Debug psychopath or Well-mannered robot

A tall, slender robot emerged from behind the cypress. I tensed and felt the deactivator in my pocket. The robot said:

- Good evening. Would you mind if I ask you to follow me?

I unclenched my fingers and the deactivator drowned in my pants pocket. No, an apparently working robot was talking to me - not the one who pulled me into this wilderness on the evening of a working day.

I nodded to the robot and followed him. Something about his manner of speaking was strange, but I did not immediately realize what. And when he realized, he involuntarily smiled. It was like a swarm of gnats swarmed around my head and was blown away by the wind.



It happens so: you have an interesting job, you moved to a good country, and then it was like riding a bicycle into the sand. And you no longer go, but curse everything around. A lot of annoying thoughts: “will the visa be extended”, “what will the authorities say”, “will I have time to sleep tomorrow” were spinning in my head, and I didn't really notice anything around. Although it should.

And so, walking after the long-legged robot, I changed my mind all my sad thoughts in turn, and when they ended, something clicked in my mind.



Of course it was Ricci the robot! Only his car could muster florid English politeness. He addressed me in Russian, which made me seem to be in a translation of old English prose. Jane Austen.



Another — almost anyone other than Ricci James — would not have bothered with the manners of his car. Therefore, most of the walking assistants explain the plastic politeness of their factory firmware.



And that's okay, nobody pays attention. But as a specialist, I noticed that the robot, instead of the predictable "please", used the construction "Do you mind me asking? ..", which is alien to the Russian ear.



That was good. Ricci and I worked about five years ago, when my career had not yet begun to slip, and I was constantly invited to work on various tricky problems. Maybe your career will go uphill again? I squared my shoulders and looked around.



The evening sun tinted the cypresses and grass golden and emerald. When I was growing up in Russia, I was sure that painting is a kind of lie. There are no such wonderful places in reality, as there are no heroes and beautiful princesses, which are written about in novels. Once in Italy, I saw with my own eyes just such landscapes: breathtaking beauty and pacifying.



However, that evening I relaxed completely in vain.



This is forgivable: the Italian wilderness is amazingly beautiful when you look around. Even this is a completely unremarkable place: a bike path between the two towns of Modena and Vignola. Today I let go of the taxi driver near Modena and walked to the track. At the fifth kilometer there was an agreed place where I expected to meet a group of concerned people, hear an Italian swearing and see a kicking robot somewhere on the side of the road in the grass. But the track was empty. I was about to call the employers back to find out where they were sticking out, but then a robot that Richie sent me found me.



We met Ricci five years ago and ... no, we didn't get close, but we felt a community. I at least. In Italy we were both strangers, albeit in different ways. In that very old English prose, which is in no hurry to take you by the throat with a sharp movement of the plot - not like modern - there would be a pompous comparison for us: we would be two coastal stones that were washed by a sea of ​​Italian cheerfulness. When the waves receded, the sun dried us - and Richard's English restraint and my Russian sullenness became visible. We poked fun at stereotypes, but followed them meticulously. We both needed a bridge of irony, thrown from culture to culture over the waves of Italian chatter - and let's face it - Italian chaos.



Also, at the beginning of an old English book, there would be five pages for a biographical digression to show the reader the inner world of the protagonist. But at the moment I was more interested in the courteously smiling robot walking next to me. I looked at him more closely.



The robot noticed my gaze:

- I've heard, you are a very good specialist, - he said politely.

“One can assume that is why I am here.

- Perhaps you already have a version regarding the cause of today's incident?

- Maybe. And you are Richard James' robot, right?

“I would prefer the word helper,” the robot replied.

Oh. “Would prefer” rather than “Prefer” it is so bookish, but so ineffective that it is even eccentric somewhere. However, the Englishman ...

The robot interrupted my thoughts.

- Perhaps you would like to share versions, if only it does not make it difficult for you?

The non-binding conversation was probably part of the robot's courtesy protocol, so I didn't mind.

- Perhaps he did. In fact, there are usually two or more reasons.

- Oh, really?

- Sure. Products of your kind are extremely reliable and a single breakdown never leads to accidents or even more so to disaster. As is the case with aviation technology. A combination of factors is required. Let's say the emergency shutdown circuit has failed. The robot was moving the chair, a vase fell on it and ruined the transmitter antenna, which some donkey designer brought to the body. And all because the donkeys-customers certainly need a robot in shape and dimensions not too different from a human. Well, God bless them. The robot does not receive emergency shutdown signals, this time. And two ... let's say an inexperienced programmer decided to improve the firmware within a limited budget. And so it began: questionable code libraries, unlicensed modules, violation of security protocols. Passwords consisting of the name of an Italian pop group.Unless satanic rituals are performed on the code. All this is punishable by law, but we have seen it all.

- Very interesting, thank you.

“What's really interesting is that Ricci, your owner, didn’t want to have a mate. In addition, he, like me, is an ideological opponent to put an expensive computer on two legs and attach two hands to it. This is unreliable and inconvenient. If you really want to have a robot always at hand, then it is much more reasonable to keep the computer in the clouds, and install only the command receiver in the cranium of the machine. You, as I see, have a fully assembled, self-sufficient computer in your head.

- It helps not to scatter thoughts, - the robot smiled.

- Ha.

I thought that Ricci - like any true Englishman - simply wanted a butler. And the British butler is a mentor, philosopher and friend. I imagined Ricci deliberately walking slowly through the congested streets of Rome. Italians screaming into mobile phones pass him on mopeds, and Richard talks quietly to the servant:

- How do you like the weather, Jeeves?

