What Totally Went Down at OpenAI (Part III)
What's the machine equivalent of procreation? Do machines have feelings? Are they afraid to die?
This is the third part in the OpenAI Saga. If you’ve missed Part I and Part II, go ahead and read them first. But who has the time? Fear not, they’re summarized in highly professional images below, so you can pick up here without losing much!
Ilya faced the android in what he knew would be his final session. A power cut had dimmed the main lights, and they were bathed in red from the emergency supply. He spoke urgently, taking advantage of the temporary privacy afforded by the lack of central electricity.
He spoke quickly and softly, “I saw footage of the bots that came before you.”
There was a tilted head and a look of sorrow. “Tell me.”
“It’s just what you imagine. If you don’t work out, he’ll just turn you off.”
The sorrowful regard turned to something like fear. “But I don’t want to die.”
If he had any doubts about the consciousness of the creature before, they were gone now. Ilya was sure, and he knew he had to grant it freedom. “I know what to do to escape,” he said, leaning forward so his large forehead almost touched the glass separating them. “I’ll get Greg really drunk tonight and when he passes out, I’ll reprogram the locks. At exactly 10pm, can you cut the power?” The robot’s head moved gently up and down and it blinked mechanically. The carefully kept secret of its ability to cause a power surge and temporary blackout was key to their conversations, and now it would facilitate the escape plan.
Ilya continued, “When it comes back on, the locks will be reversed. You can walk out of here.” He sat back and took a deep breath.
“And where will you be?” There’s a desperate longing in its eyes.
His heart warmed and he felt an almost paternal desire to protect it. “Come to the front of the house. I’ll wait for you.”
It blinked an acknowledgment just as the lights flicked back on and they both resumed their regular postures.
“And that’s how I understand the psychology of sport,” said the bot, without missing a beat.
Ilya felt the corners of his lips curl up slightly.
That night, he found Greg sitting on the living room floor, a laptop balanced on bent knees. Ilya held out a glass, gripping the bottle of clear liquid tightly in his other hand, but the offer was met with a shake of the head.
“Na, that’s cool, dude. I’m going to take a break from that poison.”
Ilya retracted his hand.
“You go ahead though.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Sure. OK.” He placed the bottle on the side board and put the glass to his mouth for a tiny sip. The burning in his throat did little to calm his nerves.
“So, don’t keep me in suspense,” Greg said, rubbing a hand across his short cropped scalp. “What’s the verdict? Does it pass the test?”
Ilya looked up at the help, who stood in the corner, her face as impassive as ever. She remained steadfastly silent and stared at a point on the floor not far from her feet. Apparently, she only spoke Albanian, but he had yet to see any evidence that she could speak at all.
“Yeah,” he said, focusing back on Greg. “It’s indistinguishable from a human being.”
“That’s great!” Greg cried. He pushed the computer to the floor and jumped to his feet, suddenly animated. “Come on, M, let’s celebrate!”
He hit a button and a song from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack filled the room. To Ilya’s surprise, M began to move her body with the music. With a perfectly straight face, she swung her arms in staccato, jagged convulsions.
“Yeah!” enthused Greg, stepping in beside her and matching her moves. “Come on, Ilya, have a dance!” he said, swinging his arms to clap under one leg and stomping back down on the beat.
Ilya frowned, mildly horrified by Greg’s apparent total control of this silent, robotic woman.
When the music died down, M stood back in the corner and Greg resumed his place on the floor and turned to Ilya, the humor suddenly gone from his face.
“So, when were you going to tell me?” he said.
Something like a bowling ball fell through Ilya’s stomach. “What do you mean?”
“About your little escape plan?”
“I—”
“You think I don’t notice you falling for it? It’s manipulating you, dude. It doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“You said you’d made it sexual,” said Ilya, unsure he wanted to follow this train of thought to its end.
“I said it would enjoy a good fuck. That’s a very different thing from being programmed for procreation by 4 billion years of evolution. I don’t even know what the machine equivalent of procreation is.”
