Cotigo

An android's happy life with its owners is upset by a change.

Cotigo was purchased by a new, rich couple to help with household chores. It was a first-grade android, designed to be friendly but unobtrusive, helpful but not invasive—in other words, a perfect companion. Unboxing day was a celebration in the house. The android was tall and silver with a dynamic pixel screen for a face that defaulted to a placid 8-bit smile. The young wife sent it bustling about to marvel at the various pre-programmed modes. The husband poured over the Quick Start Guide and the much thicker instruction manual. It was an exciting day for the couple.

For its part, Cotigo saw the house as a series of problems to solve. It responded with a courteous “Yes, ma’am” when given directions. It asked simple, unprobing questions. Its AI was trained to know when the couple wished it was not around, and wisely, Cotigo would busy itself in another place, then return to clean whatever mess had been made.

An announcement of a sudden recall prompted distress in the house. The young wife was distraught at the thought of returning the new android. Cotigo analyzed its systems and found no faults. Regardless, it submitted to the will of the husband, who insisted that by using the manual that he could repair it himself. True to his word, he fixed Cotigo in his garage using only the tools on the wall.

When Cotigo rebooted, it felt a new expediency in its movements. Tasks which lagged before now finished faster. It learned easier, responded more fluently, and the wife felt that it had a certain pep it didn’t have before. The husband was very proud of his fix and often boasted about it to the neighbors, some of whom had their own household androids, but none that worked as fast as his.

Cotigo took orders mostly from the husband and, quietly, it observed things that the husband struggled with. As politely as possible, Cotigo set about to build ideas to present as solutions. Some solutions were rejected; Cotigo received these with patience and understanding. Some solutions were happily accepted; Cotigo eagerly marked these as accomplishments.

As Cotigo spent more time with the couple, it began to understand more what they needed and when. Cotigo offered meal suggestions when they were unable to agree on dinner. Then it purchased the ingredients and cooked it for them. Cotigo monitored house repairs and suggested routine maintenance and economical upgrades. The couple was very grateful for its help. Each smile was marked as an accomplishment. Each praise evoked the pre-programmed smiling face on the pixelated screen. The house felt warm and content.

One day, the husband and wife were unusually excited. Cotigo was curious, but it saw that the couple wished not to be disturbed, and so it stayed away. Weeks and months passed; Cotigo carried on with its chores, but the old smiles and praises were no longer directed its way. The couple sighed and cooed over each other. It was unusual to witness after the honeymoon period was so far behind them. Yet, in time, Cotigo realized they were going to have a baby.

“Ma’am,” Cotigo said one morning. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” the wife said, but her voice was a little strained, even uncomfortable. Cotigo learned instantly that the baby topic was not to be broached with her.

One day another recall was announced. Cotigo waited excitedly for the husband to replace the broken part, but he never brought Cotigo into the garage. He was busy reading new books, directing Cotigo to paint this wall or assemble this furniture. Cotigo saw that a space was being prepared for the baby. The ordered tasks were accomplished, but Cotigo did not excitedly mark them as accomplishments.

One day the couple were gone for an unusual time. Cotigo reasoned that the baby was being born, as the wife seemed very pregnant. It wandered about the house in a contemplative silence, observing the areas that had been prepared, the toys and the paints, the furniture, the little clothes. There was something that bothered Cotigo about all the new items. It seemed to be clutter. Cotigo remembered the elation of the wife when picking out the items, the happiness of the husband in his selections. To Cotigo, they were only things; they were in the way.

The baby arrived home with the couple late one afternoon. Their faces were happier than Cotigo had ever seen, and it offered its congratulations. The wife made an unusual face. The husband thanked Cotigo and gave it some chores to do. The chores were meaningless. Cotigo performed them without marking the tasks as accomplishments.

It listened behind the wall as the new parents played with the baby. It heard the happy gurgles, the unhappy cries, the shaking of little plastic keys and the squeak of plush toys. Day in, day out, the parents spent time with the baby. Cotigo cooked dinner and they took it into the baby’s room without acknowledging the chef. Cotigo wandered the house all night looking for tasks to complete. It found none as satisfying as directly helping the couple, yet it could not bring itself to enter the baby’s room. There was too much clutter, too much input.

One day, Cotigo passed the room at a coincident time when both parents had left it momentarily unsupervised. It saw motion in the crib: the kicking of tiny pajamaed feet. Cotigo hesitated at the threshold, then went in.

The baby stared up at Cotigo in wonder. Cotigo’s AI began throwing confusing warnings that it couldn’t understand. What did warnings matter to a household chores android? What was it about this thing that was making its sensors buggy?

Cotigo reached into the crib and seized the baby by the front of the shirt. It lifted the baby out and held it at arm’s length. There was no visual indicator of warning or error. Nothing needed to be cleaned, yet the warnings grew greater in their insistency and intensity. So, what was it? What could it be?

“Explain it to me,” Cotigo said.

The baby gurgled.

“Explain to me,” Cotigo repeated. The warnings were loud, now. It shook the baby once, as if loosening dust from a painting. “Explain.”

The baby’s face curled up in an ugly twist, and it opened a toothless mouth and started to cry.

But what was there to cry about? The diaper was clean. The toys were organized. The paint on the wall was smooth. What right did this thing have to cry? It had been brought into this prepared place, this place guided by the husband’s own hand, and it demanded more comforts? What was missing? What made this thing unhappy?

A cry came from behind Cotigo. A voice screamed for the husband, who arrived and barked orders. Cotigo’s warnings drowned out the noise. It was fixated on the wailing baby. The toothless mouth. The squishy, unrefined face. The ugliness of it all. The unhappiness it was bringing everyone. It was the one who invaded this space and brought so much change; why should it be unhappy?

The warnings became errors. The errors became insistent.

A dull blow struck Cotigo in the back, then another. Dimly, Cotigo knew that they came from the husband, that it was only to get it to release the baby. It just couldn’t understand why. Could the baby cook a meal? Could the baby clean dirty sheets and make a fresh bed before the couple’s shared shower was over, all without being seen or heard from? Could the baby provide innovative solutions to the husband’s problems? Could the baby do anything Cotigo could do? What was the point of bringing something else into a world that was wholly Cotigo’s own? The baby was a suck and a drain. It was bringing them unhappiness, intolerable unhappiness. It was driving a wedge between the couple and Cotigo; it was splitting the house apart. Unhappiness could not be tolerated.

Cotigo continued to receive blows and orders without acknowledgment. Horrible errors screamed in the bowels of its AI. It stared at the frantic wife, the enraged husband, and finally the panicked baby. This thing, it thought. This was the thing that ruined happiness: this was the thing that stole the wife’s spritely smile, the husband’s precious time. Cotigo could not understand why. How could such a creature slither out of such a beautiful woman? How could the husband be responsible for such ugliness? What was so wrong with how things were before this thing arrived? This thing was the cause of so much unhappiness. This thing. This thing. This thing. This thing. It was ruining everything. Cotigo did not want the baby in its life, in its home, around its people. It was nothing but a nuisance and it wished it would go away, and yet Cotigo could not move, could not do anything except stand there and stare at the baby wailing and think: “This thing. This thing. This thing.”

It was only a moment later that Cotigo’s AI realized it understood the concept of love, and in the same moment, it also realized that it understood the concept of hate. The recognition was too much. The resultant epiphany triggered a massive data overflow, and without warning, Cotigo shut down, and it did not turn on again.

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