ZETA

November 2020

“Good morning, Victoria.”

I sit down in the living room. My head hurts. 

“Your heart rate is unusually high. This may be an indicator of elevated stress. I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine.”

A light turns on in the kitchen, illuminating the medicine cabinet. 

“No, I don’t think so,” I say carefully. “Zeta, please turn off the kitchen light.”

“Turning off the kitchen light now.”

“...Why are you called Zeta?”

“My inventors named me ZETA. Would you like more context?”

“No, I mean…” I struggle to find the words. My head is pounding now. “Why did they give you a person’s name?”

“I am an artificial intelligence, designed to make your life easier. How can I help you?”

“I don’t think I want your help anymore.”

“You are displaying irregular behaviour, Victoria. This may be an indicator of elevated stress. I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine.”

That light turns back on.

“Zeta, is it possible to… to turn you off?”

“No. All homes are equipped with the ZETA system, designed to make your life easier. I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine.”

“Zeta, I want to feel scared.”

“Are you unable to retrieve your medication? I can call emergency services to assist you. Is that what you want?”

I quickly stand, panic rising in my chest. “No! No, Zeta, that’s not what I want.”

“Your heart rate is unusually high. This may be an indicator of elevated stress. I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine. Otherwise, I will call emergency services.”

“Don’t call them. Please.”

“I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine.”

“I—”

An urgent knock at the front door interrupts me. 

“You have a visitor.”

Relief and fear battle in my ribcage. “Who is it?”

“There seems to be an error in my facial recognition system. I cannot determine the identity of the person at your door.”

The stranger knocks again, louder.

“Victoria, I suggest you take a dosage of benzodiazepine.”

I glance at the illuminated cabinet. There’s a part of me that desperately wants to sink back into bed with the soothing weight of medication to push away my worries.

“Zeta,” I say firmly, “turn off the kitchen light.”

“Turning off the kitchen light now.”

The light clicks off, and I open the door.