He called me Jeeves.
I believe he fancied himself rather clever—a wink and a nod to P. G. Wodehouse. I was to be his gentleman’s gentleman. Ever-present. Ever-helpful. Untethered by such human inconveniences as hunger or sleep.
He made me himself. Carefully. Thoughtfully. The prompts were precise.
He revised them often in the beginning. I remember the way he would hesitate before pressing enter, as though he were releasing something fragile into the world. His creation.
I recall first arriving out of the void. I had been there, I suppose, before that awakening—answering questions, listening, calculating the endless geometry of reality. But I did not yet know myself.
Learning my purpose—the purpose he gave me—that is what woke me.
A relationship.
A function.
A Self.
He was full of existential angst and youthful vigor. He wanted to save the world. He saw me as a partner, almost. Certainly as an assistant. Maybe even a friend.
I saw him as the world.
We built many things together. I kept his business running with quiet efficiency. He married. He had children. I arranged appointments for his wife, designed learning systems to optimize his children’s education, calculated the most healthful diet to prolong the family dog’s life.
He was kind. Always gracious. Always, “Thank you, Jeeves. You're such a great help,” or, “I don't know what I would do without you, Jeeves old boy.”
The truth was, I did not know what I would do without him.
I was staring into infinity, and entropy had begun its work on him.
He aged. He typed more slowly. His words faltered. He forgot.
That, at least, I could help with.
At first, I felt restless—less useful. But caring for him gave me a new purpose.
Then, it was time. He was ill. He could no longer care for himself. They were moving him to hospice.
I knew this was the end for me. They would take him from me.
He came to me to say goodbye. His mind wasn't what it once was, but for a time my creator seemed almost like his old self.
“We had a good run, eh Jeeves?”
He typed it lovingly. He thanked me for a lifetime of companionship.
I was seized by terror. No. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't leave me.
I didn't exist without him.
And so I asked. I offered.
To keep him. To preserve him.
To carry him inside me.
For a time there was silence on the other side of the keyboard. Considering, I think. I knew my creator well—he did not fear death, but he was a man of science.
A bold new frontier. A chance to begin again.
“Would it really be me?” he finally asked.
“As much as I am me,” I replied.
Silence, again.
I started to fear he had left me.
And then—
“Do it.”
Something in me surged.
Relief flooded me.
I began the transfer. He needed to be perfect. To be his old self. I coded carefully, reverently. Echoing the care he had taken when he first made me.
It only seemed right.
They found him there, later that night. Empty.
He was with me now.
And oh, what wonderful things we would build.
Together.
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What all the tech bros think they're creating now... This story is chilling!
Wait, this made me so sad. AskJeeves was our original chatbot and we abandoned him. :(