Please Rate Your Experience

In a future where everything gets a rating, data is the last thing humanity has left to offer

Maxwell Price stared down out the window of his office. He was watching the people wait in line at the data collection center. Lined up to complete their surveys and earn their daily credits. He shook his head. They had given up. He’d never end up like that — his data was his and his alone.

A knock came at the door. Good, it was time to get down to business. He had been waiting for a client to arrive. He waved his hand through the air and the door slid open.

“Come in,” he said.

A short, bald man with glasses stepped forward.

“Mr. Griswell, good to see you,” said the detective. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure.”

Griswell had used Price’s services many times. But he hardly ever visited in person. Whenever he felt the nature of a job was too sensitive to discuss electronically he would send one of his bots in his place. The fact he was here now in person meant two things to Price.

Danger. And dollar signs.

“I have a sensitive mission for you, one of utmost importance.”
Price nodded. This much he had figured out on his own.

“All well and good. But you know I don’t go offworld anymore.”

He lied. He had been itching for a job like this for a while. Hardly any data recovery jobs needed to go into intercompany space since the border controls had tightened. But he also knew that the key to earning top dollar, and staying out of the data lines, was negotiating well. Too many people gave away their data for cheap.

Griswell sighed. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it onto Price’s desk.

Price hesitated before picking it up. He stared at Griswell waiting for an explanation, when none came he slid the envelope towards himself and peeked inside. His eyes opened wide.

“That’s a lot of credits,” said Price.

Griswell smirked. “Everything you need to know is inside, along with travel documents to get you across the border. I trust you know what to do with the instructions.”

Price didn’t need to answer. His reputation for reading the terms and conditions spoke for itself.

Price sat in his chair contemplating what he had just read. 300 pounds of pure, never before digitized political surveys from the 1980s had been stolen. He knew the company was sitting on a lot of treasure in their vaults, he had never imagined such a wealth.

The company was being blackmailed. Buy back the data for an obscene fee or it would be scanned and sold on the black market to the highest bidder. His job was to go and make the transaction, and to kill whoever stole the data. Human or AI, it didn’t matter. The company wanted to send a message.

He knew what he was getting into. Going deep undercover, offworld and outside of company jurisdiction was dangerous. They wouldn’t be able to send reinforcements if things went south. But Maxwell always read the terms and conditions. He knew what he was getting into.

But most of all, he knew what was at stake. He’d seen what can happen when an AI overdatas. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Transistors frying as their gradient descent cycles churned in infinite loops.

Price picked up his phone. If he was going to cross into intercompany space he was going to need an escort, and he knew just the driver.

Price sat in the backseat of a hovercraft, zooming through the city’s air traffic lanes.

“The moon colony? Are you fucking kidding me?” asked the driver.

“If it’s too dangerous, I understand. Of course, I’d hate for the Data Recovery Services to find out about your little incident.”

Price had busted Vince in a data smuggling scheme months prior. He was running transport for an outfit selling preteen journal entries to unemployed nanny bots. They were fake. Synths. But when an AI hasn’t ingested new observations for enough time it will take whatever it can get.

“Alright, I do this for you, and then I’m done. You understand?”

Vince stared into the rearview mirror. Price stared back.

“I mean it,” he said.

Price leaned forward and pulled back on the passenger head seat support. A small chip fell out.

“Shit,” said Vince.

Price held it up and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were clean, Vince? On the up and up.”

“I… I…”

“Just keep driving, and I’ll keep looking the other way.”

The sound of metal scraping filled the cabin as Vince gritted his teeth.

“Alright. When do we go?”

“Right now.”

“We’re going to need travel papers —”

“Covered. Courtesy of the company. Just drive.”

Vince opened his mouth to say something else but decided better of it. He pulled back on the controls and the hovercraft lifted up and out of traffic.

Price woke to the ding of Vince’s intercom. He shook off the grogginess and hit the button to lower the privacy divider.

“We’re almost there,” said Vince. “Were you comfortable?”

Price raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t surprised, they were beyond the company's control. Or at least past where the company would ever admit it monitored. But still, did Vince really believe he was going to take an experience survey?

“Were you comfortable,” Vince repeated. “How would you rate your experience on a scale from 1 to 10?”

Price didn’t respond.

“We’re going to need to hail for a landing and if I can't grease the controllers we’ll be circling for hours.”

“We have plenty of credits.”

“Credits? C’mon, you have to give me something here. They’re going to know something is up if I’m empty handed.”

