"You gotta be shitting me," Eric belted out, arms crossed, his chair leaned back at an irritated angle.
Immediately after, his desk's calling module started laughing.
Normally, Dr. Otis Wright would've taken offense at such insubordination, but when Eric Roberts flashed across his calling module's holo-screen, he expected something along these lines.
Dr. Wright had known Eric for years. In fact, he supervised the eager young upstart when UCLA initially hired him. What's more, their unceremonious ends occurred at roughly the same time, where they formed a bond unique to those who jointly suffered hardship. But Dr. Wright spotted modernity's tendrils approaching, and he proposed that UCLA start a community-based therapy clinic, one he could supervise. They granted his request. Then when he learned of Eric's excision from the neuropsychological ranks, he offered him a position, which Eric quickly accepted.
"So," Dr. Wright said, trying with little success to stifle laughter, "I take it you've met your new client?"
"No shit." With more laughter spewing from his module, Eric bit his lip, and reminded himself to remain deferential.
"Well," Dr. Wright responded, "what are you always saying? It all depends on how you look at it?"
"Yeah, that's my weak attempt to re-contextualize unfortunate circumstances, but in this instance, it won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because it doesn't have any Goddamn expletives."
Dr. Wright smiled.
"And whose call was this anyway?" Eric followed. "Who decided to provide clinical services to bots?"
"It wasn't mine. It was the heads at UCLA. They think that since bots are showing some real signs of human characteristics–including psychological pathologies it seems–it would be a waste not to investigate further. In a way, I tend to agree."
"And I agree with you. But when considering who will carry out this investigation, why me of all people?"
"Initially, it was just a matter of convenience–the bot's location to Sunrise, Sunrise's location to headquarters, your recent experience in dealing with depressive symptoms. But to be honest, don't you think it'll do you some good?"
Eric had feared this response, a response both reasonable and justified. But frankly, he wasn't in the mood for either, hadn't been in years, and didn't feel like starting now, all of which influenced his response. "You gotta be shitting me."
Dr. Wright smiled once more. "I'm not." With his module silent, he continued. "Look, I'm just as pissed as the next person who watched their hard work evaporate, when some damn machine could do it better and cheaper. But that's reality, and no amount of kicking and screaming will reverse the trend. That's a hard pill to swallow, especially for someone like you, which is why I personally selected you for the gig."
Eric pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Rationally, it makes perfect sense. Intuitively, I wanna drive my head through the wall."
"Coming from you, that makes perfect sense. But this assignment is only a five-day gig, after which your life will return to normal. I just hope that while you're in the trenches, I don't get word that you tried to self-terminate."
Eric grinned. "So you know the bot's story too, huh? Can you believe he said that?"
"I'm telling you, maybe bots were better off without our human characteristics."
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?
Maybe. And maybe over the next week, he could test this by venturing into territory he mostly avoided–technological modernity. After all, what better tour guide than an A.I. robot? However, he needed to tamp down his resistance towards intelligent machines, and when considering how, the obvious strategy came to mind–empathy.
Eric could place himself within Arvin's metal casing, and view the world from his light-absorbing ocular devices. That should clear out the cognitive distortions.
He attempted the thought experiment, and the benefits were instantaneous, alarming even, because it made him realize the obvious, something his prejudices prevented from registering earlier. His client wanted to kill himself.
Something pained Arvin so severely that he desired self-termination, and in a monumental lack of professionalism, his therapist minimized this by discussing irrelevancies about what constituted aliveness.
Eric pulled into his driveway, embarrassed, but resolved to adopt a more dignified approach. He understood that resistance remained, especially with modernity's wounds still not healed, but he had to set aside. As a clinician, he needed to focus on the client, not himself.
Eric opened the front door, stepped through the threshold and paused. Kim was in the living room speaking jovially, but almost immediately, her tone shifted from playful, to subdued. This reminded Eric of his earlier than normal arrival. So did she have company over because he shouldn't have been?
He closed the door behind him, then made his way towards the living room. There Kim sat, lengthwise on the couch, communicating with someone through net glasses. She looked over and smiled, and Eric smiled back.
As he continued towards the kitchen, he kept a keen ear tilted.
"Okay," went on, moderate cheer back in her voice, "we'll meet after my morning class and go over the curriculum changes."
Kim, an undergraduate professor at Cal State Northridge, was apparently talking to a work colleague.
