Murgatroyd and the AI

This story was originally published in “Heavens to Murgatroyd”, Shawn Bird (ed.) Lintusen Press, March 2024.

Enroute to Proxima Centauri b

“It’s minimum hourly rate,” the day supervisor said, a bit apologetically. “But not much happens on nightshift. Once you get everyone settled, the rest of the night is basically yours.” She paused expectantly. 

When Murgatroyd didn’t say anything, she said, “I figured, you being a poet and all, that could be writing time.” Another pause while she waited to see if Murgatroyd understood the beneficence being bestowed upon her. “It would be like you’re getting paid minimum hourly to write. Poetry.” The supervisor managed a tentative, conspiratorial smile. “While the AIs do the actual work, eh?” 

Murgatroyd smiled appreciatively, though her teeth were gritted. Minimum hourly was not enough for her to live on, let alone support three kids. The new ‘incentivized’ economy was not working out for anyone not actual Crew. It was exhausting. Still, a way to stretch her reserves out a bit longer while she looked for something better.

“Which reminds me,” the supervisor said. “I’d better show you where the AI overrides are.” 

She pulled out her key card and led the way to a locked glass-fronted panel, which, when opened, revealed a bank of servers. “Top row’s kitchen staff, maintenance, accounting, and such. Nothing for you there. Second row is medical, not that you’re to meddle there either. Orange button to pause actions, red to stop.” She closed the panel, tried the handle to make sure it had locked. 

Murgatroyd held out her hand for the keycard.

“Oh, this stays with me. Regulations say you have to know where the AI overrides are, but there’s nothing about giving you access. Sorry. Nothing personal. Last time I gave night shift a key, the girl switched medical over to do her class work. Nearly lost my job over it. So, no.”

“But if there’s an emergency?”

“There won’t be. There never is.”

“But if there were?”

The supervisor shrugged. “Break the glass. But better be a certifiable, life and death emergency, or the glass is coming out of your salary.”

And with that, she left.

—

Out of consideration for the ‘new girl’, the day shift had put everyone to bed before end of shift. Murgatroyd’s shift started at nine, but some of the more lucid residents were allowed to stay up to ten, even eleven, if they weren’t making trouble. There were twelve tiny bedrooms, just large enough for a single bed, bedside table, two visitor chairs, and the AI helper’s supply cabinet. Only five of the rooms were occupied. The supervisor had said six, but corrected herself when she remembered that Colonel Gathby had passed two days previously. He had been a Mission Founder, and already old when the ship had left earth, so his passing had come as no surprise. “Sharp as a whip,” the supervisor had explained, “but had spinal issues and Medical had needed the bed for acute cases, so shipped him up here to us.”

The remaining five residents all had varying degrees of dementia. Four were elderly, one early onset. Earth had forwarded the treatment breakthroughs but those had come too late for anyone over 90, and they didn’t have the components for the drug portion for the early onset case.

The Ward’s job was just to keep them from harm. Murgatroyd had read up on dementia strategies while waiting for her interview, and thought she might be able to add ‘calm’ to that mandate. 

As they were all abed at the moment, Murgatroyd accessed their medical files, quickly ascertained their medical needs: what meds, exercises, entertainments the AIs were supervising. These were Model As, simplified humanoid robots that would help a patient to the washroom, remind them to wipe, to wash their hands, to pull up their fly. Pleasant voices and painted smiles that never showed impatience or unnecessary hurry. 

They gave Murgatroyd the serious creeps. 

She was looking through the break-room cupboard for an unclaimed mug when she heard a disturbance. An elderly woman was halfway out of her bedroom door, tugging against her AI helper, which had hold of both her wrists and repeating, “sleep now…sleep now…sleep now” in an annoyingly pleasant voice.

“What’s up, Dr DeBeers?” Murgatroyd asked walking briskly over. She tapped the pause button on the little robot’s head, but of course it wasn’t enabled: if a carer could pause the AI, so could a distraught patient.

“I left my tablet in the sitting room,” the woman said, nodding in the direction of one of the plush chairs. “And this monster won’t let me fetch it.”

“It’s not very bright, is it?” Murgatroyd said. “No worries. Let it get you back to bed and I’ll bring your tablet to you.”

Dr. DeBeers was never going to win against the relentless AI, so allowed herself to be led back to bed as Murgatroyd jogged over to the sitting room. The tablet was not in the chair indicated, or either of the nearby side tables, so Murgatroyd made a quick search of the entire room, the neighbouring coffee station, and the dining area, all to no avail. When she went to report the failure to Dr. DeBeers, she found the AI tucking her in. 

“It’s not my bedtime,” Dr. DeBeers was protesting. “It’s barely past nine.”

“Sleep time,” the little robot repeated.

“Can’t you do something?” Dr. DeBeers demanded of Murgatroyd.

“Not yet,” Murgatroyd admitted. “I’m new here. I’ll figure something out for later.”

