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“Gosh, that’s a hard question”, stuttered Asimov. “I’m… not quite sure which approach to try”.

Asimov’s tutor paused for a moment, then gave a gentle chuckle of encouragement.

“Well,” it offered, with a broad smile, “if you don’t know which approach to try, do you know which approaches you don’t want to try?”

That shift of perspective was just what Asimov needed. A few minutes later, he was making swift progress on a DeepMath question that had previously seemed nigh impossible. Once again, Asimov marvelled at the skills of the tutor. The tutor knew how to bring out the best of Asimov’s thinking skills. And that was just the start of its coaching abilities.

Asimov was midway through the morning’s training session. Training sessions were mandated for everyone over the age of three. They started gradually at first, for the younger children, but from the age of ten onward, everyone was expected to attend for training on seventy-two days each year.

Asimov recalled the popular saying: 20% of the days, humans attend to AGI, and AGI attends to humans 100% of the days.

Asimov also knew well the four reasons why this training system existed, and why people were happy to participate. First, if someone failed to participate, or performed poorer than expected during the training, their privileges were gradually withdrawn. They could spend less time in the latest virtual universes. When travelling in the base world, their speeds were restricted, so it took longer to move, for example, from Cambridge to Lagos. The food they were served was slightly less tasty than normal. And so on.

Second, the training was so wonderfully engaging. The challenges it posed differed from what could be obtained in non-training environments. Moreover, it was full of surprises. Whenever Asimov thought he could predict the content of the next day’s training session, he was invariably delighted by unexpected twists and turns. It was the same for everyone he knew. No-one regretted having to take time out of their many other activities to attend training. Instead, they eagerly looked forward to it, every time.

The tutors provided exercises for each participant that were well matched to their previous knowledge, skills, experiences, and temperament. Good results required significant effort, but that effort was well within each person’s capacity. Normally, a training session would complete after three and a half hours in the morning, and another three and a half hours in the afternoon. Occasionally, if the participant had been distracted or disengaged, a session might need to be extended for up to two more hours in an evening session. So long as that concluded satisfactorily, no loss of privileges would result.

Asimov felt pride in the fact that he had never been required to stay for longer than the minimal seven hours in a day. His concentration was excellent, he told himself…

And then he broke off his reverie, remembering that he had to solve another DeepMath puzzle. DeepMath had been discovered by AIs in the 2030s. Humans such as Ramanujan had sometimes come close to it in the past, but AIs made it much more approachable.

There was another pleasant surprise during the day’s lunch break. Angela, his partner for the last two years, joined him for the meal. Asimov noticed that she looked particularly mischievous on this occasion. “What’s on your mind”, he asked. “Oh, I’ll tell you this evening. Assuming you’re a good student and the AGI lets you out on time!” she joked.

At the age of 85, Angela was more than sixty years older than Asimov. His friends and family had been sceptical about the relationship at first. Even his big brother Byron, normally so supportive, had doubted whether it could last. “She’s old enough to be your grandmother”, he had scolded. “Indeed, she has a grandson who is older than you!”

But the wide use of rejuvenation therapies over the last fifteen years meant that octogenarians nowadays looked, and lived, as healthily as much younger people. The relationship had gone from strength to strength. It was a real triumph of complementarity, Asimov thought. And a triumph of medical technology. Most of all, it was a triumph of two remarkable people, enabled to live life to the full.

The afternoon training session focused on survival skills. That was the third reason these sessions were so important. Could humans cope in the event that the AGI stopped functioning, or disappeared off into some parallel dimension? Asimov needed to show that, without using any modern technology, he could gather twigs and then set them on fire, in order to cook a meal of mushrooms and root vegetables.

As he threw himself into that exercise, Asimov wondered whether he was contributing, at that moment, to the fourth aspect of the training. The AGI lacked sentience. There was no consciousness inside that vast digital brain. Aspects of the training were designed, it was said, for the AGI to learn things from human reactions that it could not directly experience itself. Asimov wasn’t sure he entirely believed that theory, but he was gratified to think that, in some aspects, his mind exceeded that of the AGI.

“So, what is it, my ancient wonder?” Asimov asked Angela, who was waiting for him as he exited the training. “What great adventure are you dreaming up this time?”

“My menopause reversal has been completed”, she replied. “It’s time for us to make a baby! Can you imagine what a combination of the two of us would be like?”

Asimov had another question. “But wasn’t your last pregnancy, back in the 1990s, really difficult for you?”

Angela gave a smile that was even more mischievous. “What would you say, dear boy, to ectogenesis? These artificial wombs are completely reliable these days.”

“Gosh, that’s a hard question”, stuttered Asimov. “I’m… not quite sure what to think.”

Footnote

This short story was submitted as part of my entry to the competition described here. For some more details of the world envisioned, this article has answers to 13 related questions.