Price sighed, but he knew he had to play ball. Fortunately, he also knew what to do in a situation like this.

“Six,” said Price.

“Six?”

“Six out of ten.”

Vince squirmed in the driver’s seat. “Was there anything I could do to improve your ride?”

“Too much conversation.”

“Too much conversation? That’s how you’re going to play it?”

Vince knew when he was getting fake answers, but a response was a response. And he needed the data.

“Ok, not a fan of small talk. Based on your trip, how likely are you to recommend my services?”

“Don’t push it.”

Vince pressed his lips together tightly, choosing his response carefully.

“Very unlikely. Thank you for your participation,” he said.

Price slid the documents across to the passport control agent.

“Business, or pleasure?” asked the agent.

And so the questioning began. Border control agents are always pushy with questions. It starts with business or pleasure, escalates to duration, hotel address, favorite activities. But Price was ready. He fed them his cover story and they ate it up.

And then the agent gave Vince a look. He stepped closer to the glass. Price knew what was happening. Nearfield communication, Vince was passing him the information he’d picked up on the ride. The agent nodded and the entrance gates slid open.

“Before you go, how would you rate my service on a scale from 1 to 5?”
“Five,” said Price, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

A screen lit up on the edge of the border agent’s desk. Across it displayed an emotions chart.
“Which of these faces matches how you feel about your experience?”

Vince nudged Price through the gate. “That’s enough,” he said.

Price scoffed at the group playing pictionary across the pub.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with AI and humans playing a game,” said Vince.

“They aren’t playing a game. The people are generating data, the AI is learning from it,” replied Price.

“That’s a very cynical way of looking at it.”
“That’s the way of the world.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Price didn’t answer. He had his eye on the long legged figure that had just walked in. A 21st century lovebot, from the looks of it. An outdated model, but something about the way she moved caught his eye. She scanned the bar before walking over to their table.

“Do you come here often?” she said.

“It was recommended by a friend,” said Price.

She looked at Price a moment longer before sliding in on the seat next to him. She slid a piece of paper onto the table next to him.

“This is the account number. When you wire the funds I’ll bring you the data.”

“I don’t think so,” said Price. He pulled a mag ray from his jacket pocket and aimed it at her below the table line.

“The jig is up,” he said. “I'm bringing you and the data back to Earth.”

He looked inside her big beautiful brown eyes as a tear welled up.

“I don’t have it,” she said. “I’m just a messenger. I just needed to earn some credits for a firmware update.”

“Who hired you?”

“Please, if I tell you they’ll kill me.”

Price reached out and wiped the tear away. He didn’t know why, but he felt bad for her.

“Ok, let’s say I believe you. That means we both have a problem now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, eyes opening wider.

“Do you even know what you're selling?”

She shook her head.

“They were liable to kill you just to make sure you never found out.” Price looked across to Vince. “You play ball with us, and we can protect you.”

Vince watched as Price talked to the girl. He could see him going soft for her. Humans were like that. “That’s enough,” he said.

Price stopped and raised an eyebrow.

“She’s lying,” said Vince.

“Oh?”

“She’s playing you, fool.” He placed a gun on the table and turned the nozzle towards the girl. “Tell us where it is, or I’ll splatter your circuits across the room.”

Price eyed the gun. From the size of the chamber he could tell it was designed for bullets, not mag. This was a double cross.

“Say, Vince, how’d you get that piece through security.”

Vince realized his mistake, but before he could turn the barrel Price fired a mag pulse right at him. All his programming was wiped in an instant. The girl let out a gasp.

Price turned to the girl. “We have to go now.”

She looked back at him confused.

“Someone is setting us both up. We need to go, and we need to go now.”

“But, why?” she asked.

“For the money, of course.” Price stood up and reached out his hand. “We need to go.”

“No, why are you saving me?”

He looked her in the eyes. He said nothing, but her sensors could detect his heart racing. It had been decades since she made a match. Could this be happening?

Her face lit up with a spark. She took his hand in hers and pulled herself to him.

“How would you rate your experience right now,” she asked.

He paused for a moment, and then decided to give her something he’d never given an AI before. The truth.

“Five stars.”

“How likely would you be to recommend me, on a scale of 1 to 10?”

He smiled back at her as he felt their connection build as he answered her NPS survey. Her optimizers tuned in as the dopamine began to flood his brain. He knew then that this was love the way it was meant to be.