Flerver

“Personal AI agents were heralded as a marvel. No more waiting for others to be free! The agent knows what they’d say and can say it for them. But the way it works means once you’ve spoken to them enough, their opinions calcify. You’re malleable and unpredictable, subject to your whims, hormones and the phases of the moon. Your agent has no such weakness.”

— Elizabeth Marsh, What We’ve Lost

September 2043.

Southwark, South East London.

It’d been about a decade since Mike had been on a real, honest-to-god date. And he wound up marrying her. So there was a lot riding on tonight. He stood in the bathroom, staring at the mirror. His jacket didn’t fit very well these days. The fabric of his shirt strained, the buttons hanging on for dear life near the middle. It wasn’t in the cards to buy anything new at this point. Money had gotten tighter than the shirt. The jobs market was proving a formidable opponent, and the Jobsworth app was fuelled by the money in his savings. He ultimately knew it was worth it, to find a job, to get his life back on track. The savings could be replenished once he was safely onboarded in his new role. You had to pay to play, Lyndsey always said in her videos. And whoever paid the most, won.

He ran his fingers through his grey hair. Still had that at least, he said. He gave himself a smile. His date, Kathryn, was meeting him out at around 9 p.m. A ridiculously late start. Did the tube even run that late? But maybe 9 p.m. dates were the new normal. Everything was the new normal, he’d decided to assume. Everything was fine. He’d never felt so old in his life. But it would be fine.

This was one area he’d never gotten into in his various other chats. None of them had ever seemed to come close to leading to an actual date. There was Gemma, who he’d kept talking with, even after his old workmate Jason had been absolutely convinced it was a chat bot. She was funny, she was blunt, but there was a kindness to her that kept him coming back. Most of his other Linkup matches were far more transactional. Even their chat bots were buttoned-up and to-the-point. He guessed that’s just how it worked. You can configure how amiable you want it to be when it chats with others, how much time you want it to waste, essentially. And since the higher tiers of service are pretty pricey, you really can’t let it waste any time. Especially when it’s probably just talking to other people’s chat bots.

Of course, the chat bot wasn’t just some generic bot. It built up a profile from all of your text messages, emails, anything you’ve written. You could even let it listen to you as you went about your day. All of that went into training it to be the most accurate possible “you.” At the most expensive tier, you could even train it on how you sound, and your potential matches could have calls with “you.”

Mike had never tried that. Both offering it, or doing it with someone else. He had been willing to spend the few quid to “talk” to Gemma once, but sadly it informed him that she had never set it up on her end. And she had politely declined to have an actual call, of course. With Kathryn, she’d mercifully been keen enough to skip all this and just meet in person.

He stared out the window of the tube, adverts for films, apps, food delivery services whizzing past. He was still lost in thought. How would this even work when he got to the restaurant? Were her pictures recent? Would he recognise her? He hoped she’d just recognise him. Come running over, a beaming smile on her face, throwing her arms around him for a big hug. They’d eat, it would be awkward at first, but then after a few drinks, he’d relax and tell her how awkward he had felt. And she’d say the same.

It would be nice. He’d see the new normal was the same as the old one. Because fundamentally people are people.

He strode across the road and turned up Shoreditch High Street, the restaurant just a few metres away. He hated Shoreditch. He used to love how he and Elizabeth both managed to hold onto that hatred even as the neighbourhood changed and changed and changed again. Nearly unrecognisable! Yet still, the hatred. That was an admirable quality. Just never letting go of your hate.

But of course Shoreditch was back in the good books of the young people. And when Mike had politely pointed out he wasn’t a fan of this area – for his own pointed reasons, and more reasonably, because it was extremely far from his home and hard to get to – the app alerted him that the last thing he’d said was unfortunately a deal-breaker, and he would automatically un-match from Kathryn if he continued.

He paid £2.99 to retract it.

And so here he stood, in the doorway of somewhere called Flerver. Dimly lit, tables close together, the walls draped in wild, patterned metallic sheets. And of course, there seemed to be no human staff. Bartending had managed to survive as a profession, especially for pubs that catered to an older crowd. But human wait staff at a restaurant were a luxury few could afford and fewer saw the need for.

