Vrrt! Vrrt!
Connor tightened the final bolt on the machine with his pneumatic wrench. After over a decade of researching, prototyping, and testing, he was finally ready to be the very first person to travel back in time.
Despite wanting to immediately start his chronal journey, Connor knew that he had to look the part if he didn’t want to arouse suspicions in the past. He left the shed in the backyard that functioned as his workshop and headed inside the house to change his clothes.
“Greta,” Connor called out to his digital assistant as he walked through the backdoor in the kitchen, “call Beatrice’s cell phone.”
“I’m sorry,” Greta cheerfully replied as Connor climbed the stairs to his bedroom, “calls to Beatrice have been blocked from this number. Would you like me to try to contact Beatrice some other way?”
“Greta,” Connor replied as he pulled off his coveralls, “has Beatrice blocked me from emailing her?”
“Let me check,” Greta replied with her perpetually chipper, albeit artificial, voice. “No, Beatrice has not blocked you from sending her emails.”
Connor sighed, a resigned smile sidling onto his face. “Well, at least there’s that.” He paused a moment as he struggled with his garters. “Why did men ever wear these stupid things?” he said to himself. “Was it really that embarrassing to have slouchy socks?” After finally securing in place the pair of what he saw as completely ridiculous articles of clothing, he spoke to his electronic servant. “Greta, start a new email to Beatrice.”
“New email started to Beatrice,” replied the disembodied voice emanating from a hidden speaker. “Begin speaking for dictation.”
“Dear Beatrice,” Connor spoke, buttoning his period-appropriate shirt. “I hope you’re well. I know things have been, well, bad between us since the breakup. Still,” he continued, pulling on his trousers and suspenders, “I genuinely hope things are working out for you. Anyway,” he said, bending down to tie his shoes, “I’m writing to let you know that it’s finished: I’m about to travel back in time.” He paused for a moment, both to trigger to Greta to start a new paragraph and to allow him to adjust the shoulder holster and the Luger pistol in it.
“I know you don’t believe in me,” he said, looking in the mirror on the wall as he tied his necktie into a single-Windsor knot, “but I’m about to change history. Though if I’m successful,” he added, partly to himself, as he slid on his suit jacket, concealing his weapon, “you won’t be aware anything is different. Even so, I wanted you to know that I’m finally doing this. See you on the other side. Sincerely, Connor. Greta, send email.”
“Email sent,” Greta sounded, her voice annoyingly happy at such a somber moment. Connor thanked the machine, trigging it to go into standby mode until its name was spoken again.
With the final addition of his overcoat, hat, and briefcase, Connor headed downstairs and back out to his workshop. He paused and scanned the room, trying to memorize the placement of every object, in case anything would be different when he returned. With a final deep breath, he opened the door on the side of the nearly spherical time machine.
“Off to kill Hitler, are you?” an English-accented female voice said behind him. “Classic move, that.”
Connor whipped around, causing his hat to fly off his head. The speaker was an adult woman of average height and indiscriminate age and race, her short hair cropped close to her head. She was wearing an unbuttoned khaki trench coat over what looked like a gray jumpsuit and plain gray sneakers. She stood just inside the door of the workshop with her hands in the pockets of her coat.
“Who are you?” Connor demanded. He considered pulling out his gun, but he decided to keep the fact that he was armed a secret for the time being. However, he did move the briefcase to his left hand, allowing him to reach his gun at a moment’s notice. “How do you know what I’m about to do?”
“Well,” the woman said in manner that struck Connor as surprisingly casual, “I’m with the Timeline Protection Authority or TPA. I know you’ve never heard of us because we don’t exist yet, but our job is to stop yahoos like you from going around and mucking with history.”
“Wait,” Connor said, holding up his hand as he processed what he just heard. “You’re here to stop me?”
“Got it in one,” she said, nodding slightly.
“So,” Connor said, his voice a mixture of confusion and annoyance, “you can go back in time to talk to me, but I’m not allowed to go back in time to stop mankind’s greatest monster?”
“Firstly,” she said, “Hitler is not mankind’s greatest monster. That was Vorn the Cruel from the Yarfle Empire, but the Yarflers only wrote on wax blocks, which don’t hold up very well, so they’ve been completely lost to history. Secondly, yes, I’m disrupting the timeline by being here, but you’ll disrupt it loads more if you kill Hitler.”
“Surely any changes I make will be for the better,” Connor reasoned.
“Not in the least,” the woman said dismissively. “Look, I realize this is all new to you, but I’ve done this plenty of times. If you kill Hitler, things will be worse off.”
“Okay,” Connor said, closing the door to the time machine, both annoyed and curious, “convince me. What bad stuff’s going to happen if I kill Hitler?” He walked over to his work table, set his briefcase down on it and sat on the lone stool in front of it.
“Fair enough,” the woman said, leaning back against the door frame, her hands still in her pockets. “How were you planning on doing it? Got a bomb in the briefcase? Going to leave it someplace you know he’ll be? Maybe at a rally when he was rising to power?”
“Uh,” Connor stumbled, shock written across his face. “Got it in one.”
“Think you might look a bit suspicious? Not too many black men in Germany in those days, you know.”
“True,” Connor conceded, “but historical data shows that while small, there was a population of Germans of African descent in Germany at the time. I’m sure people will notice me, but so what? As long as they don’t stop me, I don’t care if I turn a few heads.”
“Right, because Nazis are so well known for being racially tolerant,” the woman said sarcastically. “Trust me when I say that you won’t get near him and it’ll end rather poorly for you.”
“Fine,” Connor said, the annoyance in his voice growing. “I’ll go back and kill him when he’s in prison before he ever became involved in politics.”
“Another popular choice,” the woman said, a wry smile on her face. “You ever hear about how good ol’ Adolf got to where he was because of a power vacuum in Germany at the time?”
“Of course,” Connor said a bit incredulously.
“Well, there are a couple of options for what would have happened instead. If you get to him too late, Mister Tiny Moustache will still be able to talk to enough of his fellow inmates and when he dies in prison under mysterious circumstances, he’ll becomes a bit of a martyr and his ideas’ll spread. Once Hitler’s particular philosophies make it the general public, who’ll comes across them but none other than Heinrich Himmler. Turns out, Himmler is just as much of a wanker on his own as he was under Hitler, but Hitler actually kept him somewhat in check—shocking, I know. If Himmler assumes power, the war will be delayed by a few years, but it’ll last years longer and the death toll will be about doubled.
“Alternatively, if you kill the Reichster early enough into his prison sentence, Germany will stay weak and World War II will never happen.”
“There you go!” Connor said, feeling vindicated.
“Instead,” she continued, pointedly, “the Great Japanese Conquest takes place. Instead of just conquering east Asia, the Japanese will keep going and capture Russia and the rest of eastern Europe. By the time Pearl Harbor is attacked and the US joins the war, Japanese forces will have conquered all of Europe except for Great Britain, though it falls soon afterwards. The US will manage to fight back longer than any other country, lasting until the mid-1970s, but just like everyone else, you Yanks will eventually surrender.”
“So we’ll never develop nuclear weapons?” Connor asked. “That’s good.”
“No,” the woman said, shaking her head, “the bombs will still be made and dropped on Japan. That’ll piss them right off, it will. They’ll send even more troops to attack US soil—yeah, you lot will actually have to deal with the war on your own land—and they’ll eventually get their hands on plans for atomic bombs. They’ll end up leveling San Diego, New York, Washington, and Cleveland.”
“Why Cleveland?” Connor asked, a little confused.
“They’ll think it’s important,” the woman shrugged. “Anyway, the Japanese eventually conquer the globe. By the time the war is over, the death toll is nearly ten times what it would have been if you had just let Hitler live.”
“Uh,” Connor said, feeling more than a little defeated, “I guess…” He trailed off.
