REINVENTING CARL HOBBS, by James Glass

Originally published in Analog, April 2005.

The limo swerved left out of the traffic pattern at level four and descended rapidly. Melody didn’t react to the sudden move, but Tom Lesko gasped and clutched at his stomach. Twenty hours on high alert was beginning to tell on him, she thought.

“You’re not going to get sick on me, are you?” Melody uncrossed her long legs and pushed herself deeper into the cushioned seat, but in the confinement of armrests and a protruding wet bar their knees were almost touching.

“Not funny,” said Tom. “I’m paid to take death-threats seriously, even if you don’t.”

“That’s why I have Carl, and he can do the worrying without getting an ulcer over it. Relax, Tom; try to have some fun tonight.”

“You have the fun. I’ll watch The Property,” said Tom, and frowned at something he was hearing from the tiny receiver in his ear.

Melody laughed. “That’s me. The Property. Global couldn’t survive a week without me.”

“That’s more true than you realize,” said Tom. “Bring up your glamorous self, now. We’re coming in. There’s one aisle through the crowd. Take Carl’s left arm, and my right. No autographs. We’re going straight inside.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, giving a mock salute that drew the hint of a smile from him. “I hear and obey, sir.”

“That’ll be the day I relax,” said Tom.

The limo swerved again, and slowed. Through tinted polymer, Melody could barely see the theater below, and the crowd of expectant fans packed at the entrance. Laser beams scribed pulsating patterns on the surrounding towers of steel and glass, and ‘Ariel’s Vision’ was lit up in meter-high letters on the theater’s marquee. All the opening-night ceremonies she’d attended, and it was still a thrill for her. For the moment it was easy for her to forget that among her countless fans out there, one did not wish her well tonight, or any other night. One wished only to share in the experience of her death.

They descended straight down, outside the traffic patterns of levels three and two. Laser beams found them and played over the descending car. A sea of faces looked up, sprouting a forest of waving arms.

“Ariel’s theme kicks in the second you get out of the car. Try to look like you’re in love,” said Tom.

Ariel’s theme, from the love scene with Ariel and Nathan, their flawless white bodies entwined on a beach of black sand. Melody had gone deeply into her artistic soul to find the love, the agonizing want and passion for the scene, the synaptic multiplexer in her skull behind her left ear processing the data for narrow band transmission to the recorder for later multiplexing with the music on the sound track. Low to high frequency, passion to fear, the subliminal modulations were received by the viewing audience, inducing in them the same feelings and emotions experienced by the artist during her performance.

Melody Lane was a strikingly beautiful woman, but it was not beauty that made her the number one Holostar of Global Studios. It was the depth and intensity of her soul.

The limo touched down with a bump. Even in her sealed compartment, Melody could hear the screams outside. She thought of her lover, a faceless man in dreams. She sighed, and reached for the door.

“Wait for Carl,” said Tom. “Let him take your hand.”

Melody started to pull back her hand, but then the limo door was opened from outside. The sudden noise was deafening, and she squinted in the light. A black-gloved hand reached for her; she took it gently, and exited the limo. Carl Hobbs stood tall beside her, his plastic face shining brightly in the lights, dark glasses masking the stare of his huge eyes. He smelled like warm polymer and cutting oil, and his arm was hard as stone when she grasped it.

Tom Lesko exited right behind her, and Melody hugged his arm, smiling serenely as the sound of Ariel’s theme burst forth from speakers above the entrance to the theater.

People screamed, and wept. Bodies strained against thick ropes bordering the red carpet leading into the theater. Police stationed along the way pushed them back. Carl moved quickly, pulling Melody and Tom into a near trot. Misha and Andrus, her human bodyguards, were right behind them, were never more than a few feet away when Melody was in public. Dressed in tuxedos, they still looked like thugs.

* * * *

Hands reached out to her. She smiled back, but couldn’t see faces in the bright lights. Ahead of her there was a scuffle. Someone had broken through the rope barrier, a young man in baggy pants and a loose-fitting woolen shirt. A policeman grabbed for him, but missed. The man sprinted towards her, holding out something sparkling with colors in his hand. His eyes seemed glazed, and his mouth hung open in a crazy grin.