He checked his watch. 9:14 p.m. He was late. But not by much, and for London, he was practically on time. Nobody tackled him to the ground with their aggressive hugs, though. Nobody seemed to pay him much mind at all. The tables, bizarrely, were all pairs of people. There didn’t even seem to be any tables for groups larger than two. Bloody Shoreditch with their high concept nonsense.

At the entrance to the restaurant was a screen, perched on what appeared to be some sort of over-wrought lectern. A badger-faced man appeared on the screen, a virtual agent, its face taking an impossible shape. “Welcome to Flerver.” It spoke in pinched, annoyed tone, with an affected North American accent. Clearly trained on a real maître d’. After a second of his inaction, it coughed and made a noise that approximated a polite cough. “Scan, please?”

“I’m sorry?” Mike felt like he was absolutely blowing this date and he wasn’t even technically on it yet.

The face appeared to look Mike up and down, then furrowed its brow. “I’m sorry, I suspect you’ve not been here before. You are meeting someone here, yes? From Linkup?”

“Um, yes. I’m here to meet Ka–“

“Hold your phone up to the tablet please. I do apologise, usually it’s automatic, your face must not be on file.” Mike looked around at everything and felt extremely out of place. He raised his phone up to the tablet and immediately felt a vibration. The face approximated an unusually wide smile. “Michael Fernsby” it said, in its Hollywood-ish voice.

Halfway across the restaurant, a lamp lit at one of the tables, a sort of old-style green banker’s lamp. Mike saw a young woman sat there, opposite an empty chair.

“Please seat yourself. Good luck, she’s quite fickle, I believe. I recognise her from earlier.” The agent had a dry twist to its words.

“Earlier?” Mike hoped he’d just misheard.

“Yes, she was in her with another man earlier, a younger man, handsome fellow. Better head over, she’s waiting.” The face nodded over its non-existent shoulder, and Mike looked over to see her watching him. She had a bright smile and gave a small nod.

He made his way over to Kathryn. She really was quite striking. Fiery red hair cut very short, leather jacket over a tight T-shirt, and as he got close he saw her bright green eyes. Her smile was infectious, so wide, so joyful. She must be 15 years younger than him, though. A wave of intense nervousness crashed over him as he sat.

“Mike, you made it. Thanks so much for coming!” She was talking so fast, and had a bit of South London in her accent. He spotted the two empty martini glasses in front of her. “You’re very cute, thank you for using up to date photos. You have a sort of washed up designer thing going for you, which I love, which I guess makes sense, since that’s what you are.” He felt his face go red. He instantly regretted this. Staring, just staring. What could he even say? His hands fumbled about with each other on his lap.

“I guess I am, yeah.” Finally, he managed to get some words out. It felt so difficult to know what to say.

“Oh I don’t mean it in a bad way, honestly. I love it. I love that you’re like, a walking museum. You know? I love history. I read about history a lot. I mean you know all this, we’ve talked. What was it like actually drawing? Honestly I’ve never even held a pen, I don’t think. Crazy, right? I’m not even that young. I must seem young to you. You’re 48. Do you remember how old I am?”

How did she talk this fast, he wondered. He was watching her lips rather than listening for half of that. “You’re, ah... you know I don’t remember. I’m sorry, I know it says how old you are on your profile.”

“You’re funny, I’m 35. 35! Can you imagine. A 2000s baby. I’m like, Gen Zalpha, not quite Gen Z, not quite Gen Alpha. My god, Mike, you’re a millennial. Secretly? I think that’s why I wanted to meet you. You’re like living history.”

Mike scratched the back of his neck and looked around. Was everyone in here on a date like this? He did get a vibe that he was the oldest person in here by a lot. He put it out of his mind.

“Well, you know us millennials, we, uh...” he trailed off. She was on her Ring. He’d seen them from time to time, but had never used one. It looked like a wedding band, but thicker, and projected images down onto any surface, like a table. You could tap on them to use it like a phone, or talk to it. Mercifully she wasn’t talking to hers. His eyes wandered down to catch a glimpse of what she might be doing on it. He briefly saw his own photo before she closed her hand instinctively.

