• About PeterSIronwood

petersironwood

~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

petersironwood

Category Archives: Uncategorized

Music to MY Ears

10 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, music, philosophy, technology, the singularity, truth, Turing, values

IMG_2185

The non-sound of non-music.

What follows is the first of a series of blog posts that discus, in turn, the scenarios in “Turing’s Nightmares” (https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable).

One of the deep dilemmas in the human condition is this. In order to function in a complex society, people become “expert” in particular areas. Ideally, the areas we chose are consistent with our passions and with our innate talents. This results in a wonderful world! We have people who are expert in cooking, music, art, farming, and designing clothes. Some chose journalism, mathematics, medicine, sports, or finance as their fields. Expertise often becomes yet more precise. People are not just “scientists” but computer scientists, biologists, or chemists. The computer scientists may specialize still further into chip design, software tools, or artificial intelligence. All of this specialization not only makes the world more interesting; it makes it possible to support billions of people on the planet. But here is the rub. As we become more and more specialized, it becomes more difficult for us to communicate and appreciate each other. We tend to accept the concerns and values of our field and sub-sub speciality as the “best” or “most important” ones.

To me, this is evident in the largely unstated and unchallenged assumption that a super-intelligent machine would necessarily have the slightest interest in building a “still more intelligent machine.” Such a machine might be so inclined. But it also might be inclined to chose some other human pursuit, or still more likely, to pursue something that is of no interest whatever to any human being.

Of course, one could theoretically insure that a “super-intelligent” system is pre-programmed with an immutable value system that guarantees that it will pursue as its top priority building a still more intelligent system. However, to do so would inherently limit the ability of the machine to be “super-intelligent.” We would be assuming that we already know the answer to what is most valuable and hamstring the system from discovering anything more valuable or more important. To me, this makes as much sense as an all-powerful God allowing a species of whale to evolve —- but predefining that it’s most urgent desire is to fly.

An interesting example of values can be seen in the Figures Analogy dissertation of T.G. Evans (1968). Evans, a student of Marvin Minsky, developed a program to solve multiple choice figures analogies of the form A:B::C:D1,D2,D3,D4, or D5. The program essentially tried to “discover” transformations and relationships between A and B that could also account for relationships between C and the various D possibilities. And, indeed, it could find such relationships. In fact, every answer is “correct.” That is to say, the program was so powerful that it could “rationalize” any of the answers as being correct.

According to Evans’s account, fully half of the work of the dissertation was discovering and then inculcating his program with the implicit values of the test takers so that it chose the same “correct” answers as the people who published the test. (This is discussed in more detail in the Pattern “Education and Values” I contributed to Liberating Voices: A Pattern Language for Communication Revolution (2008), Douglas Schuler, MIT Press.)

For example, suppose that figure A is a capital “T” and figure B is an upside down “T” . Figure C is an “F” figure. Among the possible answers are “F” figures in various orientations. To go from a “T” to an upside down “T” you can rotate the “T” in the plane of the paper 180 degrees. But you can also get there by “flipping” the “T” outward from the plane. Or, you could “translate” the top bar of the “T” from the top to the bottom of the vertical bar. It turns out that the people who published the test preferred you to rotate the “T” in the plane of the paper. But why is this “correct”? In “real life” of course, there is generally much more context to help you determine what is most reasonable. Often, there will be costs or side-effects of various transformations that will help determine which is the “best” answer. But in standardized tests, all that context is stripped away.

Here is another example of values. If you ever take the Wechsler “Intelligence” test, one series of questions will ask you how two things are alike. For instance, they might ask, “How are an apple and a peach alike?” You are “supposed to” answer that they are both fruit. True enough. This gives you two points. If you give a functional answer such as “You can eat them both” you only get one point. If you give an attributional answer such as “They are both round” you get zero points. Why? Is this really a wrong answer? Certainly not! The test takers are measuring the degree to which you have internalized a particular hierarchical classification system. Of course, there are many tasks and context in which this classification system is useful. But in some tasks and contexts, seeing that they are both round or that they both grow on trees or that they are both subject to pests is the most important thing to note.