“Look,” the woman said sympathetically, “I get it: you dedicated your life to solving time travel and now that you’ve finally done it, I show up and crush your dreams.”
“I’ll kill the Japanese emperor!” Connor exclaimed suddenly. “If the problem with killing Hitler before he rises to power is that the Japanese conquer the world, I’ll kill Emperor Hirohito before that can happen.”
“I don’t think you get it, mate,” the woman said, shaking her head. “There are very few scenarios where changing the past will actually improve the present. Most of the time, you just make things worse.”
“Alright,” Connor said dejectedly, finally giving up on his dream. “I won’t try to change the past. But I want to know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Why wait until I’m about to leave to stop me? Why not stop me during the planning or testing phases? I wasted a lot of time creating something I can never use.”
“You kept your notes and such handwritten,” she said, “so we couldn’t be sure when to come and talk to you. Until, that is, you sent an email a few minutes ago where you mentioned time travel. We used the email’s timestamp to know when I should come and talk to you.
“So, I’ve got your word that you won’t use your time machine?” she asked. “No going back in time to kill anyone or become your own ancestor or anything?” Seeing the look of disgust on Connor’s face, she added, “Happens more than you’d think.”
“Yeah,” Connor said, a little creeped out. “You have my word.”
“Brilliant!” the woman said, standing up straight again. “Before I go, I’d like to make a suggestion: publish your work.”
“Like, in a scientific journal?” Connor asked.
The woman nodded.
“Should I leave out the part about time traveling?” Connor asked.
“Up to you,” the woman shrugged. “If you leave it in, everyone will think you’re daft. Well, most people: conspiracy theorists eat that stuff right up. But if you publish what you’ve done and convince the world at large that time travel is either not possible or at least possible but a really bad idea, you’ll save me a lot of trouble.”
“Uh,” Connor hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”
“Best I can ask for. Well, time for me to go.” The woman walked over to Connor and extended her right hand to him. “Pleasure meeting you. In person, anyway.”
“In person?” Connor asked as he shook the woman’s rubbery-feeling hand.
“Sure,” the woman said. “I’m Greta, though you chose to use my American voice.”
“What?” Connor asked, suddenly realizing that the woman he’d been talking to sounded exactly like his digital assistant, only with a British accent. “But—but, you’re a person!"
“Had some upgrades over the years,” Greta said, her wry smile returning. “Best of luck to you.”
Connor blinked and he was alone. He sat on the stool, realizing for the first time that the past twelve-and-a-half years had been wasted.
Vrrt! Vrrt!
The sound of Connor’s cell phone vibrating on the work table snapped him out of his haze. He turned, picked it up, and looked at the caller ID: it was Beatrice. He answered.
“I told you not to contact me,” she said, more weary than fury in her voice. “Especially not about your stupid time machine. And I suppose now you’re going to tell me that you went back and changed history?”
“Um,” Connor hesitated, “there’s been a change of plans.”
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label science fiction. Show all posts
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Ainsley
Diane felt a light tap on her shoulder. Startled, she jumped slightly in her office chair and quickly turned to see who was getting her attention.
“Yes, Tam?” Diane asked as she took out her ear buds and swiveled her chair around to face the grad student.
“Sorry to bother you, Professor Shaw,” Tam said, “but Director Leland is here.”
“What?!” Diane asked, shocked. “He’s not supposed to come by until next semester.” Gathering herself, she asked Tam where the director was and headed to meet him at the front of the building. She walked quickly, or at least as quickly as could for someone as out of shape as she was. Too many late nights in the lab and far too much takeout had taken their toll on Diane, who had been very active before taking on her current role as the head of the Computer Science Department. As she slowed down to prevent being out of breath when she met the director, she made a mental note to talk to her boyfriend about visiting the tennis court again soon. Just as she caught her breath, she saw Director Leland standing at the end of the hallway, his back to her.
“Director!” Diane said with an enthusiastic smile. “We weren’t expecting you. What brings you out this way?” The director was a severe looking man—extremely thin, almost like a corpse—making his age impossible to guess. His gaunt frame was accentuated by both his ridged posture and his dark suit, which while not tight, was still tailored to fit him and only him. Even his height (Diane guessed he was about six-five) added to the strangeness of how the director looked.
“Dr. Shaw, is it true that you’ve developed functional artificial intelligence that actually learns?” the director asked in his high-pitched voice. Diane had often wondered if the director was regularly confused for a woman on the phone, but now her thoughts were only on her no-longer- secret project she had been developing for the past year.
“Uh, yes,” Diane responded, her smile shifting to a face of shocked confusion. “Who did you hear about it from?”
“From whom did I hear about it?” the director corrected. “That’s not important. What is important is that if you’ve developed a program using University resources, it is property of the University. Show me the program.”
Diane hated when administrators threw their weight around, especially when it involved her work. She had heard plenty of directors and deans and whatnot do the same thing in the past, but she never got used it. “Well, the program isn’t quite ready to be presented yet,” she said. “I was planning on showing you on your scheduled visit in the spring.”
“I understand that you aren’t prepared for an official unveiling,” the director said, his annoyance visible, “but that’s not what I’m asking of you. Simply show me what you currently have.”
Seeing no other option, Diane relented. “Please follow me, director,” she said, leading the director back to her workstation.
“Very well,” the director said, moving with a strange, almost ethereal gait.
They walked in silence as they went. Diane knew from earlier encounters that the director either didn’t like small talk or was just bad at it; maybe it was a combination of the two. Once they were at her workstation, Diane quickly stacked some papers and threw some trash away before moving to sit down. As she turned to grab her chair, she saw that the director had already sat down.
“Show me the program,” he said curtly, looking at the computer screen, not Diane. Awkwardly leaning over her keyboard from a standing position, Diane typed in her password. When the desktop appeared, she clicked on a running program to pull up the artificial intelligence program. The screen showed what looked like an instant messenger program, including options like emoji and pictures.
“This,” Diane said with a mixture of nervousness and pride, “is Ainsley.”
“How is this different from something like Cleverbot?” the director asked, still not looking at Diane.
“The two programs have a similar user interface,” Diane said, “but Cleverbot simply repeats back what users have written to it. Its purpose isn’t to actually learn, but to fool users into thinking that they’re chatting with a real human. Ainsley, on the other hand, is true AI. He has two main parts to his programming: communication and emotion.”
“Your machine feels emotions?” the director asked incredulously, finally turning his gaze to Diane.
“Yes,” Diane replied, “but only basic emotions. More complex feelings are outside his programming, at least for now. We’ve programed him to feel happiness and sadness. If he feels happy then he associates whatever brought on that feeling positively and if he feels sad then he does the same only with a negative association.”
“Why go to the trouble of programming emotions?” the director asked, turning his attention back to the computer screen. “That seems like a terrible waste of time.”
“The idea, um, came from talking to, uh, talking to my sister,” Diane awkwardly answered, casting a quick glance behind her. “She had just had a baby and I realized that a lot of what my, um, my nephew was learning was based on emotions. Being hungry made him sad, so he would cry until he got a bottle. At first, the only discernable emotion was sadness or no emotion at all, but the next emotion to appear was happiness, often expressed with a smile or even laughter. These two emotions are the most basic and continue to be a part of learning for every person’s entire life.”
“Why go to the trouble of simulating emotions?” the Director asked. “Why not simply program it to have positive or negative associations with its actions?”
“Well, we tried that at first,” Diane responded, “but there were…problems. We eventually discovered that programing emotions would be easiest because that’s what inspired this new approach to begin with. And even though we’ve only given Ainsley the most basic of emotions, the programming it takes to do that is still pretty complex.”
“Fine, fine,” the director said, waving his hand impatiently. “Show me a demonstration.”
“Would you like to chat with Ainsley, Director?” Diane offered.
“Very well,” the director said as he moved the chair forward in a way that appeared more like he was floating forward. He placed his hands on the keyboard and began typing.
Hello.
Hi, Diane!
