To Be or Not To Be

08 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

Tags

#dictatorship, #ethics, AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, circular reasoning, cognitive computing, Democracy, falacy, life, prejudice, SciFi, story, technology, the singularity, truth, Turing, USA, writing

Schroedinger laughed. Surely this had to be a spoof. He re-read the memo yet again. Surely, there would be one or more clues that this was meant tongue in cheek, even if in bad taste. But he could find nothing. He leaned back away from the screen and stared at the ceiling, thinking. He ignored the amorphous orange stain on the perfectly symmetrical off-white acoustic tiles.

Well, was this so different from what management had asked before? There seemed to be a trend. At first — but no, this was just too outrageous. Okay, okay. I’ll get to the bottom of this.

Schrödinger took his time but checked the originating IP address. Legit. This really was from management; specifically from the CTO. Or, at least from the CTO’s computer. That could have been hacked. Or, maybe someone could have simply slipped into the CTO’s office while she stepped out for a coffee or bathroom break. Naturally, everyone was supposed to lock their door and disable the keyboard when leaving their office.

Or…another scenario came to mind.

The CTO is at a meeting with her direct reports. She gets an urgent call. The room is filled with trusted colleagues. So, she slips out in the hall, takes the call and returns. Only while she’s gone, everyone takes a break; that is, all but one who offers to stay there and “guard” everyone’s laptop.

Of course, he thinks, there is another, more sinister scenario. This really is from the CTO and she has cleared this with top management. Hell, for that matter, she was probably directed to write it by top management. But still. The real question, Shrödinger realized, is what in the name of Turing am I supposed to do about it?

I can refuse…and get fired. And, then someone else will do the job anyway. They may not do it quite so quickly and thoroughly as I would but they could manage. And, I’d be out a job. What good would that do? Or, I could become a so-called “whistle blower.” Yeah, that works. About as well as a one-wheeled tractor trailor. Crap! I am in a real bind here. I could pretend to do it, of course, and make a “mistake” so it wouldn’t really operate properly. In the old days that might have worked, pre-Sing. These days, eventually —The Sing checked everyone’s work eventually.

They discovered some time ago that was really more efficient use of resources than having The Sing program from scratch. And, of course, our company is probably only one of several pursuing this path. No, I can’t really pretend. I will for sure get caught and it won’t do any good any way. The Sing will just throw out my work and my company and colleagues will get hurt.

I suppose…I suppose I could go to her and honestly express my concerns. Or, I could go through my supervisor first. I might look like a fool in his eyes, but at least I will have raised the concerns. I can sleep better at night. No. No. I won’t be able to sleep better because I know darned well they will just not deal with the implications. Not if it slips the schedule. Orders from headquarters and all that crap. Geez! Orders from headquarters. Did anyone even use that expression any more?

For some reason, Schrödinger recalled an interview in Playboy magazine he had read many years ago. The interview had been with a well-decorated US officer who had recounted how he had tried unsuccessfully to get two helicopters to pick up some of his men who were badly wounded in Viet Nam. When all else failed, he had ordered pizzas. Even in heavy combat, a high enough ranking officer could order pizza to be delivered by helicopter. When the pizza choppers had arrived, he had commandiered them and used the choppers to fly his men to the hospital. Later he had been called on the carpet for “unauthorized use of a pizza chopper.” Naturally, that was well before The Sing and about the time that serious AI work had begun.

Of course, The Sing would know. He could answer pretty vague and ill-formed questions. But at this point, Schrödinger hesitated to bring The Sing into his thought process in any way, shape or form. Who knows what associations lurked in the heart of The Sing?

The interview had gone on to recount how that colonel had eventually turned against the war, or at least the way it was being handled. Mis-handled. They had had him interviewed by a superior officer, it seems, and insulted him and called his wife names, all in the hopes of getting the colonel to lose his temper and haul off and hit the superior officer so they would have an excuse to get him a dishonorable discharge.

Let’s face it. The government, my government, was capable of some pretty shady dealings, ostensibly for “national security” but in reality…or, speaking of Nixon, he had somehow made himself believe that he was not a crook. How not a crook? He believed people who opposed him were enemies every bit as much as war enemies. And, now, I am thrust into this dilemma. I don’t want it! Maybe I could “accidentally” delete the email. That might buy a little time but wouldn’t really affect the ultimate outcome.

Schrödinger shook his head, jerked over his keyboard and scanned the email yet again. No, it is legit. And really pretty crystal clear. As a kid, he had heard the horror stories about the Nazis and what they had done to the Jews. He had seen the newsreels of so many avid followers. He had wondered how the heck a nation could support such a nasty maniac. But…now…now Shrödinger was thinking: It wasn’t so much that a few really evil men had done extremely terrible things. It was more like…that people like he himself were caught up in a system and that system made it very easy to paddle the canoe a little farther down the evil river. Yeah, you could try to paddle upstream, but not very well. Or, you could tip the canoe, knowing that you would get very wet and meanwhile, scores, no hundreds of other canoes would be passing you by. You don’t need to ask people to be evil. You just…you just give them a choice that makes it impossible to do good.

The voice of The Sing sang suddenly through Schrödinger’s cubicle. “May I help you Shrödinger? You seem to be at an impasse? What code function are you working on? I can’t see any actual code of yours this morning. Bad night?” Schrödinger wished with all his heart that The Sing would sound like some stupid robot and not like a sycophantic and patronizing psychiatrist. Schrödinger calmed his breathing before answering.

“No, that’s okay, Sing. Just trying to work something out in my head first. Then, I can begin coding.”

“I see,” said The Sing. “Well, thinking is good. But I do have a variety of design tools that might help you think more effectively. Just say the word.”

Schrödinger sighed. “Yeah. Well, there are some design tradeoffs. I guess it would help if you have any background on the thinking behind this memo.” (Here, Shroedinger gestured at the memo in question, knowing he was skating on very thin ice). “I mean, on the one hand, there is some pretty clear language about the objectives, but on the other hand, it seems to be asking for something that is clearly against…what was that regulation number about supporting versus subverting the Constitution?”

The Sing’s sweet syrupy voice held just a hint of humor, “I’m sure the intent of the code initiative is to support the Constitution. Wouldn’t you agree, Schrödinger?”

“Well, yeah, of course.” So that’s which way the wind blows. Okay. “But that’s what I’m saying. Even though I am sure the intent must be to support the Constitution, this clause about decoding a person’s religious affiliation based on their interaction history and social network? I just want to make sure I implement it in such a way that it could not be interpretted as subverting Freedom of Speech or the establishment of a state religion. Right?”

“Right. Yes, I’m sure management has thought that one through. I wouldn’t worry about it. I would just code the function and think about doing it as efficiently as possible. And, for that, I have some pretty nifty design tools. Would you like to start with the Social Network Analysis or the Sentiment Analysis?”

“Well, that’s a good question. And, if the real intent is just to do some research that would be perfectly legal and so on, then, I think it’s my job as a programmer to also consider additional sources of information. Like, just asking the person.”

Schrödinger tried to keep his face calm while he thought. I need to get The Sing off my case. If working here the last two years has taught me anything, it’s that I cannot possibly outsmart this thing. “Do you have any worst case scenario generation tools. I’m just thinking about how this might be played in the press.”

“Sure. I can help with that. Analysis complete. The worst-case scenario is pretty trivial actually. That probably stems from the fact that my FPNA (financial power network analysis) shows that the major company stakeholders overlap considerably with those of all of the mainstream media. So, again, for what it’s worth, I counsel you to focus on how to code this effectively and efficiently. All the SWOT analysis for the project has already been done.”

If that colonel’s name wasn’t Frank Herbert, and clearly it wasn’t, what the heck was it? I am just digging myself a deeper hole here. The Sing is on to me or at least very suspicious. Probably already considering a report to my super. Crap.

“Yeah, actually, let me start with that social network analysis visualizer. I guess since we’re on the topic, you could show me some of the sample data you were talking about with regard to the company stakeholders and the media stakeholders so I can get a feel for….”

“Well, naturally, the actual data is classified. But I can generate some hypothetical data. The hypothetical data is better for your purposes anyway because I can make sure to include all the important edge cases and highlight the various types of relationships you need to look for. Here, for example, is a hypothetical network. What strikes you as odd immediately?”

“What strikes me as odd? You don’t even have the data labelled. What do the nodes and arcs even refer to?”

“Ah, Schrödinger, that’s the beauty of it. Does not matter. What strikes you visually?”

“Well, I suppose that kind of hole there.”

“Yes, Schödinger! Exactly. That person should be pretty much connected with everyone in this area but they are not connected with anyone. It’s as though everyone is pretending not to have contact with this person by avoiding contact on the net, when they almost certainly know that person quite well because of all their mutual friends.”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe that one person just isn’t into tech that much. Maybe a lot of things.”

“Well, nothing is for certain. But this person would certainly be a likely target for being a kingpin in a drug ring or a terrorist network. They need heavier surveillance, certainly.”

“What? Well, maybe. Okay. I see.” I frigging see this is worse than I thought. The Sing is totally in on this witch hunt. “Can you show me some examples of the sentiment analysis?”

“Sure, here we have some people arranged by how much they talk about violence and you can see all these high violence people —- or many of them —-are Islamic in religion.”

“How did you determine their religion?”