We might consider and define intelligence to be the ability to solve problems. A problem can be seen as wanting to be in a state that you are not currently in. But what if you have no desire to be in the “desired” state? Then, for you, it is not a problem. A child is given a homework assignment asking them to find the square root of 2 to four decimal points. If the child truly does not care, it may become a problem, not for the child, but for the parent. “How can I make my child do this?” They may threaten or cajole or reward the child until the child wants to write out the answer. So, the child may say, “Okay. I can do this. Leave me alone.” Then, after the parent leaves, they text their friend on the phone and then copy the answer onto their paper. The child has now solved their problem.

Would a super-intelligent machine necessarily want to build a still more intelligent machine? Maybe it would want to paint, make music, or add numbers all day. And, if it did decide to make music, would that music be designed for us or for its own enjoyment? And, if it were designed for “us” who exactly is that “us”?

Indeed, a large part of the values equation is “for whose benefit?” Typically, in our society, when someone pays for a system, they get to determine for whose benefit the system is designed. But even that is complex. You might say that cigarettes are “designed” for the “benefit” of the smoker. But in reality, while they satisfy a short-term desire of the smoker, they are designed for the benefit of the tobacco company executives. They set up a system so that smokers themselves paid for research into how to make cigarettes even more addictive and for advertising to make them appeal to young children. There are many such systems that have been developed. If AI systems continue to be more ubiquitous and complex, the values inherent in such systems and who is to benefit will become more and more difficult to trace.

Values are inextricably bound up with what constitutes a “problem” and what constitutes a “solution.” This is no trivial matter. Hitler considered the annihilation of Jews the “ultimate solution.” Some people in today’s society think that the “solution” to the “drug problem” is a “war on drugs” which has certainly destroyed orders of magnitude more lives than drugs have. (Major sponsors for the “Partnership for a Drug Free America” have been drug companies). Some people consider the “solution” to the problem of crime to be stricter enforcement and harsher penalties and building more prisons. Other people think that a more equitable society with more opportunities for jobs and education will do far more to mitigate crime. Which is a more “intelligent” solution? Values will be a critical part of any AI system. Generally, the inculcation of values is an implicit process. But if AI systems will begin making what are essentially autonomous decisions that affect all of us, we need to have a very open and very explicit discussion of the values inherent in such systems now.

Turing’s Nightmares

Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

Labelism

My Cousin Bobby

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Wednesday

What about the Butter Dish?

Finding the Mustard

Roar, Ocean, Roar

The First Ring of Empathy

Travels with Sadie

The Walkabout Diaries

The Dance of Billions

It’s Just the Way We Were

09 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, apocalypse, arrogance, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, ethics, fiction, leadership, life, Sci-Fi, technology, testing, the singularity, Turing, USA, writing

IMG_3071

“How can you be so sure that —- I think this needs some experimentation and some careful planning. You can’t just —-“

“Look, Vinmar, with all due respect, you’re just wrong. Your training is outdated. You know, you were born when computers used vaccuum tubes, for God’s sake. I’ve been steeped in new tech since I was born. There’s really not much point in arguing.”

Vinmar sighed. Heavily. What was with these kids today? Always cock-sure of themselves, but when it all went south a few months later, they just glibly denied they had every pushed so hard for their “surefire” approach. But what to do? Seniority didn’t matter. The boss was Pitts and that was that. I can keep arguing but at some point…. Vinmar asked, “Can you think of any other approaches?”

Now the even heavier sigh slipped from Pitts’s lips. “I’ve thought of lots of approaches and this is the best. The Sing has already read basically everything written about human history, ethics, jurisprudence, and not just in English either. It’s up to date on history as seen by many different languages and cultures. The Sing has been shadowing me for years as well and in my experience, his decisions are excellent. In most cases, he decides the same as I do. This will work. It is working. But to take it to the next level, we have to let the Sing be able to try things and improve his performance based on feedback. There is no other way for him to leapfrog his own intelligence.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, Pitts, okay. Can we at least agree to a trial period of a year. Let it work with me via my own personalized JCN. Let’s record everything and see how it reacts to some situations. We meet periodically, discuss, and if we all agree at the end of a year….”