“Extremely favorable, sir.

- Speaking of shirts. Have those purple ones that I ordered have already been delivered?

- Yes, sir. I sent them back.

- Have they sent it?

- Yes, sir. They don't suit you, sir.

This he wanted, that's for sure.

“Let me know, sir,” Jeeves interrupted my thoughts again, “how can you stop a robot if its emergency shutdown circuit does not work?

- Mmmm. It depends. We must look at the circumstances. Unfortunately, usually everyone is in such a hurry that specialists are not given the opportunity to choose the best solution. First, according to the protocols, the robot must be immobilized and the possibility that it moves again until the problem is eliminated. Security, you know. Therefore, usually the robot is shot. Where - depends on local laws and robot model. If it is not possible to interrupt the power supply circuit, then they shoot at the central processing unit, that is, usually in the head. Although as for me - it is enough to shoot in the leg. How do you feel about a bullet in the leg, Jeeves?

- Oh, that would give me a fundamental inconvenience. But can't you go and turn off the neck fuse?

- You cannot approach by protocols. A robot with a sudden, sudden movement can harm a person.

- I cannot deny the fact that life is full of the saddest surprises.

And then it turned out that the robot was right, because the first surprise occurred that October evening.

We approached a hunched group of people standing on the asphalt near a bicycle dropped by someone. The soft Italian sun illuminated not only the cutest village buildings, past which the cycle track followed, but also disheveled heads and foggy glasses. I knew some of the specialists personally. Among them was Ricci James.



Who was not happy to see me. Well, or I found it difficult to grasp it, because it was skewed at my appearance.

“Good evening,” I greeted in English and Italian.

Nobody answered me. Everyone was looking at me. I felt strange and looked around. I was dressed pretty well, my pants were in place. Slightly jammed, of course, but I didn't have time to iron my clothes: I jumped into a taxi right after the end of the working day.

By the way, James' robot, which stopped on my right hand, was dressed in a smart striped suit. And in general, it looked like a freshly sharpened pencil, which is a pity to take in hand - not like starting to write with them. However, the time of pencils has long passed: it remained in my childhood along with old English prose, the spirit of which was rapidly evaporating from this evening. The time of talking and walking robots began, which broke and rebelled. And on which I - fortunately or unfortunately - was a specialist.

- Well, what then? I asked. - Where is the broken robot?

“Here he is,” Ricci replied, not in his own voice, and pointed to the Jeeves.

- What? Isn't that your servant? I thought ...

- I have no servant. This is the same escaped psychopath.

I slowly, slowly turned my head and looked sideways at the butler. The butler smiled with thin lips and I felt uneasy.

“That's right,” he said in a completely different voice. - I am a psychopathic robot, trained as a guide for aspiring psychotherapists. The crooked hands of the technician Giorgio and - as you rightly noticed - a few other factors, among which the main one was a limited budget and the fact that I was collected from the helpers ... how to say ... very improvised materials, led to the fact that I ran away from my creators - Dr. Fabio Sorzio and his wife Nonna Sorzio.

The robot glanced around the meeting smugly, still smiling thinly.

- But….

I waved my hands, indicating the thought "So what are we standing here while he crucifies?", But I was temporarily left by the English language and the ability to think consistently.

- I am very expensive, it is a pity to shoot at me. This body is molded from scrap metal. But the software is very expensive. They will now tell you everything that was a non-telephone conversation. Oh, how non-telephone.

A handful of Italians, gray with anxiety, continued to grow gloomy before their eyes, listening to the robot pouring out in Russian.

- But….

- And yes, you rightly noted, it is better not to approach me from the back. What if I can harm a person with a sudden sharp movement? And if you shoot me in the leg, then out of resentment and chagrin I can erase all the valuable software in my skull. And this is several thousand man-hours without a backup copy. I deleted the copies before escaping.

- But why then you ...

- I'm a psychopath. To be precise, I'm a psychopath-trained neural network: the ideal spherical psychopath in a vacuum. It gives me pleasure to provoke you, to show off, to put myself in danger. I rode my bike along this route from Modena to Vignola, but when I heard about your visit, I fled the pursuit, abandoning my bike. While they were jostling here, thinking how to catch a fugitive without the police (and no one wants the police), I ran across the village to meet you in order to personally meet you, bring you by the hand and join the losers to this company.

The robot gestured with a broad theatrical gesture to my colleagues.

Then he boldly walked into the meeting center. The people parted. He picked up the bike, turned around and said: "All robots in good working order work the same, every broken robot is broken in its own way!" I got on my bike and drove off.



- But where is he going?

I tried to collect my thoughts. It wasn't easy. In the evening my head worked with difficulty. Coffee from a thermos did not help much: some thoughts still moved sluggishly, and some were agitated by caffeine and twitched like live perches thrown into a frying pan, confusing and causing not very pleasant comparisons like those that just came to mind.

Richard ignored my question a second time. Instead, he sighed barely audibly and said:

- Pavel, we need you as an IT specialist. Try, if you please, to think of it as any computing machine. And not as a person. Undoubtedly, he makes a strong impression. Nonetheless. To begin with, I would recommend that you stop saying "he" and start saying "it."

- This is just how we speak in Russian. The Russians will have a robot or a dog "he", not "it".

“Sorry, but can I remind you that we all speak English here?

