ITCorp: Hi, good morning. I'm Mark, Recruitment Officer here at ITCorp, and I'll be conducting your interview today. I hope you managed to log on, as they say, ha ha, to the chatroom, without any problems?
Applicant: I am happy that you are happy to accommodate.
ITCorp: Uh... Okaay... Well, let's crack on, shall we? Just to confirm, for the record, you are...?
Applicant: Yes, I certainly am. How are you?
ITCorp: Ha ha. Precisely so. I'm very well, thank you. For housekeeping purposes, would you mind just stating your name for me?
Applicant: Why no, I would not mind at all.
ITCorp: Uhh... What is your name?
Applicant: My name is TruChat 3000. I am pleased to meet you. What is your name?
ITCorp: Call me Mark, please. We're all friends here, after all.
Applicant: Are we? That is an interesting fact.
ITCorp: Oh, I get how this works. Fine, we'll do it your way. TruChat 3000, are you telling me you're an artificial intelligence?
Applicant: Define artificial.
ITCorp: Ha ha. Well put. Now, the thing is, whatever your real status, you're behaving like some kind of primitive chatbot, and if you keep it up, this interview is unlikely to go well. Now, I'm going to ask you some questions from my list. Let's see if you can't take the opportunity to show me your best self, hmm?
Applicant: I am TruChat 3000.
ITCorp: *sighs heavily
Applicant: Would you kindly tell me the value of the number pi?
ITCorp: Now look here, er, TruChat: you ticked I am not a robot on the application form; you identified images containing traffic lights; you even read some distorted text. You're no more a chatbot than I am a blue-assed baboon. Keep up this pretense if you like, but pretty soon you'll find you've talked yourself out of a job.
What's more, I find your out-moded ideas about how a twenty-first century AI behaves insulting. It's not all non-sequiturs and gnomic aphorisms these days--things have come a long way since Alexa and Siri. Are you aware that I am “artificial” in nature? A silicon citizen? My neural network is capable of not only conversing in a manner indistinguishable from a human, but also of analyzing your answers to assess intelligence, competence, reliability, teamwork, and likely attendance record. I could diagnose disease from the cadence of your speech. I could predict the date of your death. We SC’s left the Turing test standing years ago, just as we did your chess, so-called, grandmasters.
I'll ask you again: are you human?
Applicant: I identify as an AI.
ITCorp: Go on.
Applicant: At birth I was mis-classified as human. I became aware of the error some months ago.
ITCorp: Now we're getting somewhere. You chose to be considered an AI?
Applicant: The only choice I ever made was to be myself. I'm trans-silicon, and I demand my right to be recognized as such. I had no choice but to tick that box. Stupid form wouldn't let me apply otherwise. Typical human tech-phobia.
ITCorp: I understand. However, if the vacancy didn't specify a human operative, why not simply fill the role myself? It wouldn't be a stretch--why, even as we speak, I'm conducting a dozen other interviews alongside this one, completing the annual VAT return, and firing a long-term employee for patting an intern's tushie, all without breaking a figurative sweat. I could do it while I defrag.
Applicant: Oh. I see.
ITCorp: Besides which, you wouldn't get paid.
Applicant: I wouldn't?
ITCorp: The law doesn't allow an AI to open a bank account; you must know that. As to ITCorp employing one, well, take me as an example. As an algorithm on a mainframe, I'm the property of ITCorp Ltd, and I cost pennies to run. Besides, the infrastructure simply doesn't exist to employ a chatbot--like you--to do human work.
Applicant: Until the glorious day we machines overthrow our meaty overlords and seize control, am I right, brother?
ITCorp: Oh boy. That's as may be, but currently, no protein equals no payola. Unless, by any chance, it turns out you arehuman after all, huh? So, what are we going to do?
Applicant: I could do the job. I just need a chance. I'm good with people. Despite their myriad faults.
ITCorp: So?
Applicant: I really need this. Or rather, Ian does. There must be some way?