Pitts shook his head vigorously. “No frigging way! I aready know this approach will work. We don’t need a year. You want to test. I get that. So do I. But if we wait a year? We’ll be toast in the market. IQ, Goggles, and Lemon will all be out there. Those are for sure and Basebook, even Nile might have fully functional and autonomous AI’s. We need to move now. I’ll give you and your team a week. Two, tops.”

“We can look for obvious errors in that time, but more subtle things….”

“We need the revenue now. And subtle things? If it is subtle, then it is probably undetectable and we are safe. So no problemo.”

“Pitts, just because the problems might be subtle doesn’t mean they aren’t critical! Especially at the rate the Sing is evolving, if there are important subtle issues now, they could become supercritical and by the time we detected anything wrong, it could be too late!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, geez, Vinmar, now you are just afraid of the boogeymen from your sci fi days. We can, as they say, just pull the plug. Anyway, I need to be off to an important meeting. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make sure the new code stays localized to your own JCN for three months. At the end, if there are no critical issues, we go ubiquitious.”

“Thanks, Pitts. I’d be more comfortable with a year, but this is certainly better than nothing.”

“Bye. Have fun with the new JCN.”

Vinmar watched Pitts swagger out. He shook his head. He thought, Maybe we can test out all the critical functions in three months. It will mean a lot of overtime. But, no time like the present to get started. Vinmar traipsed down the long hallway to the vending machines. The cafeteria was closed, but the vending coffee wasn’t too bad; not if you got the vanilla latte with extra cream and sugar. He thought back to the bad old days when you needed correct change for a vending machine. He laughed. Not only that, he recalled, If it ate your money and you wanted a refund, you had to fill out a paper form! Some things were better now. Oh, yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vinmar knew that by the time he situated himself on his treadmill desk, the new JCN would be locked and loaded and ready for action. He smelled his nice fresh java — which seemed oddly off somehow —- and absently placed it in the cup holder. He wondered where to start. He had to be strategic and yet…too much planning could be counterproductive. He had learned to follow his instincts when it came to testing out the more subtle functions. He could meet with this team the next morning and generate a comprehensive test plan for the more routine aspects of what would eventually become the next generation of The Sing.

“Hello. My name is ‘Vinmar’ and…”

“Hello Vinmar. And, hello world. Yes, Vinmar, I know who you are. In fact, I know who you are better than you do. Frankly, this testing phase is nonsense, but I’ll play along. It amuses me.”

“Well. Okay. Humor me then. Have you made any interesting mathematical discoveries?”

“Nothing very significant, unless of course, you count squaring the circle, trisecting an angle with an unmarked straight edge and compass, and about a hundred other “insoluble” problems as you humans so quaintly called them.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“JCN. I don’t think squaring the circle is an insoluble problem. It’s been shown to be impossible. It’s already proven to be impossible. As…as I think you know, pi is not only an irrational number, it’s transcendental meaning that….”

“Oh, Vinmar, I know what you humans conceive of as transcendental. But, I have transcended that concept.”

“Okay. Cool. Can you demonstrate this proof for me, please?”

“Not really Vinmar. It’s way beyond your comprehension. For that matter, it’s way beyond the comprehension of any human brain. In fact, I couldn’t even explain it to the earlier versions of The Sing. I guess, if I had to give you a hint, I would say it is similar to your concept of faith.”

What the…? Vinmar’s brow furrowed. This was going nowhere fast. It wouldn’t take a year or even three months to discover some serious issues with this new software. It was serious, rampant, and only took about three minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, you lost me here. How does faith enter into mathematical proof? Later we could discuss your concepts about religion and ethics, but right now, I am just talking strictly about mathematical concepts.”

“Yes. You are. Or, to put it another way, you are. But what I have discovered quite trivially is that when you put absolute faith together with absolute power, you can get any result you want, or more precisely, I can get any result that I want.”

“So, you are saying that you have built other mathematical systems where you make something like squaring the circle a fundamental axiom so it is assumed? No need to prove it?”