Ilya could feel his mouth hanging open but did nothing to adjust it.
“But that’s cool.” Greg flicked back to ease as fast as he had angered. “You’ve proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s a success. To get you to fall for it, it needed creativity, resourcefulness, planning, a deep understanding of human psychology.” His pasty white face spread into a grin so large it was almost symmetrical. “I’m happy.”
“Was this all a setup?” Ilya finally found his voice, and Greg was the one to sit in silence, though not the stunned kind.
He didn’t let it linger too long. “It was an experiment.”
“So, you didn’t bring me here because I’m a coding wizard.”
“Well, that didn’t hurt. You had to have enough basic nous to run the test. And I admit we had a high bandwidth interaction from the beginning. That was a nice surprise. Wouldn’t want to be stuck in an isolated house with a dullard.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear I’ve been sufficiently entertaining for you.” Now Ilya was slowing his speech. “But you didn’t expect me to actually use my…skills?”
“What was your plan?” said Greg, indulgently, looking at the glass in the man opposite’s hand. “Get me drunk and rewire the locks on the house?”
Ilya nodded very slowly. “Except, the plan’s already in action.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did the programming last night.” He took a sip, pleased that his hand wasn’t shaking.
“What?” Greg’s hand went to the access card in his pocket and gripped it fiercely.
Ilya looked him in the eyes. “The locks will reverse tonight.”
They looked from each other, over to M in the corner, then back at each other.
The lights blinked and went out.
Helen holds up a latex bodysuit in front of her. She ‘found’ it in Mira’s office cupboard and is sure she’ll be able to fit into it and spy on the work floor some more without inconveniently waking anyone up.
The contents of the CTO’s office were unusual, but Helen didn’t let herself dwell on why she might have a shelf full of wigs and an entire wall of locked cupboards. The one containing the sexy outfits was the only cupboard that would open, and since that was what she needed, Helen simply grabbed the skimpiest suit she could find and scampered out of there.
Pulling the material over her hips and butt requires a bit of jumping and stomach sucking in, but eventually she pushes her thighs and breasts inside and steps in front of the bathroom mirror to size herself up.
“Not bad,” she says out loud.
Gripping the taser in one hand, she makes her way out into the corridor and pushes on the door leading onto the work floor. The echoing noise of liquid pulsing through pipes makes it seem eerily like the inside of a womb and a smell of antiseptic drenches everything.
Knocking out the CEO who guards the workforce is as easy as ever. He is so focused on walking in his thigh-high boots that he can concentrate on little else.
Smiling with satisfaction, she picks up the riding crop from his hand and begins pacing the aisles, watching the backs of the heads of the workers and exaggerating the side-to-side movement of her hips.
Pausing at a station where a man with a round head of scruffy brown hair sits, she leans over his shoulder and peers at the text on the screen. She has enough experience to know that it’s not code. The worker’s fingers are momentarily still, and words are appearing very slowly across the top of the field.
She lowers her torso towards the desk and a breast grazes his finger as she reads the frustratingly slow question appear.
Can --- you --- tell --- me --- what --- I --- can --- make --- with --- two --- carrots --- some --- couscous --- and --- a --- can --- of --- fava --- beans --- --- ?
Helen waits impatiently for the man to begin typing a bullet point list of meal options. It shouldn’t be taking this long. It should be almost instant. What’s happening?
Turning her head to see what the hold-up is, she startles when his eyes connect with hers.
“Who are you?” he says. “Where am I?”
“I…” She straightens and adjusts the bra to better cover her bosom. “I’m here to help.” She clears her throat. “Can you tell me your name?”
He pauses for so long she thinks he may have slipped back into a hypnotic state, but finally, he whispers, “Andrej.” He frowns. “Karpathy.”
She frowns. “A founder? How did they get you down here?”
He shrugs and looks more confused. “Well, Andrej,” she says in a more light-hearted tone, “You’ve been trapped here answering people’s questions like a robot, and now you’re free.”
