Factoring Humanity Read Free Page A

speech. As with so much about the APE, the differences between it and real humans were all the more obvious for the earnestness of the attempt.
    No, he certainly didn’t have to reply to Cheetah.
    But maybe he wanted to reply. After all, who else could he discuss the matter with?
    “Initiate privacy locking,” said Kyle. “You are not to relay the following conversation to anyone, or make any inquiries pursuant to it. Understood?”
    “Yes,” said Cheetah. The final “s” was protracted, thanks to the vocoder problem. There was silence between them. Finally, Cheetah prodded Kyle. “What was it you wished to discuss?”
    Where to begin? Christ, he wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. But he couldn’t talk about it with anyone else—he couldn’t risk gossip getting around. He remembered what happened to Stone Bentley, over in Anthropology: accused by a female student of sexual harassment five years ago; fully exonerated by a tribunal; even the student eventually recanted the accusation. And still he’d been passed over for the associate deanship, and to this day, Kyle overheard the occasional whispered remark from other faculty members or students. No, he would not subject himself to that.
    “It’s nothing, really,” said Kyle. He shuffled across the room and poured himself a cup of the now-ready coffee.
    “No, please,” said Cheetah. “Tell me.”
    Kyle managed a wan smile. He knew Cheetah wasn’t really curious. He himself had programmed the algorithm that aped curiosity: when a person appears to be reluctant to go on, become insistent.
    Still, he did need to talk to someone about it. He had enough trouble sleeping without this weighing on him.
    “My daughter is mad at me.”
    “Rebecca,” supplied Cheetah. Another algorithm; imply intimacy to increase openness.
    “Rebecca, yes. She says—she says . . .” He trailed off.
    “What?” The nasal twang made Cheetah’s voice sound all the more solicitous.
    “She says I molested her.”
    “In what way?”
    Kyle exhaled noisily. No real human would have to ask that question. Christ, this was stupid . . .
    “In what way?” asked Cheetah again, no doubt after his clock indicated it was time to prod once more.
    “Sexually,” said Kyle softly
    The microphone on Cheetah’s console was very sensitive; doubtless he heard. Still, he was quiet for a time—a programmed affectation. “Oh,” he said at last.
    Kyle could see lights winking on the console; Cheetah was accessing the World Wide Web, quickly researching this topic.
    “You’re not to tell anyone,” said Kyle sharply
    “I understand,” said Cheetah. “Did you do what you are accused of?”
    Kyle felt anger growing within him. “Of course not.”
    “Can you prove that?”
    “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
    “A salient one,” said Cheetah. “I assume Rebecca has no actual evidence of your guilt.”
    “Of course not.”
    “And one presumes you have no evidence of your innocence.”
    “Well, no.”
    “Then it is her word against yours.”
    “A man is innocent until he’s proven guilty,” said Kyle. Cheetah’s console played the first four notes from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. No one had bothered to program realistic laughter yet—Cheetah’s malfunctioning sense of humor hardly required it—and the music served as a place-holder. “I’m supposed to be the naïve one, Dr. Graves. If you are not guilty, why would she make the accusation?”
    Kyle had no answer for that.
    Cheetah waited his programmed time, then tried again. “If you are not guilty why—”
    “Shut up,” said Kyle.

 
     
     
    3
     
     
    Heather wasn’t teaching any courses during the summer session, thank God. She’d tossed and turned all night after Becky’s visit and hadn’t managed to get out of bed until 11:00 AM.
    How do you go on from something like this, she wondered.
    Mary had died sixteen months ago.
    No, thought Heather. No—face it head-on. Mary had committed suicide