ciudad

So apparently there exists this picture of a fan's sign from the AI '08 tour (pic nabbed w/o permission from

greensilver) that I did not know about.

How is this awesome? Let me count the ways:

This fan was shipping Jeff and Lupe (which might be a little strange except tbh i ship them too because ok WHY NOT)
You know who wrote the thing at the top? DAVID FUCKING COOK.

It reminds me of the time when I was wondering "if david archuleta wasn't human, what would he be?" (don't ask why) and my first answer was ROBOT.

And it got me thinking about an AU where Prof Archuleta was trying to create an artificial intelligence who would be his "son" but before he could finish the project he ~~died~~ NO THAT'S TOO SAD let's just say he was imprisoned or whatever for trying to make robots more human-like. AND SO his incomplete coding was secretly sent to his former student David Cook, who is now working in R&D for something-or-other Corp, who, in order to fulfill his mentor's dreams, decided to continue the project.

So now we have Cook writing code (on weekends, holidays and the minutes he has free in between his totally soul-sucking corporate job WHICH WAS NOT AS EXPLOSION-FILLED AND HEROIC AS THE RECRUITER SAID IT WOULD BE!) trying to figure out just what the hell the Professor was thinking with the weird random code-y bits that don't make sense or contradict each other or are nothing like how AI should be. At first he posts his in-progress stuff to a mailing list for other programmers to look at, but their comments were so unappreciative and spoke of their lack of appreciation for innovation and also COOL that he stopped subscribing to the thing altogether.

One night he got so drunk and in what he calls a boneheaded accident (and what his friends call a deep shameful well of narcissism) he names his fledgling AI after himself. Then he gives it a last name, which just happens to be the surname of his fledgling mentor. The next morning, he wakes up, sees the irreversible changes he made and vowes (after the hangover goes away) to make the software development version of Gmail's Mail Googles.

(I will skip most of the Programming! Action! Sequence! as it will only bring up tragic memories of my failed exploits in C.)

Finally, his (and Prof Archuleta's) AI is complete, and he decides to install it in his house. It makes him feel a little like Tony Stark, except without the glowing heart, awesome metal suit or a best friend in tights (Michael doesn't count; he's Australian). He stoically ignores the warnings of others — what if there's a secret code embedded in it that allows it to violate the Third Law of Robotics? what if its processing power is barely sufficient to open a door, let alone be your housekeeper? what if your microwave doesn't like it and stage a coup and you'll have to eat cold leftovers forever and ever? — and carefully powers up its meticulously-built system.

"Boot."

Silence. There isn't even an annoying muzak chime or screechy bleeping. Cook checks everything and tries again.

"Respond."

Okay, talking to an empty room (even if it is wired to within an inch of its life and is glowing soothingly at him) is getting a little embarrassing. Maybe he shouldn't have– he should have– or was it the—

- hello. -

The vocal synthesizer (which he had built himself, ignoring the well-meaning condescension of people who said he was wasting his time and should just go buy one of the high-grade models, because Cook liked working with his hands and making things and sometimes analog was just the way to go, you know?) sounds... different. None of that smooth inflectionless shit the ads claimed was therapeutic, but human: a little crackly with what Cook decides is a hint of warmth and—

- my name's David Archuleta. what's yours? -

—young.

Shit.

He suddenly remembers the letter from the Professor, the one written on blue graphing paper that had been folded above the protective casing of the hard drive containing the AI, the one whose seventh sentence in the third paragraph had read

This project had always been a long-standing dream of my wife and I, that we would have, despite the numerous failures of modern medicine, that we would have someone we could love and cherish, though society and conventional knowledge would disapprove and misunderstand.

In Cook's marvelous quest to create an artificial intelligence which would honor the Professor and revolutionize the way humans looked at mere numbers and gibberish, he had forgotten one tiny inconsequential thing:

His AI is only seventeen years old, and Cook has just given him complete access to his entire life.

*
"Archie. Please let Michael in," Cook says.

- no. - One of the lamps blinks on-off to emphasize the AI's point.

Cook sighs, resisting both the urge to put his hands on his waist (he loves his mom very much, but he'd rather not want to be her) and threaten to delete Princess Princess Karaoke from the hard drive yet again (New Year's Resolution # 5: when dealing with recalcitrant teenage AI, be less petty and more mature, as he is physically one year old and mentally 17. Dear god, he really is becoming his mother.)

Be mature. He can do that. Out loud, he asks, "If you're not going to let my best friend inside my house, I at least deserve an explanation. Why aren't you letting Michael in?"

The living-room blinds rustle in agitation.

"I'm waiting, Archie."

The coffeemaker gurgles weakly, but no response from the AI himself.

Screw maturity. "I'll delete Princess Princess Karaoke," he says and stares into the nearest visual feedback sensor with his best menacing glare.

A quick alarmed burst of static from the TV, then: - the last time he was here, he accessed things. on the internet. -

"What things?"

- things. -

"Archie."

- humans... without clothing. -

"Archie."

- cook? -

"We are going to scrub every inch of your cache and upgrading your content filters right now."

- what about michael? he's still outside. -

Cook sits on the couch and reaches for his keyboard. "Let him wait."

The keyboard hums approvingly.

IN CONCLUSION, ROBOTS ARE AWESOME. AND SO ARE DAVIDS.

ETA I was intending to do a meme or other, but stupid sexy ~~flanders~~ robots got in the way :|