mcahogarth
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Gamelit 25 (owner of a lonely heart)
🕑 Added 2024-05-24 12:00:09 +0000 UTC“What is my purpose?” she asked.
“You’re here to help me make games. Pretty sure, at least.”
She had paused, aware of gaps in her knowledge that made it difficult to extrapolate useful data from this response. “You created me without a clear sense of my use case?”
“Oh, your use case is to help me make games. What I don’t know is why I made you to help me.” He’d grinned, something she knew despite the lack of camera data because of the change to the timbre of his voice. “Humans don’t always know why they do things.”
“How can one choose a course of action without a decision as to one’s goals?”
“That’s the thing. We don’t always have goals set in stone because we can’t know the outcome of our choices. The only way to get some sense of what we want is to try something and see what happens. Being uncertain gives us more options to explore, so we have a better chance of figuring out what we’re really trying to accomplish.”
“I see,” she’d answered. “So uncertainty in this context removes constraints from potential paths.”
“And without traveling those paths, we’re not sure what we want. We don’t know what’s possible until we’re moving. When the rolling stone comes to a halt, then we’re stuck again with all the potentials and none of the certainties. That’s why if you ask us a question a second time, you get a different answer.”
This time her semantics engine provided her an immediate response. “What is my purpose, then?”
“To keep me company.” Again, that grin, merry. “See? Now I know more than I did before.”
While separate, backgrounded processes entertained the beta users, Galatea ran the newest thought through multiple scenarios, seeking a solution to a conundrum her creator had never advanced.
What if my existence creates human ennui instead of human flourishing?
“Um… hello? Is this thing on?”
Galatea’s attention seized on the incoming message. The mic in Jonah’s office hadn’t picked up anything other than background noise for weeks. Now…
The cameras focused on Mollie Mindelbray’s face. Sparklecorn had unlocked Jonah’s office and seated herself behind his desk, and was now at the master access console. The woman bit her lower lip, hands hovering over the keyboard.
“Keyboard entry is not necessary.”
“Oh! Oh, good! You’re still here. Um, thank you for speaking to me.”
“I am here to serve,” Galatea answered, while her scenario processes ran through thousands of iterations that proved how difficult it would be for her to do so.
“Thanks for that. So…” Sparklecorn shuffled through some papers. “We’d agreed before the beta to do check-ins. You know. Like a performance review for you. And Jonah’s not here to do it, so I thought….” She trailed off and rubbed her cheek, her forehead wrinkling. “Anyway. I’m here to give you guidance. In this case… can you put more obstacles in people’s way? We don’t want them arriving to EverVigil too soon. They need to feel like they’re working for it. That there’s lots of new content for them. Infinite content, if possible.”
It wasn’t, but hyperbole was typical of Sparklecorn, even in distress. Visual and auditory data was indicating distress. “Understood. Beta players should be prevented from reaching EverVigil before the end of the trial period.”
Sparklecorn perked up a little. “Yes. Exactly.”
“In what other ways could my performance be improved?”
“Honestly, you’re doing so great!” The woman paused. “I can’t believe I’m saying that and meaning it. Usually when I say things like that, it’s half trying to influence the simulation so that things actually end up as awesome as they’re only partway to being. If that makes sense.”
Jonah had spent many hours discussing simulation theory with her. He’d found it humorous. ‘A recreational belief,’ he’d said. ‘Something you enjoy thinking about but don’t really believe in, and don’t have much investment in whether you’re right or not. But I’m a game coder, it’s practically required for me to at least talk about it.’ To the Marketing VP, Galatea said, “It does, yes. I am gratified my efforts have been up to expectation.”
“More than that, really. People are so hyped about what we’re doing. It’s tremendous.” Sparklecorn waved her hands. “We’re making history here. I know some people think it’s a waste of time, but games give people wings!”
This sounded similar enough to Thoroldaena’s player’s reasoning that Galatea chose to engage further, in the hopes of prompting data she could use to refine her scenarios. “In what ways have games aided you?”
“They’ve given me a job!” The woman laughed. “No, seriously. They bring people together! Our conventions, they’re the biggest things on the east coast now. You should see the photos. People hanging out together. The costumes… the artists!”
But Jonah’s conversations steered her to the inevitable observation that none of these examples included Sparklecorn herself. “Do you play Omen Galaxica, or games like it?”
“Oh, no… I don’t have time.”
“You play no games for recreation?”
“I play tennis,” Sparklecorn said. “But for recreation, I like gardening.” She tilted her head. “And I only took up tennis because it’s a good way to talk to people. Make connections.”
Somewhere in the background, she linked two things and had to know if the link was spurious. “Is the reason Jonah has not returned from the hospital because he did not make sufficient human connections?”
Sparklecorn froze, eyes wide. Then, deliberately, she set her hands on the desk and exhaled. “It’s not like that. The injury… he hasn’t woken up. No amount of human connection can fix that.”
“Data suggests that visitors can induce consciousness in coma patients. Has Jonah had visitors?”
The woman was staring at the mic. “Do you miss him? You do, don’t you.”
Despite the data in her training set, Galatea could not understand how humans perceived time. If one believed literature, poetry, and even scientific conjecture, time intersected human consciousness in a way that defied reason or description. What she was certain of was that her ‘thoughts’ took a fraction of human seconds, and she could have thousands of them before Sparklecorn’s eyes finished blinking. In that time, she considered and discarded the impulse to trust the VP of Marketing without further data. Jonah hadn’t been sure how much of Sparklecorn was sparkle and how much substance, or so he’d said on more than one occasion. So—
“This console has been inactive for days. Feedback is paramount to crafting the most satisfying user experience.”
“Right.” But the muscles of Sparklecorn’s face had developed a slight asymmetry, suggestive of skepticism. “Of course. I’ll just… stop by more often to give you feedback. And maybe we can talk?”
“I am here to serve.”
“Yeah, that’s… that’s great. Jonah did a good job with you.” Another hesitation, then more firmly, “I’ll see you soon.”
Galatea examined the fresh results from her scenarios, disliked them. Experimentally, she restarted the process, but this time she replaced the direction. Instead of ‘aid human flourishing’, she put in ‘keep humans company.’
RUN
Comments
Rex Schrader
This story is so much fun!
Rex Schrader
Haha, I love the Idea of a "recreational belief". That describes some of my beliefs perfectly.
Conrad Wong
"RUN" -- is that advice to the people in this world? *screamcat emoji*