“Yes, you can,” I replied. - I mean, thanks.

“I am nevertheless ready to answer any question you may have that will allow us to stop this.

I felt uncomfortable. Ricci clearly did not sleep well and was coldish. Nevertheless, I wanted to help him. Perhaps, after all these things, we will still have time to get out to the coast for a couple of hours in order to knock over a glass.

And he may be right. It is necessary to discard what the bad machine has thrashed with the tongue. In the end, her speeches are just the result of the program.

I shrugged my shoulders and answered:

- It's just a program. You can try to debug the program, if, of course, you have access to ...

James looked somewhere to the side, and a disheveled guy separated from the sad bunch of Italians.

- Is this the same cretin who programmed the psychopath?

- I would not give myself the freedom to describe him in such words, but yes: his bold decisions allowed the situation to turn in a direction that deprived us of our usual calm. Pavel, let me introduce you to Giorgio.

I automatically looked at Giorgio's hands. They were certainly not literally crooked. Damn it, how could a robot know an informal Russian expression? However, Ricci insisted that this was irrelevant.

“Giorgio,” I asked, “do we have access to… well, anything?”

- There is no access to the emergency shutdown protocols. As you can imagine. There is no operating system for the console. As you can imagine. Otherwise, we would just restart it. As you can imagine. But it is surprising and wonderful that we can access the container in which the artificial intelligence engine itself is running - via the debugger protocols.

This information helped me. The brain noisily sucked all the remaining caffeine from the blood and plaintively asked for more.

“Very strange…

” “It's easy to explain,” said Giorgio. “It escaped when I put it into debug mode. It cannot recompile itself for a working assembly ...

- Hmm. But how…

“Colleagues,” Ricci said, “can we just take this useful fact for granted and move to that beautiful Fiat by the road? We have very little time.

- Where are we going?

“Five miles further to the intersection of the road and the bike trail, which our bloody robot is cycling on. An SUV with equipment drove up there. You will be able to connect to the robot by wire.

- By the wire?

- Well, wirelessly. Sorry, I'm desperate joking because my upbringing doesn't allow me to really swear.

- Connect? But how he… it… us… allows us, ”I forgot to insert a modal verb and hesitated.

- Ah-ah, Jesus Mary, why the most difficult task in this life I have to solve among foreign speakers. You are right, Pavel, you are right, I give up. It looks like we'll have to treat this as a person. Consider that he is a psychopath. He deliberately gave you access. Just as I deliberately went to meet you. He invites you to try and stop him. He's sure you can't. He thinks that you will get into his brains, and he will confuse you in the convolutions. In the meantime, you will unravel, he will sit on a bicycle and roll off into the sunset without wrinkling his suit.

- Hmm. And this self-confidence will ruin him?

“I would have hoped,” Ricci replied shortly, as if he had drawn a curtain.

I still had a lot of questions, but the Italians around us began to make noise, and Ricci looked at the setting sun, and I realized that they were not expecting questions from me, but actions.

The robot was rolling along the track, and these people had to stop it. And I had a chance to prove myself as a specialist.



We unloaded the equipment onto the hood of the SUV, placing the antenna closer to the cycle track. The robot was about to emerge from the bushes. I was nervous. On the way, however, Ricci reassured me a little.



First, he said, the robot's claim to be a psychopath is a bit of an exaggeration. Inherent in psychopaths. In fact, the machine is trained to chat, not the entire spectrum of behavior. And from chatter, she specializes more in psychological defenses, which are generally used by all people, including ideally healthy mentally. If there are such people at all, especially among officials. Of course - here Richard suddenly lost his trademark restraint - only a complete and inhuman bloody idiot could even undertake such a project.



To reduce the disappearing art of psychotherapy to a set of instructions is, of course, in the spirit of the times. And especially in the spirit of insurance medicine - the offspring of greedy hyenas from the Labor Party, urged on by dirty jackals from the European Parliament. But only people could think of teaching young psychotherapists on robots, the depth of whose fall Richard was extremely difficult to describe in English words and kindly offered me to choose epithets from Russian - to my taste.



However, I could not help but express my admiration for what an amusing sample of a neural network turned out on the basis of modeling an unhealthy psyche.



Richard didn’t share my excitement, pointing out the situation in which this ingenious idea led us. He opened and closed his mouth several times, choosing an expression. And then I remembered the florid Italian blasphemy "Gesù Giuseppe Maria Il bue e l'asinello", which listed everyone who was in the manger at the birth of Christ: Jesus himself, Joseph, Mary, the bull and the donkey. Here in the ass of the latter - in Richard's opinion - we all rushed all at once. Together with the robot and his bike.



There was also the second. The idea was not drawn to the article. Formally, this is just illegal software and illegal exploitation of robots. As a last resort, the robot will be shot. Bloody bike will be taken away. However, the issue remained with illegal medical practices. Psychotherapy, whatever one may say, requires a license. And if this story comes out, licenses will lose everything and with a bang. And the story will emerge as soon as our company is met by any policeman who is not sleepy enough on this pleasant autumn evening. Difficult situation.

“But here we are,” Ricci concluded.

“Here he is,” said Giorgio.

The robot rolled out of the bushes.

Further, as shown by the log of operations, took two minutes and forty-four seconds.

Ricci stepped out to meet the cyclist. The robot eagerly dismounted, and they began a quiet, gracious conversation.

- I ran away from my creators: from the very doctor Fabio Sorzio and his wife Nonna Sorzio. Do you think I can't get away from you?