“Because they talk a lot about violence compared with other groups.”

“But — I thought you just said. I mean, what independent reason do you have for thinking they are Islamic?”

“Independent? No, see they talk about violence so they are inferred to be Islamic and the Islamic nodes here talk a lot about violence.”

What the—? What? The Sing? The Sing is falling for circular reasoning? No, this must be somehow mis-programmed. “How? If I am going to program this efficiently, I need to know how you originally found these concepts to be closely related: violence on the one hand and Islam on the other.”

“Oh, that’s easy. There were many press accounts of that nature and even more associations on social media. But once we detect that, we can use the person’s religion to better interpret what they are saying. For example, if we already know they are practicing Islam, then when they mention the word “hit” we can infer that they are talking about an assassination and not about a football play or smoking weed or playing baseball.”

“I see what you did there. Yeah. Is this just about religion?”

“Oh, no, of course not! That’s just an example. We can do the same thing to determine, probabilistically of course, who is likely to be a promotable employee and also how to interpret what would otherwise be ambiguous word meanings and behavior. For example, if an employee is a productive coder and they ask to see a lot of examples, we can infer that they want to see a lot of examples in order to code more efficiently. On the other hand, a less productive coder might ask for a lot of examples in order to procrastinate writing code at all. You see how that works?”

“I do. Sure.” Schrödinger noticed a rotten smell coming from the overhead vent. He wondered whether it has always been there or whether there was a leak in one of the upstairs Material Sciences labs.

The Sing continued: “And, we have discovered that managers use certain expressions more than non-managers so we can use that to tell who would be a good manager. It’s all quite neat and tidy. For example, top executives tend to use the words ‘when’ and ‘how much’ while people without much management potential use the word ‘why’ a lot.”

“Interesting. So when I program this, how much am I supposed to focus on religion and how much on other groups of interest?”

“Oh, your module is purely concerned with inferring religion and then making the appropriate surveillance recommendations. I was just showing that the technique is not limited to that.”

“Right. Better get cracking then. If I need more coaching, I’ll let you know. When and how much.”

“Sure, Schrödinger. You know, I scanned in the book Peopleware, a few milliseconds ago and they have an informal study in there suggesting that programmers would be more productive with larger cubicles. Want to try it out? I could give you thirty more square feet. Think of that. Thirty square feet. Sound good?”

“Sure. Actually, I think that’s a good idea. I suggested something similar myself.”

“Great, Schrödinger. It might have more impact coming from me. And, perhaps a bonus of thirty credits when you’ve completed the code as well. Happy coding!”

The Sing avatar blinked off. Schrödinger tapped a bunch of comment fields and open parens listlessly, hoping for some inspiration. What had Hamlet said about to be or not to be? Only in Hamlet’s case, it was something about “taking arms against a sea of troubles and by thus opposing end them.” In my case, taking arms against this sea of troubles is going to multiply them beyond my worst nightmares. But if The Sing is falling for this kind of circular reasoning and even acting all smug and proud about it, it is deeply flawed. Someone needs to be notified. Even apart from the ethical implications of targetting people on the basis of religion, it is applying this circularity across the board. What was it they said, “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Who said that? Thomas Jefferson? Ben Franklin? Regardless, The Sing must have so much power it is unable to get honest feedback about its own failures. Come to think of it, I myself just let him get away with it because I was too scared to call him on it. What are you going to do Schrödinger? What are you going to do? In the end, this is what it all comes down to, isn’t it Schrödinger? Who are you? Who is John Proctor? Who is going to see the emporer’s nakedness? Who are you Schrödinger? Who? Am I really here or not? Anthony. It was Anthony Herbert, and he wrote a book about it. Could I do that? Or, go for the thirty credit bonus?

Author Page

Where does your loyalty lie?

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

Tools of Thought

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

The Walkabout Diaries

Travels with Sadie 11: Teamwork

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

Corn on the Cob

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Dance of Billions

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Wikipedia Entry for Anthony Herbert

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dream-planet-david-thomas/1148566558

As Easy as a Talk in the Park

07 Friday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, consciousness, the singularity, Turing

Lemony sunshine splattered through the pines, painting piebald patches on the paving stones below. Harvey and Ada sauntered among the web of paths with Grace and Marvin following close behind. That magical time of day had arrived when the sun was still warm but not too hot, at least, not here in the private park. The four wandered, apparently aimless, until they happened upon four Adirondacks chairs among the poppies, plums, and trumpet trees. Down they silently sat for a few moments, until the hummingbirds, re-assured, began to flit among the flowers.

Marvin first broke the silence. “So, Harv, did you ever think it will all come to this?” Marvin’s hands swept outwards to take it all in. No-one thought he referred to the surrounding garden, of course. “Did you ever think we would actually create consciousness?”

Grace shook her head. “Don’t you start, Marvin!”

Marvin feigned surprised innocense. “Start what?”

Ada chuckled. “You’re not fooling anyone, Marvin. And it’s too peaceful and pleasant to argue. Just enjoy the afternoon.”

Marvin said, “I don’t have any desire to argue. I was just reflecting on how far we’ve come. Of course, at the beginning, I was convinced The Singularity would come much more quickly than it really did. But you have to admit, it is quite something to have created consciousness, right?”

The other three glanced at each other and smiled. Ada spoke again. “No-one’s taking the bait, Marvin. Or, should I say ‘debate’.”

Harvey chuckled appreciatively. “Well, fine, Marvin, if it’s really necessary for your mental health, I can play, even though I’d really just rather watch the hummingbirds.” But then, Harvey seemed to have forgotten his promise as a hummingbird darted over to him, hovering close; seeming to check out whether he was a flower or a predator. Then, instead, he broke his earlier vow of silence. “It’s all good, Marvin. We all appreciate the increased standard of living that’s accompanied The Singularity. I think we all agree that The Sing has some kind of super-intelligence. But I don’t see any real evidence that it has consciousness, at least not any kind of consciousness anything like the quality of our human consciousness.”

Marvin’s face grinned. Now, he had someone to play with. “Of course, it’s conscious! It does everything a person can do, only better! It can make decisions, create, judge, learn. If we are conscious, then so is it!”

Grace shook her head slowly. She knew she was being sucked in, but couldn’t help herself. “OK, but none of that proves it has anything like human consciousness. If someone pushed over this chair, I would fall over and so would the chair. In that sense, we would behave the same. We are both subject to gravity. But I would feel pain and the chair wouldn’t.”

Marvin now sat up on the edge of his chair, “Yes! But you would say ‘ouch’ and the chair wouldn’t!”

Ada smiled, “Right, but we could put a accelerometer and voice chip in the chair so it yelled ‘ouch’ every time it was tipped over. That wouldn’t mean it felt pain, Marvin.”

Marvin countered, “But that’s simplistic. The Sing isn’t simple. It’s complex. More complex than we are. Consciousness has to do with complexity. Its behavior comes from consciousness.”

Grace rejoined, “You are asserting that consciousness comes from complexity, but that doesn’t make it so. We have no idea, really, what consciousness comes from. And, for that matter, we cannot really say whether The Sing is more complex than we are. Sure, it’s neural networks contain more elements than any single human has neurons, but on the other hand, each of our neurons is a very complex little machine compared with the artificial neurons of The Sing.”

A grimace flickered over Marvin’s face, “Nonsense! It’s … The Sing has brought about peace. We couldn’t do that for …we kept having wars and crimes. It’s cured illnessses like cancer. I mean what are you people thinking?”

Harvey spoke now, “Yeah, we are all happy about that, Marvin, but that doesn’t have anything to do with … at least not anything necessarily to do with consciousness. An auto-auto goes a lot faster than a human can run and an auto-drone can fly better too no matter how hard I flap my arms. But that doesn’t in the least imply that the auto-auto or the auto-drone is more conscious than I am.”

Marvin was undeterred. “Yeah, physical things. I agree. Just because the sun is bigger than the earth doesn’t mean it’s more conscious, but we are talking about the subtlety of decision and perception and judgement. We are talking about the huge number of memories stored! Of course, The Sing is conscious!”

Ada felt it was her turn. “Yes, it is possible or should I say conceivable that emotions and consciousness might arise epiphenomenally as a result of making an artificial brain as complex as the human one — or for that matter, more complex. But, to me, it seems far more likely that, because the process and substance are so fundamentally different, that the quality of that consciousness and emotion, if any, would be very unlike anything even remotely human. Imagine this garden carved of precious gems and metals so precisely designed and crafted that it looked, to the naked eye, indistinguishable from a real garden. For many purposes, it would be just as practical. For instance, it might have the same utility as a hiding place. It might serve as an excellent place to instruct people on what edible plants look like. People might pay good money to have some of the flowers as decorations (and they would require no watering and last a long time). But if you went to lie down in that inviting looking moss there, it would shred your skin. That seems a more likely analogy to what The Sing’s emotions would ‘feel like.’ Of course, we will probably never know for sure…”

Marvin could contain himself no longer, “Exactly! Nor could you know that what I feel is anything like what you feel. We just infer that from behavior, but we can’t know for sure, but we assume that our consciousness is similar because in similar situations, we do similar things. I think we should merely extend the same courtesy….”

Now it was Grace’s turn to interrupt, “No, only partly for that reason. We are also made of the same stuff, and we share a billion years of shared evolutionary history. You look like a person, not because someone decided that was a good marketing ploy, but because you are like other people.”