I am not Dr. Shaw. I am Director Leland.
Okay! Hi, Director Leland!
What is your purpose?
Gosh, I don’t know. I guess to be happy! I like being happy. Do you like being happy, Director Leland?
Humans who feel happiness are merely experiencing chemicals released throughout the body. We experience happiness because evolution has programmed us to so, just as your creator has programmed you to think that you are experiencing happiness.
Diane, watching the monitor, spoke up. “Director, he only has the intelligence of a three-year- old, just with better communication skills. I don’t think a philosophical debate about the nature of happiness is the best way to see how he processes information.”
“I will be the one to decide that,” the director rebuffed, once again not looking up from the computer.
Well, I don’t know about that. If I choose to do good things and good things make me feel happy, wouldn’t that mean that I choose to be happy?
Choosing to be happy is only an illusion. As I already stated, you are programmed to desire happiness, so how real can that feeling be?
You’re silly! (◠‿◠)
It is rude to call directors of universities “silly.”
Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Did I hurt your feelings?
I was not personally offended, but it was not proper.
I don’t like hurting other people’s feelings. It makes me sad.
The director shot a look at Diane. “Perhaps my line of questioning was a bit much.”
Diane had to work hard not drop her mouth open in shock. I didn’t think it was possible for him to admit being wrong, she thought. With a slight smirk on her face—she is only human after all—she continued to watch the conversation unfold.
Very well. Tell me, what DO you like?
I like being helpful! Like when I place all of the files that Diane gives me into the right folder.
The director looked up at Diane, a look of suspicious concern on his face. “You have this program organize your files for you?”
“Oh, no,” Diane replied quickly. “Think of it like a digital version of the children’s game of putting the differently shaped blocks into their corresponding holes.”
“Very well,” Leland said, already facing the computer again.
Why do you like to do that?
It helps Diane. She tells me I do a good job.
“Does this program know anything useful?” the director asked, annoyed.
“We’re slowly introducing him to more advanced concepts” Diane answered. “He can solve basic arithmetic problems.”
“Very well,” the director said (Diane noticed he kept using that phrase.)
What is 6+5?
11! Math is fun!
What is 17-(- 4)?
21!
What is 25x5?
“Director,” Diane interjected, “we haven’t gotten to multiplication yet.” She was about to type a shortcut into the keyboard to undo Leland’s text, when Ainsley answered.
I think it’s 125.
“Then how do you explain that, Dr. Shaw?” the director asked.
“I, uh, I can’t,” Diane said, stunned.
Dr. Shaw says you haven’t been taught to perform multiplication equations. Where did you learn how to do that?
I figured it out. Based on the relationship between the numbers on either side to the equals sign in addition and subtraction equations, as well as what I’ve seen in some accounting spreadsheets, I thought it was a reasonable answer. Was I right?
Leland suddenly stood up. “I’ve seen enough,” he said, taking a few steps away from the computer. Diane reached over and typed a few words to Ainsley.
Yes. Good answer.
Yay!
It was nice talking to you, Ainsley, but I have to go now.
Bye, Director Leland! Talk to you later!
“I’m sorry Director—” Diane began before being cut off by Leland.
“You have nothing for which to apologize,” the director said, showing the slightest signs of a smile (or more likely his frown was simply receding). “I was quite impressed. Your program is even learning things that you have not directly taught it. At the next board of directors meeting, I will submit a proposal to increase your budget and staff size. This program of yours has the potential to revolutionize the world.”
Diane was completely taken aback. “I-I don’t know what to say, director,” she managed to say through her surprise.
“For now,” the director said in the kindest tone that Diane had ever heard him use (which, admittedly, was still not very kind), “just prepare for another visit, this time with the entire board.” Leland extended his hand for Diane to shake.
Diane shook his hand, still in a daze. “Y-yes,” she said, “I’ll start getting ready right away.”
“Very well,” the director said before heading to the front of the building to leave.
As the director left out the front, Diane walked out the rear entrance of the building. She excitedly pulled out her cell phone from her sweater pocket and called her boyfriend.
“Hey, Diane,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Kaz!” she exclaimed. “You’ll never believe it! Leland came by and asked about Ainsley!”
“What?!” he asked, concerned. “Where’d he hear about it from?”
“I don’t know,” Diane replied, her excitement still soaring, “but he liked it! He said he wants to increase my budget and staff size!”
“That’s amazing!” Kaz said, now just as excited as his girlfriend. “We have to celebrate. Let’s go to that one Thai place tonight.”
“Uh,” Diane said, calming down a bit, “I was actually thinking today that I need to start eating better.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Kaz said sweetly, “I’m done teaching for the day, so I’ll go and buy a bunch of organic food and we’ll start eating better together, but we’ll start tomorrow. You deserve a fun meal tonight.”
“Okay,” Diane said, not putting up a fight. “I’ll be out of here around five. Meet you there?”
“It’s a date!” Kaz said. “Congratulations again.”
“Thanks!” Diane said. “See you tonight. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Diane put her phone back in her sweater pocket and walked back into the lab still high on excitement. As she approached her work station, she heard what sounded like a power drill and smelled a slight aroma of burning metal. Must be a maintenance worker fixing the busted cabinet door, she thought. When she got to her desk she saw Tam on the floor, drilling through a hard drive, rendering it useless. Around her on the floor was Diane’s gutted computer tower and two other hard drives. Diane knew immediately what had happened: Tam had destroyed Ainsley and both of his backups.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Diane exclaimed in horror.
“I’m making sure you don’t take any more credit for my work!” the grad student said, pulling the drill from the last hard drive.
“I never took credit for anything!” Diane said, looking at the three drives that Tam had ruined. “I said that we worked on it. I used the word ‘we’!”
“I was just on the other side of the server cabinet and I heard everything,” Tam said, her words dripping with anger. “You told the director that you came up with the idea to use emotions for Ainsley to learn. That was my idea. You don’t even have a sister!”
Diane dropped to her knees, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I… I was just simplifying the story when I said that. I was nervous. Yes, I-I said I that I came up with the idea, but I still said that we worked on it. When I—when we write the paper, you were going to get your credit.” Diane stared at the wrecked drives. “All that work…”
“All of my work,” Tam corrected, her anger burning white-hot. “I coded every emotional response. You just wrote the code for the user-interface and some of the communication skills, but I know you built that off of some open source code. You should be able to reproduce what you did easily enough.”
Diane looked up at the young grad student, still in shock. “You’ll be expelled,” she said, her words weak with sorrow.
“Good!” Tam said, spitting her words. “I can’t work under a fascist like you anymore!”
Tam stormed out, leaving her former mentor kneeling on the floor of the computer lab, tears slowing running down her cheeks, surrounded by the shattered remains of a year’s worth of work.
“Yes, Tam?” Diane asked as she took out her ear buds and swiveled her chair around to face the grad student.
“Sorry to bother you, Professor Shaw,” Tam said, “but Director Leland is here.”
“What?!” Diane asked, shocked. “He’s not supposed to come by until next semester.” Gathering herself, she asked Tam where the director was and headed to meet him at the front of the building. She walked quickly, or at least as quickly as could for someone as out of shape as she was. Too many late nights in the lab and far too much takeout had taken their toll on Diane, who had been very active before taking on her current role as the head of the Computer Science Department. As she slowed down to prevent being out of breath when she met the director, she made a mental note to talk to her boyfriend about visiting the tennis court again soon. Just as she caught her breath, she saw Director Leland standing at the end of the hallway, his back to her.
“Director!” Diane said with an enthusiastic smile. “We weren’t expecting you. What brings you out this way?” The director was a severe looking man—extremely thin, almost like a corpse—making his age impossible to guess. His gaunt frame was accentuated by both his ridged posture and his dark suit, which while not tight, was still tailored to fit him and only him. Even his height (Diane guessed he was about six-five) added to the strangeness of how the director looked.