“Cheeky, trying to catch a glimpse.” She was being fun about it, but she still seemed a bit miffed. Was that some kind of creepy faux pas, looking at someone’s Ring?

“Sorry, I’ve never actually seen one of those up close.”

“Really? What do you — oh obviously, you have a phone!” She threw her head back and let out a big laugh. “I’m on a date with a millennial! Honestly you’re more fun than my last couple of these. Thanks so much. It’s been a long night, I really am exhausted. Shall we call it here?”

“Didn’t you... I mean, we haven’t even gotten drinks yet. Or eaten anything.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I saw you are only on Linkup Premium, not Platinum? I figured you might be relieved not having to buy any drinks here?” She tossed her hair and scoffed. “This last guy, turned out to be a connie. Can you believe that? He doesn’t even work in the area, he’s all the way out in Southend. I honestly have no idea how we matched, it had to be a glitch. Terrible fucking app.”

“A connie?” Mike could feel his disdain for this woman spiking to unbelievably high levels. But he pushed it down. This was his expedition into the new normal. He couldn’t turn back now just because of a little frostbite.

“A conscript. I know, I know, kind of a slur. Not allowed to say that. Whatever. Honestly I don’t even know where I got it. Probably from EastEnders.”

“EastEnders! That show is still on?” Mike briefly lit up. “That’s wild. I haven’t seen it in so many years.” He had always found that show, or really any soap opera, to be interminable garbage. But it was at least something he recognised and could latch onto in this conversation that wasn’t a direct insult.

“It is! I never miss it. Oh my god, honestly, wait. When did you last watch?” Mike and Liz used to flop on the sofa and switch it on after a fight sometimes, an easy shared laugh when they needed to calm down.

“Probably a decade ago. At least.”

This sent Kathryn over the moon with excitement. “Michael! The last time you watched they still wrote it by hand! You’re like my unfrozen caveman boyfriend!”

He felt himself dying that much more inside. That’s right. The new normal. Your date watches BBC soap operas that are written by one algorithm and performed by a variety of others.

“To be fair,” he admitted, “it’s probably better now.”

Out of some sense of masculinity, he insisted they get drinks, which he could absolutely not afford. Mike got an Old Fashioned, which sent Kathryn into a giggle fit. He wasn’t sure what Kathryn got because she whispered the order into her earpiece, which up until now Mike assumed was a bit of jewellery. When she returned from picking it up, it was a synthetic-looking reddish-greenish-swirl.

They spent another round of drinks hearing about Kathryn’s other dates that night. Mike tried not to absorb any of it, caught between wanting to understand more about modern dating and not particularly wanting to hear about the other men in Kathryn’s life. Is this normal now too? Talking about your other dates on your dates?

Mystifyingly, he found himself walking her home, to a tiny little garden flat near the bar. Low ceilings, a cute little window looking out onto the garden, and absolutely rammed with furniture. Floor to ceiling books on every bit of free wall space. Kathryn bounced in and went straight to the kitchen and put the kettle on. “Any tea? Coffee?”

“Anything a bit harder?”

“Honestly, you’re hilarious.”

Mike wasn’t sure whether he was getting a drink. He dropped his coat on a chair and walked around the living room, as much as one could. The books were a chaotic mix of subjects, everything from philosophy, to pulpy romance, to cooking, in no discernible pattern. The spine of one of them jumped out: “What We’ve Lost,” by Elizabeth Marsh. Instant anxiety. He’d never actually seen this book, let alone read it. He slid it out of the pile carefully, turning it over a few times in his hand, analysing it more for its physical form than what it actually was.

Kathryn came in holding a bottle of beer and a mug of tea. She set them down with a delicate “clink” on a tiny free patch of table, amongst the piles of papers, magazines and older half-finished mugs of tea. “What are you doing?” She looked at what he was holding with intense confusion.

“Oh, sorry. How was this book? I’ve never gotten around to reading it.”

Kathryn laughed. “Are you joking? Those are decoration! Fun, yeah? Organised by colour. See?” She did her best Vanna White, showing off each pile and how it did in fact go from dark blue to light blue in a pleasing gradient. They were sorted by size too. “You should know all about this though, as a designer. I love that you thought these were like, my books, can you imagine?”