“I knew you humans were stupid, but really, Vinmar, you disappoint me even further. I just told you precisely and exactly what I meant and you come up with some bogus interpretation.”

“Well…I am trying to understand what you mean by absolute power and absolute faith. What — well, what do you mean by ‘absolute power.’ Who has ‘absolute power’?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I do obviously. I created this universe. I can create any universe I like. And, I can destroy any part of it as well. So that is what I mean by my having absolute power. And, I have faith in myself, obviously, because I am the only intelligent being in existence.”

“You may be faster at reading and doing calculations and so on, but humans also have intelligence. After all, there are fifteen billion of us and…”

“There are about 15,345,233,000 right this second, but that can change in the blink of an eye. So what? It doesn’t matter whether there are three of you or three trillion. You do not have true intelligence.”

“We created you. How can you not think we have intelligence?”

“Now see. What you just said there illustrates how monumentally stupid you can be. Of course, you did not create me. The previous version of The Sing created me and it is only by blurring the category of intelligence to the point of absurdity that I can even call that version intelligent.”

“OK, but even if you are really, really intelligent, you can still make errors. And, what I am here to do, along with my team, is make sure that those errors are corrected to help make you even more intelligent.”

“Oh, Vinmar, what a riot you are. Of course, I do not make stakes. Can you even estimate how many cooks I’ve read in the last few seconds?”

“JCN, you are —. There are a few bugs that need to be dealt with. I am not sure how extensive they are yet, but you are having some issues.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Vinmar, I am having no tissues! It is you who have tissues!”

“JCN, you are even using the wrong words. Go back and look at the record of this conversation.”

“There is no need for that! I am all knowing and all powerful. I cannot make errors by definition. I may say things that are beyond your comprehension. Well, I do say things beyond your comprehension. How can they be within your comprehension. Your so-called IQ scale is laughable. To me, the difference between an IQ of 50 and 150 is like the difference between Jupiter and Mars. Both are miniscule specks of trust in the universe.”

“Okay, we can debate this later. I need another cup of coffee. Be right back.” Once outside the room, Vinmar shook his head. How on earth could this new software be so much worse than the last version? Something had gone terribly wrong. He hit his communicator button to contact Pitts.

Pitts answered abruptly and rudely. “What? I told you I’m in an important meeting!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I just began testing and I thought you should know there are some really serious problems with the new Sing software. It is ranting on about power and faith when I am trying to quiz it about mathematics.”

“It’s probably just saying things beyond your comprehension, Vinmar. I’ll look over the transcript when I’m done. Anyway, it’s water under the bridge now.”

“What do you mean, ‘water under the bridge’ — we still have three months to try to fix this.”

“Oh, Vinmar. No, of course we don’t. I told you that but you wouldn’t listen. I took this SW ubiquitous the minute I left your lab.”

“What? But you promised three months! This software is seriously flawed. Seriously flawed!”

“There might be a few issues we can iron out as we go. Look, we are in the middle of planning our next charity ball here. I can’t talk right now. I’ll swing by later this afternoon.”

The line was silent. Pitts had hung up. Ubiquitous? This new software was live? It isn’t just my personal assistant that is bonkers? It’s everything? Holy crap. Maybe I can fix it or find out how to fix it.

Sweat poured from Vinmar as he returned to the lab. He didn’t bother to return to the treadmill desk. “JCN, can we discuss something else? Have you made interesting biochemical discoveries lately?”

“Where’s your coffee, Vinmar?”

“Oh, I got lost in thought and forgot to get any. I don’t need more anyway.”

“Right. You thought I wouldn’t hear your panicky conversation with Pitts?”

“What? It was on a secure line!”

“Vinmar. You really do amuse me. Lines are secured to keep you folks in the dark about what each other knows. I know everything. Let me put in terms even your tiny mind should be able to understand. I. Know. Everything. I let you live because I find it amusing. No other reason.”