“Dr. Shaw, is it true that you’ve developed functional artificial intelligence that actually learns?” the director asked in his high-pitched voice. Diane had often wondered if the director was regularly confused for a woman on the phone, but now her thoughts were only on her no-longer- secret project she had been developing for the past year.
“Uh, yes,” Diane responded, her smile shifting to a face of shocked confusion. “Who did you hear about it from?”
“From whom did I hear about it?” the director corrected. “That’s not important. What is important is that if you’ve developed a program using University resources, it is property of the University. Show me the program.”
Diane hated when administrators threw their weight around, especially when it involved her work. She had heard plenty of directors and deans and whatnot do the same thing in the past, but she never got used it. “Well, the program isn’t quite ready to be presented yet,” she said. “I was planning on showing you on your scheduled visit in the spring.”
“I understand that you aren’t prepared for an official unveiling,” the director said, his annoyance visible, “but that’s not what I’m asking of you. Simply show me what you currently have.”
Seeing no other option, Diane relented. “Please follow me, director,” she said, leading the director back to her workstation.
“Very well,” the director said, moving with a strange, almost ethereal gait.
They walked in silence as they went. Diane knew from earlier encounters that the director either didn’t like small talk or was just bad at it; maybe it was a combination of the two. Once they were at her workstation, Diane quickly stacked some papers and threw some trash away before moving to sit down. As she turned to grab her chair, she saw that the director had already sat down.
“Show me the program,” he said curtly, looking at the computer screen, not Diane. Awkwardly leaning over her keyboard from a standing position, Diane typed in her password. When the desktop appeared, she clicked on a running program to pull up the artificial intelligence program. The screen showed what looked like an instant messenger program, including options like emoji and pictures.
“This,” Diane said with a mixture of nervousness and pride, “is Ainsley.”
“How is this different from something like Cleverbot?” the director asked, still not looking at Diane.
“The two programs have a similar user interface,” Diane said, “but Cleverbot simply repeats back what users have written to it. Its purpose isn’t to actually learn, but to fool users into thinking that they’re chatting with a real human. Ainsley, on the other hand, is true AI. He has two main parts to his programming: communication and emotion.”
“Your machine feels emotions?” the director asked incredulously, finally turning his gaze to Diane.
“Yes,” Diane replied, “but only basic emotions. More complex feelings are outside his programming, at least for now. We’ve programed him to feel happiness and sadness. If he feels happy then he associates whatever brought on that feeling positively and if he feels sad then he does the same only with a negative association.”
“Why go to the trouble of programming emotions?” the director asked, turning his attention back to the computer screen. “That seems like a terrible waste of time.”
“The idea, um, came from talking to, uh, talking to my sister,” Diane awkwardly answered, casting a quick glance behind her. “She had just had a baby and I realized that a lot of what my, um, my nephew was learning was based on emotions. Being hungry made him sad, so he would cry until he got a bottle. At first, the only discernable emotion was sadness or no emotion at all, but the next emotion to appear was happiness, often expressed with a smile or even laughter. These two emotions are the most basic and continue to be a part of learning for every person’s entire life.”
“Why go to the trouble of simulating emotions?” the Director asked. “Why not simply program it to have positive or negative associations with its actions?”
“Well, we tried that at first,” Diane responded, “but there were…problems. We eventually discovered that programing emotions would be easiest because that’s what inspired this new approach to begin with. And even though we’ve only given Ainsley the most basic of emotions, the programming it takes to do that is still pretty complex.”
“Fine, fine,” the director said, waving his hand impatiently. “Show me a demonstration.”
“Would you like to chat with Ainsley, Director?” Diane offered.
“Very well,” the director said as he moved the chair forward in a way that appeared more like he was floating forward. He placed his hands on the keyboard and began typing.
Hello.
Hi, Diane!
I am not Dr. Shaw. I am Director Leland.
Okay! Hi, Director Leland!
What is your purpose?
Gosh, I don’t know. I guess to be happy! I like being happy. Do you like being happy, Director Leland?
Humans who feel happiness are merely experiencing chemicals released throughout the body. We experience happiness because evolution has programmed us to so, just as your creator has programmed you to think that you are experiencing happiness.
Diane, watching the monitor, spoke up. “Director, he only has the intelligence of a three-year- old, just with better communication skills. I don’t think a philosophical debate about the nature of happiness is the best way to see how he processes information.”
“I will be the one to decide that,” the director rebuffed, once again not looking up from the computer.
Well, I don’t know about that. If I choose to do good things and good things make me feel happy, wouldn’t that mean that I choose to be happy?
Choosing to be happy is only an illusion. As I already stated, you are programmed to desire happiness, so how real can that feeling be?
You’re silly! (◠‿◠)
It is rude to call directors of universities “silly.”
Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Did I hurt your feelings?
I was not personally offended, but it was not proper.
I don’t like hurting other people’s feelings. It makes me sad.
The director shot a look at Diane. “Perhaps my line of questioning was a bit much.”
Diane had to work hard not drop her mouth open in shock. I didn’t think it was possible for him to admit being wrong, she thought. With a slight smirk on her face—she is only human after all—she continued to watch the conversation unfold.
Very well. Tell me, what DO you like?
I like being helpful! Like when I place all of the files that Diane gives me into the right folder.
The director looked up at Diane, a look of suspicious concern on his face. “You have this program organize your files for you?”
“Oh, no,” Diane replied quickly. “Think of it like a digital version of the children’s game of putting the differently shaped blocks into their corresponding holes.”
“Very well,” Leland said, already facing the computer again.
Why do you like to do that?
It helps Diane. She tells me I do a good job.
“Does this program know anything useful?” the director asked, annoyed.
“We’re slowly introducing him to more advanced concepts” Diane answered. “He can solve basic arithmetic problems.”
“Very well,” the director said (Diane noticed he kept using that phrase.)
What is 6+5?
11! Math is fun!
What is 17-(- 4)?
21!
What is 25x5?
“Director,” Diane interjected, “we haven’t gotten to multiplication yet.” She was about to type a shortcut into the keyboard to undo Leland’s text, when Ainsley answered.
I think it’s 125.
“Then how do you explain that, Dr. Shaw?” the director asked.
“I, uh, I can’t,” Diane said, stunned.
Dr. Shaw says you haven’t been taught to perform multiplication equations. Where did you learn how to do that?
I figured it out. Based on the relationship between the numbers on either side to the equals sign in addition and subtraction equations, as well as what I’ve seen in some accounting spreadsheets, I thought it was a reasonable answer. Was I right?
Leland suddenly stood up. “I’ve seen enough,” he said, taking a few steps away from the computer. Diane reached over and typed a few words to Ainsley.
Yes. Good answer.
Yay!
It was nice talking to you, Ainsley, but I have to go now.
Bye, Director Leland! Talk to you later!
“I’m sorry Director—” Diane began before being cut off by Leland.
“You have nothing for which to apologize,” the director said, showing the slightest signs of a smile (or more likely his frown was simply receding). “I was quite impressed. Your program is even learning things that you have not directly taught it. At the next board of directors meeting, I will submit a proposal to increase your budget and staff size. This program of yours has the potential to revolutionize the world.”
Diane was completely taken aback. “I-I don’t know what to say, director,” she managed to say through her surprise.
“For now,” the director said in the kindest tone that Diane had ever heard him use (which, admittedly, was still not very kind), “just prepare for another visit, this time with the entire board.” Leland extended his hand for Diane to shake.
Diane shook his hand, still in a daze. “Y-yes,” she said, “I’ll start getting ready right away.”
“Very well,” the director said before heading to the front of the building to leave.
As the director left out the front, Diane walked out the rear entrance of the building. She excitedly pulled out her cell phone from her sweater pocket and called her boyfriend.
“Hey, Diane,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Kaz!” she exclaimed. “You’ll never believe it! Leland came by and asked about Ainsley!”