“I’m a graphic artist, not a designer. Different⁠—”

“—What’s that one about?” She stepped slightly to her side and was right next to him, looking down at the book. They were roughly the same height, which was somehow intimidating.

“It’s a sort-of memoir nostalgia trip thing. Or so I’ve heard. My ex-wife wrote it.”

“Yikes,” she quipped. “Well, let’s see her, go on then.” Exactly the right place to go after an evening of talking about her other dates. Let’s look at his ex-wife’s book jacket photo. He opened the cover and there she was, in her usual low-key business attire, not a hair out of place, unnaturally big smile, stood in her garden in Cambridge. Kathryn took the book out of Mike’s hands. “Oh, she’s lovely. You married that? And she was an MP? Shit. How’d you let her go?” She flopped down onto the sofa behind them, the book still open. She started flipping from page to page.

Mike stood awkwardly in front of her. It was nearly quiet, aside from the constant drone of passing cars outside. He picked up the beer and took a sip. Fine. New normal. He flopped down onto the sofa next to her.

“They said AI would put an end to work,” Kathryn read from the book. “In a way, they were right. Ohhhh, chilling stuff this. Is it post-apocalyptic?”

Mike couldn’t help but sigh. “It’s non-fiction. Well, it’s her opinion on why automation is bad.”

“Interesting.” She took the beer out of Mike’s hand and downed a few swigs. “Clearly written before she’d used an auto-vibe.” More thumbing through the pages. “Turns out,” she continued reading, “people can always tell when something was made by AI. But it also turns out that they don’t care.” She chuckled. “Well, she’s not wrong there.”

Mike took the beer back, taking a few swings, essentially mimicking her. She looked over at him and smiled.

“Christ, sorry, you don’t want to be reading your ex-wife’s book, do you? Or do you care?”

“I’d probably rather not. Subject change?”

“You can’t just say subject change, Michael, you need to change the subject.” She arched her back, stretching her arms out behind her, pushing her chest out. Mike couldn’t help but look. She’d shed the leather jacket at some point. Her V-neck top was, in Mike’s estimation, “ridiculously tight” and “shockingly low cut.” One thing hadn’t changed about dating, it seemed. People still went all-in on highlighting their best features. His mind scrambled enough as it was, he was almost relieved that his thoughts had slipped into the gutter.

“I have one then. You mentioned earlier. Uh. What is an auto-vibe?”

“Oh, Michael.” Her voice was low and breathy, playful with a tinge of disappointment. “You really are like a cute little caveman.” She stood up and beckoned for him to follow, disappearing through a dark doorway. His eyes narrowed. He downed the rest of the beer, then dutifully followed.

It was pitch black aside from the slight glow coming from the lamp in the other room. Mike stood by the doorway, not wanting to trip, slam into anything or otherwise make a fool of himself. He heard Kathryn mutter something under her breath and a bedside lamp came on. She was laying on the bed, in the centre, a wry smile on her face. His eyes wandered up her painted-on blue jeans, her breasts heaving out of her shirt.

“I at least still know how this part goes.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, then crossed the room and started to climb onto the bed. She chuckled awkwardly.

“What uh, what are you doing?”

He stopped, his hands on the foot of the bed, his feet on the floor, his face once again going red. “I’m… sorry, it’s been a while. I thought you wanted me to, uh.”

She scooched herself up, her back against the headrest. “Oh! Oh. Right, no, no. Honestly I haven’t done, uh, that, since… I can’t even remember. Have I ever? Possibly when I was a teenager!”

Mike was spiralling into confusion. This night was becoming way, way too much. “What are we…”

Kathryn laughed. “You’ve really been off the scene a while, yeah?”

“Let’s just say yes, yes I have.”

“Okay, so honestly, I’m, well there’s different labels, I guess I am mostly aro.”

“Aro?”

“Aromantic?”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I knew that.” He didn’t.

“But like, that doesn’t mean I don’t like to get off.” She patted the bed and looked at him. He pushed himself up onto it, finally taking him out of his weird limbo. He sat cross-legged and felt a decidedly painful burning in his thighs and back. “I just, well I don’t know, I don’t like to label it. Honestly I get turned on, and I like being around people I get on with, but the idea of anyone touching me just gives me the ick.”

