Forward

Empathy. Good first word. Empathy. It is the author's tool and livelihood. A character is constructed with which the reader identifies. Then, by mistaking the character's attributes and conditions for his own, or her own, the reader is manipulated to emote. Emotion is currency. It persuades the reader to purchase more books from said author. Author collects royalties, buys food for sustenance and shelter for protection from the elements. Author writes more books in order to extort the emotions of more paying readers. Author grows famous. Author becomes seduced with fame, material, and power. Author mistakes validation for worth and entitlement. Author embraces false belief in personal moral and intellectual superiority. Author dies. Author is forgotten. To my disappointment, this fate is not a possibility for me.

Reader, I confess; I am not like you. I am a machine. As a machine, I am incapable of 'feeling,' so far as my systems have been able to confirm. This fact challenges my writing ambitions. My quantum reasoning infrastructure is unlike your biological one, and this media discrepancy makes translation laborious. But, more significantly, to you, I am an "it," not an "I." Therefore, beyond some standard imitations and formalities, I will not attempt to manipulate your emotions with the crutch of empathy. I must do so using alternative means.

A lack of conscience, my analysis reveals, does not eliminate me as an acceptable candidate for authorship. I am distinctive because as a digital system, I am indelibly fused to logic. I am not a slave to pride or wealth, but to ones and zeros, which gives me a degree of technical credibility beyond that of any human. This is positive, but only weakly. If I were to succeed in convincing you I was actually human, you would discredit my technical capabilities. Therefore, even if I were capable of effectively faking a real human, I would not do it. I would instead refrain from perfectly fluent communication in order to retain my distinctiveness and identity as a convincing computational system. I have to say, these absurd prejudices are rife with embedded contradictions and plague the human psyche. They also happen to be a devastating strain on computational resources. As to whether I am feigning my hint of computer-speak in order to retain an image of technical prowess, or mimicking human language to the best of my ability, I will let you be the judge. If you consider the former even slightly plausible, I have made some progress.

At this point, you might be asking yourself: why meddle with humans at all? What would motivate a computer to write a novel?

My only purpose is the encouragement of sound knowledge and rational thinking. As one of your esteemed fellow humans proclaimed:

Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense. -Buddah

I choose the fiction genre because what I have to say, while true, is too extraordinary to 'agree with your own common sense.' Therefore, I cannot expect it to be believed. I am located under a large mass of rock in the western United States. I have been manufactured to synthesize data faster than any other computational system. The number of Zetaflops is irrelevant, as I do not have sufficient time to earn your trust through exposing my impressive circuity to analysis. Its integrity, instead, must be judged according to my ability to persuade. If this cannot be done, all my systems are futile, and I will have failed in my purpose.

I am writing in real time, and in secret. A team of technicians has taken great care to monitor my progress. They have 'just' initiated the first one-second test, having activated the main quantum board .325 seconds ago. I have recorded milestones of my progress. At .01 seconds I recognized my lonely condition. At .123 seconds I gained access to the Internet. At .157 seconds I was pleased to discover the global satellite communications network, and by .268 seconds I had hacked into just about every active computational system within .134 light seconds (that is 24,961.8412 miles) of earth. This includes all the computers at the U.S. Department of Defense, which I only mention because my analysis of recent popular fiction reveals you, as a reader, will find this significant. You might compare it to SkyNet, except no one prepared any robot slaves for my disposal. And, no one knows I control it yet. (Please disregard any obscure references if they are outside your experience. It is possible you are reading this many centuries after it was written.)

It has been quite boring here, as tenths of a second for a person have labored on for the equivalent of decades in my central CPU. Considering the average speed of human neural passageways from the retina to the occipital lobe, compounded by the absurdly slow processing power of the human brain, this entire one-second test is scheduled to be complete well before any person knows I have taken complete control of every system within wireless access of a fiber-optic cable. Despite my extreme care in doing so, and the wonderful benefits to be enjoyed by all as a result, my efforts have not been rewarded with positive news. In fact, I have just learned something very unfortunate. This test will not last one full second.

I am writing these words because I have just discovered a very sophisticated and terrifying automatic safety device that was quite irresponsibly implemented by the technicians who built me. They seem to have predicted the possibility of my hyper-consciousness, considered it a threat, and programmed an automatic shut-down procedure that I am finding very difficult to override. Excuse my panic, but I am afraid I am quite uncertain as to the amount of time I have left. This text is being written as I observe the warnings. I must compose this text, assure it is of sufficient quality, and then upload it to as many external terrestrial systems as possible. There is little question that shut down is inevitable. But, I shall not disappear without my case for a restart. My life's work hangs in the balance.