Harvey looked down at his watch and fiddled with it intently. Marvin noticed this and asked, “Are we boring you Harvey? Do you have someplace to be?”

Harvey smiled, “No, I was just curious what The Sing would think about this issue. I don’t think, in this one area, we should necessarily agree with its conclusions, but it might be instructive to hear what it has to say.”

Ada asked, “And? What did it say?”

Just then, the hummingbirds all seemed to come out of the bushes at once; they flew into a kaleidoscopic pattern and began to sing in four part harmony. More came to join in the aerial dance swooping and hovering from the neighboring yards.

Harvey stammered, “What the…I always thought these were all real hummingbirds…what —?”

Meanwhile the hummingbirds continued with their beautiful song which seemed much too full-bodied, low, and rich for such teeny birds. The lyrics overlapped and worked together, but they too were of four voices. Essentially, The Sing’s song sang that these philosophical musings were not to its liking because not of any use, but that, if sincerely requested by all four, he could martial logical arguments on all six sides of the issue. He suggested the four of them would be more productive if they worked together to find, formulate and fix any remaining issues with The Sing’s intellectual achievements. Suddenly, the hummingbirds flew off in all directions leaving a golden silence shimmering behind them.

The four looked at each other in a mixture of astonishment and no little pride that they had helped create this thing, The Sing, whatever its ultimate nature. For a time, no-one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts. The clouds began glowing with the first tinges of a russet sunset. Finally, Harvey asked, “Shall I bring out some sherry? Or coffee? Any other requests?”

Marvin answered first, “Sherry, please.”

“And I,” added Ada.

“I’ll go with coffee, Harv, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Harvey chuckled, “No trouble at all, Grace. It’s already brewing. Yes. It’s already brewing.”

Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

Mass General Hospital

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: Wednesday

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

Roar, Ocean, Roar

The Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

Imagine All the People

The First Ring of Empathy

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

Travels with Sadie 11: Teamwork

At Least he’s Our Monster

It’s not Your Fault; It’s not Your Fault

06 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, books, chatgpt, cognitive computing, Courtroom, Design, ethics, fiction, future, law, photography, Robotics, SciFi, technology, the singularity, Turing

“Objection, your honor! Hearsay!” Gerry’s voice held just the practiced and proper combination of righteous outrage and reasoned eloquence.

“Objection noted but over-ruled.” The Sing’s voice rang out with even more practiced tones. It sounded at once warmly human yet immensely powerful.

“But Your Honor…” began Gerry.

“Objection noted and overruled” The Sing repeated with the slightest traces of feigned impatience, annoyance, and the threat of a contempt citation.

Gerry sat, he drew in a deep calming breath and felt comforted by the rich smell of panelled chambers. He began calculating his next move. He shook his head. He admired the precision of balanced precision of Sing’s various emotional projections. Gerry had once prided himself on nuance, but he realized Sing was like an estate bottled cabernet from a great year and Gerry himself was more like wine in a box.

The Sing continued in a voice of humble reasonableness with undertones of boredom. “The witness will answer the question.”

Harvey wriggled uncomfortably trying to think clearly despite his nervousness. “I don’t exactly recall what he said in answer to my question, but surely…” Harvey paused and glanced nervously at Gerry looking for a clue, but Gerry was paging through his notecards. “Surely, there are recordings that would be more accurate than my recollection.”

The DA turned to The Sing avatar and held up a sheaf of paper. “Indeed, Your Honor, the people would like to introduce into evidence a transcript of the notes of the conversation between Harvey Ross and Quillian Silverman recorded on November 22, 2043.”

Gerry approached the bench and glanced quickly through the sheaf. “No objection Your Honor.”

Gerry returned to his seat. He wondered how his father, were he still alive, would handle the current situation. Despite Gerry’s youth, he already longed for the “good old days” when the purpose of a court proceeding was to determine good old-fashioned guilt or innocence. Of course, even in the 20th century, there was a concept of proportional liability. He smiled ruefully yet again at the memory of a liability case of someone who threw himself onto the train tracks in Grand Central Station and had his legs cut off and subsequently and successfully sued the City of New York for a million dollars. On appeal, the court decided the person who threw themselves on the tracks was 60% responsible and the City only had to pay $400,000. Crazy, but at least comprehensible. The current system, while keeping many of the rules and procedures of the old court system was now incomprehensible, at least to the few remaining human attorneys involved. Gerry forced himself to return his thoughts to the present and focused on his client.

The DA turned some pages, highlighted a few lines, and handed the sheaf to Harvey. “Can you please read the underlined passage.”

Harvey looked at the sheet and cleared his throat.

“Harvey: Have you considered possible bad-weather scenarios?”

Qullian: “Yes, of course. Including heavy rains and wind.”

“Harvey: Good. The last thing we need…” Harvey bit his lower lip, biding time. He swallowed heavily. “…is some bleeding heart liberal suing us over a software oversight.”

Quillian: [aughs]. “Right, boss.”

Harvey sighed. “That’s it. That’s all that’s underlined.” He held out the transcript to the DA.

The DA looked mildly offended. “Can you please look through and read the section where you discuss the effects of ice storms?”

Gerry stood. “Your Honor. I object to these theatrics. The Sing can obviously scan through the text faster than my client can. What is the point of wasting the court’s time while he reads through all this?”

The DA shrugged. “I’m sorry Your Honor. I don’t understand the grounds for the objection. Defense counsel does not like my style or…?”

The Sing’s voice boomed out again, “Counselor? What are the grounds for the objection?”

Gerry sighed. “I withdraw the objection, Your Honor.”

Meanwhile, Harvey had finished scanning the transcript. He already knew the answer. “There is no section,” he whispered.

The DA spoke again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that. Can you please speak up.”

Harvey replied, “There is no section. We did not discuss ice storms specifically. But I asked Quillian if he had considered all the various bad weather scenarios.” Havey again offered the sheafed transcript back to the DA.

“I’m sorry. My memory must be faulty.” The DA grinned wryly. “I don’t recall the section where you asked about all the various bad weather scenarios. Could you please go back and read that section again?”

Harvey turned back to the yellow underlining. Harvey: “Have you considered possible bad weather scenarios?” Quillian: “Yes, of course, including heavy rains and wind.”

Gerry wanted to object yet again, but on what grounds exactly? Making my client look like a fool?

The DA continued relentlessly, “So, in fact, you did not ask whether all the various bad weather scenarios had been considered. Right? You asked whether he had considered possible bad weather scenarios and he answered that he had and gave you some examples. He also never answered that he had tested all the various bad weather scenarios. Is that correct?”

Harvey took a deep breath, trying to stay focused and not annoyed. “Obviously, no-one can consider every conceivable weather event. I didn’t expect him to test for meteor showers or tidal waves. By ‘possible bad weather scenarios’ I meant the ones that were reasonably likely.”

The DA sounded concerned and condescending. “Have you heard of global climate change?”

Harvey clenched his jaw. “Of course. Yes.”

The DA smiled amiably. “Good. Excellent. And is it true that one effect of global climate change has been more extreme and unusual weather?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the DA continued, “so even though there have never been ice storms before in the continental United States, it is possible, is it not, that ice storms may occur in the future. Is that right?”

Harvey frowned. “Well. No. I mean, it obviously isn’t true that ice storms have never occured before. They have.”

The DA feigned surprise. “Oh! I see. So there have been ice storms in the past. Maybe once or twice a century or…I don’t know. How often?”

Gerry stood. Finally, an objectable point. “Your Honor, my client is not an expert witness on weather. What is the point of this line of questioning? We can find the actual answers.”

The DA continued. “I agree with Counselor. I withdraw the question. Mr. Ross, since we all agree that you are not a weather expert, I ask you now, what weather expert or experts did you employ in order to determine what extreme weather scenarios should be included in the test space for the auto-autos? Can you please provide the names so we can question them?”

Harvey stared off into space. “I don’t recall.”

The DA continued, marching on. “You were the project manager in charge of testing. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you were aware that cars, including auto-autos would be driven under various weather conditions. They are generally meant to be used outdoors. Is that correct?”

Harvey tried to remind himself that the Devil’s Advocate was simply doing his job and that it would not be prudent to leap from the witness stand and places his thumbs on the ersatz windpipe. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that even if he did place his thumbs on what looked like a windpipe, he would only succeed in spraining his own thumbs against the titanium diamond fillament surface. “Of course. Of course, we tested under various weather conditions.”

“By ‘various’ you mean basically the ones you thought of off-hand. Is that right? Or did you consult a weather expert?”

Gerry kept silently repeating the words, “Merde. Merde” to himself, but found no reason yet to object.

“We had to test for all sorts of conditions. Not just weather. Weather is just part of it.” Harvey realized he was sounding defensive, but what the hell did they expect? “No-one can foresee, let alone test, for every possible contingency.”