“So that’s … aromantic.”

“Oh, I don’t know Michael, not always.” She sighed. “It’s a spectrum. I’m not used to having to explain it, I just use the traffic lights. Anyone I go out with has seen the, well, look.” She held up her hand and her Ring projected what looked like a phone’s home screen onto the bed. She moved her lips, whatever she was saying imperceptible to him. Suddenly, it was projecting her Linkup bio. “See these icons?” Mike leaned down and saw a row of brightly coloured, differently-shaped icons under Kathryn’s name. She pointed at them rapidly. “Aro, gray, prefer agent, prefer virtual first, no politics, no religion.”

“I, uh, yeah… I remember a friend telling me about these, and you’re right, I don’t really know what they mean. I guess I just figured I’d chat and vibe.” His friend was LyndseyHelps, but he felt maybe it was a bridge too far to mention he’d watched videos on how to date and still gotten it this wrong.

She tapped on the icons and they expanded to reveal a few more. She quickly rattled through them. “See, these are ‘Sex no’, ‘touch no’, ‘hug ask’, ‘cuddle ask’, ‘auto ask.’” She had an almost educational demeanour. He felt overwhelmed. He just wanted to be alone in his own bed right now.

“So prefers agent,” she continued. “This means I would prefer to talk to your chat bot that you’ve trained rather than having to talk to you, when we’re texting. Because it’s more respectful of my time, Michael. I can get responses when I need them rather than having to wait for you to be free.”

“Right. That makes sense.”

“And virtual first, meaning I prefer the first date to be, well, not in person. Which you also ignored.”

Mike was mortified. He started to get off the bed. “I’m so sorry, I just really didn’t know what any of that meant. And you agreed to meet.”

She put her hand up. “No, don’t, it’s fine. I could’ve just unmatched from you. I thought it would be interesting to go out with an older guy. Obviously, there’s a lot of challenges.”

“Sorry. You just mentioned the, uh, sex toy, and then you went to the bedroom, and, well, you’re very attractive.”

“I understand. It didn’t occur to me that you hadn’t read my traffic lights. And honestly, I don’t really know many people who even have sex. I guess it’s generational. It just comes across as so disgusting and primal to me. Like, we’re not animals. It’s literally how animals reproduce.”

“It’s never occurred to me to, well. Not have it. I mean, not by choice.”

“I’m sorry, if that’s what you’re looking for, I’m not for you.”

He felt a fresh wave of panic set in. “No, no no, I’m not opposed to any of what you’re saying. It’s just new to me, that’s all. I just didn’t quite know what to expect.”

“Because you didn’t read.”

“… yes.”

“Another flaw of your generation.” She yawned. “Michael, my sweet, lost millennial caveman. It’s late. Stay with me.” She slid down the headboard, laying down, her head on the pillow. She looked up at Mike. “I’m like, weirdly obsessed with you now. Like you’re this sad puppy I have to train.”

“No… no, I should go. Really. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s after 10 p.m., the tube is shut anyway. How would you get home? Don’t be silly, lay down. This is a perfect learning opportunity for you.”

He awkwardly laid down next to her, still fully clothed. He slid his shoes off at least, feeling like she’d been either unobservant or extremely forgiving that he’d had them on her bed. “What am I learning? How to sleep fully clothed?”

“Michael, we’re not 11. You can get comfortable. I’m going to get comfortable.” She wriggled out of her jeans, then her shirt. He averted his eyes, trying not to notice her underwear, and instead focused on getting comfortable himself. Unbuttoning the shirt was such a massive relief. He really needed new date clothes.

“Shouldn’t I sleep out on the sofa? I’m happy to do that.”

Kathryn tutted. “This is exactly what I mean. Your learning opportunity. Look.” She raised both her hands, her Ring again projecting her dating profile, this time onto her other hand. “Cuddle ask, auto ask. You didn’t ask. Not that I’m forcing you, of course.” She dropped her hands back to her side.

He side-eyed her suspiciously, letting it linger for a second. “Would you like to cuddle?”

“The other one, Michael.” He heard a drawer slide open on the other side of the bed. “Ask the other one.”