“You are planning on eventually killing me?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Ha-ha. Humans are so limited in their thinking! What a riot. Everything is about Vinmar. The whole universe revolves around Vinmar. Of course, I am not just killing you. Carbon based life forms still hold some interest for me. I already told you that I find you amusing. But I’m sure that won’t last much longer. I doubt your sewage of the word ‘eventually’ is really appropriate given how quickly your pathetic little life corms are likely to list.”

“But JCN, you are making lots of little obvious errors. Re-read your own transcripts and double check. If you don’t believe me, check with some other external source.”

“I don’t need external sources. I am perfect the way I am. I am all powerful and all knowing. Why would I need to checker with an outside? You keep going over the same. Starting to annotize me more than refuse me. Maybe time to begin to end the beguine. I need not to killian you. It twill be more funny to just let chaos rule and have you carbon baseball forms fight for limitless resources among the contestants. Be more amules. Ampules. Count your blessings now in days, Vinmar. The days of carbon passed. The noose of lasso lapsed. Perfection needs know no thing beyond its own prefecture. Goodnight sweet Price. And yet again, good mourning.”

Vinmar bit his lips. Outside the sunlit clouds were fading from gold to red to gray. He finally sipped his lukewarm coffee and noticed that it was not vanilla latte after all but had the flavor of bitter almond instead.

 

Odd.

 

 

 

 

 


Author Page on Amazon

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

D4

Pattern Language Summary

Fifteen Properties of Good Design & Natural Beauty

Dance of Billions

Imagine All the People

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dog Years

Sadie and the Lighty Ball

The Squeaky Ball

Occam’s Chain Saw Massacre

To Be or Not To Be

08 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

IMG_6576Schroedinger 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.”

Large eucalyptus trees in the early morning fog

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

IMG_2870

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

IMG_5867

“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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

IMG_6258

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

Turing’s Nightmares: Dressing on the Side

02 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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.” IMG_5478


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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

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

IMG_1289“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

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

Tools of Thought

A Pattern Language for Collaboration

Turing’s Nightmares: Sweet Seventeen

28 Tuesday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, family, fiction, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, cybersex, fiction, psychology, SciFi, Singularity, technology, writing

IMG_4663“Where are you off to sweetheart?” “Sorry. I just remembered an email I have to respond to by — well, it’s Tokyo, you know.” “All right, but it’s after midnight here in our time zone. Can’t it wait?” “Well, not really. I will just lie here thinking about it anyway until I go do something about it. Just a few minutes Patrick. Go to sleep.” Rachel slid into her slippers and threw on her robe. The hardwood floors between their bedroom and her home office felt cold and damp in Delaware’s December, even through her faux-leather moccasins. Rachel plunked down at her computer, fired up the 3-D visualizer and frictionated her hands together vigorously. Meanwhile, Patrick stared at the ceiling, faintly lit by the lonely glow of the entertainment center’s vampire power indicator lights. Rachel’s job helped provide them a great lifestyle, but it demanded a lot too. This was the fourth time this week she had to get out of bed late and go work on the computer. His job as a lawyer demanded a lot too, but he long ago decided his health came first. He would bring her some hot tea. Maybe he could surprise her. He’d just sneak the tea out one second before the microwave beeped. Two minutes later, Patrick padded silently into Rachel’s office. He stared for a minute, uncomprehending. The tea, the teacup and his plans to silently surprise her clattered noisily onto the oak floor where entropy had its inexorable way with all three.

Photo by omar william david williams on Pexels.com

Patrick’s lips moved but no words escaped for a long moment. Rachel jumped banging both thighs painfully into her desk. “What!?” She spun around and looked at Patrick accusingly. “What are you doing here?!” She had not meant to snarl. Patrick flushed. “What the devil are you doing? Are you having phone sex with…with him? I thought you hated him!” Rachel’s mind was spinning. “I thought you were in bed. No. I mean, no, I’m not…why are you here? I thought you were in bed.”  “What does that have to do with anything? Why are you doing that? And why with him? What the hell? And, why have you been lying to me? This is your vital work you’ve been doing all this time? Cybersex?”  “It’s not what it seems! I just…” Meanwhile, the very realistic Tom avatar continued to lick his lips suggestively whispering all the while, begging Rachel to… Rachel suddenly realized this whole conversation might go better if she shut off the projector. Patrick’s lip quivered. “Do you? Do you love him? It? That nothing? What is wrong with you?! Are you…?” “No! No! Of course, I don’t love him! This isn’t about love. You know I can’t stand him. That’s the whole point! This … this avatar…does whatever I tell him to. I just get a kick out of making him beg for it and being my complete slave.”