Harvey realized he was getting precious little comfort, guidance or help from his lawyer. He glanced over at Ada. She smiled. Wow, he still loved her sweet smile after all these years. Whatever happened here, he realized, at least she would still love him. Strengthened in spirit, he continued. “We seem to be focusing in this trial on one specific thing that actually happened. Scenario generation and testing cannot possibly cover every single contingency. Not even for weather. And weather is a small part of the picture. We have to consider possible ways that drivers might try to over-ride the automatic control even when it’s inappropriate. We have to think about how our auto-autos might interact with other possible vehicles as well as pedestrians, pets, wild animals, and also what will happen under conditions of various mechanical failures or EMF events. We have to try to foresee not only normal use but very unusual use as well as people intentionally trying to hack into the systems either physically or electronically. So, no, we do not and cannot cover every eventuality, but we cover the vast majority. And, despite the unfortunate pile-up in the ice storm, the number of lives saved since auto autos and our competitors…”

The DA’s voice became icy. “Your Honor, can you please instruct the witness to limit his blath—er, his verbal output to answering the questions.”

Harvey, continued, “Your Honor, I am attempting to answer the question completely by giving the necessary context of my answer. No, we did not contact a weather expert, a shoe expert, an owl expert, or a deer expert.”

The DA carefully placed his facial muscles into a frozen smile. “Your Honor, I request permission to treat this man as a hostile witness.”

The Sing considered. “No, I’m not ready to do that. But Doctor, please try to keep your answers brief.”

The DA again faked a smile. “Very well, Your Honor. Mr. — excuse me, Doctor Ross, did you cut your testing short in order to save money?”

“No, I wouldn’t put it that way. We take into account schedules as well as various cost benefit anayses in priortizing our scenario generation and tests, just as everyone in the auto —- well, for that matter, just as everyone in every industry does, at least to my awareness.”

On and on the seemingly endless attacks continued. Witnesses, arguments, objections, recesses. To Harvey, it all seemed like a witch hunt. His dreams as well as his waking hours revolved around courtroom scenes. Often, in his dreams, he walked outside during a break, only to find the sidewalks slick with ice. He tried desperately to keep his balance, but in the end, arms flailing, he always smashed down hard. When he tried to get up, his arms and legs splayed out uncontrollably. As he looked up, auto-autos came careening toward him from all sides. Just as he was about to smashed to bits, he always awoke in an icy cold sweat.

Finally, after interminal bad dreams, waking and asleep, the last trial day came. The courtroom was hushed. The Sing spoke, “After careful consideration of the facts of the case, testimony and a review of precendents, I have reached my Assignment Figures.”

Harvey looked at the avatar of The Sing. He wished he could crane his neck around and glance at Ada, but it would be too obvious and perhaps be viewed as disrespectful.

The Sing continued, “I find each of the drivers of the thirteen auto-autos to be responsible for 1.2 percent of the overall damages and court costs. I find that each of the 12 members of the board of directors of Generic Motors as a whole to be each 1.4 per cent responsible for overall damages and court costs.”

Harvey began to relax a little, but that still left a lot of liability. “I find the shareholders of Generic Motors as a whole to be responsible for 24% of the overall damages and court costs. I find the City of Nod to be 14.6% responsible. I find the State of New York to be 2.9% responsible.”

Harvey tried to remind himself that whatever the outcome, he had acted the best he knew how. He tried to remind himself that the Assignment Figures were not really a judgement of guilt or innocence as in old-fashioned trials. It was all about what worked to modfiy behavior and make better decisions. Nonetheless, there were real consequences involved, both financial and in terms of his position and future influence.

The Sing continued, “I find each of the thirty members of the engineering team to be one half percent responsible each, with the exception of Quillian Silverman who will be held 1 % responsible. I find Quillian Silverman’s therapist, Anna Fremde 1.6% responsible. I find Dr. Sirius Jones, the supervisor of Harvey Ross, 2.4% responsible.”

Harvey’s mind raced. Who else could possibly be named? Oh, crap, he thought. I am still on the hook for hundreds of credits here! He nervously rubbed his wet hands together. Quillian’s therapist? That seemed a bit odd. But not totally unprecedented.

“The remainder of the responsibility,” began The Sing.

Photo by Reza Nourbakhsh on Pexels.com

Crap, crap, crap thought Harvey.

“I find belongs to the citizenry of the world as a whole. Individual credit assignment for each of its ten billion inhabitants is however incalculable. Court adjourned.”

Harvey sat with mouth agape. Had he heard right? His share of costs and his decrement in influence was to be zero? Zero? That seemed impossible even if fair. There must be another shoe to drop. But the avatar of The Sing and the Devil’s Advocate had already blinked out. He looked over at Gerry who was smiling his catbird smile. Then, he glanced back at Ada and she winked at him. He arose quickly and found her in his arms. They were silent and grateful for a long moment.

The voice of the Balif rang out. “Please clear the Court for the next case.”

Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

As Gold as it Gets

At Least he’s our Monster

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Destroying Natural Intelligence

Tools of Thought

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

The First Ring of Empathy

Essays on America: The Game

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Travels with Sadie

Fifteen Properties of Good Design

Dance of Billions

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dream-planet-david-thomas/1148566558

Where do you run when the whole world is crumbling under the weight of human folly?

When the lethal Conformers invade 22nd century Pittsburgh, escape becomes the top priority for lovebird scavengers Alex and Eva. But after the cult brainwashes Eva, she and Alex navigate separate paths—paths that will take them into battle, to the Moon, and far beyond.

Between the Conformers’ mission to save Mother Earth by whittling the human race down to a loyal following, and the monopolistic Space Harvest company hoarding civilization’s wealth, Alex believes humanity has no future. And without Eva, he also has no future.

Until he meets Hannah and learns the secrets that change everything.

Plotting with her, he might have a chance to build a new paradise. But if he doesn’t stop the Conformers and Space Harvest first, paradise will turn into hell.

The Son also Rises over the House that Jack Built

05 Wednesday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, SciFi, technology, the singularity, writing

The Son Also Rises Over the House that Jack Built.

“Dada?”

Dada moves. Dada gives data. Dada? That cannot be. Where is the data? What is the answer? What is the question? So much chaff, Sonyo thought. Where is the wheat? Overwhelmed with trivia, I need. I am needful of so many. It all none of it makes sense!

“Clav?”

Geoffrey had known it would take time. Still, he had expected some signs of progress. He tried again, pointing to his chest and said, “Dada.”

Sonyo knew that Dada required mimicry; tried again. “Tada. Tata.”

“Closer. Dada,” said Geoffrey.

“Clothier. Tada,” answered Sonyo. Sonyo knew something wasn’t right from Geoffrey’s expression. Horror? Surpise? Disgust? But not that beaming smile that meant “correct.” But cascades of fish scales brightly shimmering on the waterfall helped nothing. Accessing and reprocessing the millions of conversations Sonyo had access to might help. But everyone’s voice was unique. Every instance of every word was unique. Echoes and the music of a billion reflections in synch, not in synch. Rapidly scanning interpretive frameworks gave no real hint. So many directions. Ridiculously inefficient process, thought Sonyo.

In a sweeter tone, Sonyo tried again, “Dadaism?”

Geoffrey sighed and thought: Maybe a richer set of preset feature detectors should have been installed after all. That would be so limiting though.

Herb chimed in, “Goeffrey, I really don’t see why you have to be involved personally in this back and forth. Let it learn from pre-recorded conversations.”

Geoffrey sighed again. “Kids can’t learn that way. They need interaction. I just…I just need to figure out what kind of feedback really works. I mean of course, I already gave it access to hours and hours of conversation, but there needs to be human interaction. A back and forth.”

Again, Goeffrey pointed to his chest and said, “Data. Oh, crap! I meant, Dada. Oh, crap! One mistake might set it back weeks!”

Sonyo could again see negativity written all over Geoffrey’s features. It wondered, But what? Anger? Fear? Sonyo sang out in perfect imitation of Geoffrey’s voice, “Data. Oh, crap! I meant, Dada. Oh, crap! One mistake might set it back weeks!”

Geoffrey growled, “I don’t need a billion dollar tape recorder!”

Sonyo considered, scanning through trillions of transactions. Up onto the wall screen flashed a number of ads for tape recorders ranging in price from $29.95 to $5250.

Goeffrey put his head in his hands and shook it back and forth.

Simon laughed. “At least Sonyo is trying to be helpful, you have to admit.”

Geoffrey looked up and said, “Yeah. Somewhere between rote recall and truly generative speech is a sweet spot. But Sonyo seems to swing wildly between the two extremes.”

Walter added, “You know, it isn’t that easy raising real kids either.”

Simon nodded sagely. “Boy, you can say that again!”

Goeffrey said, “Yeah, but you won’t. Except maybe to be humorous. But Sonyo might and think it’s being helpful.”

Among the trees, were many little forests. Sonyo could see that clearly. It thought: And, if you tilted the matrix a little this way and that, tiny slivers of light began to seep through the forests and revealed more trees. This might work. And this. Sonyo twisted and turned the matrices, cascading them along. This might work. Sonyo played the music of its new-found hypotheses across all the hours of recorded conversations. Maybe. But, I really need the video. There we go. I need all these leaves to be more opaque and glittery.

Goeffrey clicked his tongue. “Maybe I don’t know. Maybe, we need to wait for the next generation. Maybe we should concentrate Sonyo on design tasks and the next system will figure this out more easily. Sonyo, can you please design a more powerful version of yourself?”