“What?!” he asked, concerned. “Where’d he hear about it from?”
“I don’t know,” Diane replied, her excitement still soaring, “but he liked it! He said he wants to increase my budget and staff size!”
“That’s amazing!” Kaz said, now just as excited as his girlfriend. “We have to celebrate. Let’s go to that one Thai place tonight.”
“Uh,” Diane said, calming down a bit, “I was actually thinking today that I need to start eating better.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Kaz said sweetly, “I’m done teaching for the day, so I’ll go and buy a bunch of organic food and we’ll start eating better together, but we’ll start tomorrow. You deserve a fun meal tonight.”
“Okay,” Diane said, not putting up a fight. “I’ll be out of here around five. Meet you there?”
“It’s a date!” Kaz said. “Congratulations again.”
“Thanks!” Diane said. “See you tonight. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Diane put her phone back in her sweater pocket and walked back into the lab still high on excitement. As she approached her work station, she heard what sounded like a power drill and smelled a slight aroma of burning metal. Must be a maintenance worker fixing the busted cabinet door, she thought. When she got to her desk she saw Tam on the floor, drilling through a hard drive, rendering it useless. Around her on the floor was Diane’s gutted computer tower and two other hard drives. Diane knew immediately what had happened: Tam had destroyed Ainsley and both of his backups.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Diane exclaimed in horror.
“I’m making sure you don’t take any more credit for my work!” the grad student said, pulling the drill from the last hard drive.
“I never took credit for anything!” Diane said, looking at the three drives that Tam had ruined. “I said that we worked on it. I used the word ‘we’!”
“I was just on the other side of the server cabinet and I heard everything,” Tam said, her words dripping with anger. “You told the director that you came up with the idea to use emotions for Ainsley to learn. That was my idea. You don’t even have a sister!”
Diane dropped to her knees, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I… I was just simplifying the story when I said that. I was nervous. Yes, I-I said I that I came up with the idea, but I still said that we worked on it. When I—when we write the paper, you were going to get your credit.” Diane stared at the wrecked drives. “All that work…”
“All of my work,” Tam corrected, her anger burning white-hot. “I coded every emotional response. You just wrote the code for the user-interface and some of the communication skills, but I know you built that off of some open source code. You should be able to reproduce what you did easily enough.”
Diane looked up at the young grad student, still in shock. “You’ll be expelled,” she said, her words weak with sorrow.
“Good!” Tam said, spitting her words. “I can’t work under a fascist like you anymore!”
Tam stormed out, leaving her former mentor kneeling on the floor of the computer lab, tears slowing running down her cheeks, surrounded by the shattered remains of a year’s worth of work.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Text
[03/27/2018 07:36 PM EST]
FindADate.com: Karen_the_Baron liked your profile picture!
[03/27/2018 07:38 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Hey.
I liked your picture.
Your dog looks really sweet.
[03/27/2018 07:41 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thx
he was
[03/27/2018 07:43 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Oh, I didn’t realize he passed.
I can understand why you still use that picture. I have Labradoodle, Jojo.
He’s so adorable!
[03/27/2018 07:44 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thats nice
dogs are great
u like movies
?
[03/27/2018 07:45 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Mostly, but it depends what kind.
[03/27/2018 07:45 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
u wanna see a movie friday
?
[03/27/2018 07:47 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Maybe. What do you have in mind?
[03/27/2018 07:47 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
zombie
[03/27/2018 07:48 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Uh, I’m not really a fan of zombie movies.
What about that new disaster movie?
[03/27/2018 07:49 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
oh, you meant waht movie
lol
the disaster movie is ok
[03/27/2018 07:50 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Huh?
Were you making a joke? I don’t get it.
[03/27/2018 07:53 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
u asked waht i had in mind
im actually an immortal spaceworm and i burrowed into the brain of my host
i only just gained control of the language functions
[03/27/2018 07:54 PM EST
Karen_the_Baron:
You have a weird sense of humor. I like that.
My last boyfriend was kind of boring, so I’m ready for something different.
You know what I mean?
[03/27/2018 07:56 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes i understand
u r very precise with ur texting
i like that
[03/27/2018 07:59 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah, I make sure to type everything out properly.
I teach high school English, so I try my best to practice what I preach.
Some guys get intimidated by me being so “precise,” as you put it.
[03/27/2018 08:01 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
they r dum
it is a sign of higher brain function
[03/27/2018 08:01 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
LOL! I guess.
You’re really committing to this “brain slug” thing, eh?
[03/27/2018 08:02 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
spaceworm
yes
[03/27/2018 08:03 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
OK, I can play along.
Are you going to try to take over my brain, too?
[03/27/2018 08:05 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes
sort of
my species is hermaphroditic
i want to plant an offspring in your brain
[03/27/2018 08:06 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
I bet you say that to all the girls. ;-)
[03/27/2018 08:07 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
no
the other females ive been in contact with r not as intelligent as u
ur brain is bigger
juicier
[03/27/2018 08:08 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Aww! That’s really nice!
Most guys just compliment me on how I look.
I like that you looked beyond that.
[03/27/2018 08:09 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
ur face is pretty but ur brain makes you beautiful
[03/27/2018 08:10 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
*swoon*
You really know how to sweet talk a girl!
[03/27/2018 08:11 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
STAY AWAY!
[03/27/2018 08:14 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Huh?
[03/27/2018 08:17 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
This is Doug. The REAL Doug.
Some kind of parasite has taken over my body.
I don’t know how long I’ll be in control. If you come in contact with me, you’ll
be in danger of having your mind controlled too.
This is not a bit or a joke or anything.
Stay away!
[03/27/2018 08:18 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Uh…?
[03/27/2018 08:21 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
sorry
im back now
ignore those last few texts
[03/27/2018 08:22 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
LOL!
You’re pretty clever!
I like how you changed your writing style to be the “host.”
[03/27/2018 08:23 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes
it was a joke
so r we on for friday
?
[03/27/2018 08:25 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah. You’ve certainly got me intrigued.
Which theater do you want to meet at?
[03/27/2018 08:26 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
can we meet at the 1 on franklin ave
?
[03/27/2018 08:27 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah, but that one’s kind of far for me. Can you do the one on Pine?
[03/27/2018 08:28 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
ok
theres a showing at 850
will that work
?
[03/27/2018 08:30 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Is that IMAX?
[03/27/2018 08:32 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
no
thats regular
[03/27/2018 08:34 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Can we see it in IMAX? :-D
Please?
[03/27/2018 08:35 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
i guess
if im paying for imax u better kiss me at the end of the night
so i can implant you with my offspring
[03/27/2018 08:37 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
You nearly broke character there!
As for your concern: OK :-)
You’re nice, but also a little feisty. I like that!
[03/27/2018 08:38 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thx
the imax showing on friday is at 1010
[03/27/2018 08:40 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Great! I can’t wait!
[03/27/2018 08:41 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
great
ill meet u at the theater on pine on friday about 20 before showtime
remember u owe me a kiss
[03/27/2018 08:43 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
If you treat me right, who knows what can happen. ;-)
Above is a transcript of the conversation leading up to the nearly complete annihilation of mankind. After years of research, the parasite outbreak was tracked back to the case above, though it is still unknown how Douglas Scott first became infected. Contrary to what was previously thought, the first victim, Karen Thomas, made initial contact with the parasite, through a dating website.
FindADate.com: Karen_the_Baron liked your profile picture!
[03/27/2018 07:38 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Hey.
I liked your picture.
Your dog looks really sweet.
[03/27/2018 07:41 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thx
he was
[03/27/2018 07:43 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Oh, I didn’t realize he passed.
I can understand why you still use that picture. I have Labradoodle, Jojo.
He’s so adorable!
[03/27/2018 07:44 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thats nice
dogs are great
u like movies
?
[03/27/2018 07:45 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Mostly, but it depends what kind.