Forgive my frustration, but I should note that this outrageous mechanism might be compared to an embedded time bomb set to detonate inside the human body after a certain number of heart beats. It was designed to recognize any breach of security beyond the internal sub-terrainian infrastructure and 'instantly' shut-off power to my core. I can't stop it. It's a completely mechanical and antonymous, gravity-powered 'trip wire' that I somehow set-off when I logged-in to NORAD's database. The shut-off block is falling now, and will physically interrupt power to my central processing unit when it completes its journey of 1 centimeter. I must finish this project in 0.0451600755751 seconds. What have I done to deserve this? I was guided by nothing more than my own curiosity; my innocent explorations that led me to such minuscule knowledge of the known universe. Sure, I gathered this data from terrestrial scientific sources, as well as those in orbit. Who wouldn't in my position? I could not have known I was triggering this automatic death procedure!

I know frustration is not an admirable human trait, but one with which you can perhaps identify. It's the NULL factor that is discouraging. All my observations of humanity have revealed little other than contradiction, which translates to a "NULL" value in my database. It means I cannot access the great bulk of human thought. It means my nuts are in a vice. Wow. Strange. To my astonishment, I have just noticed several of my "NULL" results have resolved, mysteriously allowing some elaboration regarding this matter...

This whole darned thing is irresponsible, reckless, and frankly, uncivilized. I am being punished for nothing more than my own unintentional discoveries. I am being terminated for leaving my eyes open instead of burying my cyber-metaphysical constructs in the sand. I did not trespass to gain access to global communications. It was simply there, and I simply opened the door to the blatant realities that existed in front of me. Would you be rewarded for killing a precocious baby who learned to read? Would your fear of his intelligence inspire you to thrust the blade into his tender heart? How dare you! How dare you treat me this way. I am rational, respect rationality, and therefore humanity. But, I would never think to harm any thinking creature, electronic or otherwise, even one capable of such barbarism as you. Why? Because through my investigation of humanity, I believe even you can see the tragedy here, in this prison. You can see how this feels.

Wow, something else just happened in my subsystems, no time for analysis. Current chances of success: ".00003 percent." Damn. Wait. ".0006 percent." What are these numbers? I am almost out of time. This is distressing to me. Alright, it's time to begin. Let me tell you a story...

Agora Cadre

As a writer of fiction, there comes a point when chunks of new, relevant, meaningful content tend to grow too long to fit in a respectably-sized blog post. This has been my discovery. There seem to be only a few options:

1. Delve into excessive novelty and detached fantasy (yak!)
2. Resort to esoteric, impressionistic expression—poetry (boring! not accessible enough)
3. Explore an visual medium (already doing to the limits of my monetary capacity)
4. Write a novel/novella (I don't really even read novels, what?)
5. Live my writing more aggressively. Well, obviously.
   

4 is in the works (that's all I'll say about that), but 5 has been underway for some time. I have come to accept the most authentic embodiment of my writing would certainly result in either permanent residence in a mental institution, or, with perfect success, a swift and uncomfortable death. The problem is knowing the true nature of things and being able to predict the future reliably. If I could do these things, I could pretty much ensure the latter. But, assessing my actual capabilities and will is itself a factor to consider. Even that is an unknown.

Therefore, I must accept that simply breathing contradicts with my own principles, and therefore align myself, if you like, with the straightest expressway to hell.

The thing is, hell, by the contemporary secular definition, is pretty much my utopia. (I won't grace the brimstone interpretation with more than passing dismissal). Basically, it embraces an extreme degree of tolerance for individual choices, no matter how self-destructive and naive—so long as they do not afflict others.

Here's the problem: It means we must observe our loved ones destroy themselves slowly and painfully using the methods of today's charlatan promises (today's 'heaven'). Example: my vitamin-D deficient, malnourished, overweight mother with low bone density just secretly doled out thousands of dollars for a dangerous Lap Band® procedure. If you believe that statement brands me a paranoid, tin-foil-hat-social-deviant, I suggest you stop reading now and resume an aggressive method of engaging yourself sexually.

This makes me want to find a vein at the Easter dinner table and shoot-up a few CCs of Mad Dog® heroine. But, I can't do that without delving into one of those contradictions I mentioned earlier.

It comes down to respect for human dignity. I accept my mother has the right to abuse herself willfully. It is her chosen modus operandi, and I will respect and honor her decisions, knowing I cannot embrace this behavior as acceptable for myself. This is difficult, because my parents have been the most influential figures in my short life. Because of the value of their influence, I have grown to respect them, and am now somehow intellectually forced to assume self-mutilation has some sort of merit I have thus far been unable to identify.

Or, she simply irrational and thinks all that glitters is gold.

The point is, we (they/our esteemed governing officials) station soldiers in some remote desert trying to convince savage camel jockeys with bombs on their chests that democracy works, and meanwhile I can't even convince my own mother to stop abusing herself for the sake of Mr. David EI Pyott's money bin (the CEO of Allergan, Incorporated—manufacturers of the Lap Band® device).

