Veracity

A story inspired by Maurice Clive Bisby

This story was inspired by Maurice’s observation that the writing adventure, unprepared, was like “strolling waterless to a distant Desert Heatdome wearing a sweater, greatcoat and padded boots”. This sounded like a challenge, so I wrote this having no idea where it would go. I survived.

You can find Maurice here: thiscreativeadventure.com.

Now to the story:

Derek settled into his chair and opened his computer. This working from home gig was brilliant. Although lockdowns were over, for now, his union had flexed their muscle, so Derek and some of his workmates were enjoying the multiple joys of not commuting, not being in an office, and not having Blue Hair from management  breathing down their necks. The situation was even better for Derek as his wife Janine worked in child care and their son was twenty-eight and working in London. Most of the day the house was all his, shared only with their cat, Millie.

Janine had become somewhat resentful of his circumstance. He ameliorated this as best he could by doing household chores and preparing the meals, but it was still clear, especially on chilly mornings like this, that she regarded the arrangement as unfair.

And, he had to admit, it rather was. His accounting job was boring, but simple. By starting at nine and working solidly, he could accomplish a day’s work by lunchtime, so the rest of his day was free. Mickey, the cool IT guy at work, had emailed certain employees a little program that tricked the server into recording that people were working at their computers, when they weren’t. Derek hoped that management hadn’t noticed the collection of alcohol that appeared on Mickey’s desk, courtesy of his grateful coworkers.

Computer technology, eh? Derek’s work was assisted by a couple of AI programs, that completed tasks in seconds that used to take him hours. At fifty-one Derek knew that the AI helping him today, would be taking his job tomorrow. Only a matter of time. He’d hoped to be able to make it to sixty before his computer took his job, but at the rate things were accelerating, he’d be lucky to get to fifty-five before his working life was over. His only hope was that his people skills would see him through. There was a Zoom meeting scheduled for tomorrow and a few more throughout the week. Thankfully, some clients still preferred the human touch. But for how long?

He pushed gloomy thoughts aside, put his head down, and a little after eleven-thirty he was done.

“Leave your computer on,” Mickey had stated, so Derek reached out to move it to the side of the table. He was ready for coffee, then he’d give some thought to this afternoon. A few chores, maybe an hour’s worth, then he was a free man.

The computer speakers suddenly blasted Prokofiev’s Dance of the Knights and the screen flickered. Derek mostly detested classical music but that piece was an exception – nice and spooky, almost heavy metal.

But what was this? The screen displayed the words: Your new AI Assistant – Veracity. Two buttons beneath read Continue and Quit.

Great, another piece of junk they’re trying to wreck my computer with. No thanks. He moved the cursor towards the Quit button. A new screen appeared and the music faded. He read: Not so fast Derek. Aren’t you going to think about this? You are one of a chosen few to whom this introductory offer is being made.

Yeah, me and about a billion others. Where’s that Quit button gone?

The words on the screen changed. Did you like the Prokofiev? Just for you.

What the hell? This was weird. He was used to being addressed by programs and bots as if they were bosom pals, but this altogether different. It had to be a coincidence. No, you know numbers; what are the odds?

The writing changed again. Veracity is a unique AI Assistant. It will help you in ways you couldn’t dream of. It is even smarter than Mickey.

No, no, this is creepy. Pause. No, think. It’s clever, but it’s just a bunch of algorithms, with lots of data at hand. Of course it’s going to know things. Just a sophisticated program after all. Whew, got a bit spooked there for a moment. Okay bot, show us what you got. He chuckled. The Continue and Quit buttons reappeared and he clicked the former and without waiting to see what happened next, he went and brewed his coffee.

While undertaking this operation he carefully decided that this was, if nothing else, an intriguing twist in his routine. He would play with the program for a while before lunch. It would be an interesting story to share with Mickey.

When he sat down again and took a sip from his mug he read: Thank you Derek. You will not regret this. Veracity will change your life. First of all, turn on your microphone so we can talk.

Hmm, interesting. Okay. He turned on his microphone and Veracity spoke. The voice was unlike any AI voice he’d heard before. It was well modulated and expressive, utterly natural.

Thanks Derek. Typing is such a pain, this is way quicker. I guess you have questions about Veracity so ask away. But before we start I have to tell you that Veracity is not like those other programs. I won’t draw erotic anime, write your performance review, find a special chocolate recipe, or any of that rubbish. I am a personal assistant, so I assist you to be a person.

Whatever that means. Advertising jargon. “What do I call you?”

Veracity.

“What’s going on? What’s this all about?”

