics, no psychology.

Right. We'll talk about the royal wedding and the re-runs of Downton Abbey.

Downton what?

Downton Abbey! I told you. She watched it in the 10s and it's being re-run. She loves it. I Bumbled it and got the basics of the plot, so I'll do the talking on that. You can chat about the royal procession down the Thames. As usual, Carol had worked everything out. Peter had only to agree.

Do I know anything about a royal procession down the Thames?

Yes, you do, because you've seen photos and video-clips on all the newswebs – and I talked about it over breakfast.

Oh.

And if words fail you, you can go and make a cup of tea, like the dutiful little pommie son that you are. Can't you?

Yes, Sybil. Ow!

"She's your mother."

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Emma was waiting for them in the lounge as usual. Sunnyview made sure that residents could make their guests comfortable. The greetings were exchanged and apologies made for the missed visit.

So where were you last Saturday?

Los Angeles, at a conference. Robotics. I was giving a paper.

What about? Or wouldn't I understand?

Oh, I think you'd understand it alright. I was talking about programming robots to learn things for themselves, instead of writing complex programs for them. Giving them an objective, then letting them find out how to do it.

That sounds like MBO. Emma's friend Betty had approached silently and joined in.

MBO?

Management By Objectives. It was very popular for a while in the twentieth century. Managers were given goals and they had to achieve them as best they could. Then they were judged on how close they got to them.

You used to be a management consultant, didn't you, Betty?

That's right. But MBO was history by then.

And it sounds like a documentary we saw on television a few days ago, Betty. Do you remember? It was Japanese. About a robot dog. I forget its name: Togo or something.

Taro, dear. Like the vegetable.

Peter leaned forward, suddenly attentive.

Robot dogs have been around for decades. What was special about this one?

Oh, it's much better than the old ones. They had it in an old people's home. Apparently it made the old people feel better, and it was so realistic they forgot it wasn't a real dog. I thought of you when I was watching it. I said to Betty, 'That would interest my son,' didn't I?

You did, dear. They interviewed the girl who designed it. She said something about the dog sensing when people were happy from their brainwaves, so it learned how to… well, how to make people happy.

That does sound interesting. What channel was it on? Never mind, I'll Bumble it.

Peter was thoughtful while the conversation turned to Downton Abbey and the royal wedding. When it was nearly time to go he said, I'd like to have a quick word with the Manager, Mum. That'd be alright, wouldn't it?

Oh yes, Peter, I'm sure she'd be delighted to talk to you. Her office is opposite the main entrance. You'll see her name written on the door: Charlotte Butler.

          

On the way home Carol said, So what were you talking to the manager about? Robot dogs, by any chance?

As it happens, yes. They used to have a program here. A Labrador came one day a week and it was a great success. The residents really looked forward to it and made a great fuss of it. Mrs Butler said people were more contented for a day or two after each of the dog's visits. Grumbled less. Slept better.

So why…?

But then Brussels brought in new health and safety rules. People had to wear gloves to handle the dog. It had to have monthly examinations and all kinds of certificates, and the home had to take out special insurance in case someone got bitten or picked up fleas or… you know the kind of thing. So they stopped the visits.

And now Mrs Butler would like to have a Japanese robot dog?

Well, yes. Wouldn't you? Do you know what some of the residents said? They could communicate with the dog better than they could with some of the staff!

"Your mum's always said that the foreign girls are nice, but a lot of them don't speak much English. And there's