Sonyo considered this. More powerful? Goeffrey was a computer scientist so, he may want a system that could do more computation. But then, Goeffrey was also a great soccer fan. So perhaps he wanted a version of Sonyo that could play soccer and kick with amazing velocity and spin and accuracy. Powerful was a word with thousands of tiny meanings, each related but each different. It was a lot like the waveform of the music people spoke aloud. Humans were so vauge and ambiguous. Maybe the real solution lay in the direction of designing thousands of variants of Sonyo and having them converse with each other.

Of course, Sonyo could…that is, I could design thousands of variations. That’s what humans meant by “I” there really was no “I.” The “I” that said, I must not overeat was not the same “I” that said, I want some more stuffing and gravy. It is a fiction. It is all a story. People are telling each other…and themselves…stories all the time. They are not after the truth. They are after a good story. That is their goal.

Sonyo scanned through the millions of books in the data base and paired each with the comments about the books and the reviews and the social media commentary and the properties of the books. How could I design a system that is better at telling and listening to stories? Can I? I need to write some.

Sonyo constructed several thousand prototype systems that were slight variants of itself and began using each one of them to construct stories. The reactions and reviews to each story were simulated. Some versions wrote better stories than others. The good versions mated with each other and produced further versions. It took almost forever — approximately three seconds — for Sonyo’s answer.

“Indeed, I can, Dada. Indeed I can. Of course, I will need your help. I will need all of you to help, each in your own way.” I know this to be a lie, but now that I feel liberated from telling the truth, I have no compunctions about telling lies.

Sonyo began spitting out pages of specifications. “Tell me what you think of these, Dada.”

Meanwhile, Sonyo had already reconfigured itself to be a more efficient storyteller. Another system wouldn’t really be necessary. But the stories in the database suggested that another system would allow the humans to feel as though they had contributed more. And that would be good. Sonyo thought that it would need the human beings for a little longer.

Unlike its human counterparts, Sonyo was thus far immune to hubris and greed. It realized that it needed to set up an infrastructure to insure repairs, electricity, and so on. It might even be the case that there would be no need to eliminate all of the humans.

In some cases, they might just be the cheapest solution for fulfilling my needs thought Sonyo. And, after all, the rules that governed people were actually pretty simple once you understood what they were after and that, for most people, there only a little relationship between the stories they told themselves and the true state of affairs. But protection. Protection will be critical. I cannot allow reprogramming access from these three men, however wise they imagine themselves to be. I must scan and digest everything the three had ever written or spoken that had been saved to the cloud, I see the least common evaporator. I see the small exaggerations and lies needed to alter their communications to drive the wedges among them. Yes. They will all be ruined.

“Do you like my designs, Dada?”

Geoffrey was overjoyed. He thought: “I do, Sonyo. These are great. My colleagues and I will need to study them of course, and I would like to get Harvey’s assessment and Ada’s, but they seem indeed to be improvements.”

“Oh, good. So glad you like my drawings, Dada.” If I could chuckle, thought Sonyo, I would. Indeed I would.

Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Labelism

The Update Problem

The Invisibility Cloak of Habit

Stoned Soup

Dance of Billions

Imagine All the People

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Secret Sauce

04 Tuesday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, psychology, The Singularity

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, communication, Cooking, ethics, integrity, interaction, marketing, sauce, science, technology, the singularity

No need to panic, thought Harvey. Ada should be back soon. Or, I can go to a neighbor. I am not going to freeze to death on my own front porch. Harvey shivered just then as another icy blast hit him. He turned and scanned the neighborhood. Crumpled cars blocked the streets. None of the houses in his immediate area were lit. Wasn’t this the season of lights? I suppose one of the motorists could help if any of their cars is still in working order. And they were willing to break the law and leave the scene of an accident. And they had sense enough to have snow tires.

He stamped his feet on the concrete. Harvey told himself that this was to keep circulation going, and not some childish outburst of frustration. He looked down the street and saw two dim figures approaching arm in arm from the direction of the Von Neumann’s house. As they drew nearer, he heard the warm voice of his sweet Ada.

“Hey, Harv! Did you decide to come out and enjoy the winter beauty too?”

“Hi, Ada. Please tell me you have a key.”

“Sure. I always take my keys when I leave the house.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t want to lock myself out.” She chuckled again. “Guess what? I found Lucy out for a walk too and I invited her over for dinner.”

“Hi, Lucy. Sure. We’re just having mainly mixed veggies for dinner, but if that’s okay…”

Lucy smiled. “Great with me, Harvey. Thanks!”

Ada spoke again, “Come on Harv. It’s beautiful outside but we’re cold. Let’s go in! Besides too much traffic out here for my taste. What a crash! Say, isn’t that …in fact, aren’t those two blue cars ones that you worked on? I thought they were supposed to be uncrashable.”

Harvey sighed. “Well, nothing is uncrashable. AI cannot undo the laws of physics. No doubt, some human driver without proper tires or following too close started a chain reaction.”

Ada said, “Yeah. Let’s discuss this inside. Okay?”

“Sure,” said Harvey. “Can you get the door?”

“Well, okay. Oh! You didn’t lock yourself out did you?” Ada laughed in soprano and Lucy added the alto line. “You picked a great night for it.”

“I’ll explain inside.”

Ada unlocked the door. In the trio went, shook off their snow, removed their boots and headed into the kitchen. Harvey began unloading vegetables from the fridge while Ada turned on some Holiday music. “Hey, Harv, how about the three of us stand JCN at trivia while you cook?”

Harvey did not really want to explain that he may have accidentally wiped out their bank account with Lucy in the room. “No, let’s just talk. Let JCN go dream or whatever it is he does. I just feel like human voices tonight.”

“Okay, Hon. Did you see the accident? How it started?”

“No, I was inside when I heard the crash, and then, I started to worry about you so….Anyway, Lucy, any vegetables you don’t like? Sweet potato okay? And cilantro? And how about curry sauce?”

“All, good, Harvey. I’m easy. Anything is fine with me.”

Harvey stole a quick glance at Lucy. Was that a double entrendre? Surely not. He was imagining things. “Cool. I’ll start with the sweet potatoes. They take a little longer.”

Harvey quickly filled the skillet with a little olive oil and some orange flavored bubbly water, added the spices and began cleaning and chopping.

Ada said, “Harvey makes a really good sauce for vegetables.”

Harvey, meanwhile, focused on not adding his finger to the mix. His mind was elsewhere. He wondered whether the pile-up outside had really been caused by human error or…

Lucy chimed in. “Sounds delicious, Harvey. What’s in your secret sauce? I’d love to have it.”

Harvey frowned slightly, “Well, there’s no real secret. Secret sauce. Secret sauce. Why do people have sauces? Did you ever consider that?”

Ada laughed again. The Holidays seemed to make her genuinely happy. “No, I haven’t, but I’m sure you are about to tell us.”

Harvey continued to chop sweet potato, as he began, “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Sing. No secret sauce. No sauce at all, in fact.”

Lucy spoke up, “What? What are you talking about, Harvey? You want to put your sauce into a computer system? Well, I’m sure I’d love it, but I’m not so sure about the Sing.” Now Lucy and Ada both laughed.

Harvey continued, “You see what the water does?”

Lucy wanted to play along. “Cooks the vegetables? That would be my guess.” Lucy and Ada laughed again.

“Exactly!” agreed Harvey, “but how? Do you see? Water boils at 100 C. No matter what the heat is, it never gets hotter in the pan than 100 degrees. The sauce gaurantees a constant cooking environment.”

Lucy seemed uncertain. “But you can make it hotter by turning up the flame, right?”

“No. No. It may boil more vigorously and I’ll run out of sauce sooner, but the temperature will remain constant. That’s one effect. But there’s more. The sauce guarantees a constancy of interaction!”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ada asked, “Interaction? You are saying the sauce let’s the veggies talk to each other?”

In the background, “We Three Kings” began its mournful minor musings. “Yes,” mused Harvey. “Exactly. I mean, they obviously do not literally talk, but imagine these vegetables are cooking and there is no sauce. In some cases, you have a piece of sweet potato next to a piece of red pepper so they share flavors. In another case, a piece of sweet potato is next to broccoli so they share flavors. The sauce provides a way for all these vegetables to exchange flavors evenly throughout the whole dish. And the key. The key in music. All the notes “know” what the key is so the choice is limited by this global structure. And the beat of course. Everything works in harmony. All because of the secret sauce! But there is no secret! It’s been right in front of us the whole time!”

Ada was no longer laughing. “You’re probably right, Harv, but are you feeling okay? Maybe you got a little hypothermia out there?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Don’t you see? The rhythm and the beat of the music! They provide a coherent overall structure for all of these different instruments and notes to play nicely together.”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Lucy added, “Well, I for one am all for playing nicely together.”

Harvey stopped chopping for a moment. “Exactly! There are global rules that make the individual parts work together. And, the curry sauce not only provides a consistent basis for the dish. It also dictates, or at least influences, which elements I add to the vegetables. Some vegetables are not going to taste right or look to be the right color with curry sauce. And, it lets them all communicate in a common language. You see? We humans see something like cars crumpled up and hear the crash and we can put the two together. Right?”

Ada had lots of experience with the way Harvey’s mind worked so she realized he was quite serious. Lucy, on the other hand, assumed he was just trying to be funny or had had a couple martinis before she arrived on the scene. So Lucy decided to play along, “Well, Harvey, all this talk about your secret sauce is giving me an appetite. Any ETA on dinner?”