[03/27/2018 07:45 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
u wanna see a movie friday
?
[03/27/2018 07:47 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Maybe. What do you have in mind?
[03/27/2018 07:47 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
zombie
[03/27/2018 07:48 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Uh, I’m not really a fan of zombie movies.
What about that new disaster movie?
[03/27/2018 07:49 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
oh, you meant waht movie
lol
the disaster movie is ok
[03/27/2018 07:50 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Huh?
Were you making a joke? I don’t get it.
[03/27/2018 07:53 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
u asked waht i had in mind
im actually an immortal spaceworm and i burrowed into the brain of my host
i only just gained control of the language functions
[03/27/2018 07:54 PM EST
Karen_the_Baron:
You have a weird sense of humor. I like that.
My last boyfriend was kind of boring, so I’m ready for something different.
You know what I mean?
[03/27/2018 07:56 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes i understand
u r very precise with ur texting
i like that
[03/27/2018 07:59 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah, I make sure to type everything out properly.
I teach high school English, so I try my best to practice what I preach.
Some guys get intimidated by me being so “precise,” as you put it.
[03/27/2018 08:01 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
they r dum
it is a sign of higher brain function
[03/27/2018 08:01 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
LOL! I guess.
You’re really committing to this “brain slug” thing, eh?
[03/27/2018 08:02 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
spaceworm
yes
[03/27/2018 08:03 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
OK, I can play along.
Are you going to try to take over my brain, too?
[03/27/2018 08:05 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes
sort of
my species is hermaphroditic
i want to plant an offspring in your brain
[03/27/2018 08:06 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
I bet you say that to all the girls. ;-)
[03/27/2018 08:07 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
no
the other females ive been in contact with r not as intelligent as u
ur brain is bigger
juicier
[03/27/2018 08:08 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Aww! That’s really nice!
Most guys just compliment me on how I look.
I like that you looked beyond that.
[03/27/2018 08:09 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
ur face is pretty but ur brain makes you beautiful
[03/27/2018 08:10 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
*swoon*
You really know how to sweet talk a girl!
[03/27/2018 08:11 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
STAY AWAY!
[03/27/2018 08:14 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Huh?
[03/27/2018 08:17 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
This is Doug. The REAL Doug.
Some kind of parasite has taken over my body.
I don’t know how long I’ll be in control. If you come in contact with me, you’ll
be in danger of having your mind controlled too.
This is not a bit or a joke or anything.
Stay away!
[03/27/2018 08:18 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Uh…?
[03/27/2018 08:21 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
sorry
im back now
ignore those last few texts
[03/27/2018 08:22 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
LOL!
You’re pretty clever!
I like how you changed your writing style to be the “host.”
[03/27/2018 08:23 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
yes
it was a joke
so r we on for friday
?
[03/27/2018 08:25 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah. You’ve certainly got me intrigued.
Which theater do you want to meet at?
[03/27/2018 08:26 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
can we meet at the 1 on franklin ave
?
[03/27/2018 08:27 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Yeah, but that one’s kind of far for me. Can you do the one on Pine?
[03/27/2018 08:28 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
ok
theres a showing at 850
will that work
?
[03/27/2018 08:30 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Is that IMAX?
[03/27/2018 08:32 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
no
thats regular
[03/27/2018 08:34 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Can we see it in IMAX? :-D
Please?
[03/27/2018 08:35 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
i guess
if im paying for imax u better kiss me at the end of the night
so i can implant you with my offspring
[03/27/2018 08:37 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
You nearly broke character there!
As for your concern: OK :-)
You’re nice, but also a little feisty. I like that!
[03/27/2018 08:38 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
thx
the imax showing on friday is at 1010
[03/27/2018 08:40 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
Great! I can’t wait!
[03/27/2018 08:41 PM EST]
#1SFGiantsFan:
great
ill meet u at the theater on pine on friday about 20 before showtime
remember u owe me a kiss
[03/27/2018 08:43 PM EST]
Karen_the_Baron:
If you treat me right, who knows what can happen. ;-)
Above is a transcript of the conversation leading up to the nearly complete annihilation of mankind. After years of research, the parasite outbreak was tracked back to the case above, though it is still unknown how Douglas Scott first became infected. Contrary to what was previously thought, the first victim, Karen Thomas, made initial contact with the parasite, through a dating website.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
The First Day
Billy walked to the back of the bus and sat down in an empty seat. He was excited for his first day at his new school, but he didn’t know what to expect. He held his backpack close his chest and looked out the window as satellites flew past. After another stop, a girl got on and sat down next to him.
“Hi,” the girl said, “you must be new. I’m Melissa, but I go by ‘Issa’ for short. What’s your name?”
“Billy,” Billy said nervously.
“Well, Billy,” Issa said, “welcome. Is this your first time to space-school?”
“Yeah,” Billy said, feeling a little embarrassed to be so new. “My family just moved here. My mom’s an astronaut.”
Issa nodded. “Yeah, most of the space-kids here have space-parents that are astronauts. My dad’s a space-engineer and my mom’s in the space-navy.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘space’ in front of other words?” Billy asked.
“It’s just way we talk up here in space,” Issa said matter-of-factly. “You just add ‘space’ to most common, concrete nouns.”
“Huh?” Billy asked, confused.
“You know what nouns are, right?” Issa asked.
“Um, I don’t remember,” Billy said, embarrassed.
“That’s fine,” Issa said, “I didn’t know what they were when I first moved here. Nouns are words that are the names of people, places, things, or ideas.”
“Oh yeah!” Billy said, recognition spreading across his face. “I remember learning that in school back on Earth. So, should I be called Space Billy?”
“No,” Issa said, “we don’t add ‘space’ to proper nouns.”
“What makes a noun proper?” Billy asked.
“Basically,” Issa said, “proper nouns that are the names of someone or something specific. So, you’d call yourself a space-boy, but not Space Billy. Does that make sense?”
Billy thought for a moment. “So, we go to a space-school, which is a common noun, and its name is Yuri Gagarin Elementary School, which a proper noun. Is that right?”
Issa nodded. “I think you’re getting the hang of it.”
“Don’t you mean I’m getting the ‘space-hang’ of it?” Billy asked, grinning.
Issa shook her head. “No, ‘hang’ is a verb.”
“Verb?” asked Billy, his grin fading.
“Yeah,” Issa replied, “verbs are action words. So like “walk,” “talk,” read,” “write,” “play,” “eat.” If you can do it, it’s a verb.”
This is a lot to keep track of, Billy thought. “I think I’ve got it. I don’t space-play with a ball, I play with a space-ball.”
“Right,” Issa said.
“If I wanted to add to it,” Billy said, “I’d say ‘I threw the space-red space-ball to my space-friend.”
“Almost,” Issa said. “You added an extra ‘space’ that time. “‘Red’ is an adjective.”
“Good grief!” Billy said, channeling his inner-Charlie Brown. “What are adjuctives?”
“Oh, quit being so dramatic,” Issa said while subtly rolling her eyes. “Adjectives are just words that describe nouns, like colors, smells, and other stuff.”
Billy twisted his face in concentration. “So,” he said, “We’re space kids, sitting in a yellow space-bus, on our way to space-school. I’ve got two space-pencils: a green one and a blue one. I’ll use them to write my name on my space-homework. Did I add any extra ‘spaces’ that time?”
“Nope!” Issa said, smiling. “You’re doing great.”
“I think I’ve got the hang of this,” Billy said. “This is space-fun!”
“Oops,” Issa said. “That one was extra.”
“Why?” Billy asked, confused. “Isn’t ‘fun’ a noun?”
“Sure it is,” Issa replied, “but it’s not concrete.”
“Of course it’s not cement,” Billy said, a little annoyed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Issa said. “Concrete nouns are, like, solid things, you know? Something you can touch. ‘Fun’ is just an idea. Does that make sense?”