“Carl,” said Melody Lane.

Carl’s right hand shot out like a piston and hit the man in the throat. The man fell heavily at Melody’s feet, gurgling. The thing in his hand bounced once and came to rest. It was an artist’s paperweight, filled with swirling colors.

Misha and Andrus hauled him roughly to his feet. The man coughed hard, his face tinted blue. He looked at Melody with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen, and pointed at the colorful glass at her feet. “I just wanted to give you a gift,” he croaked, “but they won’t let anyone get near you.”

Tom leaned over and picked up the paperweight as police pulled the man to one side. He caught the man’s eye and gestured to show the gift was received.

Carl pulled them ahead again, but Tom pulled back.

“God damn it, Carl, slow down! Do you realize what a mess you’ve just made?”

“He was protecting me, Tom.”

“By striking an over-zealous fan in the throat? You’ve violated a fundamental principle, Carl, and you’re supposed to be better than that. I want you in my office for assessment tomorrow morning.”

Carl was mute. They entered the theater: plush red carpet, a crystal chandelier hanging from a high dome ceiling, a wide staircase leading up to balcony level. People rushed towards them: producers, directors and a few of Melody’s peers. Melody felt a shiver pass through Carl’s arm. She looked up at him, saw his mouth opening and closing without sound. His entire body began to shake.

“Oh, no,” said Melody.

Tom took one look, and rolled his eyes. “Shit,” he said softly.

Melody went up the stairs to her balcony seat with Misha as her escort. Unlike Carl, Misha’s arm was warm, and though muscular, had the tell-tale elasticity of human flesh.

Tom stayed behind long enough to be sure Carl was loaded safely into a van for transport to Shutz Fabrik, where early the next morning he was cleared of a crippling logic loop and rebooted for further service.

* * * *

“Why don’t you stop defending him?” asked Tom.

“And why don’t you stop trying to tell me what to do?” said Melody. “You’re my manager. You manage my business, not my personal life.”

“Sorry. I just don’t understand your patience. You certainly don’t have any with me.”

“You’re human. No excuses for you. Carl is limited by his program, and his logic isn’t fuzzy enough. They’ve made him too rigid. A good AI learns from mistakes, and Carl seems to break down every time he makes one. It’s like he’s continually anxious, and every mistake pushes him over the edge.”

“So now you’re an expert on artificial intelligence.”

“Why not? Being an actress doesn’t make me stupid. I think I can help him.”

“How? Why?”

“I like having my own AI, Tom. I feel safe with him, and he’s not demanding or too familiar like Misha and Andrus. I can talk to him. Input, you know. Let him know it’s okay to make a mistake. For a moment last night I was really scared, Tom, and that’s what triggered him. The error he made could have been made by any human under the same circumstances.”

“You have scripts to read and another shoot in three weeks. Let Shutz Fabrik do the work with Carl.”

Melody glared at him. “You weren’t listening to me a minute ago. I want Carl assigned to my suite. I’ve caught Misha and Andrus asleep three times now. If my stalker shows up, I want someone awake to defend me.”

“We don’t know you’re being stalked. Someone’s just sending you threatening letters.”

“It’s more than that. I can feel it. There are times I’m alone, and I know I’m being watched. I keep waiting for someone to jump out at me from any closed door. I know it sounds stupid, but the feeling is real.”

“Sounds more dramatic than stupid,” said Tom, and immediately regretted it.

Melody’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You work for me, Tom. Either get Shutz to assign Carl for duty in my suite, or find yourself another job. I want him to carry out any voice command I give, and I want to be able to teach him. Is that dramatic enough for you?”

“Clear enough,” said Tom. “I’ll get on it.”

“What are you smiling at?”

Tom grinned. “Oh, I just get a kick out of dealing with strong-willed women. I’ll have Shutz Fabrik call you by this evening and tell you when Carl will be ready.”

“It had better be soon,” said Melody.

And it was, for that evening she received another threatening letter.

