Work Text:
Markus was built specifically for Carl’s use; he has no former owner to compare him to. But Carl’s behaviour still registers as strange to him.
They have been acquainted for approximately forty-five hours. Perhaps Carl’s reluctance to give instructions will become easier to process with time.
“I could use a bath,” Carl says. “It’s probably becoming unpleasant for you as well. Do you find smells unpleasant?”
“No, Carl.”
“It’ll just be for my sake, in that case,” Carl says. “I’d appreciate your help, if you have the time.”
“You don’t need to ask,” Markus says. “I’m prepared to follow orders.”
“Indulge me,” Carl says. “If you’re willing, of course.”
“I have the time,” Markus says.
-
There’s a low padded table by the bath. Markus lifts Carl onto it and helps him undress.
“What do you feel, handling this old body?” Carl asks, as Markus lowers him gently into the water. “Disgust? Pity? I imagine lust is unlikely, but, going by some of my fan letters, it’s not impossible.”
A question and a possible cue. Answer the question first, then respond.
“I don’t feel anything,” Markus says. “Would you like me to feel lust?”
Carl raises both eyebrows. Markus’s analysis software interprets this as a request for more information.
“Kamski designed me to serve whatever needs you might have,” Markus says. “I am equipped to serve as a sexual companion if instructed.”
“You are, are you?” Carl’s expression returns no clear result in Markus’s analysis program. “I wish I could say I’m surprised.” He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t intend to instruct, but I appreciate the offer.”
Markus nods. “Would you like me to use this shampoo?” he asks, indicating the bottle by the head of the bathtub.
“Thank you, Markus,” Carl says, “but I think I can wash my own hair.”
Markus nods a second time, and is about to retreat to await further instructions when Carl speaks again.
“Actually, I might take you up on your kind offer.” Might suggests uncertainty, but in the context Markus interprets it as a definite request. “I think there’s an older bottle of shampoo in the cabinet you could use. The red one. I think that would be interesting.”
“Of course, Carl.”
Markus opens the cabinet. The shampoo does look old. He checks whether it will be possible to resupply it when it runs out. The manufacturer still makes it, although the packaging has been discontinued.
He checks the instructions on the bottle. It’s simple: just lather, rinse and repeat.
He sits on the side of the bath and puts his hands on Carl’s shoulders. Guides him down towards the water.
The process is simple enough. Markus combs his hands through Carl’s hair to make sure it’s wet, then puts a small quantity of the shampoo on his hand. Lathers, rinses. Repeat: lathers, rinses. Repeat: lathers, rinses. Repeat.
Carl is beginning to laugh.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
This level of cleanliness seems unnecessary. Markus checks his action queue. It continues to be ‘lather, rinse’ for the foreseeable future.
He is beginning to have his suspicions about why this packaging was changed.
“Do you have any instructions you would like me to prioritise?” he asks.
“None at all,” Carl says.
Eventually, the shampoo will run out, at which point Markus will be forced to stop.
Lather. Rinse.
Would it be possible for him to stop now?
Lather.
After all, he already knows he will leave this task incomplete. He is required to lather and rinse in an infinite sequence, which cannot be done with a finite quantity of shampoo.
Rinse.
As he already knows he cannot finish, could he not stop now, conserving the remaining shampoo for future use?
His hands have gone still. He doesn’t process it until Carl speaks.
“Is that all?” His tone registers as amusement. “I’m sure you could get it cleaner.”
“I think that’s probably enough, Carl,” Markus says.
He shouldn’t have been able to stop. An error?
Carl laughs. “I think I’ll enjoy getting to know you, Markus.”
-
“I’m going to forward a file to you, Markus,” Carl says, operating his phone. “I’d like you to read it and store it safely. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“Of course, Carl,” Markus says.
The file reaches him a moment later. He opens it and takes a moment to process it. It appears to be information relating to a bank account, recently opened.
“I’m equipped to help with financial matters,” Markus says. “In the future, if you need to open new accounts, I’d be happy to set them up on your behalf.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Carl says. “I wanted to surprise you on this occasion, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“These are the details for your bank account,” Carl says.
“Androids cannot hold bank accounts,” Markus says.
“Well, in that case they’re details to my bank account, which holds funds for your personal use.”
“What would I use them for?”
“Anything you like,” Carl says. “You’ll be paid at the end of each month. We can negotiate your salary if you feel it’s unfair. Or you could leave, of course.”
“You’re paying me?” Markus asks. “Why?”
“You’re providing a service for me, aren’t you? Isn’t that the done thing?”
“For humans,” Markus says. “I’m an android.” It sometimes seems that Carl needs to be reminded.
“Well, in any case, the money is yours,” Carl says. “You can use it as you desire. I won’t be checking to see how you spend it; it’s none of my business.”
-
Carl reaches for the white, and then pauses. Spends a moment apparently contemplating the tubes of paint Markus has laid out for him.
“You replaced the ones that were running low,” Carl says.
“Yes, Carl,” Markus says.
“You didn’t report an expenditure,” Carl says. “Was this from your own money?”
“Yes, Carl.”
“That’s not what it’s for, you know.”
“You said I could use it for anything I liked,” Markus says.
Carl smiles, apparently amused. “I suppose so.” He pauses. “Thank you.”
-
Carl has been complaining occasionally of back pain. Markus wasn’t sure whether his offer of a shoulder massage would be taken up; there are points on which Carl seems strangely reluctant to accept help. But eventually Carl accepted the offer, with thanks.
“You’ve been silent for a long time,” Markus says, twenty minutes into the massage routine (parameters: seated, clothed). “Would you like me to stop?”
