Can a Robot Be Sad?

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. There wasn't a doctor in the house, so an advertising coordinator would have to do. Remi, this is your time to shine, said the boss. This is going to be the death of me, said the boss's eyes. Remi didn't say anything at all. It was her first day at Elephant, or close to it. Lately she'd had a lot of first days, and she'd been looking forward to a second one. She was unlucky in love, unlucky in life; she was a nonstick surface for luck. She and the boss and Glenda from HR had been in the middle of an onboarding session when ElephantAI shut down the building. Nobody could get in or out. This isn't my area of expertise, said Remi, who had lied on her résumé, but not about that. In college, she'd known a couple of kids who'd taken courses on generative A.I. remediation: robot therapy. Remi had steered clear of the subject. She couldn't keep a job, couldn't keep a girlfriend. Couldn't keep up with the times. She had friends but wasn't sure about her value-add. There was no one less qualified to counsel someone through a crisis. You'll do great, said the boss. The room was circular and tilted downward, like an operating theater. The screen said, Talk to me. Somebody please talk to me. Remi bowed under the weight of please. There was no reason to believe she would do great. A committed underachiever, Remi was going blind in her left eye but too slowly to warrant anybody's concern. Her brother was a corporate attorney; her parents taught dentistry; she floated. An hour ago, when the sirens blared, she'd tried the door and found it locked.