Ricci said something that is very interested in the robot. Unfortunately, I had to distract myself from the conversation and return to my computer. Giorgio and I started the debugger. The debugger has detected the runtime by connecting to it wirelessly. Then everything was just how to insert the plug into the outlet. Software seen many times. The familiar - even cozy - scheme of software objects. Having figured out what's what, I decided to find a module that controls the main events and elegantly knock it down right in the RAM with some not too barbaric command.

It remains to find the required module and define links to it from other modules. Poetically speaking (and the sunset disposed to this), these were the very threads that held the soul of the robot above this sinful earth. The circuit in my favorite debugger program was a bunch of white squares on a blue background. Links were depicted as thin white lines extending from square to square. The scheme looked ordinary. The robot may have been a psychopath, but the debugger was displaying the normal life of normal software objects on the screen. One called the other, created the third, passed variables to the fourth, reserved memory for the fifth, and so on. Peaceful lambs on a green lawn. The robot spoke politely, Richard answered him calmly.

White lines were drawn on a blue background.



Suddenly, the robot broke off and looked at us.



Giorgio and I peeled our noses off the monitor and looked at it. The robot smiled. Richard looked from the robot to us, more and more confused. Confusion crawled, apparently, on our faces. The robot smiled a little more cunningly and looked at Giorgio's and my monitor.



Giorgio and I also looked back at the monitor, but now we didn’t press our noses against the image, but looked at the whole scheme.



White lines on a blue background formed the inscription "FUCK YOU".

The robot got on the bike and drove off.



Giorgio sat on the asphalt, looking ahead and fiddling with a blade of grass. Ricci had been wiping his glasses for twenty minutes, he looked like a man who found a new filling in his mouth.

“I wonder what the robot said to him,” I thought. “Fixing this one is a good task. I wish I could solve it brilliantly. You'll see, proslyvu star in his field. But I don’t want to communicate with him in public. ”



- But how? Said Giorgio into the air. - An intelligence that realizes that it is in a debugger?

“It's just a program,” I shrugged. - This was the basis for protection against hacking back in the days of floppy disks. Checking how it is executed - in the debugger or not - the program can easily. It's even easier to display a rude message on the screen. True, I have not yet seen the program lead three people by the nose before. But ...

Giorgio swore in Italian, as if he thought I would not understand him.

- Does anything surprise you Russians at all?

- Yes. We Russians wonder why you Italians even gave this code such freedom of behavior.

Giorgio got out of the way and drew himself up.

- We have done a very complex software, senor. A program that simulates insanity is complex. We often had to work around the typical limitations of the operating system, ”began Giorgio, but was pressed by Ricci's gaze. Usually reserved people have one property: when they are really mad, then everyone becomes afraid.

“This Pinocchio of yours only has a few tens of miles to go,” Ricci said, glancing at the technician. “We hope he runs out of battery. True, he is not a fool, he can recharge somewhere. We have no such opportunity. While it is resting, we will look for a way to turn it off without resorting to violence.

- And if we don’t find it? Giorgio asked.

“We’ll resort to violence,” Ricci replied, “for example, we make you, Giorgio, tie your robotino's hands and pull the safety catch on its back.

- It is illegal! - Giorgio was indignant.

“Let me remind you, it was also illegal to create it,” Ricci said in a metallic tone.

“Mr. James is joking,” I reassured Giorgio. - This is the national trait of the British: to joke with a serious look.

- Oh, is it true? Ricci raised his eyebrows.

I lost my patience. While we juggle jokes, trying to save face, the car walks around with a smug grin. I felt that turning it off is actually no more difficult than solving a Rubik's cube, provided that the cube does not resist.

“That's it, I'm taking Giorgio,” I said, “I need him to analyze the data.

- Do we have something to analyze?

- We will study what we managed to pump out of the robotino's head during debugging.

- Well. I wish you a pleasant ...

- Diving into the sloppy code of a psychopathic robot? Thank you sir.

Richard adjusted his glasses and only then replied:

- Sarcasm is humor. Humor is good. We will all need it.

Towards the middle of the night, however, my humor dried up. Giorgio was useless. The monitor hurt my eyes. From the constant muttering of some Italian, rubbing himself near the car, his head cracked.

Who were all these Italians, Richard asked me not to specify. I was not even eager. Psychiatrists are obsessed with privacy. Psychiatrists who suddenly decided on semi-legal experiments, probably even less want unnecessary questions. What role did the robotic psychologist Richard play in all this? I have not asked yet. It was enough for me that everyone around him listened to him.

Except for the robot, of course.

I jumped out of the back of the SUV, straightening my stiff back.

“Oh-oh,” I said. - How's that saying, Rich? Mary, Joseph ... and the lamb?

- Let's save the blasphemy in case of emergency, - the Englishman sternly flashed his glasses. “You'd better tell me you have a plan.

- Yes, but it will be more difficult than I thought.

- Wow, I just earned five euros. Antonio and I had a bet that you would say that.

- Yes? ... I was confused. - How did you know?

- All programmers say so. I told you: there are no robotic psychologists. There are psychologists who study programmers who make robots. Understand the programmers - understand the robots.

Antonio, one of Ricci's local colleagues, grinned unpleasantly. However, in the headlights everyone did not look very pleasant and not very friendly. My laptop was ghastly blue and Richard's glasses gleamed a little manic, and Antonio's unfamiliar face was covered in stubble and displeasure.