Billy furrowed his brow. “This isn’t as easy as I thought.”
“It takes some practice,” Issa said, “but you’ll get the hang of it. Just remember that you only add ‘space’ to common, concrete nouns.”
“So,” Billy said, giving it one more try, “I sleep on a space-bed, but I don’t have space-dreams, just regular dreams. We’re riding on a space-bus having a conversation, not a space-conversation. Right?”
“You picked that up quick,” Issa said. “Most space-kids are still figuring out lingo for the whole week, but you got it figured out before space-school even started. Not bad!”
“How long did it take you to learn it?” Billy asked as the bus pulled to a stop in the loading bay of Yuri Gagarin Elementary School.
“No time at all,” Issa said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she stood up. “I was the one who invented it.”
Billy’s mouth dropped open as Issa walked towards the door and stepped off the bus.
“Hi,” the girl said, “you must be new. I’m Melissa, but I go by ‘Issa’ for short. What’s your name?”
“Billy,” Billy said nervously.
“Well, Billy,” Issa said, “welcome. Is this your first time to space-school?”
“Yeah,” Billy said, feeling a little embarrassed to be so new. “My family just moved here. My mom’s an astronaut.”
Issa nodded. “Yeah, most of the space-kids here have space-parents that are astronauts. My dad’s a space-engineer and my mom’s in the space-navy.”
“Why do you keep saying ‘space’ in front of other words?” Billy asked.
“It’s just way we talk up here in space,” Issa said matter-of-factly. “You just add ‘space’ to most common, concrete nouns.”
“Huh?” Billy asked, confused.
“You know what nouns are, right?” Issa asked.
“Um, I don’t remember,” Billy said, embarrassed.
“That’s fine,” Issa said, “I didn’t know what they were when I first moved here. Nouns are words that are the names of people, places, things, or ideas.”
“Oh yeah!” Billy said, recognition spreading across his face. “I remember learning that in school back on Earth. So, should I be called Space Billy?”
“No,” Issa said, “we don’t add ‘space’ to proper nouns.”
“What makes a noun proper?” Billy asked.
“Basically,” Issa said, “proper nouns that are the names of someone or something specific. So, you’d call yourself a space-boy, but not Space Billy. Does that make sense?”
Billy thought for a moment. “So, we go to a space-school, which is a common noun, and its name is Yuri Gagarin Elementary School, which a proper noun. Is that right?”
Issa nodded. “I think you’re getting the hang of it.”
“Don’t you mean I’m getting the ‘space-hang’ of it?” Billy asked, grinning.
Issa shook her head. “No, ‘hang’ is a verb.”
“Verb?” asked Billy, his grin fading.
“Yeah,” Issa replied, “verbs are action words. So like “walk,” “talk,” read,” “write,” “play,” “eat.” If you can do it, it’s a verb.”
This is a lot to keep track of, Billy thought. “I think I’ve got it. I don’t space-play with a ball, I play with a space-ball.”
“Right,” Issa said.
“If I wanted to add to it,” Billy said, “I’d say ‘I threw the space-red space-ball to my space-friend.”
“Almost,” Issa said. “You added an extra ‘space’ that time. “‘Red’ is an adjective.”
“Good grief!” Billy said, channeling his inner-Charlie Brown. “What are adjuctives?”
“Oh, quit being so dramatic,” Issa said while subtly rolling her eyes. “Adjectives are just words that describe nouns, like colors, smells, and other stuff.”
Billy twisted his face in concentration. “So,” he said, “We’re space kids, sitting in a yellow space-bus, on our way to space-school. I’ve got two space-pencils: a green one and a blue one. I’ll use them to write my name on my space-homework. Did I add any extra ‘spaces’ that time?”
“Nope!” Issa said, smiling. “You’re doing great.”
“I think I’ve got the hang of this,” Billy said. “This is space-fun!”
“Oops,” Issa said. “That one was extra.”
“Why?” Billy asked, confused. “Isn’t ‘fun’ a noun?”
“Sure it is,” Issa replied, “but it’s not concrete.”
“Of course it’s not cement,” Billy said, a little annoyed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Issa said. “Concrete nouns are, like, solid things, you know? Something you can touch. ‘Fun’ is just an idea. Does that make sense?”
Billy furrowed his brow. “This isn’t as easy as I thought.”
“It takes some practice,” Issa said, “but you’ll get the hang of it. Just remember that you only add ‘space’ to common, concrete nouns.”
“So,” Billy said, giving it one more try, “I sleep on a space-bed, but I don’t have space-dreams, just regular dreams. We’re riding on a space-bus having a conversation, not a space-conversation. Right?”
“You picked that up quick,” Issa said. “Most space-kids are still figuring out lingo for the whole week, but you got it figured out before space-school even started. Not bad!”
“How long did it take you to learn it?” Billy asked as the bus pulled to a stop in the loading bay of Yuri Gagarin Elementary School.
“No time at all,” Issa said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she stood up. “I was the one who invented it.”
Billy’s mouth dropped open as Issa walked towards the door and stepped off the bus.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Contact
The following is the newly declassified transcript of the US government's first and only known encounter with extra-terrestrial life.
DATE: 14 June 1947, 0921
LOCATION: Outside of Roswell Army Airfield (RAAF)
CAPT [redacted]: Base, this is Capt [redacted]. Over.
RAAF: [redacted], this is Base. We copy. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I'm picking up some weird fluctuations on my radio. Any idea what it might be? Over.
RAAF: What kind of fluctuations? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Well, it sounds like woman's voice softly repeating a word again and again. Over.
RAAF: You're probably just picking up another channel. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I thought that, but it's coming in over multiple channels. Plus, it's coming in clearer than your signal. Over.
RAAF: Are you hearing it now on this channel? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Affirmative. Over.
RAAF: Well, what's the lady saying? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Uh, I wouldn't call her a lady. She keeps saying[redacted]. Over.
RAAF: You're kidding me. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: [Laughs] That's a big negative. I told you, I can hear her clearer than I can hear you. Over.
RAAF: I'd tell you to ignore it but if the signal is strong enough to be heard loud and clear over multiple channels then it could compromise our communications. See if you contact her back and tell her get off her radio and clean up that mouth of hers. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. I'll switch to an empty channel to initiate contact, leaving this channel open for normal comm. Over.
[2.35 MINUTES PASS]
CAPT [redacted]: Base, do you copy? Over.
RAAF: This is base. I copy. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I contacted the woman on the radio as advised. She responded but she said that she lost track of a probe and asked if I had seen it. I really have no idea how to respond. Over.
RAAF: She said that she lost a probe? Ask her to describe it. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. Over.
[0.55 MINUTES PASS]
CAPT [redacted]: She described the probe as disk shaped and bright silver. She said it should be flying in the area. Can we make her cut this non-sense out? Over.
RAAF: [redacted], you said that she said there should be a flying disc in the area? Can you confirm? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Affirmative, but what does it matter? It's all hogwash. Over.
RAAF: Capt [redacted], we have unconfirmed reports in the area of a, quote, "unidentified flying object" that's been described as, quote, "saucer-shaped." Is this woman claiming responsibility for it? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Uh, I think so. Base, what's going on? Over.
RAAF: Too soon to say. Contact her again, but stay on this channel this time. Ask her to increase her signal so that we can pick it up here. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. Contacting, eh, the unknown woman on the radio. Please increase signal strength of radio broadcast.
UNKNOWN: Is this better?
CAPT [redacted]: Base, did you hear that one? Over.
RAAF: Affirmative, [redacted]. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Yes, we hear you. How did you know about the aircraft that was spotted today? Over.
UNKNOWN: I told you, it's my probe. So you've found it?
CAPT [redacted]: Please explain the purpose of the probe. Over.
UNKNOWN: I sent the probe down to gather information, but I lost contact with it. I think I forgot to charge the battery. I do that sometimes. I was able to get enough data to plug into my translator. That's how we're able to communicate. But you've found my probe?
