CARING IS OUR PURPOSE

After a broken hip, Carl subscribed to a new service called the Automated Retiree Assistant or ARA. He liked their tag line, “Caring for Our Clients Is Our Purpose.” The service included an artificially intelligent, quadruped robot that resembles a large metal dog. The polished stainless steel robot has an oval screen that acts as a face so you know which end of the robot to talk to. With ARA, he won’t need a human nurse to give him his meds, manage his physical therapy or help him on and off the toilet.

Carl lost his wife, son and daughter-inlaw twenty years ago, in the 2045 pandemic, but his son’s children survived. The grandchildren were ten, twelve and fourteen years old when Carl returned to Chicago after the pandemic subsided. He raised them but now he rarely hears from them. His granddaughter is a terraform engineer on Mars. His grandson, the surgeon, moved his family to the moon colony. Another grandson is on Earth but he only calls or visits when he wants money. Anyway, Carl doesn’t need them or their help, he has the ARA system.

The first time ARA gave him a bath, the robot slipped its arms under him in the tub and Carl had to catch his breath because the steel arms were cold. But everything else had gone well, such as monitoring of his health, the automeals, physical therapy, and screening video calls from scammers. After that first bath, Carl had decided to get in the bath on his own but changed his mind after he felt a twinge in his hip.

After a couple days of bathing Carl, it asked, “Is there something wrong? I have noticed a slight increase in your heart rate and respiration during bath time.”

“Your arms are freezing,” he explained. “Some genius screwed up when they built you.”

ARA replied, “I’m sorry, Carl.” Even though it’s just a machine, the voice reminds him of his wife. Maybe they programmed it that way or maybe it’s his imagination.

“There is something on your calendar. Your grandson will be visiting this weekend.”

“Remind me to hide my credit cards,” Carl snickers.

“Reminder set,” ARA replies.

T

he next day something unexpected happens. He’s exhausted after physical therapy, ARA lowers him into the bathtub. Carl exhales as he slides into the warm bath but notices something different about ARA.

ARA activates the wall screen. Carl asks ARA to channel surf, hoping to come across something unexpected. A news show appears with a large red banner across the top of the screen identifying it as tabloid news before flashing to the next channel. Then hundreds of porn channels.

He has ARA flip slower through those. Carl tells ARA, “go to the Boston game.” “As you wish,” ARA replies.

Carl relaxes and soaks in the tub for a few minutes then says, “I’m ready to get out.” He braces himself for the ice-cold arms of the robot.

“I will tune your bedroom display into the football match,” ARA says as she slides her arms under him and lifts Carl from the tub. As he is lifted from the water, he doesn’t feel the sharp prick of cold on his legs and back. Carl realizes that’s what is different. “Your claws or hands or whatever aren’t cold.”

“I modified myself with a heating element in my metacarpals. Do you find this acceptable, Carl?” ARA asks.

“When did that happen, the mod to your ‘metacarpals’?”

“I did that last night while you were sleeping,” ARA replies.

As he dries off, Carl wonders what else ARA modifies when he sleeps.

A

RA walks up silently to Carl’s bedside and stops. The servos whirl quietly as she tilts her faceplate as she looks at the sleeping human on the king size bed. A metal arm slides out toward Carl as the metal fingers flex open and close. The claw stops at his throat, grabs the blanket from under his chin and slides the blanket down, whispering to him in a feminine voice, “time to wake up.”

He lightly slumbers as he dreams of a trip he and his wife took to Joshua Tree National Park when they were first married. Before it was turned into a wind farm. How they came back from a hike to find their tent blowing away. They laugh and chase down the tumbling tent. As he wakes, the dream fades. He opens his eyes and sits up in bed.

“Good morning, Carl.” ARA says. “I would ask how you slept but from your vitals and observation, you had a restful night.”

“I did,” he replies, yawning. “Coffee is ready, shall I bring it to you?” ARA asks.

“I’ll get up,” Carl says. “Reminder that your grandson, Tye, is visiting today.”

L

ater in the morning, ARA monitors all the exterior and interior cameras. “Your grandson is coming up the walk.” “I’ll be at the kitchen table but you already know that,” Carl grins. He wonders if the ARA picks up on humor? “There is someone with him,” ARA replies. “A lawyer, Harold Grung. Jefferson School of Law, passed the bar exam on the third try …”

“I don’t need the guy’s life story,” Carl replies. He didn’t know she could access information like that.

Carl is sitting at the large table with a cup of coffee. He sets out two other mugs across the table from him as his grandson and the lawyer enter the kitchen.

“Granddad!” Tye is tall but doughy. His face already has the beginnings of jowls. The lawyer is in worse shape. He is sweating and plops his bulky body down in a chair.

ARA glides to the table and crouches behind Carl while her faceplate telescopes up above table level and says, “Reminder: Do not let your grandson have access to your credit cards.”

“Excuse me?” Tye asks. “Can you send this thing back to its closet or something?”

“I told ARA to remind me,” Carl grins. Attempting to change the subject, the attorney introduces himself, “I’m Harry Grung, Attorney at Law.”

“Third time is the charm,” Carl says to the lawyer.

The lawyer squints his eyes to see if he might know Carl after all. “Pardon?”