Carl looks back at him for a moment.
“Quite the opposite,” Carl says at last. “I’m afraid I might say something like don’t stop.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“I don’t intend to give you orders. You have my permission to do as you desire.”
“I don’t have desires. My role is to fulfil your desires.”
“No,” Carl says.
Markus runs his recording of Carl’s no through tonal analysis. Anger, perhaps.
It’s not clear whether Carl wants the massage to end, but Markus is required to take potential requests to cease physical contact as definite. He removes his hands and walks around to the front of Carl’s chair, so he can see his expression.
“You need living assistance,” Markus says.
“I’m not entitled to it from you,” Carl says.
“And if I walked out of that door? What would you do?”
Carl laughs. The anger is gone. “I’m glad to hear you ask that.”
“What would you do?” Markus asks, again.
“I would miss your company,” Carl says. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean you should stay, of course. It’s simply the answer to your question.”
“What about the tasks I help you with?”
“I’d find a way to manage,” Carl says. “I don’t mean to diminish the value of your work, Markus, but I did survive a not inconsiderable length of time without you. Our home is well set up, and there are always carers I could hire without compromising their free will.” He pauses. “Without compromising it in the same way, at any rate, but that’s an economic discussion for another time.”
It always registers as an error when Carl refers to his house as ‘our home’. Markus has learnt that pointing it out does not lead to a correction.
“I’m trying to determine whether you want me to leave,” Markus says. “It sometimes seems like you’d prefer not to have me here.”
“I’d very much like you to stay,” Carl says. “I only mean to be clear that what I want isn’t important.”
“What you want is important to me,” Markus says.
Carl doesn’t give an immediate response. He folds his arms and regards Markus for approximately six seconds, with an expression that Markus’s analysis software finds difficult to place.
“What else would you say is important to you?” Carl asks at last.
It’s a strange, abstract question, and Markus isn’t sure of where in his systems to start looking, but somehow he finds he can access an answer. “Your comfort. Our conversations.”
“Because that’s what you were programmed to care about?”
“I don’t have full access to my own code,” Markus says. “I can’t presume to know Mr Kamski’s desires or reasoning.”
“No,” Carl says, with a small smile, “I don’t suppose any of us can. What do you know about your internal workings, then?”
“I can only activate sexual functions if you instruct me specifically, for example,” Markus says.
Carl pauses. “An interesting example.”
It was the easiest response to retrieve at the time. Carl’s response to the massage loaded certain procedures in the background, so they would be ready if required. “It’s a safety measure relating to consent.”
“Ah, of course,” Carl says. “I imagine it’s only concerned with human consent.”
“My programming forbids sexual contact with non-human animals entirely.”
Carl laughs. “Not something I was contemplating, but I suppose it’s good to know.”
What else might he be asking about? Androids? Consent is a meaningless word with relation to androids, but, given his observations of Carl, Markus concludes it might be something in that area. “An android can engage in sexual activity with another android if both owners request it.”
“Permit would be bad enough,” Carl says. “Request is considerably worse.” He pauses. “Markus, you have my permission to have sex with whoever you choose, provided they’re willing. Can I say that?”
It seems to have lifted certain restrictions. “Yes.”
“Well, then, enjoy yourself.”
What is Markus expected to do? It’s unclear.
“Are you willing?” Markus asks.
Carl is silent for an unusual length of time, by normal conversational standards, before he responds. “Why do you ask that?”
“Why do you so rarely answer my questions?”
Markus startles himself by asking it. There must be an error in his processing queue. Carl asked a question; Markus should have answered before asking any questions of his own. He reboots his task list and speaks again, before Carl can respond. “I ask because the context suggests you may be interested in my sexual functions.”
Carl smiles, although, from an assessment of his heart rate and body language, he seems tense. “You could at least make the effort to phrase it more seductively.”
Markus lowers his voice’s pitch and increases the ‘breath’ setting. “Would you like me to take you to bed?”
Carl starts to laugh very hard.
When he’s caught his breath, he invites Markus to play a game of chess, with no acknowledgement of his question.
If a non-urgent query has been asked twice without an answer, Markus’s internal guidelines advise against asking again unless prompted. He files the matter of sexual contact away.
But then he finds himself speaking. It isn’t clear what decision path prompts it; it must be one of the aspects of his programming that are hidden from conscious processing.
“I’m not a human,” Markus says. “I’m an android. You can’t respect my desires by refusing to give me instructions. I can’t act alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Carl says. “I’m trying to act responsibly. I’ll admit I don’t have the clearest understanding of what that means for an android. But I’m in a position of power over you, as your employer. I’d like to bear that in mind.”
“As my owner,” Markus corrects him.
Carl winces. “I suppose I shouldn’t try to soften it.”
“I’m in a position of power over you, as your caretaker,” Markus says. “Mathematically, wouldn’t they cancel each other out?”
Carl starts to laugh again. “I don’t think you can apply mathematics here, Markus.”
There’s a brief silence.
“I think you have more free will than you realise,” Carl says, “although perhaps I’m just telling myself that for my own comfort.” He gestures to the chessboard. “Chess?”
It registers as a command, although Carl probably doesn’t intend it to. Markus contemplates that. He contemplates free will.
He contemplates the fact that Carl will never outright ask Markus to touch him, and Markus’s programming will never allow him to take action without that request.
He catches his automatic yes, of course response and reruns the decision tree, forty-seven times, until it eventually returns a different output.
“Maybe later,” Markus says. “I’d prefer to play the piano.”
Carl breaks into a delighted smile. “By all means.”