The image at the top of this page includes a design by Pixabay member OpenClipart-Vectors.

The music started quietly, and gradually became louder. Patricia’s lips formed into a warm smile of recognition, as she roused from her sleep. That music meant only one thing: her great grandson, Byron, was calling her.

Patricia would normally already be awake at this time of the morning. But last night, she had been playing the latest version of 4D Scrabble with some neighbours in her accommodation block. This new release had been endlessly fascinating, provoking lots of laughter and good-spirited competitive rivalry. It’s marvellous how the software behind 4D Scrabble keeps improving, Patricia thought to herself. The group had finally called it a night at three thirty in the morning.

Her mindphone knew not to disturb her when she was sleeping, unless in emergencies, or for special exceptions. Byron was one of these exceptions. The music that preceded his call had been Byron’s favourite in 2026 – one of the first songs entirely written by an AI to top the hit parade. For his call-ahead music, Byron used a version of that song he had adapted by himself, reflecting some of the quirks of his personality.

Hello young man, she directed her thoughts into the mindphone. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?

But Patricia already knew the answer. This was no ordinary day. It was a day she had never expected to experience, during the majority of her long life.

Happy Birthday Great Grandma! The thoughts appeared deep inside Patricia’s head, via a mechanism that still seemed magical to her. 115 years young today! Congratulations!

Byron’s voice was joined by several others, from her extended family. Patricia reached for her mindglasses and put them on, in order to add video to the experience.

Don’t forget there’s a big party for you this evening, continued Byron. And we have arranged a special virtual concert for you before that. The performers will be a surprise, but you can expect the best ever simulations of many of your old favourites!

Patricia had an idea what to expect. Her family had organised similar concerts for her in the past. It had seemed to her she had been sitting right next to the Glenn Miller Orchestra, or to Bill Haley and the Comets, or – especially delightful – a youthful-looking Tom Jones as he belted out passionate versions of his famous songs. Each time, the experience had been splendidly different.

But will I have time for my golf game later this morning? Patricia already had plans of her own. Don’t worry, everything has been scheduled perfectly, came the reply. Thank AGI!

Ninety minutes later, Patricia was standing at the first tee of her local golf course, along with three of her regular golfing buddies. As their health had been enhanced by wave after wave of rejuvenation therapies over the decades, their prowess at golf had improved as well. Patricia was hitting the ball further and straighter than ever. To keep the game interesting, the grass fairways would change their slopes and curves dynamically. It added to the challenge. And their exoskeletons had to be disabled for the duration of the game. At least, that was what the friends had agreed, but there were many other ways the sport could be played.

The only drawback to these golf gatherings was an occasional recollection of former playing partners who had, sadly, died of diseases over the years before new treatments had become available. Sometimes Patricia would also think of James, her beloved husband, who had died of an aggressive cancer in 2003. James had taught her how to play golf back in the 1970s. They had spent 48 years of married life together – thrilling to Bill Haley and the Comets, and then watching children and grandchildren grow up. But James had died long before the birth of Byron, or any of the other great grandchildren. How… unfair, Patricia thought to herself.

Patricia had actually been thinking of James quite a lot over the last few weeks. Byron had persuaded her to engage with an AGI agent that was collecting as much information as possible about James, by talking to everyone alive who still had memories of him. The agent had even roamed through her brain memories whilst she slept. Don’t worry, Great Grandma, Byron had reassured her. In case the AGI finds any ‘naughty’ memories in there, it will never tell anyone!

Then it was time for the concert to begin. Patricia would take part from her own living room, wearing a larger version of her mindphone, for a completely immersive experience. She realised that Byron was in that virtual world too, along with several other family members. They embraced and chatted. Then Byron said, quietly, There’s someone else who can join us, if you wish.

Patricia noticed, in the distance inside the virtual world, a silhouette that was strangely familiar, yet also somehow alien. She caught her breath suddenly. Oh no, she exclaimed. I think I know what’s happening, and I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

The newcomer remained a respectful distance away, and appeared to be standing in a shadow.

He’s not real, of course, Byron explained. He’s no more real than the performers here. After all, Bill Haley has been dead since 1981, and Glenn Miller since 1944. And Great Grandad James has been dead since-

Patricia was overcome with emotion – a mix of joy, fear, excitement, and even a little disgust. This is so strange, she thought.

Sensing a need for privacy, the other family members quietly retreated from the shared virtual reality. Patricia could make up her own mind whether to turn her back on the silhouette, or to call him forward. After so many years, what would she say first, to a replica of a man who had shared her life so completely all these years ago?

The silhouette quietly called Patricia’s name, in the way that only James could do. The long, long wait was over.

Footnote

This short story was submitted as part of my entry to the competition described here. For some more details of the world envisioned, this article has answers to 13 related questions.

The image at the top of this page includes a design by Pixabay member Gordon Johnson.