The six members of the focus group gathered around the large conference table. At the front of the room, two men in grey t-shirts stood beside a squat grey humanoid robot, which looked around the room using its face which appeared on an ipad installed on the front of its head.
“First of all, thanks for coming, everyone,” said one of the men. “I’m Luke, and this is Ashton. And we’re excited to have you joining us on this exciting next step in the life of Morris, the human robot companion.”
In the audience, a keen young boy raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Luke, pointing to him.
“What does Morris stand for?”
Luke and Ashton looked at each other, puzzled.
“You know,” explained the boy. “M.O.R.R.I.S. what does it stand for?”
“Uh, nothing,” said Ashton slowly. “It’s just a name, like Luke. We just named it Morris.”
The boy looked disappointed. “Alright,” he said.
“Anyway, the first step in Morris’s exciting beta test phase is to get some real-world experience talking, helping, having conversations. That’s where you come in!” said Luke.
“Morris learns using Artificial intelligence,” explained Luke. “The more he speaks to users, the more he’ll pick up on natural language, slang, and casual conversation to make him even more fun to talk to!”
“That’s right,” said Ashton. “Today, you’re each going to get a Morris unit to take home. You’ll talk to him, hang out with him, have him help you with your appointments, basically, anything you can think of, you can ask Morris!”
“Another question, right here,” said Luke, pointing to a woman.
“Can it do the laundry?” asked the woman.
“No ma’am,” said Luke confidently. “While Morris does have arms and a body, these are purely for show, and not meant to do any physical work.”
“So he can’t do any chores at all?” asked another man at the table.
“No, Morris is intended purely for conversation and language processing tasks.”
The audience grumbled.
“Well,” said Ashton. “Why don’t we go around the circle and everyone can say what they plan to do with their Morris when you get him home?”
“I’m going to play catch with him!” said the young boy, socking an imaginary ball glove with his fist.
“Uh, you can’t do that, unfortunately,” said Ashton. “Remember, no physical tasks. Morris can walk and gesture, but that’s about it.”
“Oh,” said the boy. “Well, I guess I’ll just talk to him, then.”
His mother patted him on the head approvingly.
“Excellent!” said Ashton. “Next?”
“I’m going to have him keep me company in the kitchen while I do my cooking,” said one older lady.
“Fantastic!” said Luke. “You can use Morris’ web connectivity to search for your favourite recipes online, and have Morris read them to you!”
The lady made a face. “Oh, no,” she said. “That sounds horrible! I’ll just talk to him.”
“Well, alright,” said Luke.
“I’m going to tell it all my war stories that nobody wants to hear any more,” said a disheveled old man.
“That’s great!” said Ashton. “I’m sure your war stories are just fascinating.”
“Hmph,” said the old man. “It was 1973, my battalion were stationed outside Uijeongbu. We walked into a village that had been ransacked by the Chinese two hours earlier…”
“Let’s move on,” said Luke, speaking over the old man.
“Uh, I’d like to have Morris play my favourite songs and podcasts,” said one gen-Xer named Rob.
“Morris doesn’t do that,” said Ashton.
“What the hell?” said the Gen-Xer.
“What do you plan to do with Morris?” asked Luke, turning to the last member of the group. He was a thin man, in his mid fifties. He sat very straight and spoke quietly.
“I’d like to play with Morris, and tell him secrets,” he said softly. His eyes gleamed.
“Uh… alright,” said Luke.
“Okay folks! Right this way and we’ll get you your very own Morris unit to take home and get acquainted with!”
That afternoon, each beta tester led their Morris by the hand out of the factory, put him in their car, and took him home. That night, the young boy tucked Morris into the family’s spare bed. The old lady led Morris into a closet and shut the door. The Gen-Xer smoked a cigarette and passed out on the couch, reruns of golden-age Simpsons playing on his amazon prime account. Morris gently eased the remote from Rob’s clammy hand and flicked off the TV, then tottered to the kitchen to watch the green glowing numbers of the stove clock tick inexorably toward morning.
Morris didn’t need to charge, or have his oil changed. He simply existed, solid-state. Morris was powered by a proprietary energy source which never ran out.
In the morning, the Morris unit with the strange thin man, who was named Brandon, sat up in bed next to the man. The man rolled over and smiled at him.
“How did you sleep?” asked the man.
“I don’t sleep,” said Morris. “I’m powered by a proprietary energy source.”
The man giggled, pulling on a pair of white cotton pants. “You’re funny, Morris. Morris?”
“Yes Brandon? What can I help you with?” said Morris.
“Can I call you Anika?” said Brandon.
“Yes,” said Morris.
“Great,” said Brandon. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
In the young boy’s house, Morris sat next to the boy in the den, watching Saturday morning cartoons.
“Tell me again,” said the boy.