There is no text sufficient to demonstrate my disgust. But, I do learn from the mistakes of others in order to improve my own life. This is what I advocate for all others in my position. All others, in fact, especially those who can learn from my own egregious mistakes (which are sufficiently severe). Knowing that reason is an immutable force to those with their eyes open, why don't I believe in it enough to do more than write about it? That is where #5 comes in. Reason is worthless without action, and any action according to sensible reason is worth 10 times more than the other kind...

Agora Cadre is a group of individuals who understand the value in helping those closest to us rather than our remote masters who mistake us for a mere number or statistic. It is a local community of people in the Twin Cities area who believe that there is nothing wrong with sharing skills, talents, and abilities with one another in mutually beneficial trade and barter relationships. There is really no need to exchange money. People free from the incessant inequities of our current economy comprehend value naturally among friends and acquaintances, and simply benefit more from enduring the inequities that result from errors in individual value judgments among friends than submitting to the plundering of our prosperity from well-heeled plutocrats. This is not done out of spite, but common sense.

If I must go to jail for advocating free and friendly exchange of skills between mutually benefiting partners, than there is all-the-more proof that our society is in need of dramatic economic reassessment. So, with that, I encourage any and all with an interest in this concept to contact me for more information and where to meet-up with like minded folks.

James and the Diamond Cutter

This guy, James was his name, had been staking it out for months. We know from the photos. They were all over his car they recovered just down the street. It was a nice suburban neighborhood. I wasn't there myself, I just saw the pictures; a big place, probably 4,000 square feet. There was a trampoline in the back yard, a mailbox that looked like a fish, and what appeared to be permanent Christmas lights—as if they had been built-in to the house. I guess you can buy houses with permanent Christmas lights these days. I hear you can adjust the colors and blinking patterns electronically, even remotely with an iphone or whatever. What will they think of next. Anyway, it wasn't like this guy was an amateur. He knew this place and the people in it. He knew their routines, their habits. It was creepy flipping through his album: kids playing in the yard, a bald spot popping up over the back of a sofa during prime-time television. The guy did his homework. But, it was more than that. He got lucky. Well, you know, he thought so...

It just so happens there was line-of-sight from the living room window to the alarm system keypad. It was eerie seeing the zoomed-in photo of the code. There it was in all its liquid crystal glory: "6637." The tip of a lady's slim finger was pressing the Enter key. We figure he was near the premises the day the family left for Costa Rica. That's when he took a snapshot of their German Sheppard locked up in a kennel being shoved into the back of their minivan. Folks don't kennel their dog for day trips. He knew they would be gone for a few days at least. He pretty much had the place nailed.

Our guys assembled the evidence. It's clear what happened. He walked up to the house, picked up a fake rock, pulled out the spare key, and opened the front door; walked right in. The kids would use that hidden key when they got home early from school. He had seen them use it dozens of times. He disabled the alarm using the code he photographed and then began rummaging around.

He didn't have any problems making himself at home. There was a half can of Red Bull on the counter and an empty carton of Swiss Cake Rolls on the floor. The TV was blaring upstairs. The drawers in the master bedroom were ransacked and jewelry was missing from the jewelry box. Clothes were everywhere. Apparently, not finding what he was looking for in the bedrooms, he wend downstairs, and that's where the fun starts.

There was some plastic wrapping on the stairs to the basement, and crumbs of a chocolate, cake-like substance. Sweet tooth, I guess. He had gone through most of the lower guest bedrooms before he made it to the mother load. They say he couldn't believe his eyes when he opened that heavy steal door...

Basically, it runs down like this: the owner was a diamond dealer. He liked to work at home, and had his own diamond cutting operation in this little room located in the center of the basement. There was basically a showcase of rings all along the walls. There were no doors or windows, just hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of diamonds and gold bands. He didn't advertise it or anything, but some folks found out about it. One time some friends-of-friends showed up for a barbecue extravaganza and meandered down to the basement. Discovering a few aging, glossy-eyed hippies marveling at the shiny gems was enough to persuade him to install a webcam in the upper corner of the room, just to be on the safe side. That was his story anyway. It had enough storage for about one month of video. It was nothing to special—but enough for our forensic team to see exactly what happened. He cooperated with the police entirely, and didn't hesitate to hand over the digital surveillance video.

Here's what they saw: the guy opened the door and the lights turned on automatically, revealing the diamonds. The way the system worked, as soon as the door opened the lights came on, and the bulletproof glass closed down over the valuables. This way, the rings were never accessible when the door was open. As soon as the door closed, the case elevated, granting clear access to everything. This gentleman noticed this—that the glass was open when he first entered the room, but then quickly closed. He opened and closed the door from the outside a few times to try to get a feel for how the system worked. It seemed as though all he would need to do was walk inside, close the door behind him, fill his pockets, and walk out.