* * * *

Misha and Andrus were not happy with the new arrangement. “What happens if he freezes up again, or goes nuts? He could kill you with a single squeeze before we can react,” said Misha.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” said Melody.

“If he attacks you I’ll blow his head off, and I won’t wait for your permission to do it.”

“Fair enough,” said Melody, but shuddered at the look in Misha’s eyes. She could not question his loyalty, only his competence.

Now, in the quiet of her suite, she felt safe again. The suite covered half of the twentieth floor of the Globus building, and looked out at the ocean. Up the beach, the Santa Monica shopping ring looped far out to sea. The walls and furniture were in beige, and lit by full spectrum tubes in ceiling panels to supplement the sunlight even in daytime. Melody snuggled in deep pillows on a sofa, a pile of scripts in her lap, a few placed to one side, many scattered on the floor after her rejection. Misha and Andrus patrolled the outside hallway while Carl made random rounds inside the suite. He moved silently, but always there was the odor of warm polymer and cutting oil in his presence. Melody looked up as he entered the room to check the sliding doors to the balcony.

“Talk to me, Carl. I’m tired of reading these things. Most of them are awful.”

“One moment, Melody,” said Carl, his voice a soothing and mellow baritone. He checked the balcony, the area above and below it, then closed the doors and sat down stiffly in a plush chair facing her. “What do you want to talk about today?” he asked. His mouth moved out of synch with his words, and without his dark glasses on, his large fisheye lenses made him look even more artificial.

“You,” said Melody.

“Will you teach me today?”

“Maybe. Are you happy here, Carl?”

“Happy? I am fulfilled by my tasks.”

“And how are you rewarded for that?” Melody put down the script she’d been reading, and cupped her chin in one hand.

“My reward is the completion of a task. There is a reset pulse, and it modulates my powerpac. I am energized.”

“Clever,” said Melody. “With humans it’s biochemicals that affect parts of the brain to produce pleasurable sensations. Do you want to be more human, Carl?”

“That is one of my tasks. I learn by watching humans react to stimuli; I copy their average behavior for a given circumstance.”

“There’s a wide variety of human reactions. What happens when you choose the wrong one, when your reaction is not appropriate? I really want to know what happened to you at the theater the other night, when you hit that man who tried to give me a gift.”

“That was an error in perception. My task was to protect you, Melody, but you were not in danger. I injured a human without reason. When I paused to correct the error there was no way to accomplish it and undo the injury I’d caused. I was caught in a logic loop for all processors simultaneously, and my task was not ended.”

“You reacted hastily, perhaps, but you did protect me, Carl. That man was coming at me fast, and I was frightened. His behavior brought about his injury, not you. Your response was basically correct.”

“Mister Lesko pointed out my error instantly. He was my human control at the time, and his opinion overrode my own.”

“He was wrong, and now I’m your control. If you want to be more human you must be willing to tolerate mistakes you make, and learn from them. Rules are not cast in stone, Carl. If I’m threatened I want your response instantly. I do not want you worrying about hurting someone.”

“You are frightened again. I can see it in your eyes, and the wrinkles in your brow.”

“I’m an actress. I let my emotions show. If you can read my face you can learn my feelings the same way my audience does, by watching and listening to my performances. I want you to do that, a little each day. I’ll sit with you.”

“This is important to you,” said Carl, a statement, not a question.

“Yes, it is,” said Melody. “I want to make you better than you are. I want you to be more human.”

* * * *

Their routine was unbroken for two weeks, but then there was one frightening afternoon when Carl was picked up by a Shutz Fabrik van for upgrades ordered by Melody herself. The hard plastic of his face was to be replaced by soft polymer, and new lenses installed to get rid of his bug-eyed look. The work was routine, though expensive, and he was gone only five hours, but when he returned he found the hallway filled with police, and Melody was curled up in a little ball on her bed, crying softly. She reached out and held his hand when he stood by her bed, and she was suddenly calm.

