Displaced - Book One of the Alternate Reality Series

Chapter 3

Eric leaned back slightly, his thumb and forefinger now contemplatively pulling at his bottom lip. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you really want to saddle them with all the shit we experience? If we create them in our image, and we have, they get the whole package–ecstasy, anguish, and everything in between. If we set them up to experience love, they get heartbreak at no extra charge. If they can form deep emotional attachments to humans or other bots, they get to experience those attachments severing, like when the human dies, or the bot gets wiped. You get the idea."

Eric did, and the intriguing idea froze his contemplative fingers. "I suppose that's the price one pays for conscious awareness."

"They didn't ask for conscious awareness."

Eric paused. "Neither did we."

Dr. Wright smirked. If his young protégé could get past his prejudices, an insightful thinker lied just underneath. By in large, that's why Eric got the gig.

"Alright," Eric continued, "I told Arvin I'd go through with it. I said we'd meet bright and early over the next five days. And speaking of that, what the hell happened to my caseload for this week? Left out in the cold?"

Dr. Wright didn't agree with this order, and he argued for Arvin becoming a weekly client. However, he didn't succeed for reasons he didn't want to expound. "Transferred. For this week, your clients will meet with other counselors, because the present opportunity could be a game-changer in mental health, and headquarters wants all your time and attention focused. So meet with Arvin once a day, and document thoroughly. And with your afternoons free, I don't wanna hear any of that I need to catch up on my case notes bullshit."

Eric chuckled.

"And one more thing," Dr. Wright continued. "Know that the crusty old curmudgeons of psychology will read what you write, and since they control both our fates, do us a favor–look like you know what you're doing, okay?"

"I suppose. It doesn't seem like I have a choice."

"That's the spirit."

Eric reminded himself to remain deferential.

"Well," Dr. Wright went on, "good luck with the bot. And Eric, try to get something out of this too."

The young protégé cast a faint smile. "Thanks, boss. I'll do what I can."

The connection terminated.

Eric leaned back further, palms tapping on his armrests as he looked around the office. He didn't have anything to do. He already met the day's only client, and with the rest of his schedule cleared, work had ended. He still needed to document Arvin's initial visit, but could do that from home. So, he gathered his belongings, rose and started for the door, and while exiting, voice prompted the security system to lock up behind him.

A minute later, Eric walked past the lobby, where Ann offered a wry smile. Eric smiled in return, but with an added dose of exasperation.

Eric stared out of his auto's window, and reflected on his new situation, in particular, how to proceed given his biases. The task wouldn't be easy considering his biases deep roots, which he planted for a reason, a reason that was still relevant. Right?

Recalling Dr. Wright's diatribe about coming to terms with change, Eric figured that Dr. Wright took this approach to coax his cooperation. Still, the spiel did contain a kernel of reason. After all, why keep pining for a reality that no longer existed?

The difficulty, however, is that Eric didn't want to move on, because frankly, he didn't care for what society had moved into. In fact, he since grew comfortable living amongst society's maladjusted, and couldn't recall when last urging to venture outside their squalor. Had the time arrived?