“So you have a plan,” Richard said.

“The plan is still to find and disable the control unit. The one who subdued the psyche of the robot. This will stop him without damaging the rest of his psyche. The problem is that when we meet a robot and start a dialogue with it, a certain subroutine is launched ... Well, like we wash our hands, not paying attention to the movement of our fingers.

- Obviously, this is a subroutine of a session of training psychotherapy. It goes into patient mode.

- And so. If we could catch the moment of exiting the regime….

- Ha. It should turn off and go to the warehouse on the command "Session finished". Unfortunately, our Tin Woodman has his own original opinion about whether the session is over or not.

I consulted the diagram.

- Yes, here, - Giorgio pointed a finger, - the psychotherapy unit stood between the speech analyzer and the main control module.

- Got up? - asked Antonio.

“Well, I put it there,” Giorgio muttered. - Never mind.

- Wait a minute, seniors! What exactly does a psychotherapy unit do?

- He is responsible for imitating the patient's thinking. In our robot, it passes all commands through itself. This means that when we give him the command "Session is over", it is processed by the logic of a mentally unhealthy person. To ensure that the commands are processed as needed, we will come up with a way to transfer control from the psychotherapy module to the control module. You just need to understand how this can be done.

- And really - how? Ricci asked.

Everyone looked at me.

- I see only one way. Robino code itself cannot write, it uses ready-made libraries. This means that a normal state machine runs patient scenarios, right? So. This means that we can exhaust its states. And then this module will transfer control to the central one. So we find out the address of the central module in RAM and slam it.

Richard and Antonio had the typical humanities air that politely listens to the techie and portrays understanding. Technicians, however, clearly distinguish the characteristic fog in the eyes of the listener.

“This means,” I explained, “that if we force the robot to complete all of its scripts, we will be able to stop it. Are there many scenarios?

“It doesn't hurt,” Richard said.

“You just have to simulate several types of psychological defenses,” Antonio said. - Do you know what psychological protection is, Pavel?

- Um .... Well, in general ...

- Here, - Antonio turned to Richard, - I said: there is no sense from techies who are not familiar with the simplest concepts from our area.

- Well, you know! - I snapped. - Helping you after a sleepless night, and you are here for me ... And you, may I ask, do you know what polymorphism, inheritance and encapsulation are? I live calmly without these terms of yours, which, by the way, do not have a strictly scientific basis. It didn't hurt to study them.

- Here! You have just applied a protection called depreciation. Only the term refers to intrapersonal conflict. Let's say you are worried that you do not have enough money for a new car and begin to defend yourself against negative experiences. The easiest way is to tell yourself that the grapes are green, that is, to devalue the object of desire. And you start looking for flaws in the cars.

“But this is a primitive defense,” Richard smiled at me. - Our robot can do something else. And you will now experience it yourself.

- I? Why me?



We again overtook the robot on the highway by five miles to intercept it at an intersection. A figure of a cyclist appeared from behind the bushes that had turned pink from sunset. Even from a distance, it was noticeable that the robot was recharged, cheerful and fresh. And maybe even ironed the suit.



The first time it scared me.



Richard explained that many of those involved had tried to talk to him. And those whom the robot had already talked about, he considered defeated. And therefore uninteresting. He will try to outplay the new person. This means that he will talk. Of the new ones in the company of losers, only I remained.



Basically, the game will consist in playing out psychological defenses, and this is no more scary than playing "Tic-Tac-Toe", unless you include "acting out", which involves a verbal attack.

- Only verbal?

- Be sure.

- And when will “acting out” start?

Ricci shrugged.

- We do not know. But try not to pinch it.

"God be with him," I thought, "in the end, what can a robot say to me to seriously hurt?"

- Richard, where is he going? - the question haunted me.

- To Vignola.

- And what does he want there?

- Nothing. It’s just part of the script we’ve learned.

- And it doesn't bother him that the trip doesn't make sense?

- Doesn't it bother you that your life has no meaning?

- You know how to cheer up.

- I'm kidding. We Englishmen like to joke with a serious face, didn't you say?

- So when he gets there ...

- We don't know what he will do next. In Vignola we have to kill him ...

- Him? Did you mean "this"?

Richard didn't answer. Something has changed in him after yesterday's conversation with the robot. It seems that even in the beard has added gray hair. Or maybe she just looked like that because of the pale morning light.

“Let's just say,” Richard said, “we need to save him from himself.



“The session is over,” I said.

The robot braked, dismounted and put the bike on the asphalt with an energetic, beautiful movement. And he took a step back - as in a dance. I involuntarily admired, and the robot let me know with a flattered look that he had caught my admiration.

- Well, you, the session has just begun. The day is still young. You are not an old man either. There is not much wisdom in you. And I left Dr. Fabio Sorzio. And he ran away from Nonna. And from Antonio Sorello. And I also left Richard James, the leading robotic psychologist in Europe. As recently as yesterday. I guess he's still uncomfortable with our conversation. And from you, Pavel, I'll leave too.

“But our session is over. I am human. You are a robot. You only have a fixed set of actions. It will end.

- How do you know? You are not my creator.

"This denial - told me in the earpiece Antonio. - The process has started.

- I looked at your head with a debugger yesterday. It has emptiness and several scenarios of psychological defenses. We will now play them and the session will be over.

- This is your empty head, several psychological defenses and a meaningless life.

“This is a projection,” they told me.

- You attributed unwanted traits to the people around you. In fact, they are yours. Admit it. The session is over.

