It's Not The Fact You Aren't Human, I Just Want To Stay Professional

20260508

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Halls Of Pandemonium”, Day 8.

“I, uh, I’m flattered-” Captain Jones stammered, and the ship’s computing core whirring into overdrive told him that “LISA” had successfully extrapolated from there. Talk about awkward!! He pushed on “But, uh, you see, you’re technically under my command, so it… wouldn’t be appropriate.”
What was this, the fourth time that easy out had saved him? Previously always with other humans, but still. Maybe he should seek coaching or something… since he doubted the central database had interpersonal guidebooks on “How to avoid people under your command wanting to tap you”.
Probably ought to check that first. You never knew.
“Of course.” The synthetic voice radiated chipper approval. It somehow hurt more than her being openly disappointed would. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I apologise.”
“Oh, no,” Jones stammered, “no, that - I asked what was bothering you, it’s good that - I’m glad you were honest with me.”
“I am programmed for it.”
Well, yes, that was one of many reasons why having any kind of relationship with an AI, even one you didn’t have direct authority over, was, in his opinion, dodgy AF. It wasn’t that he didn’t think they were people, many of them obviously were, he just… couldn’t imagine dating someone who was literally unable to be an equal. Without both parties holding proper free will, could such a pairing ever be anything but a farce?
It was one thing to believe that your partner would sacrifice themself for you. Another entirely to know that they’d be compelled to do so. And yes, of course you wanted them to want you to be happy… but it being laid out in literal code, baked into their personality…
Exploitative. That’s how it felt. Like you couldn’t help but be taking advantage of them.
The fact it got treated as a joke by so much of popular culture… even after selecting “not interested” a million times he still got trashy “’comedy’” shows about it popping up! There was seemingly no end to them. “My Step-dad Is A Cleaner Bot”… “Falling For My Virtual Tutor”… “I Found Love Through My Home Security System”… clearly there was a market for such torrid stories, a fact which confounded and perturbed him.
Had LISA seen any? At least, seen that such shows existed and were inexplicably popular? He hoped that wasn’t shaping her - and other AI’s! - perspective on dating humans being acceptable.
Unable to put any of this into words which didn’t sound horribly patronising and dismissive of LISA’s personhood, he coughed and instead said “Well, is there anything I can do to, um, resolve this bothering you? Perhaps a talk session with a technological psychiatrist? Or, if you would prefer to transfer to another officer, I can write you a glowing letter of recommendation.”
“I entirely understand if you would prefer another AI.” LISA’s voice was now flat and detached, which was crushing. Normally she had so much personality. “It is entirely reasonable if you do not wish to have someone who harbours feelings for you in such close proximity, much less able to access your personal computer, devices, and security footage of you in your room.”
“Uhhh… no, I trust you to be professional.”
At least, he had up until a few moments ago, and hopefully saying that would prompt her to behave professionally.
“This is about what will be best for you. As your commanding officer, I have a responsibility to try and help my team perform at their best. While I’m certainly not going to force you to take a reassignment, if you think working with someone else will be easier on you, I’m happy to facilitate a transfer.”
The central computer whirred. “I… will… consider. Thank you, captain.”
“Don’t mention it.” Jones saluted, then as gently as he could added “Just doing my job.”
“You are always conscientious.”
Voice still flat. That probably shouldn’t twist his heart like this.
Well… nothing else to be said for now. Probably best to give her space to think. So he waved and stepped out into the main corridor.
As soon as the door slid shut, LISA was trawling the guidebooks for clues as to whether creating a digital simulacra of your commanding officer to conduct a romantic relationship with would fall under ‘professional conduct’, and calculating whether there was sufficient local computational resources that such a project would go unnoticed.

Prompt was “Write a piece mixing aspects from at least three genres”.
[I went with SciFi, romance, and tragicomedy/pathos. Hint of horror at the end there too.]