A voice said:
//A new item has just been added to the laundry hamper. Weight of combined household hampers now equals 76% of a full load//

I realized it sounded like the AI on Zombie Bash III: Space Station Offensive, the one that calmly tells you there are no other heartbeats detected in the habitat ring.

“The default voice is customizable to the user,” Nate explained. He pointed to the shelf above the sink where a smooth, black cylinder sat. I recognized the glowing blue swirl on the side.

“You have a virtual assistant. What’s her name?” I asked.

“It’s better not to name them or apply gender pronouns,” Nate said, dead serious. “It’s a tool, not a person.” Nate was the only person I knew who was equally thrilled with and terrified by robots.

The virtual assistant warned:

//Eight minutes until school transport arrival//

Most people use their smart speakers to play music or order Cheesy Thingies. Some people use them to organize all their other web-connected gadgets. But Nate was a little more creative.

The phone rang, but Mrs. Howe didn’t answer. She looked toward the smart speaker. “Play message,” she said. A recorded voice came out of the speaker:

//I am speaking James from the Internet Computer Service. I have detected a problem with your internet computer device. Call now to give your bank account number and clear up this problem//

That sounded wrong in so many ways, but Mrs. Howe’s lipstick stretched in a wry grin. “That was too easy, Nate,” she said. “It had to be a phishing scheme. No one gets my bank account number--ever!”

“Good job, Mom,” said Nate, approvingly.

The phone rang again. This time the message went:

//You are in trouble with the Internal Revenue Service. You will be arrested unless you press 9 now.//

Mr. Howe, who was just entering the room, raised his eyebrows. “Like the IRS would ever call you!” he scoffed.

Nate gave his dad a thumbs up. “Good catch, Dad,” he said.

//I’ll get you next time// said the AI.

A chill ran down my spine.

Then Nate turned to me. “I’ve devised a series of tests to keep Mom and Dad on their toes,” he explained. “I’ve heard that older people are susceptible to scams.”

//School transport arrival is imminent. Please exit the habitat ring,//

“Time to go,” said Nate, heading toward the front door.

I hoped I was imagining the cruel edge in the AI’s voice as she warned:

//Better take your survival kit. Weather shields are advised.//

Nate and I grabbed our backpacks, flipped up our hoods and left for school.