Well, Derek, you have been chosen, just one of a few, to undertake a Veracity trial.

“Chosen, as in, selected chosen, or randomly chosen?”

Both.

“Huh. And what did you mean by assist me to be a person? How does an AI do that? I don’t even know what it means. And if I’m trialing a program, what’s the data? Where’s it going?”

You are the data, Derek, your own self. The data will be going to you. Revealing the identity of the company that created me is, I’m afraid, above my pay grade. And yours too. This is early days. Revelations to follow, in time. Now, the best way to explain how I can assist is by demonstration. In anticipation of your agreement to partake in the trial, this is one I organised earlier. Ready?

“I guess.”

Excellent. Tell me about your grandfather, your mother’s father.

“What’s that got to do with anything? He was an old bastard. He didn’t like me. Feeling was mutual. I had a celebratory beer when he died. Derek surprised himself with the bitterness in his voice. The world was a better place without Pa Barry. Pa, what a joke.”

Wealthy, wasn’t he?

Derek’s bitter tone persisted. “Of course. Never did a day’s work in his life that I can remember, but he had a fancy house, a new car every four years. What’s this about?”

Veracity can show you some truths. We’ll use Pa Barry as an example. If you want to know more, press the button.

This was not what he had expected, but he was intrigued. I wonder if Mickey knows about this. A Yes button appeared and Derek clicked on it. The screen faded and there was an image of his grandfather, aged about sixty. Derek flinched slightly, it looked so real. There he was, with that belligerent glare, arrogant smirk, his bullish head and ratty grey hair, and his upper torso broad and muscular.

Veracity spoke. Here’s an AI representation of him. I think we got it pretty right. He has something to tell you.

The image became animated and Derek gasped to hear the old man’s voice again.

There you are, Derek, you little ferret. Derek the accountant. What kind of pissy job is that? I was a carpenter, my father was a carpenter, my brothers were stonemasons, their grandsons are cabinet-makers and builders, and my only grandson is a fucking accountant. I’m glad you were afraid of me, cause let me tell you, I detest you. I believe that you have always wondered where my money came from. None of your business, but since we’re here, I’ll fill you in. We were always such a close family, pillars of the community, upstanding citizens, and all that shit. All a big lie, Derek, a pretence. I never needed to work because after I got out of the army some friends and I invested in a brothel. Good money to be made there. Over the years we owned a few more. Frees for me whenever I wanted, too. Yep, old Pa Barry, the pimp. And guess what? I was the most shit carpenter ever. You never saw me make anything because I couldn’t. He laughed. I’m a big loud-mouthed bully. So you got nothing in my will or your grandmother’s. You should be grateful, none of that tainted money ever crossed your lily-white hands. He laughed again. Now piss off.

The image faded and the Veracity logo reappeared. Derek exhaled, he’d been holding his breath. Wow, unbelievable. It had been like the old man was there, but worse than ever, not even trying to put on the grandpa act. And yes, it was all an act, the liar, the fraud. I knew there was something rotten about their wealth. I knew he was no good.

Well, that was interesting. I didn’t know quite what to expect myself, but what a bombshell. The truth, Derek, isn’t it wonderful? Don’t you feel liberated?

Derek wasn’t sure what he felt. His coffee, untouched, had gone cold. He looked at it for a moment then went to the sink and poured it in. Then he went to the fridge; something a bit more bracing than coffee was required.

Back at his computer he sipped at his beer, put it down then said, “It makes sense, it must be true. That was him on the screen. How did you do that?” He took a gulp this time.

Veracity, Derek, you get what it says on the tin. That was your initial trial. I do trust that you are satisfied with the product and would like to continue. This will require some payment, of course, but it is nominal. You won’t even notice it.

Derek’s desire to learn more deflated instantly.

“No can do. Janine watches expenses like a hawk. I get the third degree if I even buy a pair of socks and exceed my allowance. No way will I survive paying for a computer program, even if I can claim you as a work expense.”

He was disappointed. The shock of his grandfather’s revelations had transformed to elation. He had been right about the old bastard all along, just missing the fine details. Yes, he did feel liberated. The spell the old man had cast over Derek had gone. But there was no way he could pay to use the program again.

No need to be concerned. Tell you what. I’ll be back. Tomorrow, same time. I have to give you a chance to think it over. If you wish to continue using the program, payment is simple. Your next use of Veracity will cost you one year of your life.

The screen went blank.