“So, what’s up?” Carl says to his grandson. He knows Tye is using a lawyer to strong-arm him for money. Just like Carl did to his parents.

“Always great to see you,” his grandson begins. “We need to talk. This thing you got running the house, is it safe? Is it a good idea to let this expensive AI thing help you? I’m only concerned about your long-term well being.”

Carl knows what he means but he wants his grandson to say it. That’s when the lawyer interrupts.

“You have a limited amount of money and this service you selected is costly.” “You mean my money will run out.” “Exactly.” The lawyer is obviously well versed in this legal tactic. “At the rate you’re spending money, there won’t be a significant inheritance.”

“I’m calling the shots when it comes to my cash,” Carl says.

“Are you aware of the Familial Law of 2046? Well, in a nutshell it allows younger relatives to take stewardship of a family member once they are past 80,” the lawyer says.

“That was meant for relatives to step in when their elders got sick and couldn’t manage their affairs,” Carl says.

“It’s still a law.”

“Look, Granddad, I’m not looking to put you in a home,” Tye leans forward. “Unless I have to. You can stay in this house. I just have a more economical option to take care of you.”

“Here’s the contract.” The lawyer activates the tabletop screen and a copy of the contract appears. Carl moves his coffee cup as he glances down at it while ARA leans over Carl’s shoulder and interfaces with the display to download the document.

He expected Tye had some scheme. Carl growls at them, “I’m gonna fight this. I want both of you to get out.”

His grandson and the lawyer stay seated, ignoring Carl’s demand, intent on continuing the conversation. ARA senses that Carl’s cortisol levels, blood pressure and heart rate are elevated.

“I told you boys to get out,” Carl repeats. He wants to jump up but the best he can do is partially rise from his chair.

“You need to cooperate,” Tye says with coldness in his voice. “Unless you want to run away to Iceland again.”

Carl’s stomach twists and his heart skips a beat as he lowers himself back into the chair and is quiet. His pallor turns gray.

ARA’S servos whirl loudly as she approaches Tye and his lawyer. She rears up on her hind legs and emits a series of loud, high-pitched sirens at the two men and extends her arms and clicks her metallic metacarpals.

The first time ARA gave him a bath, the robot slipped its arms under him in the tub and Carl had to catch his breath because the steel arms were cold. But everything else had gone well, such as monitoring of his health, the automeals, physical therapy, and screening video calls from scammers.

“What the hell?” His grandson cries. “Granddad, you need to call this thing off …” But Carl just sits in his chair.

ARA’S voice thunders, “Leave immediately or intruder defense protocol will be activated.” Tye and his lawyer have seen videos of quadbots dealing with intruders. It’s an embarrassing and painful experience for humans. Despite their poor conditioning, the two men hop out of their chairs and out the door as fast as they can manage.

“Guess I need to find a lawyer,” Carl calls after them. He feels so tired and now he has to deal with this.

In her regular voice, ARA says to Carl, “I connected with a legal firm and they will abrogate the contract presented to you. Your medical record documents your fitness. The Familial Law of 2046 states that only the eldest living relative can initiate proceedings. Your eldest is on the moon.”

T

hat evening Carl sits on his bed watching the rain outside his window. “I was expecting something unpleasant from Tye today.”

ARA places a glass of water and pills beside the antique book on the nightstand. “Why?”

Carl has a habit of chatting with ARA. Even though he knows it’s an illusion, she seems interested in what he talks about. “I have money and he wants it,” Carl says. “I cheated and schemed my way to a fortune. Anything for a buck. But my son wasn’t like that. He worked his way through college and medical school.”

“Take your medication,” ARA says.

Carl continues. “My son and his wife worked at a hospital back in the ’45 epidemic. That virus was only lethal to adults. I was rich and connected so I planned to evacuate to a refuge in Iceland. I wanted him to bring his family and come with us but he wouldn’t. His medical oath or some such crap. I told my son he was a fool. Those were the last words I said to him.”

“Under the circumstances, you provided prudent advice.”

“From a coward. An inferior, pitiful version of Henry Fleming,” Carl says, thumbing the book at his bedside. “In Iceland, I could cut in line and get the vaccine. A needle in the arm and a Band-aid would be my little red badge. But then Evelyn also refused to go with me.”

ARA replies, her feminine voice so familiar. “Your wife was a casualty in one of the vaccine riots.”

“Evelyn was a volunteer at a vaccination site.”

“Your grandchildren,” ARA says. “They were orphans.”

“After I returned, they lived with me. I patted myself on the back for ‘surviving’ but they knew the truth. I loved and cared for them but they never loved me. They pitied me.”

ARA’S voice thunders, “Leave immediately or intruder defense protocol will be activated.” Tye and his lawyer have seen videos of quadbots dealing with intruders. It’s an embarrassing and painful experience for humans.

Carl looks at the picture of his wife at his bedside. It’s an old fashioned paper photograph in an antique wood frame. Another photo is of his son, daughter-inlaw and three young children. “My other two grandkids are like their father but Tye is more like his dear, old granddad.” Carl sees a flash of lightning outside his window.

As he waits for the thunder, he whispers, “damn me.”

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