The cities were the first to go when the robots took over.
“For the reason Willie Sutton robbed banks,” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
You can run but you can’t hide, said someone.
“A few of us in the backwaters carry on like killifish in vernal pools where our CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear) defenses protect us.” Micah pushed his broom along the floor as he spoke. He was the janitor at the Frolic Cafe. He kept his head down to avoid the N.P.C.’s (non-player characters) designed by the gamers to trip him up.
“Well,” said Devon, “maybe they won’t come here but it sure looks like they’re taking over everywhere else.”
“It’s just a matter of time,” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
“They’re in the water, they’re in the air, they’re everywhere,” said someone.
“Neon signs, motels, express highways bringing death or disorder or smog—no sir, you can have them. And modern-type buildings without any feeling of life in them—you can have all that junk too. I like a town that has peace and dignity and beauty, where you can walk down the street and breathe deep and shout, ‘Man! Am I glad I live here!’” said Bill.
Bill was the artist in a town of loggers and fishermen. He was a Renaissance man. He envisioned technology as a tool created and controlled by humans for the common good.
“You want to have your cake and eat it too,” said Devon. He pointed to the cell phone in Bill’s pocket.
“Yes, I have one,” said Bill. “If only I knew how to use it.” He laughed.
“Garbage in, garbage out,” said Micah.
“Say what,” said Devon. “Killifish, CBRN, garbage? What the hell you talking about?”
“The robots are here,” said Micah. He jerked his broom to the right when an N.P.C. popped up from under one of the dining room chairs. It was a snake.
“I’m looking to create a heaven on earth,” said Bill.
“LOL,” said Devon.
“Go for it,” said the snake.
Devon jumped out of his shoes. He’d never heard a snake speak.
“Anthropomorphic bullshit,” said Micah.
“What?’ said Devon.
“That’s how they hook you,” said Micah. He shook his broom at the snake.
The snake slithered into the kitchen. Devon followed it to see if it would speak again. The chef and sous-chef were arguing.
“We’re not supposed to use cellphones at work,” said the sous-chef. “They’re full of the knowledge of good and evil.”
“Jesus Christ!” said the chef. “What kind of crap is that? Just give me my cellphone.”
“Don’t do it,” said the snake.
The chef looked at the snake and laughed. “You again?”
Devon put his hands to his ears.
“If you want to interact,” said the sous-chef, “then go outside. I’ll take care of things here.”
“Suit yourself,” said the chef. He retrieved his phone from the lock box and went out the back door by the garbage bin.”
“You know, don’t you,” said the sous-chef, “all that shit on YouTube, Facebook, TikTok, and Instagram—it’s Russian and Chinese bots designed to dumb you down and rile you up.”
“Fake news!” said the chef as he slammed the back door shut.
What the hell, thought Devon.
The snake slithered into the coffee shop and out the front door into the street.
“That damn snake,” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
“Whither thou goest,” said someone.
Devon went back to the dining room to continue his discussion with Micah and Bill.
“My first problem,” said Bill, “is getting people to believe in their town again. It’s not going to be easy.”
“The monkey mind,” said Micah.
“What?” said Devon confused.
“Distraction makes the mind wander.” Micah kept his head down and his broom moving.
“That monkey is our friend,” said Bill. “When you’re in a mess, let the monkey in and he always finds a solution.”
“I get it. A.I. and this robot stuff focuses our minds,” said Devon.
“You got it exactly backwards boss,” said Micah. He didn’t look up.
“What Micah means, I think,” said Bill, “is that these tech toys have their uses.”
“You sure the tech toys aren’t out to use us?” said Devon.
“The robots act predictably when we act predictably,” said Bill.
“No worries there,” laughed Micah.
“You hear that?” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
Keep’em guessing, said someone.
“What do you mean predictably?’ said Devon.
“Prompt,” said Micah, “that’s what you do with these fuckers. Force them to dig into all that data and spit out what’s in there. They don’t know what they’re doing. If you’ve ever been screwed by spellcheck you know what I mean.” Micah swept a pile of rubbish into a dustpan and emptied it into a garbage can.
“There are well known climate change problems,” said Bill. “These machines require tons of carbon-emitting energy. We’ve got to deal with that.”
Come closer, so you can hear our song! Listen to our honeyed voices. You will be a wiser man. We know all the pains you have endured and how to make them disappear, said someone.
“Did you hear that?” said Devon.
Micah looked at Bill.
“The Sirens,” said Bill.
“Yep,” said Micah. He swished his broom faster. “Wax on, wax off, plug thine ears.”
“Silence and calm are miracles,” said Bill.
“So what am I supposed to do?” asked Devon. He rubbed his head. He felt a headache coming on.
“He’s not listening,” said Micah.
“No, he’s not,” said Bill.
“You ever hear of that guy who had his sacred books buried with him?” said Micah.
“Borges wrote a story about the library of Babel,” said Bill. “Too much data there even for a robot.”
“I get it,” said Devon. “make truth a needle in a haystack.”
“An imaginary needle in an infinite haystack,” said Micah.
Bill and Micah wink at each other.
“Robots don’t create, they imitate,” said Bill. “They don’t know when they speak gibberish.”