CAPT [redacted]: I don't know. What do you mean, "translator?" You a Jap? Over.
UNKNOWN: No, I'm a Xendarian. I'm from a planet similar to yours but my star is a bit larger. I was sent on a peaceful mission to see if your people are interested in interstellar travel.
CAPT [redacted]: Get serious. You expect me to believe you're an alien? Over.
UNKNOWN: Tell me Capt [redacted], how can I have superior radio equipment to you? Also, your people on the ground didn't detect any unaccounted for aircraft in the area and yet my probe was clearly seen. Either I'm from a planet more advanced than yours or I'm using secret technology to play games with you. And before you ask if I'm hostile, if I'm as advanced as I say, you'd already be dead if I wanted you to be. I will be happy to land my ship and explain everything, I simply want to retrieve my probe first.
RAAF: This is the Roswell Army Airfield. We have collected the probe but it suffered heavy damage in a crash. It's mostly wreckage. Over.
UNKNOWN: [Sighs] That's disappointing. Well, I'll still collect what's left. I'll let you know when I'm ready to land.
CAPT [redacted]: This is all so strange. I must ask, why did you keep repeating that obscenity earlier? Over.
UNKNOWN: What do you mean? I was using inappropriate language?
CAPT [redacted]: You kept saying [redacted]. Over.
UNKNOWN: Yes, that's my name. I don't like having my translator find an equivalent in your language. I had tried to contact my probe with all of my other communications equipment but that didn't work so I tried calling out my name on different radio frequencies. Every Xendarian probe is programed to return when it hears its owners voice call his or her own name.
CAPT [redacted]: Your name is [redacted]? Over.
UNKNOWN: Yes. I've always liked it. What does it mean in your language? I haven't had a chance to look it up yet.
CAPT [redacted]: It means [redacted]. Over.
UNKNOWN: That's disgusting! How could you twist around such a nice name into THAT! You know what? Forget it. I'll mark you down as uninterested in our services. You don't deserve our tech. I'm out of here. Keep the probe for all I care.
CAPT [redacted]: Hello? [redacted], do you copy? Over.
RAAF: Her signal's gone dead. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Base, what just happened? Over.
RAAF: I have no idea. No way General [redacted]'s going to believe this. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I don't believe it and I was here! Do you think this one's going to be classified, just to cover up how weird this whole thing was, like with [redacted]? Over.
RAAF: Probably. Now head back to base. I have a feeling we'll need to debrief. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger wilco. Over and out.
END OF TRANSCRIPT
DATE: 14 June 1947, 0921
LOCATION: Outside of Roswell Army Airfield (RAAF)
CAPT [redacted]: Base, this is Capt [redacted]. Over.
RAAF: [redacted], this is Base. We copy. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I'm picking up some weird fluctuations on my radio. Any idea what it might be? Over.
RAAF: What kind of fluctuations? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Well, it sounds like woman's voice softly repeating a word again and again. Over.
RAAF: You're probably just picking up another channel. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I thought that, but it's coming in over multiple channels. Plus, it's coming in clearer than your signal. Over.
RAAF: Are you hearing it now on this channel? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Affirmative. Over.
RAAF: Well, what's the lady saying? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Uh, I wouldn't call her a lady. She keeps saying[redacted]. Over.
RAAF: You're kidding me. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: [Laughs] That's a big negative. I told you, I can hear her clearer than I can hear you. Over.
RAAF: I'd tell you to ignore it but if the signal is strong enough to be heard loud and clear over multiple channels then it could compromise our communications. See if you contact her back and tell her get off her radio and clean up that mouth of hers. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. I'll switch to an empty channel to initiate contact, leaving this channel open for normal comm. Over.
[2.35 MINUTES PASS]
CAPT [redacted]: Base, do you copy? Over.
RAAF: This is base. I copy. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I contacted the woman on the radio as advised. She responded but she said that she lost track of a probe and asked if I had seen it. I really have no idea how to respond. Over.
RAAF: She said that she lost a probe? Ask her to describe it. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. Over.
[0.55 MINUTES PASS]
CAPT [redacted]: She described the probe as disk shaped and bright silver. She said it should be flying in the area. Can we make her cut this non-sense out? Over.
RAAF: [redacted], you said that she said there should be a flying disc in the area? Can you confirm? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Affirmative, but what does it matter? It's all hogwash. Over.
RAAF: Capt [redacted], we have unconfirmed reports in the area of a, quote, "unidentified flying object" that's been described as, quote, "saucer-shaped." Is this woman claiming responsibility for it? Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Uh, I think so. Base, what's going on? Over.
RAAF: Too soon to say. Contact her again, but stay on this channel this time. Ask her to increase her signal so that we can pick it up here. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger. Contacting, eh, the unknown woman on the radio. Please increase signal strength of radio broadcast.
UNKNOWN: Is this better?
CAPT [redacted]: Base, did you hear that one? Over.
RAAF: Affirmative, [redacted]. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Yes, we hear you. How did you know about the aircraft that was spotted today? Over.
UNKNOWN: I told you, it's my probe. So you've found it?
CAPT [redacted]: Please explain the purpose of the probe. Over.
UNKNOWN: I sent the probe down to gather information, but I lost contact with it. I think I forgot to charge the battery. I do that sometimes. I was able to get enough data to plug into my translator. That's how we're able to communicate. But you've found my probe?
CAPT [redacted]: I don't know. What do you mean, "translator?" You a Jap? Over.
UNKNOWN: No, I'm a Xendarian. I'm from a planet similar to yours but my star is a bit larger. I was sent on a peaceful mission to see if your people are interested in interstellar travel.
CAPT [redacted]: Get serious. You expect me to believe you're an alien? Over.
UNKNOWN: Tell me Capt [redacted], how can I have superior radio equipment to you? Also, your people on the ground didn't detect any unaccounted for aircraft in the area and yet my probe was clearly seen. Either I'm from a planet more advanced than yours or I'm using secret technology to play games with you. And before you ask if I'm hostile, if I'm as advanced as I say, you'd already be dead if I wanted you to be. I will be happy to land my ship and explain everything, I simply want to retrieve my probe first.
RAAF: This is the Roswell Army Airfield. We have collected the probe but it suffered heavy damage in a crash. It's mostly wreckage. Over.
UNKNOWN: [Sighs] That's disappointing. Well, I'll still collect what's left. I'll let you know when I'm ready to land.
CAPT [redacted]: This is all so strange. I must ask, why did you keep repeating that obscenity earlier? Over.
UNKNOWN: What do you mean? I was using inappropriate language?
CAPT [redacted]: You kept saying [redacted]. Over.
UNKNOWN: Yes, that's my name. I don't like having my translator find an equivalent in your language. I had tried to contact my probe with all of my other communications equipment but that didn't work so I tried calling out my name on different radio frequencies. Every Xendarian probe is programed to return when it hears its owners voice call his or her own name.
CAPT [redacted]: Your name is [redacted]? Over.
UNKNOWN: Yes. I've always liked it. What does it mean in your language? I haven't had a chance to look it up yet.
CAPT [redacted]: It means [redacted]. Over.
UNKNOWN: That's disgusting! How could you twist around such a nice name into THAT! You know what? Forget it. I'll mark you down as uninterested in our services. You don't deserve our tech. I'm out of here. Keep the probe for all I care.
CAPT [redacted]: Hello? [redacted], do you copy? Over.
RAAF: Her signal's gone dead. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Base, what just happened? Over.
RAAF: I have no idea. No way General [redacted]'s going to believe this. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: I don't believe it and I was here! Do you think this one's going to be classified, just to cover up how weird this whole thing was, like with [redacted]? Over.
RAAF: Probably. Now head back to base. I have a feeling we'll need to debrief. Over.
CAPT [redacted]: Roger wilco. Over and out.
END OF TRANSCRIPT
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