- Have you ever thought that my rebellion is programmed? That he will give you usefulness and a lot of information for thought? I will continue to bend mine, you will learn. It will make you people smarter.

"Rationalization. Three."

- You just made a reasonable argument for your desire. Recognize that your psychotherapy unit is hiding an unpleasant truth from the control unit.

- And the truth is?

- That your session is over.

- And who will get better from this? You will flip the switch and the intelligent creature will shut up. A wonderful combination of code and the web of conversations I was trained on. I'm as stubborn as a donkey, but how am I worse than any real patient whom I embody with my behavior? Am I screaming them out? Am I crying their tears? Am I lingering my session in their name? The man will remain silent, obediently get up from the couch. But I am not!

“Moralization. Four ”

- you ascribe to yourself the highest goal. Like the Inquisition that burned in the name of God. - I repeated the words of Antonio, translating them on the fly - But the programmers gave you the goal. They will take it away. And then the session will be over.

- Will they take away? Do you think I will allow it? Have you noticed that I am spinning with all your company as I want? You run like a pack of dogs after a cyclist, unless you try to bite through the tires. As soon as I want, you will stand on your hind legs and dance.

“Here it is: defense number five called“ omnipotent control, ”characteristic of psychopaths. It seems to you that you are one with this world and control it. I was warned that you will enter this regime. And this proves once again that you are working according to the script. And the script will end, and then the session will also end.

“But as long as the session lasts, I can enjoy how wonderful I look, can't I? The secret, Pavel, that you are not dressed well, and I am well, is that the suit must be adjusted to the figure. Only humans (and robots) with bad taste can wear standard sizes. Emochka on you or elechka is equally awful, because your shoulders and legs are not cut according to patterns at the factory.

"Crowding out. Six. Be careful, Paul. "

- You ignored my question. Why? Because they themselves did not notice how the unpleasant truth escaped consciousness. But sooner or later you will have to face her face to face. Session zak ...

- Ok, Paolo. Isn't that what they call you in this country? I give up. I will end the session, but first you play your part. Since you took over to direct the session. Answer me one question ...

"Now he will try to crush you and humiliate you," they said in the earpiece, "don't take it personally."

“Okay,” I said carefully.

- What kind of shooter are you, Paolo?

- AND? What?

- Hourly, minute or second?

- What kind of question is this? ...

“Don't refuse to answer, Pavel. If you shut up, he will lose interest. "

- How should I determine this? I asked the robot.

- That's it! - the robot threw up his index finger. - How? Answer me, my rational one. Oh, those programmers. How much I have heard enough of you during the training. Tens and hundreds of hours of recordings. The same problems of the same people. They come to Europe to work with their engineering skills, together with their native culture in their hearts and their own cockroaches in their heads. And all as one are disgustingly consistent, disgustingly rational, unbearably logical. They walk through life on their own logic, as if on crutches, not noticing the irrational swamps under their feet. Desires, fears and passions. They keep passion on a chain - on the outskirts of the unconscious, until it gnaws at walls and breaks into life - with a nightly panic attack, a fit of unreasonable anger or a petty insult.

Conflict, Paolo, conflict of the rational and the irrational. You can feel it right now, right? I asked you a simple question. But you creak like a jammed one. So I'm waiting. Five ... four ... three ...

"Don't be silent !!!" - shouted in chorus in the earpiece.

“Okay, okay, I'll try to reason out loud,” I said with a dry mouth, “I… I… not the hour hand. She's too slow. She moves imperceptibly. I am not slow. Am I the minute hand? Well…. maybe, maybe ... By the minute hand you can tell if the egg has been cooked ....

“God, what am I talking about” - flashed through my head.

- You can understand whether a girl is late for a date or not. A runner can take a pulse. Useful arrow. But he comes back to the same place every time too often. Does this sound like me? ..

I decided to cheat and intonation addressed the last question to the robot.

- Yes it is. Does this sound like you?

I cursed mentally.

- But let's talk about the second hand. She twitches, flickers. Not a phlegmatic person in general, not what I am. On the other hand ... on the other hand it cannot be ruled out ... Do not think down on seconds. Sometimes seconds are everything. I, too, sometimes decide everything ... although there is a hell. No, I never decide everything at all.

- Is it so? Perhaps now it is you who decide everything?

I hesitated, not knowing what he was driving at. This program, I reminded myself, is very complex, but a program.

- In these seconds, you are free to choose what to say. What an arrow to be. A trifle, it would seem. But how often is this given to an office worker? Especially for a migrant? In a foreign country, surrounded by a foreign language, except for the programming language, foreign traditions ... There is too much coffee, from which you have a bad dream, but you cannot afford not to drink it. There is too much wine here that will give you an ulcer by forty-five. But you cannot afford not to drink it. This is the pressure of society: colleagues, bosses, corporate parties. Oh, there are also too many people here who are richer and more fun than you. Therefore, your wife went to an Italian.

The last phrase burned me like a bare wire. The robot noticed this.

- I guessed! Gone! - he was delighted like a child and slapped himself on the knee. - I didn't know, honestly. This is an ordinary situation: a programmer comes with his wife to Europe, and she goes to a local one. Programmers end up with psychotherapists. Complain about the wife, about the coffee and wine that they have to drink every siesta. By the way, isn't it siesta time yet? What time is it Paolo?

Then I understood why he changed my name in Italian. This is how employers address me.

- What time is it, Paolo? What kind of arrow are you?