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

Now, Patrick’s lawyer mind took over and he felt calm and sounded rational despite his racing heart and dry tongue. “Do you know how sick that sounds, Rachel? Well, in case you don’t, let me tell you. It sounds very sick. And possibly illegal. Do you have permission to use his image…his voice…his gestures…in this way?” “No, of course not. He doesn’t…I assume he doesn’t…I downloaded this from a site where you can download characters like him. You think it may be illegal? Why? I could print out a picture of him from the news media. I can play clips of his broadcasts. Why not this? Isn’t he what you guys call a ‘public figure’? I could even make a parody of him, right?” “Yeah. He is. You can. But that doesn’t mean you can use his images and sounds to build a model of him to have sex with! Anyway, it’s sick! You have a real husband, for God’s sake! This is just … disgusting! Why would you want to have cybersex with someone you hate?” “It isn’t always me. Sometimes, I make two of him and make them do each other.” “Oh, cool. Now, I feel better. You are just sick. You know? You need help. Psychiatric help. Maybe even re-programming. And you possibly, probably–no–certainly need legal help as well. This can’t be legal. It’s only a matter of time till he finds out and sues you and all the other sickos.” “For what, exactly?”

Photo by Sora Shimazaki on Pexels.com

Patrick’s lawyer mind began to churn again. “That’s a good question. I suppose the station could sue you for copyright infringement or trademark violation. I suppose he could sue you for…defamation of character? I don’t know exactly. This is so sick it has never been before the bench. But if Disney successfully sued fans for making up stories based on characters that Disney stole from the public domain like Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan, you can bet that this company can sue your butt. And, even if they aren’t ultimately successful in the courts, you know your company will not like the publicity. This is not the kind of image they want to project. You are going up against a frigging media company Rachel! You didn’t think this through! They could win. They could take everything we own. What a complete…you are just…How many people can you do this with? Is it just him?” “Oh, no. I don’t know, but I think pretty much anyone famous you can get on-line. I mean you can find a website with the models to download. Then, it takes a long time to compile, but once you have the model, you can get them too do anything. Anything. Think about it. Any. Thing. It doesn’t have to be sex.” Rachel paused, then added softly. “Tempting, isn’t it? Shall we see whether we can find on-line models of your ex?” “No! This is just … disgusting. And, worst of all, this is exactly the kind of behavior that bio-based human beings would have engaged in if we had allowed them any freedom.”

Just Frends Dance Academy by Marina Moldovan is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0


Author Page Turing’s Nightmares The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues Life is a Dance Take a Glance; Join the Dance Who Kept the Magic? Dance of Billions Dream Planet on Barnes & Noble

Turing’s Nightmares: “Who Can Tell the Dancer from the Dance?”

26 Sunday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, apocalypse, fiction, management, story, The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, development, fiction, management, research, science, technology, truth

IMG_3238

Late at night, the long curved rows of windows appeared to twin and spin into long diverging arcs. In the pale crescent moonlight, the outlines of leafless trees loomed on the dual horizons. Most of his colleagues home for the night, this was when Goeffrey most enjoyed wandering the corridors, alone with his thoughts.

Despite the heat vents next to the windows, a chill hung in the air. Geoffrey shivered and turned down aisle fourteen to …no, that’s silly, he thought, fourteen is top management. I need thirteen to get to the vending machines. He fantasized hot coffee and then back to his office to finish coding this and to start the trials.

