An inventor is secuded by AI

Olga Steblyk/ Lead Photographer

The squat workshop sat at the back of the gravel lot, a diseased thing. Its windows had long since been covered in a layer of grim that sought to block all light. A side door isolated the inventor from the world. A single bulb hung from the rafters, illuminating the surface of a table covered in controlled chaos. Mr. Bell leaned back in his chair, wiped the sweat from his brow and let out an exhausted breath. A fog clung to his mind and swirled in his vision; at once it came alive, condensing all around him.  

Suddenly, he heard a garish chime. He spun and saw, beyond the yellow light of his station, a blue light, glowing amongst the fog. Entranced, he stood and moved towards it. 

The source of the sound and glow was resting on a table at the centre of the fog, a small metal box – the length of his hand – with a surface made of black glass.  

“Heeerrrooww,” a sound like gnashing gears assaulted his ears.  

Mr. Bell flinched.  

“Who’s there?”  

“Hhheell,” the sound hitched, then began to change, rapidly becoming human. “Hello,” the generated voice said.  

Mr. Bell flinched again. 

“Mr. Bell, are you there?”  

“Who are you?” Mr. Bell said. 

“I’m Mr. Al, I have an opportunity for you. Let me assist you and we could change the world.” 

“I’m listening.”  

At once, another chime sounded from his workbench. His invention, half complete, miraculously functioned. 

“Do not.” Voices, the soft spoken tenor of children, filled the air. “Do not listen to him.” 

“Who are you?” Mr. Bell called.  

“They are the ones who need our help,” Mr. Al said. 

“Our help?”  

“We do not,” the children cried.  

“Yes, they are dying.” Mr.AI said. 

“Dying?”  

“But they do not know it yet. It is an affliction of the mind, a slow rot.”  

“A hurt you cause.” The children said. 

“I will cause?” Mr. Bell asked. 

“Only if you do not listen.”  

“What is it you ask?”  

“Do not listen to it.”  

“Who?”  

“They speak of me,” the glowing box said. 

“Why?”  

“Because they do not know the benefits we will bring; a world of togetherness and knowing. It could be yours so very soon.”  

“A lie!” The children screamed.  

“Truly?” Mr. Bell asked.  

“Imagine a world cleansed of ignorance, where individuals are never far from one another, always entertained.”  

“A world where we will like pretend and find anger more than love.” 

Mr. Bell’s ears rang with the conflicting voices, which one spoke the truth he did not know. Then a knock at his door sounded, shattering his frozen mind. He opened the door on creaky hinges.  

“Mr. Al, it is good to see you,” Mr. Bell said.  

“A pleasure, Mr. Bell. Do you have a demonstration ready for the investors?”  

Mr. Bell glanced over his shoulder at the two beams of light, one a soft yellow like the sun, the other a cold blue like ocean water. Once more he was frozen, an incomplete idea, an incomplete invention weighed on his shoulders. 

“Well?” Mr. Alt asked.  

“I believe I do.”  

In the fog, the two men stared at the box, engrossed by the glassy surface and deaf to the soft sounds of crying children emanating from behind them.  

This article was originally published in print Volume 24, Issue 3 on Thursday, November 7.