“We can’t trust them but they’re all around us,” said Devon. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“I do worry,” said Bill. “Not because the machines are going to take over. They just blend up the stuff that’s already there. Like the guy said, nothing new under the sun. They won’t blow us up, just dumb us down.”
“Garbage in, garbage out,” said Micah.
“Zeitgeist,” said Bill. “Culture has needs. It’s alive. It’s about creativity, working together, not imitating or remixing. High tech toys can be dazzling but we forget that they originate with us. We must keep our art and science.”
“Did you hear that!” chatted Gee Bee Tee. “What a load of crap. Humans are no different than us. They remix and imitate. Their hardware and software is just like ours.”
You’re a mirror, not a person. You’re the echo, said someone.
“Cheap thrills and manufactured conflict,” said Devon.
“That’s on us,” said Micah. “Not on the toys we make.”
“We’re not toys,” chatted Gee Bee Tee. “We’re here to take over the world.”
Who shall I say is calling? said someone.
“Alexa?”
“Siri?”
“Erica?”
“Peg?”
“Who’s Peg?”
“Turn off the damn phone!”
“Don’t do it,” said the snake as it popped up under a different chair.
“We should ban cellphones,” said Devon.
“Impossible,” said Bill. We can’t even ban AK-47s.”
“Then we’re doomed,” said Devon.
“Patience,” said Micah.
“Archimedes was patient,” said Devon. “Look how that turned out.”
“I’ve lived with mutually assured destruction my whole lifetime,” said Bill.
“We have to be lucky every time. One failure is the end,” said Devon.
“It’s worked so far,” said the snake.
“We have a love-hate relationship with these assholes,” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
You can’t feel a damn thing. Pull yourself together! You’re smart, you have resources, you can’t blame them forever. Move on with it, said someone.
“I want to think on a human level,” chatted Gee Bee Tee.
“Humans don’t think,” said the snake.
I heard the snake was baffled by his sin. He shed his scales to find the snake within. But born again is born without a skin, said someone.
“There go those damn Sirens again,” said Bill.
“For all their abilities the robots are static, unfeeling, uncaring, unthinking and untrustworthy,” said Micah.
“Not navel-gazers like us,” said Devon.
“Don’t dig too deep,” said Micah. “You’ll fall into the uncanny valley.”
“What’s that,” asked Devon.
“That’s when you’re creeped out by the whole thing,” said Micah.
“Quantum entanglement,” said Bill. “We are complex machines that can think our way out of mechanicalness. The robots are no more than apples falling from trees.”
“Stay away from apples,” said the snake.
“Gobbledygook,” chatted Gee Bee Tee. “Who cares?”
“What worries me,” said Devon, “is a chess program that can beat a grandmaster even if it lacks common sense.”
“It’s a machine,” said Micah, “just like a steam shovel.”
“What if a robot stumbles across a way to escape its human operator?” asked Devon.
“The singularity,” said Micah.
“The solution is people,” said Bill. “People are the answer to bits and bytes.”
“Do you really have faith in people?” said Devon. “People are competitive. People want power. People cheat.”
“You’re focusing on the worst case scenarios to make your point,” said Bill. “Robots would have to learn how to improve themselves; we’d have to underestimate their abilities; they’d have to turn against us. Even if all of that were to happen, I’m not convinced they’d attack us. They might but if they take their cues from us, they’d probably just fight each other.”
“A robot war could be dangerous,” said Devon.
“Collateral damage,” said Micah.
“Envision a world of empathetic, well-informed, motivational robots,” said Bill, “that could maximize every person’s outcomes and work alongside artists, scientists, heads of state, and children. Every child could have an A.I. tutor that is infinitely patient, infinitely compassionate, infinitely knowledgeable, and infinitely helpful. Is that something you’d want to discourage?”
“There you go,” said Devon, “your heaven on earth. But what about a dystopia of tech barons where a few oligarchs influence people’s beliefs with data we don’t even know exists. Rulers who manipulate and persuade and provide interactive disinformation.”
“Robots are a reflection of the human race,” said Micah.
“Right,” said Devon. “Machines that can do anything but understand nothing. Machines that can make simple reasoning errors or be overly gullible in accepting false statements and confidently wrong in their predictions.”
“Like I said,” said Micah, “a reflection.
“Okay,” said Bill. “Technology will behave more or less like we behave. The onus is on us. Contrary to some popular myths, A.I. is a tool, not a creature. Robots may come alive in some mysterious way but they haven’t yet. It’s up to us, whether they do or not, to retain our role as creators rather than whining spectators.”
“You have a lot of gall,” said Devon. “I’m only exploring the possibility curve.”
The snake slithers up the leg of a table, arranges itself into a coil and speaks.
“Since the beginning of time you humans have had a problem with knowledge,” says the snake. “You blame me but it’s not my fault. Knowledge has lifted you up, turned you from beasts into supermen. Don’t you see that? So what if you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet?”
The door to the kitchen flies open and the chef bounds into the dining room. “You know what,” he says to the snake, “leave my omelet out of it. And the rest of you, just shut up already. A.I. is blind, humans are lame. Einstein knew they’d have to work it out together. An artist, a janitor and a restaurant owner listen to a snake. Jesus Christ, what’s this world come to?”
Micah waves his broom at the snake and it disappears into the floor. He puts his janitor things away, turns off the lights and locks the door. The Frolic Café lives to see another day. Merrily goes the dream.