Matt, holding my gaze captivated with his handsome, expressive, and clearly intelligent eyes, said, "The question is no longer whether AI will play a big role in our future. The question is when."
Quinn and Janie left shortly after the conclusion of our advancements in AI technology conversation. She couldn't seem to get comfortable no matter how she sat or stood or reclined. Her lack of well-being made Quinn visibly agitated, so no one was surprised when he suggested they head out.
Professor Simmons and I soon followed, departing at the same time by coincidence rather than by design. I was looking forward to getting home, crawling into my bed, and sorting through my thoughts while watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun.
This was all so fascinating and terrifying. And how did more people not know about the advances in AI? And how could I make them aware?
Once Greg shut the door to their apartment, Matt stopped me with a hand on my elbow. "Hey, wait a minute."
I turned, regarding him tiredly. "Yes?"
"The pizza . . ." He leaned a shoulder against the wall, dropping his hand from my arm and stuffing it in his pocket as he scrutinized me. "It was fantastic. Thank you."
Despite my lingering dislike for the man, his comment made me smile. Maybe he wasn't so bad. "Thank you."
"Are you sure you don't want to consent for your data to be part of the research study?"
And just like that, my smile fell. "No. I don't. I don't consent."
"Why not?" he asked, still scrutinizing me in that open, unapologetic way of his.
"Because I don't like your methods and I'm not convinced that what you're doing is for the greater good."
But I sure could use a glimpse at your data about online dating websites for an article I'm working on.
Now that was an interesting thought. If I could convince Matt to give me an overview of his findings thus far, it would definitely provide a thought-provoking angle to the article Tommy and I were writing.
. . . Why stop there? Why not write about his Compassion AI?
A seed, an acorn of something, sprouted in my mind.
The professor straightened away from me, frowning severely, obviously disliking my response. "You're very closed-minded."
What?
Who says that? Especially to a person he doesn't really know?
He really was a weirdo.
I huffed an aggravated laugh. "And you're irritating."
I'm not closed-minded.
For the most part.
Or maybe I was.
Maybe I was closed-minded.
And maybe I needed to work on that about myself. How could I call myself an objective journalist if I was prejudging his research without understanding it? Maybe I did need to consider the possibility of AI as a solution.
I could write a story about his Compassion AI, but I knew it would need to be balanced by an alternative solution equally as farfetched.
"Fiona said you're a reporter. I thought you'd be more open to novel concepts, innovative solutions to old problems. But evidently my first impression of you was correct."
"Just because I'm a reporter doesn't mean I don't get to have an opinion about people."
"And your opinion of me is?"
"Very low."
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Is it my hair?"
I flinched back, automatically checking out his hair. "No. There's nothing wrong with your hair."
"You don't like Star Wars?" He gestured to his shirt. "You're a Trekkie? You should know, I'm an equal opportunity space drama aficionado, whether it be BattleSTAR Galactica, STAR Trek, or STAR-"
"I get it, you like science fiction."
"Ah ha!" He lifted his index finger between us.
"Ah ha, what?"
"You're a fantasy reader, aren't you? That's what's going on. What's your favorite TV show? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, right?"
I lifted an eyebrow and crossed my arms, disliking that he'd guessed correctly. "What I read and watch isn't the central issue."
"Have you received your Hogwarts letter?" he asked, and his tone was so serious, I almost mistook it for a real question.
"Listen, it's not our genre differences that are the problem. You lied to me. You pretended to be someone-"
"You shouldn't hold it against a person for employing deception in the pursuit of science, for the greater good."
I blinked once at Matt, very slowly. "Can you hear yourself speak? Disliking a person based on their penchant for deception is entirely appropriate."
"But that's not why you dislike me," he challenged, a hint of his wily smile returning. "Admit it," he pushed, giving me the sense he enjoyed trying to get under my skin, "you don't like me because my work challenges your small ideas."