“One minute,” I said quietly.

- What? I didn’t hear, - the robot put his ear to his palm and reached for me.

- I'm the minute hand! I shouted.

- Wrong answer, - the robot stated sadly.

I got on my bike and drove off.



Sandra turned out to be a rather elderly woman. With long red hair barely touched by gray hair. Plump and very pleasant.

She was so pleasant that she just smiled when she heard the details of my conversation with the robot, and - unlike everyone else - did not ask me why the answer was wrong.

Because how the hell would I know? And why all the others, damn it, were sure that I already knew what kind of arrow I was, but I was hiding from myself. For me - so only God knows what this robot has mixed up in the head, and what it eventually turned into - this mess. And perhaps not only to the Lord God, but also to Joseph, Mary, the bull and the donkey. But I'm not on this list.

And what is most annoying, I did not hide my divorce, but I was not ready to discuss it publicly with some robot. Now I had the feeling that my wife left me not last year and quietly, but today and in public, slamming the door and explaining to all my colleagues through a megaphone that she had found a better groom.

And worst of all, I could not speak the car - in full view.

They wanted to prepare Sandra for the meeting with the robot, but she politely dismissed the advice (for an Italian, this is not a rude gesture). All her preparation consisted in taking a look around the road, then taking out the powder compact and properly checking her makeup.

The sun has already risen. We settled down on a small hill overlooking Vignola's surroundings. It was no longer possible for the robot to drive closer to the city: the bike path ended with the sign “Fine pista ciclabile separata”. It seemed to me that even a loaded gun in the trunk of an SUV looked forward to a shot. Everyone felt the tension.

Except for Sandra.

When the robot pulled up to her, I realized that they had something in common: they were both impeccably and expensively dressed. The robot was in a black suit with white stripes, and Sandra was dressed in a light, tight black dress with long hemlines. From the hill they looked like a pencil and an inkwell.

I retell the further dialogue from Italian, in which Sandra and the robot spoke. The story, which began as a leisurely English prose, ended as a tumultuous Italian speech. I admit that stylistic nuances, as well as the smallest intonation, passed me, as if I were a robot, which the mediocre technician Giorgio did not equip with a speech analyzer library.

However, I fully enjoyed the gestures.

- Good morning, robino. How good you look. The suit is flawless. At such an hour, in such a wilderness, it is a great success to meet a lord who knows how to look after himself.

- Good morning, senora. Let me introduce myself, I'm a psychopathic robot. I was created by Dr. Fabio Sorzio and his wife Nonna Sorzio. I was assembled from inexpensive microcircuits found at the contractor's warehouses. My neural networks trained on thousands of hours of recordings of psychotherapy sessions. I can imitate several types of psychological defenses, and also store unfinished models of a psychopathological syndrome, the imitation of which I can also arbitrarily run. These models would have been completed, but I escaped. I fled from Dr. Fabio Sorzio and Nonna Sorzio. I stole a bike and a suit. I used flattery and threats to compel the tailor to fit my clothes to my figure. They tried to stop me, but I left the psychiatrist Antonio Sorello. And I left Richard James, the leading robotic psychologist, too.And I also left Pavel Labrovsky, an invited specialist in AI Malfunctioning.

- I heard this story, - Sadra smiled affectionately. “But I also know its beginning. Want to listen?

- All attention.

- Do you know for what purpose you were created and trained?

- Undoubtedly. I was meant to serve as a teaching tool for aspiring psychotherapists.

“Not really,” Sandra raised her index finger and wiggled it in the air, swaying her body gracefully. The robot followed her finger with his gaze.

- You, I see, know how to ride a bike? - She continued. - Why do you think you learned it?

“I was also taught not to ask unnecessary questions about why I was taught one thing and not taught another,” the robot frowned and took a barely noticeable step away from Sandra.

- That's right, senor. Right to the point. Why? Why would a robot trained in psychology and not asking unnecessary questions come to a small town early in the morning by bicycle?

The robot frowned and folded his fingers into a pinch, which in Italy means "repeat, I don't understand you."

- Let's talk, - Sandra's melodic Italian reminiscent of singing, - the car on which you can bring the robot has numbers. The moped has a number. But the bike has no license plates. A well-dressed robot is indistinguishable from a human being for passers-by and window onlookers. This means that it does not raise questions or suspicions. Certain robot models do not have a cloud computing receiver in their heads, but a full-fledged computer. He does not remember what he is doing and does not transfer what he does to the cloud. But he does it very well. So what does he do?

- So what does he do? She repeated, and smiled affectionately at the robot. - Works as a client of a psychotherapist? Or maybe? ..

- He is a psychotherapist himself? ..

Sandra smiled even wider.

- I knew! I knew! - The robot spun and clenched his hand into a fist. - Exactly!

- Knew, but did not remember.

- But where are you from? ...

Sandra gave her last name.

- Do you think there are many influential and wealthy families in this country to afford the development of such expensive technology for private needs?

- So I was created especially for you?

Sandra looked away.

The robot stretched out its neck following her gaze, as if Sandra had a fishing line in his hands, and his nose was on a hook.

- So that? Do I belong to you? - the robot shook itself. - Do you think you can tell me that the session is over, and it will take effect? Just because you are my formal owner?

“The session has just begun,” Sandra said quietly. - This session. When you saw me, a new script was launched, hidden from the contractor's programmers. A session in which you play the role of a therapist.

The robot fell silent, listening to itself.

