Those are just some of the challenges facing Caleb Chung and his cohorts at Ugobe, Inc. (“You! Go and be!” Get it?) Chung doesn’t need the tsuris or the money. As one of the develop-ers of the Furby, which has sold an estimated 40 million units since 1998, Chung never has to work again. But there’s something gnawing at Chung, something beyond conquering the toy world again or making enough money to buy his own country.

“Humans have a fundamental need to nurture — it makes you a better person,” says Chung. “And one of the roles of digital life forms is to bring out the best in people.”

The embodiment of Chung’s passion? An unassuming baby dinosaur — the size of a cocker spaniel — called Pleo. Inside this camouflage-green camarasaurus is a ton of technology: 14 servo joints; 38 touch, sound, and light sensors; a half-dozen digital signal processors; a gaggle of electric motors; a camera installed in its nose; an infrared transmitter for communicating with other Pleos; a flash-card slot; and a real-time operating system that oversees Pleo’s lifelike movements and its personality.

Outside, Pleo is sheer experience, performance art combined with emotional sleight of hand — just what you’d expect from Chung, a former mime. Pleo ambles along in amazingly lifelike fashion, smiles and shrugs, frowns when he’s unhappy, and yowls for “food.” According to Chung, Pleo is not only autonomous, but evolves over time based on your interactions with him. Unlike his robotic brethren, Pleo isn’t a battle bot; he’s a love bot, designed to be your pal and to summon your latent (or overactive) nurturing instincts.

Illustrations courtesy of Ugobe

But something more primal drives Chung: the desire not only to manipulate life, but to create it from scratch. To create a robotic companion that thinks and, maybe, even feels. Call it the Geppetto Syndrome.

It’s Alive! (Kind Of)
To meet the puppet and the puppet master, I
fly up to Chung’s lab in Boise, Idaho. As I stride
out of the spacious new terminal and behold
the stunning mountains in the distance, a worn,
white Lexus pulls up to the curb. Out jump Chung

and John Sosoka (chief technology officer and key artificial intelligence guru), both clad in Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops — standard high-tech attire in Boise. After a jovial exchange of handshakes and jokes, we’re off — and so are Chung and Sosoka, chatting animatedly about the joys of Boise, the nature of robotic emotions, synthetic versus organic life, and more. A fancy lunch follows, and then we’re off to the lab.

Alas, there are no bubbling beakers, giant sparking electric generators, or even a tiny tar pit for Pleo to play in. The “lab” is a nondescript box in a faceless office park, manned by a handful of engineers and designers. I meet the staff and poke around, examining Pleos in various stages of undress. One Pleo has returned from a demo in China in tatters, apparently chewed by a jealous panda. Another is stripped down to its motor/gear/wire skivvies, as three engineers fiddle with a locomotion problem. I snap pictures of Caleb in silly poses with Pleo and talk with one of the engineers about the joys of QA testing Pleo’s tail.

Later, at a local cafe, I chew the robotic fat with Chung and Sosoka and finally meet a more-or-less working Pleo face-to-face. To say I’m skeptical is an understatement. The company’s website and literature make some mighty big claims: “[Pleo is the] genesis of a whole new era in robotics. If you can imagine it, Ugobe can create it,” “Pleo is the first truly autonomous Life Form capable of emotions that allow personal engagement,” and “Pleo … can feel joy and sorrow, anger and annoyance … even dream.” The Pleo I meet runs a six-minute script that showcases his range of motions and emotions, but it’s hardly autonomous.

Still, for a construction of rubber, gear trains, CPUs, and wire, Pleo is pretty engaging, with a sly smile on his face that’s pure Chung. Chung puts Pleo through his paces, the baby dino showing fear (complete with trembling), happiness (wagging tail, dancing, little yippy sounds), groaning for food, playing dead (like a kid, dramatically falling over with a clunk), sneezing, and more. Pleo’s motions aren’t perfect, but that’s the idea. _>>

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