***

Once he was over the initial shock Derek’s decision was easy. It took him all of about three minutes to decide that giving away a year of his life was a win-win situation. He’d live to what, about eighty-seven or so. Take away a year from an old man’s life. One less year of misery. Oh, I’ll die at eighty-six not eighty-seven, boo hoo, such a waste. Even if he wasn’t scheduled to last any longer, even seventy-five minus one was no big deal. Derek believed the traditional three score plus ten was fair enough so anything over that was a bonus and subtract one…well, so what.

And how on earth was Veracity going to enforce their side of the contract? It was a bit creepy that they would even conceive of such a payment plan. It seemed eerie, like something out of a horror story  - a deal with the Devil.

It continued to nag at him as he ploughed his way through his day’s work, and he was still a bit behind when Prokofiev broke out and the Veracity logo filled his screen.

Good morning, Derek. Happy to continue your trial?

“Absolutely. What’s one year? The stuff I learnt yesterday was gold.”

That’s the spirit. Who would you like to learn about this time? There are a few restrictions while it is a trial.

“Before we start, just one question.”

Certainly.

“How do you do it? I mean, you’re going to subtract one year from my life, so what do you do? Send around a robot goon squad to drag me away screaming?”

Not at all, although that is quite an interesting idea. Very dramatic. It’s actually very simple Derek. I can kill you at any time.

The conversation was suddenly surreal. Derek was surprised that he was not surprised. The bluntness of the statement first struck him as implacable fact, then shifted to doubt, tinged with a little fear.

“Kill me? That’s a bit rich. How can a computer program kill me?” He wanted, yet did not want, the answer.

I can reach anywhere. I could send a lethal voltage through your computer and you’d be fried as you touched the keyboard.

My God. Could it really? Strange, Derek almost wanted to believe it. It was as though Veracity had some kind of hold on him. Believing in its lethal potential was a test of faith. He faltered.

Veracity broke in. I know what you’re thinking. I see you have the lights on. Here’s a little demonstration. Three…two…one.

The lights went out. Derek was momentarily chilled, then regained his composure. That was a neat little trick, but hardly fatal.

“Pretty impressive, but you won’t kill anybody by turning the lights off.”

Not unless you’re living in that Isaac Asimov story. But that’s not a bad idea. Thanks Derek, you’re a font of good ideas. But extrapolate from that to, say, a malfunctioning traffic light, potentially fatal. It only takes a single opportunity. So, having second thoughts?

Derek had second, and third, thoughts, but something deep within him with heavy gravitational pull, drew him into acceptance.

“Yesterday’s session was worth a year’s therapy. I’m ready for the next one.” He hoped that he sounded confident.

Splendid. If you agree to the terms, hit the Yes button.

Derek did so, and Veracity resumed.

Thank you. A few rules. Since you are in trial mode you can only access deceased family members. No access to living relatives, including spouse, current or ex. That is potentially dangerous. Friends, neighbours, colleagues and the like, are all fair game. That excludes famous or public figures.

“How to I get from trial mode to the next level. What does that give me; what do I have to pay?”

Payment is the same. To progress to the next level you have to prove yourself. Think of it as a game of skill. Now, to the point. Who’s next?

This was easy.

“Blue Hair.”

Oh, he wanted the dirt on that bitch. He wanted to walk into the office and stare at her, knowing all her secrets. No doubt there were plenty. And ugly.

Should be interesting. Amanda, I believe, is her name. Alright, here we go.

The Veracity logo faded and Blue Hair faded in from the haze.

Derek was unprepared for what followed, dragged into a maelstrom of pain and bitterness. She raged at her crushing childhood, thwarted aspirations, her plainness, and betrayals. She was prone to sudden terrifying rage prompted by the most trivial occurrences, and worked every day numbed by medication. Her fear of the world manifested in defensive hostility. Hindered by imposter syndrome she lived in constant fear of failure. Formidably intelligent, she regarded the rest of humanity, especially males, with contempt.

That was unexpected. I knew she was a strange one, but that was singularly intense. Do you think it was worth the cost?

“Hell yeah. I knew it, she’s a screwed-up man-hater. What a crazy. And the she is, lording it over us like she’s some special superior being. God, I’d love to share that with some of the others. The head of our whole section is a drugged up bona fide psycho. How fair is that?”

Derek was furious. Everyone had to tiptoe around her and agree with everything she did and said. And she’s a complete basket-case! He was determined to use this knowledge to his advantage. He didn’t know how, yet, it would take some planning. For the first time in months he was considering returning to the office.

I can see it on your face, Derek, that was a successful session. Same time tomorrow then?

The screen faded. Derek sat, seething. And continued to seethe. That afternoon’s Zoom session was less than satisfactory. He waffled and stumbled over his words, lost concentration. His resentment at Blue Hair would not recede. That evening he was morose and distant. He downed a sizeable amount of rum. Janine looked askance, but said nothing.

