I raise an eyebrow. “An Easter egg? Like a joke?”
“Yeah,” she says, laughing a little. “And kind of like a shortcut key for us. We can just leave it in there while we're testing, then you can write it out right before launch.”
It's so stupid. But she looks so hopeful, that smile bright enough to cut through the fog in my head. I like seeing her smile. It reminds me there's still something human in this grind.
I smile back, despite myself.
She smiles back wider. “You can… can you do it real quick? I'm just so curious. And you never know, the hand gesture thing could be a big deal.”
I roll my eyes, but the resistance is already crumbling. “It could also be a big lawsuit. Imagine someone makes an accidental hand gesture in the living room, the robot misinterprets it, and suddenly launches a suitcase across the room.”
Sarah bursts out a laugh. “A suitcase?! Hahaha!”
“Yeaaah,” I say earnestly, loving the sound of laughter. “That or grips too hard on some dude’s dick. That’s a liability nightmare.”
She laughs harder, something that makes my heart skip. Her joy is absolutely contagious. I just wish my tired body could catch up.
“I'm being serious,” my voice comes out flat.
Sarah waves it off gently. “It's just for now. Just for me? We can scope it super tight, high confidence threshold, limited to our test environment. No risk. And look, if you really still feel the same way we could just write it out later.”
I sigh, already knowing I've lost. The next thing I know, I'm pulling up the gesture module again on my tablet, fingers moving across the screen.
It's not hard, technically, far easier than the full behavioral modeling we do every day. It all boils down to the onboard cameras recognizing a specific hand gesture. And the permissions for its execution only exist within the constraints of the testing chamber, on the offhand chance I do forget.
Sarah shows me a gif for it once more as reference.
The whole thing takes maybe five minutes of parameter tuning and a quick sim test on my end.
“There,” I say, hitting deploy. The tablet chimes softly as the patch pushes to the dummy unit. “There’s your egg.”
Sarah grins, wider now. “You're the best.”
I shake my head, but I'm smiling too.
I find myself thinking more and more about a future where robots like Auralis become a normal part of human society.
Perhaps in time, people like Gabby’s father, those who live alone or struggle with the daily burdens, will have someone, or something, to share their home with them, to make their lives a little easier, a little less lonely.
Someday, home care for the elderly or for anyone who needs that steady help might finally be affordable and widely available.
And maybe… maybe one day, when someone gets hurt, instead of lying there waiting in agony for help that might arrive too late, being crushed under the weight of something humans can’t lift, a unit like Auralis could already be on the scene.
A machine strong enough to lift the wreckage, gentle enough to comfort, quick enough to save a life… or at least extend it long enough for loved ones to say goodbye.
I believe such a future is not only possible, but a necessary mercy we never knew we needed until it’s there.
Chapter 4
After lunch, it’s more training, more adjustments, more late-afternoon debugging.
By the time the clock hits 12 pm, I can feel my eyelids drooping again. Tom nudges me as we walk back to the main floor.
"Man, you need a nap. You look like you’re about to pass out."
"Yeah. I know."
Sarah gives me a look I don’t want to interpret. "You sure you're okay to make it home tonight?"