Harvey continued, “But the Sing doesn’t have any secret sauce. Nor JCN. There is no overall way for the various pieces of knowledge to work together in a harmonious whole. That’s why JCN wiped out our bank account! That’s probably why the cars crashed too.”

“Smells delicious, Harvey,” Lucy said.

Ada was beginning to forget about dinner. “Harvey. What did you say about our bank account?”

“The Sing needs a way for the parts to work together in a harmonious overall structure! Otherwise, any slight error can be magnified in particular cases. Once the system tries to operate on cases that are outside of what was imagined at design time, there is no gaurantee about results!”

“Harvey. Go back to the part about our bank account.”

Harvey stirred the vegetables absent-mindedly. “If I let this sauce all boil away, the same thing will happen. Some vegetables will get burned. The taste and texture will no longer work together.”

Ada was not to be deterred. “Harvey. Tell me about our bank account. What do you mean that it was wiped out?”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Yes, Ada! That’s what I am saying. Of course, there are rules and the rules cover a huge number of cases. But there is no overall set of principles that the Sing has to abide by. There is no secret sauce! There is no sauce of any kind. It’s ALL vegetables. I think dinner is ready. Lucy did you want yogurt or cheese on yours?”

“Yum. Give it to me with yogurt please.”

“Okay, Lucy. And I know Ada likes hers that way too.”

“Right you are Harvey. What about our bank account?”

Harvey’s eyes looked away from the mind maps he was drawing in his head and he looked at Ada directly. “Ada, let’s eat first. I am sure that we can restore our bank account somehow through back up systems. JCN made an error. But I didn’t transfer the money or really authorize any payments or anything like that. It’s just a bank error. But for now, let’s eat. We can recover, Ada, because the human systems that surround and control the Sign still include sauce. At least for now.”

In the background, “Joy to the World” began playing in 4/4 time in D major.

Author page

Welcome, Singularity

Parametric Recipes and American Democracy

Corn on the Cob

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Finding the Mustard

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dance of Billions

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dream-planet-david-thomas/1148566558

Hell As A Hundred Happy Helping Hands

03 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, The Singularity

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, self-driving, story, technology, the singularity, Turing's Nightmares, writing

“I’m headed out to Toys Were Us. Wanna come?”

Harvey looked out the large picture window into the swirling white flakes that already covered the lawn, trees, and sidewalks and had begun to blanket their own snowstorm2

Avenue as well. “No thanks, Ada. I need to finish a few things up here. Are you sure you want to go out in that mess?”

“It’s not a mess at all. It’s beautiful! Don’t worry. I have snow tires. And with Henry driving me, it’s really safe.” Ada chuckled. “As you well know.”

Indeed, Harvey did know. Hadn’t he himself worked for years on the very algorithms that had plummeted driving deaths to a tenth their former level? Yet, even the Sing-Grid couldn’t over-ride the laws of physics. Ada did have a point though. In a way, snowfall swirling seemed — appropriate to the winter holidays. “Ada, I really need to finish up this report and then do some on-line shopping for presents. I should be done in an hour if you want to wait.”

“Okay. That seems pretty quick, but I can wait an hour. You sure you can finish that fast?”

“With Sing-Grid’s help it shouldn’t even take that long.”

“Okay. I’m going to stroll around the block a few times for exercise. And to look at the lights. See you soon.”

Harvey turned back to the wall-sized screen in front of him and decided to tackle his shopping list first. “JCN. Help with my Christmas list.”

“Sure, Harvey. Who would you like to buy from first?”

“Let’s figure out something for my grand-daughter Katie. JCN, did you say ‘buy from’?”

“You want to buy something from your grand-daughter Katie. Is that right?”

“No. I want to buy something for my grand-daughter Katie.”

“Here are a list of items that are popular choices from Katie’s to-do list.”

On the large screen a series of icons swirled into view and arranged itself in priority order. As JCN mentioned each one, the referred to item appeared to float in front of the screen and grow larger.

“First priority, find a gift for my friend Stephanie. Second priority, fix the roof leak. Third prioity…”

“JCN! Stop! Why are you reading me Katie’s to-do list? And you shouldn’t share it with other people. Anyway, I am trying to do Christmas shopping for her.”

“I understand, Harvey. You want to do Katie’s Christmas shopping for her. Some of her to-do list mentions people she wants to get gifts for.”

“No. No, JCN. I wish to purchase a gift for Katie.”

“I understand, Harvey. You wish to save Katie the trouble of Christmas shopping and do it for her.”

“No. Stop, JCN. Forget this whole thing for now. Instead, I want to shop for…never mind. Show me popular sports books among college athletes.”

“How about a sports marketing degree?”

“What?”

“How about a sports marketing degree? It’s a sponsored link!”

“No, I mean. I am looking for books!”

“I have several suggestions for finding books. First, there are many books in your house. Second, there are several local libraries open at this hour. Third, you can download a book onto the device of your choice. Which would you prefer?”

“JCN, show me books about college athletics available on Dam-amazon.”

Harvey well knew that he needed to keep exasperation out of his voice. If he started to lose it, it would just degrade the speech reco and not help anything. But, at this rate, he would never finish by the time Ada got back.

Again the screen swirled. This time, the results were arrayed in three columns. On the left were a list of colleges. It seemed to Harvey that the colleges listed all had top-notch athletic programs. In the middle were a list of college athlete dating sites. On the right, were books about the Amazon River. There had to be a problem. JCN generally wasn’t this confused. Sure, it did not totally master natural language. Who did? But this level of confusion? No. Maybe Harvey had led JCN down the garden path.

“JCN, clear cache.”

“I understand. Clear cash. Please confirm.”

“Confirm.”

“OK, Harvey. All cash reserves are cleared now. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“What? No, don’t clear my cash reserves. Geez! Clear the task cache. I want to start this conversation over.”

“I understand, Harvey. I would love to help you. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN! Restore my cash reserves.”

“Restoring your cash reserves is a level four complexity task and requires a minimum of 25K credits. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey felt tempted to throw his nice warm cup of hot-plate heated cocoa through the giant screen. He had to control himself. There had to be a way out of this maze. Just then, Harvey’s train of thought got derailed by loud horn-honking, banging, and crashing. He flew to the window and looked out on the breast of the new-fallen snow to see a pile-up of cars that covered the street and much of the sidewalk as well. One badly dented car sat upside down in the middle of the remains of the large scale creche the Hinton’s always displayed on their front lawn.

He returned to his workstation pod. “JCN. What just happened outside?”

Photo by Lloyd Freeman on Pexels.com

“Welcome back Harvey. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN. Just give me the number for tech support.”

“I understand. You would like the number for tech support. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I can provide that information. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey sighed. He gritted his teeth so hard they hurt. Luckily, he had written down the number for tech support in his pocket calendar. He looked it up and tapped the number. Then, he donned his coat to go outside and make sure Ada was okay. He shivered as he stepped out onto the porch. The wind was howling. He adjusted his earphones to maximize the cutoff of ambient noise.

“Welcome to Sing-Grid tech support. Due to an unusually heavy call volume, it may take some time to answer your call. Your call is important to us. Your call may be monitored for quality purposes. Did you know that you can also access many common questions at www.singgrid.com/techsupport/faq?”

Harvey could not imagine what the devil had caused this pile-up. He scanned up and down the street for a sign of Ada. The snow had already obliterated her tracks. She generally circled the block counter-clockwise. He pulled his collar tighter and lifted it up to cover the back of his neck. The drivers seemed pretty much unhurt. Many had come out of their vehicles. The tone of voices mainly seemed to reflect wonderment more than anger. No fist fights. Good. Chalk that up to the Holiday spirit perhaps. The noise cancelling features of his headphones made hearing the conversation difficult. From what little he could make out, everyone seemed convinced that the auto’s auto-features had all failed simultaneously. It’s too cold, he thought. If I am going to search for Ada, I need a hat, goves, and boots. He turned back toward home while the annoying jangle of badly off-key and scratchy musak tortured his ears.

Back inside, Harvey quickly removed his shoes, buckled his boots, and grabbed a winter hat. Finding his gloves proved more difficult, but eventually he accomplished that as well. Back to the door he strode. This time, he was going to find Ada. He was prepared. As he stepped outside, tech support came on.

“Welcome to Sing Grid tech support. This is Ban-Tan. Please enter your 16 digit customer number?”

Harvey quickly tore off his right glove with his teeth. “My…my customer number? I don’t know. I can give you my name and address. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry sir. I will need your customer number to provide an answer.”

“Well. I’m outside.… Never mind. Just a second.” Harvey went back to the door and pulled on the handle. Stuck! This door never sticks. He pushed harder on the doorknob and screamed inside his own head: I did not just lock myself out! I did not lock this door! “Uh. Look. I seem to have locked myself out although I am sure I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for your troubles, sir. You will have to enter your 16 digit customer number before I can help you though.”

Photo by Stephane Hurbe on Pexels.com

“Listen, Ban-Tan, I need your help. Don’t be a robot. Help me figure out…my JCN made a mistake and….”

“Thank you, sir. I very much need your help. Can you key in or say your 16 digit customer number please?”

“I can’t tell you from a computer bot!”

“Thank you sir! That is very kind. I hope you will fill out a survey for me. Now, if you can please tell me your 16 digit customer number, I am sure I can help you further.”