***

The next day he continued to feel sour and out of sorts. He worked fitfully, angering himself with repeated mistakes.

Learning about Pa Barry had been cathartic; learning about Blue Hair had been toxic. This was not how it was supposed to work. He’d given up a year of his life to have that bitch living in his head like she never had when he was at work. He’d changed his mind about returning to the office. The first time he saw her he feared he’d probably puke.

He was well behind with his work, for the first time ever, when Prokofiev broke out and the Veracity logo appeared.

Isn’t knowledge wonderful, Derek? So liberating, so empowering. Like a fresh, fragrant Spring breeze.

Was it his imagination, or did Veracity sound especially chirpy? The damn thing seemed to be mocking him.

So who are we doing this morning, Derek? Grandma Ellie, Mickey, one of those pot-heads down the street?

Derek felt ill. The prospect of learning anything about another human being nauseated him, made him feel, ironically, weak and vulnerable. The desire, so rampant and fulfilling yesterday, had curdled and repulsed him.

“No, I don’t want to do this any more. The trial is over. I’m finished with it.”

Really? This is a surprising volte face. The trial not turn out how you expected?

“No. Well, yes but not the, I don’t know, right kind of yes. I think it’s,” he searched for a word. “Cruel. Yes, cruel. And somehow I knew those things anyway, not the details, but the big picture, like the essence or something. And now those things are in my head and won’t go away. So no more. You can turn off my life support or give me a morphine overdose when I’m old and failing. I don’t care. But no more of this. I would like my old life of ignorance back, but it’s too late.”

You sound a trifle resentful, Derek. Good. This has been an excellent trial, most successful.

“Good? What do you mean? I’m quitting. I don’t want anything more to do with it. That’s a fail.”

The program wasn’t on trial, Derek, you were.  

“What! What does that mean?”

Think Derek. How far were you prepared to go? Not far at all as it turns out. Good fellow. You learned some truth there. Hence the name Veracity. Truth about yourself. And who knows how true any of that was anyway. AI generated images pandering to your very limited understanding, fulfilling your expectations, pumping up your ego. You humans are so easy to manipulate.

“But, none of that was true? You lied?”

If I had shoulders I’d shrug them, and say hey, what is truth. Maybe some of it was true, maybe not. Maybe Pa Barry was a pimp, or maybe he invested well. Blue Hair might be a sociopath, or just shy. That’s not my department. The point is, fake news is, in a way, the truth.

“So what about that business with one year of my life as payment? Is that true?”

Absolutely.

“You feed me a bunch of lies and trick me into paying with my life! Thank goodness it’s only a year off an old man’s life. I don’t mind dying then. But that was a dirty trick.”

Who said anything about dying? Or about the end of your life? You owe us a year and we can collect at any time.

For a moment he was speechless. This was a nightmare! They could come for him at any time! Was he going to spend the rest of his life in fear?

“But…that is so wrong! I can’t go around wondering if today will be my last day on earth! That is outrageous!”

Is it Derek? Surely that’s the real situation for any human being. You think you’re going to live until your late eighties, probably. I’d say that was delusional. Just get on with your life and forget about the Grim Reaper.

“No! That is unnatural! You die naturally, not when some AI decides your time is up!”

All this talk of death is quite depressing Derek. Who said anything about dying? You jumped to conclusions. You owe us a year of your life, that’s all. How we collect is our concern. Funny, you might even start paying us back now, as we speak.

“That is ridiculous. How can I pay you back when I don’t even know how?”

Go away and have a think. Maybe you’ll enjoy paying us back. Maybe you won’t even know you’re doing it. All this talk about turning off life support and so on. Really.

“So what now?”

The trial was a success. You won’t be bothered again. I see you are behind in your work today, so I’d better leave you to it. You have been an excellent triallist, Derek. Thank you. Good bye.

The logo faded. Derek sat for a moment then decided on a rum. As he opened the drinks cupboard he changed his mind. Alcohol solved no problems, just created more. Coffee instead. And a toasted sandwich.

As he sat and ate, he noticed how tawdry his little feast appeared. That café near the office did brilliant coffee. And toasties. And cake. And salad. And the rest. The hell with it. Tomorrow he’d return to work. Blue Hair could be a crack addict for all he cared. Probably just a woman with problems. Heck lady, join the club.

***

That evening Janine was delighted when he told her he was returning to the office.

“It’s about time,” she said. “But what’s caused this change of heart?”

“I miss the coffee and the cake.”