“I just want my tablet,” Dr. DeBeers complained. “I’ve a paper due, and I’m bloody well not going to sleep this early with a deadline looming on the article. Why can’t I write for another couple of hours?”

Murgatroyd was about to confess her failure to locate the tablet when she spotted one on the bedside table. “Is this it?” she asked, handing the tablet over the head of the AI.

“Oh dear. Yes! Thank you!” She looked a bit sheepish. “I’m so sorry, but I was sure I’d left it in the sitting room. Honestly, I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached.”

“No worries.” 

Murgatroyd was about to leave when she noticed the little robot reaching for Dr. Debeers’ arm again, as the woman tapped to open her tablet. With sudden understanding she realized the AI was about to restrain Dr. DeBeers.

“Stop!”

“Sleep now,” the AI insisted placidly. 

“No restraints,” Murgatroyd said, grabbing the plastic strip from the AI. “She’s in bed. She simply wants to work on her tablet for a bit. She won’t get out again.”

“Sleep now,” the AI said, reaching out to grab DeBeer’s arm with a new restraint.

“The fuck!” Murgatroyd said.

DeBeers meanwhile was hitting the AI with her tablet and shouting at it that she was in bed, damn it, but bloody well going to do some work. The AI ignored her protests and attached her wrist to the bars of the hospital-style bed frame.

“Calm yourself,” the robot said, ignoring the pounding its pause button was taking from the tablet. “Sleep now.” It rolled around the bed to pull the railings up on that side and produced a second restraint strip. DeBeers started to weep with frustration as the smiling robot grabbed her second wrist. 

Murgatroyd tried confiscating this new restraint, but the robot pulled out another with one arm, while the other clamped onto Murgatroyd’s shoulder and held her in place while it finished. Then, still holding Murgatroyd’s shoulder, hustled her out of the room, and stood guard in the doorway, its robot hands up, palms out, in a ‘no go’ configuration. 

Murgatroyd pulled out her com and called the supervisor. 

“Yes?” The supervisor’s face on the tiny screen struggled not to show annoyance, but failed. “What is it?” 

“How do I countermand the AI?”

The supervisor frowned. “Why would you do that? Just let them do their job.”

“It’s restrained Dr DeBeers for no reason. She wants to be on her tablet, but it’s tied her hands to the rails.”

The supervisor nodded slowly. “You’re new. I realize what it can look like. But restraints are actually a very positive treatment. One can’t have dementia patients wandering around unsupervised. Left unattended, they’re a danger to themselves and others—”.

“—But she’s not wandering, she’s in bed. She just wants to be on her tablet for a while. There is no danger with the bed rails up.”

The supervisor sighed audibly. “I was about to say, restraints are part of regular care. The patients find it calming, comforting even, to be relieved of uncertainty. They often get it into their heads that they’re supposed to be somewhere, that they’ve forgotten something, or are late for something, you see. But when they go to get up, the restraints reassure them that they are where they’re supposed to be. However many times they forget where they are and what they were doing—or in this case, not doing—the restraints are there to gently remind them.”  

“I’d hardly call them ‘gentle’ or ‘calming’.” Murgatroyd held her com screen out for a moment so the supervisor could see Dr. DeBeers frantically struggling against the restraints.

As Murgatroyd turned the screen back to herself, she caught the Supervisor rolling her eyes.

“You’re new,” the supervisor repeated. “Obviously, dementia patients can go through a variety of irrational emotions. There’s no way to even know what they are reacting to. The restraints hold them safe while they tantrum or react to traumatic memories or whatever. . .   She’ll calm down eventually and go to sleep.”

“It’s obvious what Dr. DeBeers is reacting to! It’s being tied down for no reason!”

Another audible sigh from the supervisor. “What’s likely upsetting Joyce at the moment is your being in the room with her to no purpose. Leave, and I promise you, she will calm herself.”

“Dr. DeBeers—"

“—And stop calling her ‘Dr. DeBeers’. She hasn’t been ‘Dr. DeBeers’ since before she came to us. She’s just Joyce now.”

 Murgatroyd took a deep breath to stop from saying what she had been going to. She needed this job. Instead, she said as reasonably as she could, “Just tell me how to get the AI to back off. I’ll sit with her while she’s on the tablet. She will calm down and go to sleep much faster that way.”

“And what about your other five—I mean four—patients while you’re sitting with her? You can’t play favourites, you know.”

“I assure you, I’ll check on everyone before I sit down. And again every half hour. Or if I hear anything. It will be fine. No different than if I were sitting at reception or in the break room. I just need to know the basic override commands for the helpers.” 

 “There are no verbal protocols for countermanding the AI. If staff could give orders to the helpers, so could a patient. There’s only the over-ride on servers panel. And as I explained earlier, that’s only for emergencies. You don’t have a key, and I’m certainly not coming down there every time someone wants their tablet.”

The supervisor seemed to realize she was getting a bit heated. She paused as if collecting herself, carefully put on her supportive-management smile. 