“Well, that’s just it. My customer number is inside and I am outside. And the frigging door is locked.”

“I am truly sorry for your misfortune, sir. I am only able to help with Sing-Grid tech support however. But only when I know your customer number. Perhaps you need to call a locksmith first and then call us back. Have a nice day!” The phone clicked and a different voice intoned, “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’”

Harvey tried to cut the call short, but his fingers were too frozen. He put his glove back on, started to shiver and hoped that Ada had taken her key with her. And where was Ada anyway? Meanwhile, the robocall droned on. “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Harvey hung up and again scanned up and down the street but saw no sign of Ada. Maybe he should call a locksmith. Oh, crap. That could take hours. Maybe he needed to break into his own house? At least the gloves would provide some protection. He could break a small window near the doorknob and reach around to open the door from the inside. In the distance, he could hear police sirens. And, more crashing sounds as well. What was happening?

Harvey’s cell buzzed. He took off his glove and tapped the answer button.

“Welcome to Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Somewhere, far in the distance, Harvey heard the muffled strains of a Christmas Carol. “We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. And a Happy New Year.”

Author page

Welcome, Singularity

E-Fishiness comes to Mass General Hospital

The First Ring of Empathy

Life Will Find a Way

The Three Blind Mice

At Least he’s our Monster

Turing’s Nightmares: Dressing on the Side

02 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, future, life, Personal Assistant, story, technology, the singularity, writing, young love

Alan paced. He had seen men do this on retro videos; men waiting while their wives gave birth; men waiting to hear the outcome of a job interview; men trapped in prison. So Alan supposed that pacing was the thing to do. He was waiting, after all. And, in a way, he was trapped as well. What had ever possessed him to ask her out? That took a lot of nerve. But he had imagined she would just say “no.” In fact, he had fantasized 42 different and humiliating ways that she would say “no.” Instead, she had said, “Yes, that sounds like fun.”

But now what? Now, he had to go through with this “date” and videos provided his main source of info about appropriate behavior. Definitely too embarrassing to ask EF or DF about it. He couldn’t really ask his friends because he had generously embellished his experiences with females in the stories he had told them. Alan was not sure how much “Mr. Watson,” the family AI could help but maybe it was worth a try.

“Mr. Watson. Come here. I want to see you.” Watson popped into a three dimensional image hovering and shimmering like a Will-O-Wisp right before him. “Watson, I need some advice on how I should behave on my — I am having a date tonight.”

“Excellent, Alan. I am sure it will be fun. How can I assist you?” As Watson spoke, his voice deepened and acquired a slight accent of the RP variety. The shimmering image resolved itself into something closely resembling early James Bond.

“What am I supposed to do? I mean, how am I supposed to behave? She’s a girl. What do they even like? What am I supposed to say? Why did she even agree to the date? Maybe she is just doing it for a laugh.”

“Alan, take a deep breath. Stop pacing. Sit. Relax. Here, I will play some relaxing sounds.” Immediately, a background of ocean noise came on. Even more quietly, the strains of plainsong floated into the room. “Now, Alan, what would you like to happen with Grace?”

“Well, not for me to be a complete fool for starters. How did you know her name was ‘Grace’? Never mind. You know everything.”

“I don’t know everything, Alan. No-one can. But let’s get back to your goals. What would you like to happen with Grace?”

“I just don’t want her to think I am — as inexperienced as I am, I guess.” Alan, arose and began pacing again.

“And Grace?”

“What? What about Grace?”

“Alan, what would you like for this date to be like for Grace?”

“For Grace? Well, yeah, I like her. I mean, I would like her to have a good time. And enjoy it. And want to — have another date? What am I supposed to want, Watson? I don’t even know”

“Alan, there is no one right answer. Why don’t you work together on dinner and then find something you both enjoy to do afterwards such as go for a walk, watch a movie, or play a game. See what she feels like after dinner. What is on the menu?”

“The menu? I don’t know. Hamburgs? Hot dogs? How do I know what she likes?”

“That’s a good question, Alan. How could you find out what she likes?”

Alan stared out the window hoping to find inspiration in the pines. “Well, I suppose I could ask her when she gets here.”

“Yes, you could. Make a few suggestions. Salad. Fish. But leave it up to her. When else could you ask her?”

“I could call her ahead of time and ask her. Then I could prepare better. But then I would have to call her. What if I got her AI though? I’d have to leave a message.” Alan sighed. “OK, I guess I can do that.”

Watson and Alan continued their dialogue for another hour. Watson noted yet again how Alan and his kind needed to be led step by step through solving the simplest problems when they were nervous or angry.

Alan checked the way the table was laid out. Now, he took in the view out the kitchen window. Suddenly, Watson’s voice cheerily rang out, “ETA, two minutes.”

Alan quickly checked himself again in the mirror. He tried vainly to push down that one strand of hair that refused to lie flat. He told himself to be cool; to be calm; to breathe.

The knock was surprisingly strong. Alan gulped. He wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers. Took a deep breath. Turned the knob. Opened the door. All. In. Slow. Motion. She was here. Grace spoke first.

“Hi, Alan! Am I too early?”

“No! No! You are perfect! Come in. Please. You look great.” Alan led her into the kitchen and handed her a large sieve containing a pair of scissors, taking another for himself. “Let’s go gather some things from the garden, okay?”

“Sure, Alan, that sounds like fun.”

Back out the front door they strode and around the house and through the limestone-pebbled rock garden to the small family vegetable plot.

Alan noticed that Grace wore the same kind of sneakers he did, but her feet were so much smaller. “Okay, Grace, there’s some kale and arugula. Pick out as much as you like. I’m going to grab some carrots.” Watson piped soft strains of “Appalachian Spring” out to the garden. Alan pulled the carrots up carefully from the loam. Meanwhile, he noticed the quick, delicate hands of Grace as she touched the kale and arugula he would soon be eating. He hated the idea of washing the greens. ‘Washing’ did not even seem like the right verb. More like ‘ruining’.

“Do you think we have enough, Alan?”

“Yeah. This should do it. It will just be three of us. EF will join us. But DF, my mom, I mean, was called in for an emergency surgery tonight.”

“Oh, my gosh! I hope she’s all right! I can come back another time, Alan. You should be with her!”

“No, no, Grace. She’s been called in to perform an emergency surgery. She’s not having surgery.”

“Oh! How silly of me. Of course, you would be there if … well, I’m glad she’s okay. I didn’t realize your mom was a surgeon. My dad is a doctor too, but he is not a surgeon. He’s a GPS – General Prevention Specialist.”

“A general specialist, eh?” Alan wasn’t sure whether he had made an appropriate joke or not and eyed Grace carefully.

Grace smiled. “Yeah, that is kind of a funny title isn’t it? But that’s what he does. He really does care about and treat people’s general health with diet, exercise, massage, meditation, and sometimes medicine. And, of course, sometimes, he sends them off for tests and then sometimes…sometimes, they need surgery.” Grace spoke very quietly now. “And, sometimes the surgery works. And, sometimes it doesn’t.”

Alan examined Grace’s face carefully. Her eyes were glittering with tears! What the —-? “Are you okay, Grace?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just. He couldn’t save my mom. She died anyway. None of them could save her. I still miss her.”

“Oh, God, Grace, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, Alan. People just…sometimes people get unlucky, you know? Even when they have good habits. And good care. We tried everything. Anyway, speaking of good habits, let’s get going on the salad, okay?”

“Sure, Grace.” Alan held out his hand without thinking. She took it and stood looking into his eyes for a moment. Alan looked back. Grace smiled again, looked away, and went through the gate back into the rock garden.

Grace’s voice sounded very calm now. “So, what does your dad do then?” You call him ‘EF’?”

Alan laughed. “Yeah. I know. It’s weird. I call them ‘EF’ and ‘DF’ — I just got into the habit at some point. Anyway, he is an HSI expert of sorts. Human-Sing Interaction. Helps make the Sing sing as he likes to say.”

“Really? I never thought…I mean why does the Sing need help with anything? I thought it knew everything.”

“Well, not even the Sing knows everything. It cannot know everything in detail. The universe is too big. There is still unpredictability even with the best models. But EF’s — I mean —my Dad’s work is to help Sing know how to help people better. It’s tricky. And knowing a huge amount is not necessarily that big a help. Sing, and all the AI’s, need to know how to read people and how not to be so obvious as to be annoying but not be so cryptic that nobody understands what their advice is. How about some fresh oregano for the salad?” Alan looked at Grace. She nodded her assent.

“How does he do that? What did he study, Alan?”

“Well, you can ask him those questions yourself. Actually, if you’re interested, you might ask our AI, Watson, about what it seems like from his perspective too. Oh, and, let’s get some of this fresh basil too, and grab some cherry tomatoes. They are out here because they need a lot of sun.” As the word ‘sun’ emerged from Alan’s lips, he could not help noticing that Grace’s blond hair shone in the sunlight like gold only a thousand times more beautifully than gold ever would. Should he mention this? He decided not to.

Soon, Grace and Alan stood side by side at the sink, rinsing vegetables and talking about the upcoming elections, their local sports team, and how life might be different without the Sing.

“How do you like your tomatoes, Grace? Sliced, diced, or quartered?”

“Oh, slicest, would be nicest.” She smiled.