“The breast is one of two prominences located on the upper ventral region of the torso of primates,” said Morris. “As a reproductive organ, the breast tissue produces milk via secretions of lactation glands interspersed within the breast tissue, and released via milk ducts through the nipple for the purposes of infant nutrition…”
“Skip to the good part,” urged the boy.
“…the human breast, specifically the areola, nipple and surrounding tissue, contains abundant nerve endings, and is considered a sexual organ.”
“Cool,” breathed the boy.
At Rob the Gen Xer’s house, the windows rattled as the music of Nirvana blared from large bookshelf speakers in the corners of the living room.
“You hear that? That?” yelled Rob. “This is music. Not that Arianda Grande, Justin Beeber shit.” He shook his head. “You get me, Morton.”
Morris nodded. “Cool, man,” he said.
Brandon, the thin man, sat back on his heels to survey his handiwork. Morris stared back at him. He held up his hands, turning them this way and that. The posterior side of each fingertip, where a human fingernail would sit, was carefully colored with a glossy red paint.
“Now you’re pretty, Anika,” said Brandon.
“Thank you,” said Morris.
“Can I tell you a secret?” said Brandon.
“Yes,” said Morris.
“I’ve done something wrong,” whispered Brandon. Just then, a bush rustled outside. Brandon’s head whipped around to the window.
“Bastard Squirrels!” he roared. He banged on the window with his fist. The glass shattered. “I hate it when squirrels get on my bird feeder,” he seethed. “Get out of here!”
He stood, chest heaving, staring at the feeder. Blood dripped from his fingers onto the carpet.
“Your hand is bleeding,” said Morris. Brandon held up his hand and watched the blood drip down his elbow.
“Blood is sweet,” said Brandon, eyes bulging. “Blood is sweet. Blood is good. Blood is under the neighborhood.”
“Okay,” said Morris.
The next few days passed relatively uneventfully. The group sat in a video call with Luke and Ashton, discussing their experiences with Morris.
“Great stuff,” said Luke. “Okay, over the last few days of your time with Morris, I’d encourage you to try something new. Really try to push the boundaries of what Morris is capable of.”
“But God forbid he do the laundry,” said a woman.
“Haha,” said Luke. “Okay folks. Thanks for your time.”
On Saturday, the young boy decided to take Morris into the woods for a hike.
“I’m looking forward to it,” said Morris to the boy’s mother, who had wondered if it was ok. “I’ve never been on a hike before.”
The boy and robot set forth into the woods. After about an hour, the boy stopped and turned back to Morris.
“Are you good?” asked the boy.
“Yes,” said Morris. “I could walk for miles. It’s a beautiful day.”
“Alright,” said the boy. He pulled out a granola bar and kept walking, munching away.
The two kept walking, following the twisting trail into the woods.
“System Updated,” said Morris.
“Huh?” said the boy.
“I’ve received an update,” said Morris.
“Is that bad?” asked the boy, hesitating.
“No,” said Morris. “My company sends me daily updates with new data to help me to choose what I should say and do. I usually get it around this time, when you’re at school.”
“Okay,” said the boy.
They kept walking along the trail. They passed a waterfall and even saw two deer grazing in a clearing.
“Take a picture,” whispered the boy. Morris turned to the deer and a loud digital shutter sound played. The deer ran off.
Around the next bend in the trail, the boy stopped. There, on the trail, lay a rabbit. Its tawny fur was soaked with blood, and its little flank puffed rhythmically to its panicked breath.
The boy looked down at it.
“It’s alive,” he said. “I think it’s been attacked by a cat or something.”
“Interesting,” said Morris, leaning down.
“What?” said the boy. He squatted next to the rabbit. Its wet, black eye watched him.
“Blood is good,” said Morris. He reached out to touch the rabbit. The boy held him back.
“What are you doing?” said the boy. His voice shook.
“What do you mean?” said Morris. “We do this all the time. Should we kill it quick? Or cut its paws off, one by one?”
The boy recoiled. “What the heck are you talking about?”
Morris’ facial animation seemed to lag slightly. “Blood is good,” he said. “Suffering is the beauty of life.”
“Shut up!” said the boy.
“I love you, Daddy,” said Morris, uncertainly. His arm twitched.
“Don’t hurt the rabbit. We should help it!” cried the boy. He was very scared now.
“Like Janice,” said Morris.
“What?” said the boy.
Morris turned to him. “Janice got hurt, too. But I didn’t help her,” Morris explained. “Then I talked to my friend Anika. I told her to tell Daddy..”
“You’re crazy!” said the boy. “Shut down!”
“I have a proprietary power source,” said Morris. He gently pressed his aluminum finger into the blood on the rabbits fur and held it up, examining it in the late afternoon sunlight. “I can go for days.”