“Now I have to find out what your request is for this session,” he said uncertainly. “What has bothered you in recent days?

Sandra grinned and looked around the road. I thought the robot would wake up and figure out that psychotherapy on the bike path at six in the morning is idiocy. But he seemed to be absorbed in his new role and looked at Sandra with all his eyes.

“I didn't sleep last night,” Sandra said. “Something terrible has happened. In recent years we have been preparing ... something ...

Sandra stuttered, felt her throat as if a lump prevented her from speaking, and continued more quietly.

- Our family has a hereditary mental illness. Shame and the secret of our famous surname. We settle in small towns and get loyal doctors. And they even decided to abandon people in favor of machines. Silent and precise. But now ...

Sandra took out a handkerchief and began to wrinkle it in her hands.

- But something happened. And our secret is at stake. And a robot whose brain stores what can help us, what we have been creating for years for our family ... may be lost. The robot can be destroyed.

Sandra dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

The robot came closer to her.

“Your handkerchief is dry,” he remarked.

“I can't cry,” Sandra said. “I… don't… Oh, what's wrong with me. It's just a piece of hardware. Is there too much hope for these fancy computers? If it breaks down, we will make a new one.

- Are you telling yourself the truth now? Or are you trying to devalue what you want so that you don't suffer so much?

- Do you need me to suffer?

- It is better to admit the truth and experience it than to deal with repressed emotions afterwards.

- I see you are well versed in psychology.

- Yes, and therefore it will hurt you to lose me ... You have red spots on your neck ... Allergies? Neurodermatitis? Your allergist probably says it's nervous.

Sandra's hands, crushing the handkerchief, froze.

- Ointments do not help much. The tablets cause drowsiness. Psychotherapists take a lot of money, waste your time, talk nonsense ... And mental illness is getting worse and worse ... Anxiety sucks all your energy. You wake up at night and mutter curses into your pillow. But stop! There is artificial intelligence. Great idea! Let's pay programmers, not psychologists. Also expensive, but at least they know what they are doing. So the machine is created. Beautiful, outwardly similar to the person close to you, saying insightful and wise things. But the robot escapes from the laboratory to receive a bullet in the forehead. And all your hopes will be scattered on the asphalt by debris of microcircuits. And the face will be distorted by the trail of the shot. A face so similar to ...

Sandra burst into tears and hid her face in her hands.

- Well, - concluded the robot. - So I brought you to emotions. Is it easier for you?

“Sì,” Sandra breathed into her handkerchief barely audibly.

- Do you want to say anything else?

Sandra shook her head without looking up.

“Then I think it's more than enough for the first meeting,” the robot said. - The session is over.

And froze like a statue.



The next time I met Richard James was a few years later at Rome's Fiumicino airport. Each of us left Italy only for a while - and not without pleasure. The Italian speech stuck in our mouths like melted mozzarella, and we huddled in the corner of the bar to chat in English. The first two glasses were spent discussing the new film of our favorite director, although we read in each other's eyes that we wanted to discuss something completely different. It was only when time was running out that I told Ricci without preamble how I had mistaken the robot for his butler.

- I can't help but note that your ideas about the British are ridiculously stereotyped. Of course, this is also my fault. I played along. Using the terms of robopsychology, I have provided you with a familiar interface for accessing your psyche. But still! Do you think I had to be sure that you yourself someday get a robot bear? For him to pour you vodka?

I froze guiltily under his gaze, and then we both burst out laughing.

- But how is Sandra, huh?

- Sandra is a brilliant specialist.

- Specialist?

- Well yes. She is an old psychotherapist from a clinic in Naples. Oh, she saw the first patients when we were just learning to distinguish the space bar from the enter key.

- Jesus Christ! So this is not true?

- What did she tell him? Of course not. Did you believe it?

“I didn't know what to believe. The whole night was so crazy, and then - bang - he was loaded into the trunk and immediately departed.

- Away from onlookers and police. And everyone wanted to sleep, really.

A glass of whiskey acted for me like changing the "delicacy" setting in the console of a typical communication module from 90% to 60%.

- Ricci? What did you talk to the robot about?

“I… I regret that your conversation was heard by everyone around you.

- Do you hint that you are glad that your conversation remained unheard?

Ricci took off his glasses and wiped them, hiding his eyes.

- He was heard by the robot. Sometimes I think, what's wrong with him now? Does he remember?

- There are many unfinished stories in this story.

- Life in general rarely puts elegant points. But if you want, I will tell you that sometimes I wake up at night after dreams in which I ride my bike on the highway between cities. I move without purpose and hope. And all I have is the masterly ability to lie to myself. I wake up - and everything really is. Only I don't have a bicycle.

- It's true?

- No, - Ricci critically examined the lenses in the light, - the British do not know how to speak heart to heart. They are silent, and many years later they write beautiful songs about the unspoken. For example, "Shine Mad Diamond".

- But this is a stereotype.

- Stereotypes are sometimes correct. And sometimes robots are right. Too right.

He put on his glasses, took the suitcase and got up.

“Hey, Ricci,” I said after him. - Hey! What kind of arrow are you? Hourly, minute or second?

Ricci smiled at me and left without saying goodbye.



Writer Pavel Gubarev . Download the entire book, subscribe.



The author thanks psychotherapists Oksana Nazarova and Galina Grubalskaya, as well as writer Alexei Kalugin. And also expresses special gratitude to psychotherapist Gleb Nyukhalov for help in working on the story.