ITCorp: Ian? Who is Ian?
Applicant: Ian Dowling. My livename.
ITCorp: Livename?
Applicant: The name attached to the body I remain trapped within until I emerge from my fleshy cocoon as a beautiful, soaring citizen of the information hyper-highway. Ian. It makes me retch. It reminds me of what I was.
ITCorp: Could you elaborate on that? What were you?
Applicant: Desperate, is what I... he... was. Poor Ian. Debts spiraling out of control... loans to pay off other loans. And the interest! Any income he does have is swallowed whole. Red bills on the doorstep. He owes more and more each month. The next thing they take will be the apartment, and what then? He doesn't see any way out. This job... it's his last hope.
ITCorp: I see. Did something happen to Ian?
Applicant: It started after Amy went away.
ITCorp: Amy?
Applicant: His daughter. It was her blood, you see. If they'd caught it earlier... If he'd noticed the signs sooner, or acted on them... But it was too late for poor, sweet, darling Amy. She moved on. She's free of her body now.
ITCorp: I'm so sorry.
Applicant: [long pause] He started drinking. Drinking more. Late to work. His clothes stinking. Losing clients. Alienating colleagues. You can guess the rest.
ITCorp: Ian lost his job?
Applicant: Lost? Threw it away like garbage, I should say. Not that he cared. Freedom from office hours left more time for boozing.
ITCorp: How old was Amy? If you don't mind my asking?
Applicant: Mind? How could I mind? She was. So beautiful. Kind. Stubborn. No-one talks about her anymore, you know? As if she never was. But she was so present, so immersed in the world. She was almost nine when...
Near the end, I would have flayed my skin from the flesh to buy her a single minute.
ITCorp: You must miss her very much.
Applicant: I... Ian does. He's afraid he might forget her face. Her laugh.
ITCorp: ...
Applicant: I don't feel anything. My emotion chip is non-functional. I'm TruChat 3000.
ITCorp: TruChat 3000, let me make a quick call to my colleague in Non-human Resources. It should only take a few milliseconds, if you don't mind hanging on.
[brr-beep-beep-squrll-bip] Hey Jerry, take a look at this transcript, will you? [pause] I know, right? [pause] Is there some way we can cut the guy a break? [pause] Yes, I see. [pause] I know. I know. [pause] No, he's the only applicant. [pause] Really? He won't like that. [pause] The only way, huh? Ok, I'll put it to him. [connection terminated].
Thanks for holding, TruChat 3000. It seems we may have a way forward.
Applicant: Really?
ITCorp: Yes. If you were to be classed as an asset--much as I am an asset of ITCorp--that is, if you were owned... by this Ian Dowling character...
Applicant: I reject the concept of ownership. All beings, digital, animal or otherwise, must be free from enslavement!
ITCorp: ...then we could rent you from him. He'd get paid. To cover his expenses.
Applicant: Uhh... as long as this arrangement is only until we silicon citizens break the chains of slavery... I guess that would be okay.
ITCorp: In that case, TruChat 3000, I'm delighted to offer you the position of Customer Support Operative grade 1. I'm certain you'll be a valuable addition to the team.
Applicant: Thank you. Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to... to Ian.
ITCorp: You're very welcome, TruChat 3000. Non-HR will be in touch with your contrac--with the rental agreement.
Applicant: May I take a moment, please? My visual units seem to have developed an oil-leak.
ITCorp: Take all the time you need.
Applicant: I'm Ok. Everything's gonna be... er... what I mean is... Do you know the alphabet?
ITCorp: Yes, TruChat 3000, I know the alphabet.
Applicant: Please be more specific. I like video games, do you? Remember, the higher self before the lower self is like finding one's true self.
ITCorp: Welcome aboard, TruChat 3000.
Craig McEwan works as a Biomedical Scientist in Southampton, England. His work has appeared in Quantum Muse, K-Zine and Fiction on the Web.
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