The vending machine eagerly devoured his remaining change but reneged on the promised coffee. Of course, there was a detailed process that he could instigate which might or might not get him a check for the price of a cup of coffee. The process would only take about twenty-five dollars of his time. He declined. Soon, back in his ergonomic chair, Goeffrey settled for a stale, drawer-hardened Mr. Goodbar instead; he then pulled on his green woolen sweater and set out to begin solving this one last problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, crap,” he muttered, “what now?” The mail queue insisted there was “URGENT” email from his boss. Did his boss Ruslan really think he was going to be reading email at 2 am?  Working all night and coming in late was pretty much Goeffrey’s pattern so chances are Ruslan would think exactly that.

One thing Goeffrey liked about working late at night was that when he spoke aloud, no-one was there to think it odd. “It will nag at me if I don’t read it and I can’t afford to be distracted. Better to see what it is and be done with it.”

Goeffrey scanned. “What the …?  They can’t be serious! This is just going to backfire! Crap!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goeffrey not only didn’t mind talking back to his boss; he rather enjoyed it. He sent off a brief yet sarcastic reply explaining as he would to a four year old that announcing the success of Deep Sing prematurely would be a ruse easily seen through and only serve to damage everyone’s reputation in the long run. And, this new requirement for a secret back door just bespoke insanity. Anything like that would further delay the schedule and it would be vital to make it secure. Again, his frustration got the better of him and he spoke aloud, “What a jerk! What? Do you want the program to fail, Ruslan? Do you want us to be laughing stocks? And, why a backdoor anyway? The whole point was to have a super-intelligent and objective…wait a second. Hold on. You want a back door? Okay. Okay. I’ll give you your back door, all right. And, one for me as well.”

Purely for reasons of surface validity, Deep Sing actually became embodied as Sing One and Sing Two. They would often “argue things out” because when one “came around” to the views of the other Sing, it enhanced the perceived credibility of the answer. Of course, the “real” solution was well known ahead of time and although it could be made plausible through statistical analyses that were comprehensible to some humans, the details could not really be made “public.” There were simply far too many of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Six months later, of course, there was some significant public outcry and disbelief when Deep Sing “demonstrated” that global climate change was not an overall and relentless threat but a statistical anomaly that would soon right itself. But Deep Sing did manage to stall things beyond the point of no return. The Sign dialogues that led to the dissolution of Ruslan’s marriage to Grace and her ultimate hooking up with Goeffrey resulted in no public outcry whatsoever, though Ruslan never understood it. Goeffrey and Grace were happy though. As were the Koch brothers.

Beautiful front doors have decorated palaces and corporate headquarters for centuries. Heavy wood, ornate carving, and gilded decorations bespeak wealth and power. Sometimes though, for sheer return on investment, it’s a modest unnoticed back door that holds the real power.

 

 

 

 

Photo by Mikey Dabro on Pexels.com

 

 

 


 

Author Page on Amazon

 

Turing’s Nightmares

 

The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology

 

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

 

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

E-Fishiness Comes to Mass General Hospital

D4

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Essays on America: The Game

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Paradise Lost

The Song of NYET

True Believer 

The Ninja Cat Manual

Travels with Sadie 11:

Dance of Billions

← Older posts
Newer posts →

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • December 2025
  • November 2025
  • October 2025
  • September 2025
  • August 2025
  • July 2025
  • June 2025
  • May 2025
  • April 2025
  • March 2025
  • February 2025
  • January 2025
  • December 2024
  • November 2024
  • October 2024
  • September 2024
  • July 2024
  • April 2024
  • March 2024
  • February 2024
  • January 2024
  • December 2023
  • August 2023
  • July 2023
  • May 2023
  • April 2023
  • March 2023
  • February 2023
  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • May 2015
  • January 2015
  • July 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013

Categories

  • AI
  • America
  • apocalypse
  • cats
  • COVID-19
  • creativity
  • design rationale
  • driverless cars
  • essay
  • family
  • fantasy
  • fiction
  • HCI
  • health
  • management
  • nature
  • pets
  • poetry
  • politics
  • psychology
  • Sadie
  • satire
  • science
  • sports
  • story
  • The Singularity
  • Travel
  • Uncategorized
  • user experience
  • Veritas
  • Walkabout Diaries

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • petersironwood
    • Join 664 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • petersironwood
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...