“And last, but certainly not least,” I say, moving toward a workspace featuring multiple framed photos of her pet Siamese cat, “we have Hana Lee, our data engineer.” Hana wiggles her fingers. “She is the reason that E.M.M.A. runs smoothly when lots of people are using it, kind of like making sure that a theme park can handle a crowd of visitors without any problems. We have other help but this is my core crew.”
I steal a quick glance at Gale, bracing for the telltale wrist twist of a bored spectator checking their watch. Instead, he is leaning forward, his focused gaze darting from screen to screen.
“I don’t know what any of this means,” he rumbles. “But it’s cool, like y’all are mission control for Mars or something.”
It’s one thing to explain my work to colleagues or investors, but seeing someone from outside our industry show curiosity gives me a warm glow of satisfaction. His gaze locks on mine for a moment and I force myself to hold it, ignoring another tiny heart flutter.
“This isn’t rocket science.” Why is my voice so high? I take a breath and pitch it lower. “It’s more likepuckscience. E.M.M.A. will soon be calculating all the ways to get you to your next game-winning goal.”
My colleagues cringe in unison. Hana actually lets out a sound that falls between a groan and a whimper. “Puck... science? Is she for real.”
My cheeks heat. Yeah, that was pure queso. Time to regroup and try for better social graces than a startled ostrich.
“Okay, okay, gang, I’ll step away from the bad jokes and get Gale here set up.”
“Good meeting you.” Gale gives a wave they all return, looking in unison at me and then each other, a mixture of amusement and clear confusion—what’s gotten into her?—stamped in their expressions.
So much for playing it cool.
After spending the next half hour signing a stack of paperwork and nondisclosure agreements at my desk, Gale looks up with a mix of relief and anticipation.
“Are you ready to meet E.M.M.A.?” I stand and gesture toward the usability lab with its opaque double glass doors at the end of the hall. “We can access her from any computer with an internet connection, but the lab gives us a controlled space. No distractions, better lighting, and”—I tap the opaque glass—“total privacy.”
“Sure.” Gale resets the sunglasses on his head, mussing his hair slightly. “I feel as if it’s the first day of school or something. I hope your computer likes me.”
“Don’t worry, E.M.M.A. isn’t programmed to simulate any judgment—positive or negative.” I open the door, and the automatic lights flick on as the whir of cooling fans greets me like an old friend. “Though you might appreciate not having an audience for your first session.”
Gale stops in his tracks, taking in the contrast of the space—whiteboard walls dense with scrawled algorithms and diagrams sharing space with gleaming fitness tech. Smart treadmills line one wall, while prototype sensors and sleek monitoring devices fill the industrial shelving. The morning light streams through the high windows, catching on chrome and glass. “Whoa... so this is where you do your thing?”
“Sure is.” I fight the urge to fidget with my lanyard. The lab suddenly feels different—smaller somehow—with him here in my sanctuary. “We can monitor everything from heart rate to muscleactivity to brain waves—all feeding into E.M.M.A. in real time. The goal is to get a complete picture of how your body responds during training.”
“That’s a lot of gadgets.” Gale’s unable to keep the skepticism from infiltrating his voice. “And I’m the human guinea pig?”
I lean against the desk. “Looks like a mad scientist’s lab, right? But don’t worry, each piece just helps us understand how your body works under pressure.” I pick up the slim wristband, keeping my tone professional even as I feel the weight of his attention. “We’ll start with the basics today and work our way up. This will track your baseline data even when you’re not in here.” I smile. “Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle with you. At first.”
He leans in just close enough that I catch another whiff of his spicy cologne and almost shudder. Damn him and his effortless charm.
“So this is the thing that is going to be spying on me?”
“‘Spying’ is a loaded word. Privacy and data security are top priorities,” I reply crisply. “We anonymize, encrypt, and store all data securely. We strictly limit access to authorized researchers, and participants have the right to request their data be deleted at any time.” I pause for breath, striving for some levity. “But let’s pause for a second. It’s not all work, there’s some play. Want to pick the voice you want E.M.M.A. to use?”
“What does that mean?” Gale rumbles, his low lip jutting in a way that’s oddly compelling. I mentally swat away the sudden, intrusive urge to bite it, to see if it tastes as good as it looks—and quickly file the thought under sleep deprivation, low blood sugar, and temporary insanity. Nothing a protein bar and professional boundaries can’t fix.
“Hey, E.M.M.A.,” I call to the workstation in the middle of the room. “Give examples of your different audio options.”
Certainly.
Gale jumps at the sound of the robotic voice before E.M.M.A. cycles through various tones, from a casual friend to a cheery Australian, from a robotic monotone to a drill sergeant. With each shift, Gale’s eyebrows climb higher, his lips twitching between amusement and disbelief.
I grin. “We’ve got dozens of options lined up. You can select for motivational, calm, energetic, or whatever. E.M.M.A. adapts its language style to match the voice tone to round out the experience.”
“Huh.” Gale tilts his head like a curious golden retriever. “Why, though?”
“It’s about personalization and engagement,” I explain. “Different users respond better to different coaching styles. Plus, it makes the experience more enjoyable, which increases user commitment.”
He dips his chin in a nod. “Which voice doyouprefer?”
“Activate Duchess mode, E.M.M.A.,” I command without hesitation.