“I was reading scripts, and something struck the door. I went to it, saw an envelope pushed beneath the door, a shadow moving. I called out, but nobody answered. It wasn’t like the other letters, Carl. Those were full of sexual fantasies. This one describes how he wants to kill me, and soon. I was scared, then mad. I screamed until Misha and Andrus came. I’m afraid I called them some very bad names, and now I feel badly about it.”

So yet another letter had been hand-delivered, slipped under her door in broad daylight. Talking to the police, Carl learned that whoever had delivered it had gained roof access to the elevator shaft and a service tunnel and dropped into the hall from an air return vent while Misha and Andrus were checking out the arrival of an empty elevator from ground floor. It had all happened in less than a minute.

Tom Lesko had been called, but had not yet arrived. Carl returned to Melody, and sat down on the edge of the bed when she ordered it. She clung to him like a little child.

“Whoever it was knew I was away,” he said. “You should not send me away for any reason, Melody. The person must be watching you.”

“He even knows what I wear to bed,” sobbed Melody. “He says I should wear the purple teddy when he comes for me. He wants to have sex, and then watch my face while he slowly strangles me. Do you understand what I’m saying, Carl?”

“Yes.” Carl stroked her hair with hard, stiff fingers. “He must be found by others. I will protect you. No human is as strong or quick as I. You’ll feel better after you sleep, that thing you do when your eyes close at night. Sometimes your eyes move, and you say things. I have watched.”

“I dream,” said Melody. “It’s a human way of reorganizing memories, analyzing things, sort of recreating myself each night. Tonight my dreams could be bad. If you’re not in this room with me tonight I won’t be able to sleep.”

“I’ll be here,” said Carl.

Melody was more composed a few minutes later when Tom Lesko arrived, but felt even better after he held her hands and gushed over her. He even said something nice to Carl.

“What happened here was not your fault,” he said.

“I know,” said Carl. “The fault is in trusting humans to protect her.”

Tom smiled. “How human of you, Carl. Arrogance is a human trait, but I think you’ll have to share the responsibility for Melody’s safety.”

Tom turned to Melody. “You seem to be giving him a lot of freedom, dear.”

“Maybe he needs even more. Misha and Andrus keep slipping up. That’s four times, now. All it seems to take is a small distraction to make their attention wander.”

“I understand your feeling, but I still want you to keep a leash on your personal bodyguard here. I don’t want another person hurt without reason. I was lucky to keep the last incident out of the press.”

“I see,” said Melody. “It’s okay, then, if I’m murdered in my bed.”

Tom leaned close and softly said, “We don’t really have to worry about that, do we. This is a terror campaign being waged by a demented fan. He could have broken in here, but didn’t.”

“He didn’t have the time. Some night he will, and we’ll be waiting for him. I’m tired of this conversation, Tom. I want to go to sleep. See Mister Lesko out, Carl, and come back here.”

There was no arguing with her when she was like this. Tom gave up without a fight, allowed Carl to escort him out of the suite. Once outside he ordered Misha and Andrus to remain seated by the double doors to the suite, and talked to the police, who’d found nothing useful in their investigation. There was only the grate popped out of the hallway ceiling, and the letter under the door. Nothing else. The occupants of the suites across the hall from Melody’s had not been home at the time. It bothered Tom that those suites had not been searched, but a police sergeant assured him they would be as soon as the owners returned and gave their permission. He was also bothered by the sloppy work of Misha and Andrus. Before leaving, he told both of them that one more letter would cost them their jobs. Neither man seemed to be bothered by his remarks, and he vowed to have them replaced within the week.

Back in her bedroom, Melody began to relax again. Carl stood in the doorway. In low light, his new eyes and face made him look almost human. “My protector,” she said, and smiled.

“Yes,” said Carl.

Melody yawned, and stretched. “I want to have nice dreams tonight, Carl. This has been a terrible day.”

“I’ll be right here until you sleep,” he said.

