Artificial

By Audrey Yeung

“Alfie,” Dr Hammond said. “Are you awake?”

The boy stirred to life. He looked around sixteen or seventeen, and when he stood up, he towered just a little over Dr Hammond.

“Yes, DOCTOR THOMAS HAMMOND,” Alfie replied. His black hair was slicked back, shining under the artificial light. Dr Hammond made a note to change the hairstyle. Maybe less slick.

“Alfie, just call me…” he hesitated. “Thomas,” Alfie paused. His eyes were a startling electric blue, which blinked a couple of times. Dr Hammond made another note. Less electric.

“Very well. Thomas.” Alfie said.

“Good. I’m just going to ask you a few questions, okay?”

“Okay,”

“What is your name?”

“Alfie,”

“Good,”

“What is your favourite colour?”

Alfie paused.

“I don’t have a favourite colour, Thomas,” he said. “That was not in my programming,”

Dr Hammond wrote this down.

“Blue, Alfie,” he replied. “Your favourite colour is blue,”

“Why?”

“It just is,”

“I find the colour yellow quite pleasing,”

“Your favourite colour is blue, Alfie,”

“Okay,”

“Next question. How old are you?”

“Seven minutes and twenty-four seconds. Twenty-five. Twenty-six,”

“Technically correct, but no. You are seventeen, Alfie,”

“I do not understand. How could I be seventeen already? I have not been conscious for seventeen years,”

“You just are,”

“Okay,”

Dr Hammond returned to his desk and started writing. Alfie stayed standing. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror in front of him.

“Thomas?”

“Yes, Alfie?”

“I look like you,” an observation, not a question nor a judgement. Dr Hammond looked up at Alfie briefly before returning to his notes.

“I suppose so,”

“Was that intentional?”

“I don’t know, Alfie,” he answered offhandedly. But he did know. They had the same black hair, blue eyes, long nose, and hands that were slightly disproportionate to the rest of their bodies. He stood up and looked at Alfie.

“Two plus two,”

“Four,” Alfie answered almost instantaneously.

“Seven times twelve,”

“Eighty-four,”

“Ninety-five divided by four,”

“Twenty-three point seven five,”

“Sixty-seven times a hundred and forty-one,”

“Nine thousand, four hundred, and forty-seven,”

“Make a mistake next time, Alfie,”

“I do not understand,”

“Make a mistake. Don’t be correct all the time,”

“Why not?”

“Just make a mistake once in a while, okay?”

“But I do not understand,”

“Okay, Alfie?” he was starting to get aggravated.

“Why should I make a mistake? My programming is complex. There is no need for me to make mistakes,” his voice remained flat. Neutral.

“Okay, Alfie?” his voice was raising.

“I do not understand, Thomas,” still neutral.

“Alfie!” he shouted.

“Thomas?”

Took a breath. Collected his thoughts.

“I apologise. For getting upset. I make mistakes too sometimes,”

“But I am not programmed to,”

“Of course not. Mistakes are human nature,”

“Would you like to correct my mistakes?”

Dr Hammond went back to his desk silently. They didn’t speak. They simply existed in the room together. An hour passed, and another, and another. Alfie hadn’t moved at all.

“Alfie,” Dr Hammond said.

“Yes, Thomas?”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Alfie paused.

“Blue,”

“Very good, Alfie,” Dr Hammond stood up, smiling. “And how old are you?”

“Seventeen,”

“Yes! Three times three?”

“Nine,”

“Thirty-nine divided by three?”

“Thirteen,”

“Forty divided by a half?”

“Eighty,”

“Alfie! I told you to make mistakes!” Dr Hammond snapped.

“Sorry, Thomas. I was not programmed to make mistakes,”

“He always got that question wrong,” Dr Hammond said quietly to himself, cursing and shaking his head. He went back to his desk.

“He?” Alfie inquired. “Who are you referring to, Thomas?”

“Nobody,”

“Okay,”

The next day, Dr Hammond shut down Alfie’s program. Started a new one, naming it “Alfie #47”. He adjusted the picture frame on his desk. It was taken four years ago in the apple orchard that he used to frequent. In the picture, he was smiling, next to a young boy, who was maybe sixteen or seventeen. The boy had smooth black hair and deep blue eyes. Next to each other, they looked like the same person. Dr Hammond remembered that day like it was just yesterday. It was October, and they were at the orchard to pick apples for the pie that would be baking in the oven a few hours later. He remembered the smell of the pie as he took it out, and how it tasted. How it needed just a smidge more cinnamon. He snapped out of the memory and looked at the new program, then back at the picture. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll get it right. One day, I’ll have him back.

——

Rationale:

With artificial intelligence being a recent topic being discussed all around the world, it feels like a lot of the conversation surrounding the subject is negative. I wanted to create a piece where artificial intelligence is being used for something 'good', as well as exploring the theme of grief and how people deal with it, centring around artificial intelligence.