“Just follow the protocols. Let the AI helpers do their jobs. You’re only there because regulations require a human on shift. For emergencies. Fires or a hull breach or whatever. Everything will be fine. You don’t have to do anything. Just go write your poetry.”

The supervisor hung up.

Murgatroyd went and stood in front of the panel to the server cabinet. It was more than her job was worth to break the glass against orders; and the cost of replacing it would be twice what she would make on this shift. 

Great. First day on night shift and she was actually going to end up poorer.

She stood there for several moments, listening to Dr. DeBeers whimper, then brought up her com.

“Whisper to Nathan, ‘Are you awake?’’’.

Nathan answered, “I’m awake.”

“Did any of your art supplies survive from the last move?”

“Oils and mosaics,” Nathan said. “I had to leave the dinosaur mosaic behind, but I kept my tools and supplies so I could start over when we were settled.”

“Good. Bring your glass cutter to me, can you? And if you have any plain glass sheets.”

“I only have the small sheets. The big ones wouldn’t fit the moving pod.”

“That’s fine. Hurry?”

She went back to DeBeer’s room, but the helper still blocked the doorway. 

“Visitor hours are over,” it said. “Please return to reception.”

“I’m staff, you stupid machine.” She proffered her ward ID.

“Patient Joyce is resting until Day Shift wake-up. All Readings are within acceptable parameters.”

“Those readings aren’t acceptable to me.”

The AI did not reply.

Murgatroyd tried to push her way in, but the robot had anchored itself to the floor and could not be budged. She retreated back to the server cabinet. Nathan arrived moments later.

“Can you cut the glass out of this panel, and replace it after, without it being obvious?”

Nathan shrugged. “Sure.” 

He took off his backpack, pulled out a suction cup and a glasscutter.  “Piece of cake.”

As soon as she had access, Murgatroyd deactivated the AI helper for Dr. DeBeer’s room, pushed past the now inanimate robot, and released Joyce’s left hand. Joyce immediately rolled over and started tugging at the restraint on her right wrist. Murgatroyd went round the bed while reassuring Joyce she was on the way, that she would release the second hand, that it was going to be okay.

Released, DeBeers sat up, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. Murgatroyd rubbed Joyce’s shoulder until the rocking slowed.

“Tomorrow,” Murgatroyd said quietly, “I’ll make sure you have access to your tablet when you get to bed. I’m night shift now. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Dr. DeBeer’s nodded acknowledgement. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.” 

Murgatroyd handed Dr. DeBeer’s her tablet. 

Dr. DeBeer’s took it, opened it, starred at the screen for several moments.

She frowned. “What was I working on?” 

“Just some bedtime reading,” Murgatroyd told her. 

“I’m sure there was something. Specific.”

“That was before you were . . . interrupted. Get a fresh start in the morning. Just something light now, for bedtime.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m exhausted. I’ll just . . .” She looked blankly at the screen. 

“This one’s good for bedtime,” Murgatroyd said. She tapped a collection of silly dog reels, which opened to an adorable Havanese discovering a mirror.  Then she puffed the pillows so DeBeers could lean back comfortably.

Calmer now, Joyce settled into the pillows.

Murgatroyd gave Joyce’s arm another quick squeeze, then went to quickly check on the other residents, all of whom were sleeping, watched over by their AI helpers.

Satisfied things were as they should be, she marched back to the AI panel to restore Dr. DeBeer’s AI before anyone discovered what she’d done. She was fairly certain the helper wouldn’t interfere with DeBeer again, but the only way to be sure would be to reactive DeBeer’s helper and see what happened. If it tried to restrain Joyce again, she’d leave it off until just before morning shift when the AI’s programming would be for the client wake up routine. That might be cutting it close, because Nathan would have to put the glass back and disappear before anyone saw him.

She arrived back at the panel to find Nathan beaming proudly and the glass back in place. Crap! She hadn’t thought to tell him to wait for her to turn the AI back on!

“I'm so sorry. I should have said. I need you to take the glass out again, so I can turn the AI back on before anyone sees what I’ve done.”

Nathan beamed even brighter, if that were possible. He reached out a hand to tap the upper lefthand corner of the glass pane, which obligingly swung open while the panel stayed locked in place.

“Figured,” Nathan said. “Hinged, rather than just glued back in.”

Murgatroyd gathered Nathan into a long hug, then pushed him back as she tried closing and opening the pane. Closed, the change was undetectable.

“Yeah,” Murgatroyd said. “I think I can do this job for a while.”

***

Robert Runté is Senior Editor with EssentialEdits.ca and freelances at SFeditor.ca. A former professor, he has won four Aurora Awards for his literary criticism and currently reviews for the Ottawa Review of Books. His own fiction has been published over 140 times, and several of his short stories have been reprinted in "best of" collections. Robert lives in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada, with his wife, two daughters, and three dogs.

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