Eric's eyes canted over before turning back. But of course, she is. He opened the refrigerator, and kept listening in on Professor Nguyen's conversation, but not for long as it ended seconds later.
"You're back early," she called out, sliding her glasses atop her jet-black hair, then spinning to face the kitchen.
"Yeah," Eric replied, still inside the frosty blast of air. "I had a scheduling change at work. Just for today, though."
He lied. He would be home early all week. He wanted Kim to know that.
"That's not typical," she responded. "What's up at work?"
"New client," he said while closing the door, then transferring a few food items to the counter.
Kim spun further, twisting on her cream-colored sleep shorts. Then with both bare feet on the parquet floor, she leaned forward slightly. "Why would a new client cancel your entire day?"
Eric, in the middle of arranging his food items, looked up and paused, her slightly matted hair transfixing his gaze, especially as it draped across her thin shoulders. Why did she talked so animatedly about body enhancements? Her life-extension therapies would keep her ageless, and that should be enough, since it would keep her clean canvas picture perfect. "I'm sorry?"
Kim's unenhanced lips angled up. "Your new client. Why would having a new client cancel your entire day?"
"Oh." He resumed his food organization. "Our offices at UCLA made the call because the new client is... unique."
As he worked the stove's holo-display, then grabbed a pan for a grilled cheese sandwich, Kim stood and walked over.
She stopped by the entrance, placed her hands behind the small of her back, and leaned against a wall. "What's so unique about this new client?"
Eric grinned. "He's a robot."
"You're kidding."
He shook his head.
"Has this ever happened before? A bot in therapy?"
"Nope. Well, not that I know of."
"Huh," she contemplatively followed, cranking her neck sideways. "A bot getting assistance for a mental health problem." Her eyes narrowed and she turned back. "Wait a minute. Why are you in a decent mood? Given your situation, I figured you'd be..."
Eric finished assembling the un-grilled sandwich, then placed it in the pan, the cheese draped over the sides sizzling after touching the heat. "Trust me. After learning about this assignment, I wasn't exactly dancing. But I met the bot this morning, and he doesn't seem so bad."
"What's he there for? I mean, what's wrong with him that he needs therapy?"
"Depression. He wanted to..." Eric stopped short of saying self-terminate. "He wanted to commit suicide."
"Oh my God."
Eric looked up, unable to tell if her reaction stemmed from suicide in general, or a robot conceiving such an act. Knowing her–a tech enthusiast who loved life–probably both. He looked down, flipped the sandwich, and as more cheese sizzled, wafts of toasting sourdough drifted about. "Yeah. The reason caught me off guard too, but that's it. So we're gonna meet a few times and try to address the problem."
"You think," she slowly responded, "that maybe you can get something out of this too?"
Eric smiled. "Actually, that's why Dr. Wright selected me." He flipped the sandwich once more, noticing Kim glance at it, again. "You eat anything?" he asked, stepping back and turning, then pulling a plate from a cupboard.
"Nope. I was gonna make something when you finished."
He turned back, scooped the sandwich from the pan, then slid it onto the empty dish. He then folded a napkin and placed it underneath the plate, before finally extending it. "Here."
Kim smiled back and moved in. "Thanks, love," she replied, taking the plate and simultaneously pecking his cheek. "I need to get ready for work."
As she walked by, she caressed his neck before moving her hand across his chest.
Eric inhaled Kim's scent as she passed, the sweet aroma triggering wondrous emotions. That, along with her formfitting sleep clothes. Then as his lightheadedness subsided, he hoped against hope that she wasn't straying, and his suspicions were just that–suspicions.
He stood there for a moment, spatula in hand while his glassy eyes stared through the counter. Then his stomach started thrashing and his vision refocused.
With grilled cheese number two now cooling on a plate, Eric walked to his study, or as he considered it, his sanctuary.
The study was quiet and clutter-free, with a fantastic view of the valley below, courtesy of its outward facing window. What's more, he strategically positioned his desk to take advantage of the panorama. Now seated on his desk chair, he bit a generous mouthful of crispy bread and gooey cheese, then swiped his thumb across the desk's biometric start sensor, activating its built-in computer.
A bluish, semi-transparent holo-screen projected onto the slate grey desk, but he didn't bother with it just yet. He elected to finish off the grilled cheese first, and while crunching away, he stared out towards the city below, watching it bake under the oppressive summer heat. Then as familiar warmth waves rose from the urban landscape, his mind drifted towards tomorrow, towards the first official session with Arvin, wondering how he would proceed.