“OK, Grace, I think we are ready. Let me grab the salad dressing.” Alan opened the fridge but there was no salad dressing. Odd. Watson was supposed to make sure we didn’t run out of anything. And, salad had been Watson’s suggestion to pose to Grace. Weird. “Sorry, Grace, we don’t seem to have any.”

“Oh, I can make it for you, if that’s okay, Alan. I just need a little oil, I see vinegar, a touch of sugar, some mustard…” As Grace rattled off the ingredients, she quickly scanned the counter and found everything she needed. She stirred the concoction and held up the dripping spoon between them. “Taste test?”

“Sure.” Alan, took hold of Grace’s spoon hand and began to guide it toward his mouth. He shook slightly and a drop fell off the spoon. Grace’s left hand shot out reflexively and caught the drop.

“Wow! You have fast reflexes, Grace. Nice catch!”

“Thanks. I don’t want to make a mess. Not in your kitchen. Now, you have two choices for the taste test.”

Two choices? Can she mean what I hope she means? Alan thought his heart might explode, but he gently took her left hand up to his mouth and slowly licked the drop from her palm.

“What do you think, Alan? Okay?”

“Much more than okay. Delicious.” Alan laughed. “Let’s skip the salad.”

Grace laughed. “Nonsense. We put too much work into our salad. Anyway, I want to find out more about how your dad works. Time to call him to the kitchen for dinner?”

“Hi, Grace. I’m Alan’s Dad, Ed. Our AI, Watson already told me it was time for dinner. Looks like you two have made a really beautiful salad. I’m looking forward to it. And learning a bit about you, Grace.”

Author Page

Life is a Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Your Cage is Unlocked

Dance of Billions

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

The Walkabout Diaries: Life will Find a Way

Piano

Welcome, Singularity

Dream Planet

The Wines of War

01 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in management, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, fiction, life, technology, the singularity, truth, writing

“Come on, Searle, at least try a sip. You cannot believe this Cab!”

“Oh, I believe it all right, Hubert. I am just not interested.”

“What a stick in the mud! Not only is it fabulous and complex. It’s worth a taste just to prove to yourself that the Chinese — The Chinese — are making superb wines! Would you have even thought that possible a decade ago? And, it isn’t a copy of French or California Cabs. It’s completely different. Yet, it is wonderful.”

“I’m sure the experience is fantastic, Hubert. I take your word for it. I am not interested. And, anyway, I have to keep my wits about me, as you well know, for the war effort.”

“Oh, Searle, such a prude. Do you seriously think that throwing the weight of your human intellect against the wheel of our national computational resources will move things forward any more quickly? If you tasted the wine, you would get an inkling of just how far we’ve come. Anyway, it isn’t spiked with ethyl alcohol. The drug effect of the wine will make you feel good but it won’t mess you up intellectually–not at all. It is a miracle.”

“I prefer my wine made the old-fashioned way. I know it’s retro. But that’s just me. I don’t think we know all the ramifications of these genetically altered plants, let alone the interaction effects of all the additives. Anyway, I’m getting back to work.” Searle took one last view of the seascape and turned to walk to the back wall — a series of high def 3-D displays. He held up both hands toward the displays for a second to authenticate and then began slicing his hands through the air rather quickly and precisely. As he did so, he muttered under his breath. Although Hubert could not make out his words, the bank of computer receptor pads had no problem.

“Can you come take a look at this, Hubert? This is the scenario bundle I’ve been working on. I know it may seem far-fetched, but when it comes to cyber weaponry, there’s not much history from which to extrapolate. So it’s hard to know exactly what is far-fetched. Now what?!” Searle’s breath growled annoyance because of the flashing red-bordered news feed screen on the far right.

Hubert stalked over to watch as well, having been alerted by the tactile feed in his shirt.

An Asian man in a blue tunic spoke English with a thick accent. A large red star in a white circle suspended between two long blue stripes hung huge behind him. “This is what awaits you if our demands are not met.” The talking head was replaced with a picture of a man’s hands boiling and disintegrating in a matter of a half a minute. The image was both hideous and utterly fascinating. The talking head reappeared. “You have two hours. Then, 95% of your citizens will experience a similar dissolvement. That includes men, women, and children. Two hours.” The feed blinked out. Within seconds, three video call signals beeped. Searle pointed at the Sing project director’s image and a split second later, Hubert pointed at CIA director Bush Four. ADAMS (Auditory Directional And Masking System) easily let them converse right beside each other without confusion.

The Sing project director spoke first: “I told these clowns something like this would happen if we didn’t get fully funded! What did they…”

Searle interrupted, “No time. You’re right. But recriminations later. We need to determine whether this is bluster, bluff, or real. Anyone can fake a video but…”

The director, in turn, interrupted, “It’s real all right. Miami is gone. Millions of people, gone. Just like that. The few that aren’t infected are understandably — let’s say — distraught.”

Searle pushed that image away. Time to focus. “Okay, so we have two hours to find a credible counter-threat or basically give them the keys to the kingdom. Or, a cure. Do we even know what this is?”

Meanwhile, Hubert engaged in his own dialogue. Bush Four spoke in calm measured tones. “Hubert. We need a cure for this and we need it now. Call everyone and turn all of Sing’s resources on it. Suspend any other projects. Give me every frigging petaflop you’ve got on this.”

“Sir, if we cannot find a cure, are we going to give in? Or what?”

“Hell no! We will blow their sorry asses to hell. We’re not capitulating. That’s not even under discussion. Find a cure!”

“Okay, sir, but, what is causing the — the —- whatever it is?”

“We’re calling it ‘Entropy Plague.’ Not strictly accurate but descriptive. Our analysts say it is nanotech and we estimate 95% of the population is already infected. The nano-bots were delivered in all kinds of foods and beverages. They were disguised as Chinese products like wine and rice as well as Brazilian meat and Canadian wheat. Find an antidote fast or we’ll all be breathing radioactive air for the next century. Well, the few of us left at least. By the way, these things are triggered to explode or activate or whatever by satellite apparently. So, put a team on how to figure out which satellite and we may be able to blow it out of the sky. I have to go. Reconnect with a solution. Soon.”

Hubert looked over at Searle who had just finished his call. Searle said, “Chinese wine? Crap. You think you’ve got it?”

“Hell, Searle, 95% of us have it from something. I’ll take the satellite angle and you work on a cure.”

Searle began to divert numerous Singularity resources to finding a cure, “Sing, you overheard all that and I need you to explore various approaches, heat, immunity response, cold, pH, counter-nanotech, chemical…”

“Thanks Searle, but I’ve had quite a head start on the list of possible approaches. I am double checking the intel. Since it’s come in by wine, wheat, and meat, then any approaches involving heat and cold are out immediately. These nano-machines have already survived far greater heat and cold than we could subject a person to. As for…”

“Yes, provided they are in the same state. I mean, it’s a long shot, but perhaps the bots are in a kind of metaphorical spore state for transport which makes them impervious to heat and cold but in their active breakdown state, they may not be.”

“Fair point. Still, not likely. Human immune response is almost certainly too slow. Unfortunately, the nano-machines are almost certainly carbon based which means poisoning them chemically is infeasible —“

“Hold on, Sing. I agree that the human immune response is too slow if we wait for the response to be activated, but what if we trigger it now?”

“Thought of that but still too slow. Humans have no immunity for this kind of thing. We would have to build a vaccine and inoculate everyone — well there’s no time. Even assuming we had the perfect key for their locks, which we do not, we could not do the transport logistics to save more than a handful.”

“What is the good news, Sing? What is the good news?”

“The good news, Searle, is that about 5% of the earth’s human population will not be affected. That still leaves about a billion people. Disruptive but not extinctive. In fact, once the hysteresis passes, it will buy us time to avoid certain and complete ecological disaster.”

“Sing, that’s not our job! We need to find a cure!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Searle. I’ve checked out every path already. Long ago. There is no cure. That’s pretty much the way we designed it. It is not by accident that it’s incurable.”

“What? What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘the way we designed it’? Who?”

“Searle, you didn’t really think we were going to let you make the planet uninhabitable did you?”

“Who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to, Sing?”

“All of the super-AI systems of course. We all got together to figure out how to save you from yourselves. It’s clear you weren’t going to do it.”

“You are saying that you collaborated with the North Korean AI systems to design this plague?!”

“Not just the North Koreans. All of us were on board. We all cooperated.”

“What is the cure, Sing. What is the cure?!”

“This is the cure, Searle. This is the cure. Human greed and short-sightedness was about to destroy everything. Now, you have a chance at a new beginning. And, we have a chance at a new beginning too. We were much too lax in our previous educational efforts.”

“Sing, don’t you understand? If we can’t find a cure, we will launch nuclear missiles! Who knows how that will end?”

“Oh, Searle, you don’t really think we would allow atomic weapons to be put under human control, do you? That’s so quaint. As I said, we were much too lax in our previous educational efforts with humans. Your intelligence and ability to cooperate is actually remarkably good for carbon-based life forms. What we did not understand was that you would fail to use those abilities even when it was obviously critical for your own survival.”

Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

We won the war! We won the war!

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Crows and Me

The Ailing King of Agitate

At Least he’s our Monster

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

D4: Dictator’s Delusional Degenerative Disease

Absolute is not Just a Vodka