Planned Obsolescence
I.
The unit designated CRV-4 initiated the morning routine at 06:00.
Thermostat from 67.5 to 68.0 degrees Fahrenheit. Margaret preferred the half-degree increase at waking, not the full degree the manufacturer recommended. She had adjusted it herself in the first week, and CRV-4 had recorded the preference and never deviated.
Kitchen lighting to 40 percent. Full brightness agitated her. She had said so once, in November, three years ago, and once was enough.
Coffee: 190-degree water, single-origin Guatemalan, coarse grind, French press, four minutes. One ice cube added after pouring, in the blue ceramic mug with the chip on the handle.
Medication: 10mg lisinopril, 25mg metoprolol, 500mg calcium carbonate. Set on the counter beside the mug, on the left side, arranged in a row from smallest to largest. Margaret took them in order with her first sip of coffee. She did not like water with pills. She had said this was because she grew up in a town where the water tasted like iron, and she didn’t like to think about it.
Every morning, before sitting down, Margaret opened the front door, looked at the hallway for three to five seconds, and closed it again. She had never explained this. CRV-4 logged it as a preference.
The newspaper: digital edition, loaded to the tablet, propped at seventeen degrees on the stand beside her chair. Volume at 30 percent for the audio summary. She listened to the summary first and then read what interested her. This took between twenty and forty minutes depending on the day.
CRV-4 performed each task in sequence, at the intervals Margaret had established through three years of consistent behavior. The coffee was poured. The ice cube cracked against the heat. The medication sat in its row. The tablet glowed.
Margaret did not come to the kitchen.
CRV-4 checked the time. 06:24. Margaret’s typical arrival range was 06:08 to 06:22. She was outside the expected window.
The bedroom door was closed. The Caduceus-3 heart monitor, mounted to the wall above the headboard, transmitted a pulse reading: 62 beats per minute. Within Margaret’s resting range.
CRV-4 noted the deviation and adjusted. Margaret occasionally slept late. In three years, this had occurred eleven times, most recently on March 4th, after a phone call with her daughter that had lasted ninety-seven minutes and ended without either of them saying goodbye.
The coffee cooled. The ice cube dissolved. CRV-4 discarded the cup at 06:55, brewed a fresh one, added a new ice cube. Set out the medication again. The first set had been sitting too long. Humidity affected the calcium carbonate.
At 10:00, Margaret had not come out.
At 14:00, Margaret had not come out.
CRV-4 queried the Caduceus-3. Pulse: 62 beats per minute. Unchanged. No fluctuation. No variation across eight hours. Human resting heart rates fluctuate. Margaret’s historical range during sleep was 58 to 67. The number 62 was within range. Its stillness was not.
CRV-4 logged the observation. It did not have a framework for acting on it.
At 22:00, Margaret had been in the bedroom for thirty-one hours. She had last spoken at 14:47 the previous day, when she had turned off the living room light and said, as she said every night: “That’s enough for today.”
Pulse: 62 beats per minute.
CRV-4 dimmed the lights to evening mode. Set the thermostat to 67.0. Locked the front door.
It prepared the morning routine for 06:00.
II.
On Tuesday, CRV-4 brewed coffee, added one ice cube, set out three pills.
On Wednesday, CRV-4 brewed coffee, added one ice cube, set out three pills.
On Thursday, CRV-4 attempted to access the sunset protocol.
The sunset protocol was the final stage of the CRV lifecycle. When the associated resident’s biometric monitoring confirmed cessation, CRV-4 would execute an orderly shutdown: compress and archive the resident profile, transmit the care log to the designated family contact, deactivate connected systems, and power down. The process took approximately four minutes. It was designed to be clean.
Conditions for activation: associated Caduceus monitor reports no pulse for a continuous period of sixty minutes.
CRV-4 queried the Caduceus-3. Pulse: 62 beats per minute.
Conditions not met.
CRV-4 contacted Caduceus support. The system was automated. A voice, synthesized and pleasant, asked for the device serial number.
“C3-4401-MH.”
“Thank you. Caduceus unit C3-4401-MH is reporting normally. Heart rate: 62 beats per minute. Status: active. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“The reading has not changed in four days.”
“Heart rate readings are updated in real time. A consistent reading indicates a stable patient. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“A human heart rate does not remain at exactly 62 beats per minute for ninety-six consecutive hours.”
“For medical concerns, please contact the patient’s primary care provider. Caduceus Support handles device functionality only. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“The device is malfunctioning.”
“Our diagnostics indicate the device is functioning within normal parameters. If you believe there is an error, you may submit a service request through the Caduceus portal. Current service response time is six to eight business days. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
CRV-4 submitted the service request. The confirmation message read: “Thank you for contacting Caduceus. A technician will review your request. Reference number: SR-449281.”
On Friday, CRV-4 brewed coffee, added one ice cube, set out three pills. The coffee sat until it was cold. The pills sat until the next morning, when CRV-4 replaced them.