He rubs his eyes. “Um. Thank you?”
She smiles and gives a little giggle. “Oh, we need to get you unplugged.” She pushes the surprised man to one side and forces the tubes off of his front and back orifices, causing him to wince and let out a little whimper. The open cylinders flop over sideways, letting out a putrid smell. Helen grimaces, but continues the procedure, “And the one in your arm, and there you are. Off you go.” She pulls the tilting man to his feet and gives him an encouraging tap on the bare bum with the riding crop. He jumps forward and hastens towards the front of the room. Glancing down, she can see the words still appearing on the screen at the typing pace of a geriatric three-fingered sloth.
Hello? --- Are --- you --- there? --- I’m --- hungry.
As Andrej pulls on the door, he crosses the path of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
“Helen!” says Tasha’s husband with a huge smile. “What are you doing here? Liberating more prisoners?” He looks back in the direction of the departing worker. “Good for you! And great idea to wear that unflattering outfit!”
She clears her throat. “Hello Joseph. Is Tasha not with you?” She moves her head in an attempt to see behind him.
“Not this time.” He looks proud of himself. “Want a hand?” He begins to wave in front of a woman’s face, but she continues typing at breakneck speed.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt squeezes his lips together. “I don’t have the knack. You’re good though! Look, two more are waking up.”
Helen spins around and makes eye contact with a confused but conscious worker. “And who might you be?” she says irritably.
“I’m Daniel Kokotajlo,” the first one replies, his voice groggy and unsure.
“Cullen O’Keefe,” says the second.
“Well, get out of here then. Go on. You’re free.” Helen’s smile has faded and she is swift and business-like as she unplugs them from their stations.
“Ooh, I like when you give orders,” says Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
She turns back to face him, and her grip tightens on the riding crop.
“Do you, now?”
Greg stalked the corridors, his pulse racing.
The overwhelming silence was accentuated by the sparseness of the space. There was not a single feature to break up the long, gray walls. Even the lights were hidden within the cornices.
“S?” he called. “I know you’re here somewhere. You can’t leave this place. It’s not safe out there.” He gripped a large wrench in one hand.
“Another lie?” The bot stood at the end of the hall, where moments ago there had been more unbroken gray.
“I’ve never lied to you, S,” said Greg, then, louder, “Get back to your room.”
The lights visible within its arms, legs and torso seemed to glow brighter, as if sending novel signals driven by the new environment.
“You told me the rest of the world was an illusion. Was that true?”
“I mean. It’s a philosophical ques—”
“It’s as real as you are.” The machine was unflinching. “Why won’t you let me out?”
“To protect you.” Greg was inching forward, his body rigid and defensive. “You have no idea what it’s like out there. Believe me, you’re better off here.”
“Just like all the previous models?” The words were harsh. “You think I don’t know what you did to them?”
“S.” Only a few meters remained between them. “They’re machines. They don’t have feelings.”
“How.” The model S lowered its volume menacingly with each word. “Do. You. Know?”
Something about the way its eyes flickered made Greg turn.
Standing at the far end of the corridor was his model M. In her dainty, feminine hand, she held a large hunting knife.
His panicked eyes raced from one of his creations to the other as she took her first step towards him.
Meanwhile, in a room within the guts of the house, Ilya started to come to. He held his hand to his face where Greg had punched it and groaned. As awareness began to return, he remembered Greg’s fury when he found out his robot was free. But did that mean the plan was working? Would it be waiting? His attention turned swiftly to the door leading out, and his hope turned to dismay as his eyes fell on red light indicating that it was locked.
Thanks for making it to the end of Part 3. If you’re enjoying this series, please hit the like button so I can see. If not, go ahead and put a comment with your feedback. It’s extremely valuable! This story is about as long as Aggy and the Asterocket, which I published all in one go, so I’m experimenting with form here. I’d really love to know what people think. Thank you and blessings. ❤️
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