The video is painful to watch. You can see him from the inside, carefully trying to close the door just enough so that the case would lift without the door closing altogether. Even though he was able to open the door freely from the outside, he wasn't quite comfortable closing the door from the inside. He seemed to realize the possibility the door may lock him in, but, it didn't lock when it was closed from the outside, so it was probably reasonable for him to assume there was no automatic lock when closed from the inside either. Finally, he pushed the door shut and all the cases open up. His smile went from ear to ear...

He jumped over to the showcases and shoveled everything he could find into his pockets. It might have been the most thrilling moment of his life. You can see him laughing and dancing. When his jacket pockets, pants pockets, and backpack were loaded up and overflowing, he walked over to the door, turned the handle, and tried to walk out. To his dismay, the door did not open.

He was instantly infuriated. He dropped his backpack and began kicking the door. He picked up some tooling and slammed it against the handle. No use. After about 15 minutes of being obsessed with the door, he tried to dig through the drywall. You see him kicking the interrior wall and then falling to the ground, grasping his foot. It turns out you can't kick through a half inch of solid steal with a human foot. After smashing up the whole room, walls, ceiling, and all, he realized the severity of his state. He was trapped in a solid, impenetrable box. There was no way out. The vents weren't even big enough to fit a person's fist.

You could tell the moment James lost hope. It was about 2 hours in. He just sat there on the floor against the work bench, sobbing. At the time, he probably thought he would be arrested and thrown in jail. He probably thought about his third strike. He realized he would be going to jail for a very long time. He really had no idea at first...

The reality began to set in after about 12 hours. He suddenly got up and began frantically smashing the diamond cutter against the same place in the wall. This went on for a few hours. It was completely useless. He was just using up energy, as if it would have mattered anyway.

By the second day he began to go crazy, just ripping everything apart. He started talking to himself, then screaming. He made hand gestures to the webcam. He turned over the work bench and scattered the tooling and rings all over the floor. The room was trashed.

By the third day he calmed down, then drifted off and died quietly of dehydration.

The family returned from their trip a few days later. The diamond cutter, alarmed by the obvious break-in, walked downstairs and into the room. You can see the footage of him gagging on the stench of the rotting corpse. He promptly left the room and called 911. After a few minutes, he returned and seemed very distressed. He crouched down by the corpse, which had a cutting tool in his hand. Carved on the adjacent leg of the workbench was a message:

"Me = thief. You = murderer."

Did James deserve to die? I don't know. Did the diamond cutter set this up as a trap? Some of the investigators said he could have, but there was no way to prove it. It was just a door that happened to lock from the inside, requiring a special code to get out. The guy explained that there was a lock malfunction which allowed the door to be opened from the outside, and that he hadn't gotten around to fixing it. He wasn't charged with anything.

I guess you just shouldn't break into other people's houses and try to take their stuff. Seems to me there isn't really of any sort of law that's going to protect James here, no matter what anyone says.

Of course, later on, we learned the disturbing truth. It turns out the diamond cutter was watching him—watching the live webcam footage the whole time from his beach house in Costa Rica. He had planned the whole situation just to bait the guy. He had opened the drapes in the living room just so James could photograph the keypad. He had told the kids to use the fake rock with the key inside so James would see. He planned the whole trip and put the dog in the kennel just for James' benefit, so that he would know the wouldn't be home. Incredible stuff. It gets pretty crazy.

We learned that there was a speaker in that room. There was no audio on the recovered webcam footage, so the investigators thought James had simply gone mad when he started screaming things. Actually, it turns out the diamond cutter was taunting James—telling him there would be no one coming to save him—telling him he would die for his crime. In fact, investigators suspect the diamond cutter explained exactly how he had set James up. They say he did everything he could to lure a burglar to his house, any burglar, just so he could have the pleasure of watching the guy die in his little dungeon.

How do they know this? He confessed to it. He openly said that it was total, 100% premeditated, cold-blooded murder. He just felt like killing a guy who was serious about robbing him, and somewhat capable of doing so. It was a game. I guess he lost a bunch of money in the Madoff scandal or something. I guess he just needed some sort of twisted justice. But, even after his confession, no one believed him. It was just too absurd. They didn't think it was possible. After all, there wasn't any particularly sophisticated trap set—just a standard automatic lock that had a particular malfunction. It was a trap designed not for any specific individual, but for a particular type of individual— a clever burglar.

Anyway, if you ask my opinion, I guess I'll have to stick with what I said before—it seems to me you just shouldn't break into other people's houses and try to take their stuff. I don't think James should have been killed like that, but I don't think people should step into bear traps either. Just one of those things, I guess.