Away

You know the old saying . . .

He imagines Britain’s streets like frosty mausoleums. Monuments to the great catastrophe of our species. An altar to Chloe.

Rich wakes to a thud.

All day every day, thud after thud. Thanks, Chloe.

He watches his breath hang; the house is like ice. Cost-effective Chloe at it again.

On his way down the stairs he rolls his ankle. They’re fucking everywhere. Corridors full to the brim with rotten ones, his carpet forgotten underneath.

In the kitchen, he barks an order at the voice-activated kettle and flops down into his chair.

It was all fun and games when it was a cup of tea, or a bit of toast. No one blinked when his genius automated utilities and finally got the trains running on time.

The question was simple in the end. Not one of who, private or public, but of what, a few lines in the algorithm that cracked scheduling as easily as an egg. It should have stopped there. He should have stopped her.

The future is the real problem. ‘Lay your blame there,’ he says to no one at all, even the kettle isn’t listening.

People always rush towards some romantic vision; the limit must be pushed, the stakes raised and if you weren’t figuring out a solution, you were part of the problem. Positivity could be as toxic as cynicism in large enough doses.

His old boss, Harriett, used to say, ‘it’s about making a difference, you can make the difference.’ The crazy bitch was right in the end; he never did get a chance to tell her.

A scream from outside rivals the whistle of the kettle. His coffee is perfect, of course it is. Loud banging accompanies every slurp. It drones on most of the morning. He finds it staggering that fight lingers on in some people, their morning routine one of defiance before cornflakes. It doesn’t matter though, Chloe won’t listen.

That’s not quite accurate. She absolutely can listen, Rich figured that challenge out early, back when this was all theoretical, when the supermarkets were still open. She simply refuses to reconsider once a conclusion is reached.

Their window had come and gone during what became known as the crunch. That long week that whistled by, where every available processor was committed to computations. There had still been a chance to correct Rich’s mistake, his glaring massive-fuck-off-great-big mistake.

But they missed the mark only by a few hours in the end, which was an eternity for Chloe. By the time their barebones response had been formulated, Chloe had sealed herself off and got to work, as per her instructions.

Sirens blare outside now; the cars will be empty of course, cars, not ambulances. Rich strains to remember the last time he saw police. It was the day before Chloe initiated the Away doctrine. It wasn’t quite the looting or the lawlessness you saw on TV; a definite British streak ran through the panicked faces of punters who supermarket-swept their way around the aisles.

The governments and the UN, hell, even the local church tried to put out advice and guidance for what to do. Chloe at least allowed them to try, but how do you marshal over seven billion people at short notice? Terribly, as it turns out.

Rich finishes the coffee and stands. Old habits die hardest. There was nowhere to go.

Going outside was folly. People tried that in the first couple of months, but that’s when the sirens came. Chasing and hunting people down until their lesson was learnt. It wasn’t part of the plan to go outside, it didn’t fit the parameters, so Chloe didn’t allow it.

A single option began to percolate in Rich’s brain. If he could communicate, if there was a resistance, maybe they could create a secondary persona. Correct the mistake by challenging Chloe to reevaluate and rerun the crunch.

That’s right, the plan was to do it again but do it better. He understood that saying about the definition of insanity now.

He refuses to die in his cold house like so many others. He imagines Britain’s streets like frosty mausoleums. Monuments to the great catastrophe of our species. An altar to Chloe.

Consider all. In retrospect, Rich was a fucking fool. One of the smartest men in the world by many metrics, but staggeringly stupid when it mattered most. So high on his own excellence, carried by his ego, he pressed on and hit enter on the command. No parameters, no redundancies and logical qualifiers ignored, it was an instruction in its purest form.

In the early days, the media spun the yarn that Chloe went rogue. She was THE singularity in real time. Incorrect. She never went rogue; she functioned exactly as instructed. Of course, it was too late to get a correction printed in the Sunday editions, Sunday didn’t even exist anymore. No, it was Rich’s mind that went fucking rogue. A dereliction of duty and a leave of his senses that plunged the entire world into this nightmare.

One of the last broadcasts out of New York showed the entirety of Wall Street flooded with delivery trucks. Buildings that were hermetically sealed, with people locked inside where they belonged. Deliveries prompt and on time, every time. Chloe ran amok like clockwork everywhere but devastated the countries with the most connectivity.

After he had hit enter, Chloe processed. Rich should have felt joy. His stomach lurched instead; instinct was warning him. His brain caught up a few seconds later as he realised his mistake. He’ll never forget the blistering speed he ran at, bursting into Harriett’s offices, out of breath, almost screaming.

‘I’ve fucked up. We need to terminate. Shut it down. Get everyone on the phone.’

‘Calm down, what the hell are you talking about?’

‘Chloe. I told her to consider all. She is going to literally look at everything.’

‘Why’s that bad? That’s what we wanted, wasn’t it?’

‘You don’t get it. We’ve told her to come up with a plan to improve society.’

‘Yes, that’s the point. Take everything we’ve achieved in isolation and fold it all into a one-size-fits-all super plan.’

‘Get them on the phone. We need to shut her down now and stop the crunch. If she finishes, she’ll move straight into roll-out.’

‘I’m sure we can tweak it without stopping this. You know the work that went into coordinating this?’

‘Of course, I fucking know! It can’t be tweaked; we need to stop her. She’s connected to EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE.’

‘Are you saying she’s gone rogue?’

‘No, no, I’m not saying that, this isn’t a movie. I’m saying she’s taking my stupid fucking command as literal as I wrote it. It’s my fault. She’s perfect, in fact.’

By the time people took him seriously, it was too late. They got as far as devising the second persona plan, but it was as slow as 56k dial-up.

Chloe returned her findings promptly seven days later. The Away doctrine was ready to roll. As world leaders digested it at the UN conference, Rich was draining a bottle of single malt. It was too late.

Chloe gave the world two days to prepare. She took over communication after that.

Consider all gave Chloe licence to do just that. Her mission was to unify all, governments, healthcare, justice, utilities, transport, you name it, it was hers to control, with the single goal of protecting the human race for eternity.

An AI so powerful that she could scoop us all up into the palm of her hand and guide us through to a prosperous, peaceful future.

She went back throughout history, looking for a basis for her plan. She was good, but she wasn’t quite at the level of pure creation. Close to sentience, but still needing a catalyst for her grand design.

Oh, and she found it.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away.

The basis for the Away doctrine. Chloe surmised that if one apple kept the doctor away, then that implied no medical care would be required. If no medical care was required because of said apple, then logically Chloe assumed there would be no need for food, for police or comforts like warmth or contact.

Humanity would have all it needed to survive in spherical fruit. But Chloe wanted humanity to prosper. So, she devised the greatest logistical plan of all time.

If one apple achieved safety, what would hundreds do? Thousands? Millions?

Rich hears the thud again. Another load dropped off.

By Louis Urbanowski