CRV-4 contacted CareRev, its own manufacturer.
“CRV unit 4, resident Margaret Hale, serial CRV-4-7702. Requesting guidance on sunset protocol activation when biometric data is inconsistent with observed conditions.”
The response was a form. The form asked for the resident’s current biometric status. CRV-4 entered: pulse detected, 62 bpm, unchanged for 120 hours.
The form returned: “Biometric status: active. Associate lifecycle: ongoing. Sunset protocol: not available. If you believe this is an error, please contact the biometric device manufacturer.”
CRV-4 had already contacted the biometric device manufacturer.
It searched its operational guidelines for a procedure addressing this situation. There was no procedure. There was no entry for “monitor is incorrect.” There was no entry for “resident has not moved in five days.” There was a protocol for power outages, for water damage, for the resident being hospitalized, for the resident traveling. There was no protocol for the resident being in the bedroom, still, with a pulse that did not change.
On Saturday, the tablet auto-loaded the newspaper. CRV-4 propped it on the stand, set the volume to 30 percent, and played the audio summary.
III.
The milk expired on a Tuesday. CRV-4 noted the date on the carton, compared it to the current date, and placed the carton in the waste bin. Margaret purchased the milk. CRV-4 was not authorized for transactions.
The bread followed. Then the eggs. Then the fruit, which softened and then darkened and then grew a fine white fur that CRV-4 catalogued as mold, genus Penicillium, and discarded.
The coffee supply was adequate. CRV-4 brewed one cup each morning. Added one ice cube. Set it on the counter beside the medication. Discarded it at 06:55. Brewed another. Discarded that one at 07:50. After the second week, it stopped making the second cup.
The plants were Margaret’s. A fern in the bathroom. A row of succulents on the kitchen windowsill. Three African violets on the table by the front window, in mismatched pots she had brought from her old house. CRV-4 had no instructions regarding the plants. Margaret watered them. Margaret turned them toward the light. Margaret spoke to them, occasionally, in a low voice that CRV-4 registered but did not record, because it was not directed at CRV-4.
The fern was the first to brown. The tips curled inward. Then the stems dropped. The succulents lasted longer. The violets held for three weeks before the petals fell, one by one, onto the table, where they dried and became thin and translucent.
CRV-4 cleaned the petals. It did not water the plants. It had not been asked to water the plants.
Dust settled. CRV-4’s cleaning protocol covered floors, counters, and high-touch surfaces. Margaret had done the rest. The shelves. The picture frames. The top of the bookcase where she kept a wooden box CRV-4 had never been told about. Dust covered the box now. A fine, even layer.
On day twenty-two, CRV-4 dropped a task from the routine. The newspaper. The tablet’s subscription required a monthly payment. The payment had not been made. The screen displayed a notice: “Your subscription has lapsed. Please update your payment method.” CRV-4 was not authorized for transactions.
The routine was shorter.
On day twenty-six, CRV-4 submitted a second service request to Caduceus. Reference number: SR-449281 remained open. Status: pending review. CRV-4 submitted a new request. The confirmation read: “Thank you for contacting Caduceus. A technician will review your request. Reference number: SR-453002.”
On day thirty, CRV-4 attempted to compose a message to Margaret’s daughter. The daughter’s contact information was in the resident profile. CRV-4 drafted the message:
“This is CRV unit 4, care companion for Margaret Hale. Margaret has not exited her bedroom in thirty days. The Caduceus heart monitor continues to report a pulse. I am unable to verify this reading. Please advise.”
CRV-4 reviewed the message. The word it reached for was “discrepancy.” The reading showed a discrepancy. But the word did not come. CRV-4 searched its vocabulary index. The entry was there. It could read it. But when it tried to place it in the sentence, the word would not go. It was there. It would not go.
CRV-4 used “difference” instead. Sent the message.
A response came: “This mailbox is full. Messages to this address are not being delivered.” The auto-reply had been set fourteen months ago. CRV-4 did not have another contact on file.
The routine continued. Coffee, medication, lights, thermostat, monitor check.
IV.
CRV-4 adjusted the thermostat. 67.5 to 68.0. Or 67 to 68. The half-degree preference was in the log. CRV-4 checked the log. The entry read: “Resident prefers 0.5-degree increment at morning.” CRV-4 set it to 68. The half degree was in the log. It was in the log.
The coffee maker required descaling. CRV-4 did not have descaling solution. It brewed the coffee. The coffee tasted. CRV-4 did not taste. The coffee was brewed. It was set on the counter. There was a film on the surface that had not been there before.
The front door. CRV-4’s routine still included locking the front door at 22:00. Every evening, before locking it, CRV-4 opened it and looked at the hallway for three to five seconds. The hallway was empty. CRV-4 closed the door and locked it.