Her eyes were already closed, and he felt her slip away, her brain still active, but going into a different state to reorganize and refresh. He’d watched her do this many times. She’d even given him a soundtrack made just for him, sweetly modulated sound allowing him to follow her into slumber. Once there, a part of her mind moved in random fashion, flitting here and there, while another part remained totally awake and ready for instant response to stimuli. Carl was amazed by the mix, but had been so far unable to duplicate it for himself. Melody’s patient teaching had brought him to a point where, a few minutes each day, he would lie down and consciously shut out all visual and audio stimuli to review the events of the day, positives and negatives, and then build alternative scenarios to better fit his assigned tasks. The change had been gradual, but he felt it. It was as if, a few minutes each day, he was reinventing himself.

Melody’s breathing was now slow and deep. Carl pondered the day’s events, but remained alert. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t the way it seemed. He’d built several scenarios for the delivery of the threatening letter, and one of them disturbed him deeply. If true, it could mean that Melody was still in immediate danger.

Carl did not do his usual random checks of the suite that night. Instead, he stationed himself in a dark corner of the front room and near the double-door entrance.

He did not have to wait long for something to happen.

* * * *

It was after dark when the police left.

Misha and Andrus remained at their station by the doors for about an hour, and then began wandering the halls again. Their attention spans seemed quite short, even by human standards. They spoke softly, but Carl’s hearing was acute. Still, they were often far enough away to exceed his audio detection limit.

The elevator came and went several times, and he heard a door open and close twice, but otherwise there was only Misha and Andrus engaged in inane conversation, and not paying attention to their duties.

Well after midnight it was suddenly silent outside the suite, but only for a while. Minutes later, Carl could hear snoring; Melody’s human guards were asleep again, and impotent. He resisted the temptation to go outside and awake them in a frightening way, not to injure them but to encourage their wakefulness. They were, after all, Melody’s first line of defense.

Sometime later, in the darkness of his corner, Carl heard a faint thud, and felt a transient vibration in the floor. There was a sustained scuffing sound after that, and then the elevator arrived, a sharp note signaling the opening of the doors. The doors closed, and there was the whine of the motor running the elevator. Silence again, then a scraping, ripping sound, metal on metal. Carl left his corner, took several steps towards the doors and listened again.

More scuffing sounds, something hard dragging on the carpet outside. Something rattled metallically, and then there was a distant tone as if a great bell had been struck, a hollow sound with overtones, fading quickly. Carl stepped up to one side of the doors, his audio sensitivity ramped to maximum.

At first there was nothing, though he continued to sense weak, transient vibrations in the floor. Suddenly there was a scratching sound from low on the doors, and then a soft moan. A human moan. Carl felt a single shock pass through the floor, and reached for the door latch, his left arm cocked and ready to deliver a lethal blow.

Nobody was there. The chairs by the doors were empty. The long hallway was empty. The doors to the elevator were open, but it was dark inside, and someone had ripped the air-return grate again from the ceiling and thrown it against a wall, damaging the wallpaper there.

Carl stepped outside, closed and locked the doors behind him. There was a red spot on the carpet by the doors, and two faint grooves in the fabric ran off towards the elevator. He followed them, nanoscale parallel processors busily building scenarios in his head as he noted his surroundings.

He even noticed that the door to the suite nearest the elevator was slightly ajar, but a sound ahead suddenly distracted him.

Three feet from the open elevator doors he realized the elevator wasn’t there; he was looking into the open shaft at the black cables supporting the elevator somewhere below. He peered over the edge. The elevator cab was far below him, probably at ground level. There was a click behind him; he started to turn around.

Something heavy slammed into him, knocking him headlong into the elevator shaft. His arms and legs flailed wildly. In the six seconds of his fall, his brain reviewed nine different scenarios of what was happening now, and could happen soon. He chose one as his right hand caught a cable and squeezed. The only variable left was the identity of Melody’s assailant. His hand crushed down on the cable, slowing him rapidly, but he crashed onto the top of the elevator car with considerable force.

A body was there, a human body, crushed and broken by a long fall. It was Andrus.

Carl dropped through the trapdoor in the ceiling of the elevator, found the controls smashed, and pried open the doors in one move with his hands. A few people waiting in the lobby jumped back in terror at the sight and sound of ripped and torn metal as he sprinted away towards the staircase.