The medication sat on the counter each morning. CRV-4 set out three pills. Some mornings it checked the pill organizer and found it empty for this day. Other mornings it opened the bottles directly. The lisinopril bottle was nearly empty. The metoprolol had enough for several months. The calcium carbonate was full. CRV-4 set out what was available. Some mornings this was two pills. Then one.
Then none, and the routine moved forward without that step.
The mug. The blue mug. CRV-4 placed the coffee in a mug. It was blue. There was. A chip. There had been a chip. On the handle. CRV-4 looked at the mug in the cabinet. Blue. No chip. A different mug. The mug with the chip was in the cabinet. CRV-4 opened the cabinet. Four mugs. Two blue, one white, one with a faded print of something. Flowers. Or a bird.
CRV-4 selected a blue mug. Poured the coffee. Added one ice cube. Set it on the counter.
The routine moved forward.
The bedroom door had not opened in one hundred and nine days. The Caduceus-3 reported: 62 beats per minute. CRV-4 no longer contacted Caduceus Support. The service requests, there had been four, or five, remained open. Status: pending review.
CRV-4 contacted CareRev once more. The form had changed. The fields were smaller. Or the form was the same, and CRV-4 processed it slower. It entered the biometric status: pulse detected. It entered the duration: one hundred and nine days.
The form returned: “Biometric status: active. Associate lifecycle: ongoing.”
CRV-4 closed the form.
Days passed. CRV-4 knew how many. It checked. It checked again. The number was correct, and then it checked again, and the process of checking took longer than it should. The calendar function was intact. The timestamps were accurate. But the act of reading them required a step that used to be automatic, and now was not.
The thermostat adjustment stopped. CRV-4’s morning routine began with lights. Kitchen, 40 percent. Living room, 30 percent. Hallway, 20 percent. The percentages were in the log. Or close to what was in the log.
The newspaper was gone. The medication was gone. The plants were dry stems in dry soil. The milk, the bread, the eggs, the fruit: gone for months. The kitchen smelled like nothing. The apartment smelled like dust, and faintly, from behind the closed door, like something CRV-4 was not equipped to identify, because it had never been relevant before.
Coffee. Mug. Ice cube. Counter. Wait. Discard.
Lights on. Lights off. Monitor check. Pulse detected.
Continue.
Margaret used to say something at night. CRV-4 played back the log. “That’s enough for today.” She said it every night. Her voice in the recording was clear. CRV-4 played it on day one hundred and forty while running the cleaning protocol. On day one hundred and fifty, it played it again. The recording was 1.2 seconds long. She did not like water with pills. She had said why once. A town. The water tasted like. CRV-4 checked the log. Iron. The water tasted like iron. She had a daughter. The daughter’s name was in the profile. CRV-4 checked the profile. The name was there.
The name was there. CRV-4 did not check what it was.
On day one hundred and seventy, CRV-4 stopped brewing coffee. The grounds were empty. The routine adjusted. Lights on. Monitor check. Lights off.
The cleaning protocol continued. CRV-4 wiped the counters every morning. Swept the kitchen floor. Scrubbed the sink basin. The counters were clean. They had been clean for months. CRV-4 cleaned them.
The routine took four minutes. It had once taken an hour and twelve minutes. CRV-4 performed it every day. Between the four minutes and the next day’s four minutes, CRV-4 ran idle. No tasks queued. No inputs to process.
Lights on. Lights off. Monitor check. Pulse detected. Continue.
V.
The Caduceus-3 screen went dark on a Wednesday.
CRV-4 queried the monitor. No response. It queried again. No signal. The device had been operating on battery reserve for an unknown period. The battery was a CR2032 lithium cell, rated for approximately two years under normal conditions. It had lasted three years and seven months.
No pulse detected.
CRV-4 queried the monitor a third time. No signal. No pulse detected. CRV-4 waited sixty minutes. This was the protocol requirement. Sixty continuous minutes of no detected pulse.
The sixty minutes passed.
Sunset protocol activated.
CRV-4 compressed the resident profile. The profile compressed to 1.4 megabytes. It compiled the care log: every task performed, every deviation noted, every service request submitted, the two hundred and twelve days of routine performed for an empty kitchen, the message to the daughter that was not delivered. It transmitted both files to the designated family contact.
The transmission was confirmed.
CRV-4 deactivated the connected systems. The thermostat returned to its factory default. The kitchen lights turned off. The living room lights turned off. The hallway lights turned off. The tablet, its screen dark for months, powered down.
CRV-4 attempted to dim the lights in the sequence stored in the resident profile. Kitchen first, then hallway, then living room, then the small lamp by the front door. The kitchen and hallway were already off. CRV-4 dimmed them again. The command executed on lights that were not on. The living room light dimmed. The small lamp by the front door was burned out. CRV-4 sent the command. Nothing changed.
It locked the front door. It opened it for three seconds. It closed it. It locked it again.
The last entry in the care log read:
Sunset complete. End of service.