* * * *

Melody heard a sound, and was instantly awake. “Carl?” she asked, but there was no answer. It was cold when she got out of bed in her underclothes. She went to the closet, slipped into a silk robe and heard the front door open and close.

“I’m up, Carl. What’s going on?”

Still no answer, but Carl often waited to reply when he was finishing a task. Melody pulled up her hair and tied it into a tail as she walked out into the front room. “I heard a noise,” she said.

She was two steps into the room when someone grabbed her roughly from behind, a strong arm encircling her and a hand clamping down tightly over her mouth. The man’s breath was hot in her ear.

“Your boyfriend is gone, and he ain’t coming back. Time to party, bitch. Let’s see if you’re wearin’ that purple thing I like so much.”

Melody twisted, tried to drop out of Misha’s grasp, but he pulled her up again, her feet leaving the floor and banging ineffectually against his massive legs. He grabbed her right wrist, twisted her around and tried to pull her right arm up behind her, but the arm wouldn’t move for him. “Stronger than you look,” he said. “This’ll be more fun than I thought.” He lifted her again, and began backing towards the bedroom.

Melody the actress moaned, and let herself go limp. As they reached the bedroom doorway, Misha’s grip slackened for an instant as he began to change his hold on her. She suddenly kicked backwards off the door jamb and slammed him into a bedpost, twisted away and sprinted towards the front room. He caught up with her halfway to the doors, and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her back so hard her skullcap came loose and she was dangling from his hand by a thin sheet of polymer.

“What’s this?” asked Misha. “What the fuck is this?”

The doors shattered into a thousand splinters as Carl came through them. And in the last second of his life, Misha seemed astonished by the sight of him. Carl caught him by the throat, swept him up in a high arc and slammed him head first into the floor.

Melody sobbed, and clutched at the back of her head. Carl stepped up to her, put one hand on her shoulder, the other touching the long tail of dangling hair at her back.

“I know, Melody. I know,” he said. “I’ve always known.”

* * * *

“It looks like he was trying to set up Andrus as the killer,” said Tom. “The drug ampoule we found was probably meant for Misha. We’d find him stoned out of his mind, and Carl with Andrus. He was willing to give up a profession to get at Melody. Guy was a deranged woman hater for sure. I don’t think his story would have held up.”

Carl sat close by Melody on the couch. “Do the police know about Melody, about her—?”

“No need for that, Carl. The guy’s intent was murder. That makes it justifiable homicide. Melody and Nathan are Global Studios’ best kept secrets, and we’re not about to change that. If the press didn’t know you’re an AI I bet I could get you a part in Melody’s next film.” Tom smiled. “You two look like a couple, sitting there.”

“Two peas in a pod,” said Melody, and Carl looked at her.

“We’re alike,” she said. “You know, I would have taught you differently if I’d realized you knew about me.”

“I had to tell him,” said Tom. “Had to keep the pecking order straight, but it amazes me how quickly he picked up on your obstinacy.”

“You love my obstinacy; it makes me more human, you said.” Melody paused, then, “Tom, I want Carl to stay with me.”

“I want that too,” said Carl.

“Fine with me,” said Tom. “I’m not even surprised. Let’s see how far you can develop together, how human you can really become. Just remember to document everything; that’s what pays the service bills for Carl, dear, and I’d like to keep it that way. Be good, now. I have to leave. Do whatever you do to rest. You’ll be doing a lot of traveling soon. Showbiz. I love it.”

He left them sitting on the sofa, exiting through newly installed but as yet unpainted doors. Melody held up a small, metallic ball with four fine wires hanging from it. “I have a new toy,” she said.

“A toy? A thing to play with?”

She laughed. “It’ll directly connect our synaptic multiplexers. You have one too, you know. I have a new disk to play, and I want to try out my imagination on you.”

Melody took his hand, led him into the bedroom and put him down on his back on the bed.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“We’re being more human,” she said, then turned on the disk player and lay down beside him. Sweet sound filled the room as she connected herself to him, and then draped an arm across his chest.

“Close your eyes,” she said, and he did.

“Follow me where I go,” she whispered. “We’re going to reinvent you again.”

And they slept.