Posted on by Fred

Episode 200 and The Impossible Conversation

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. It turns out most writers and other artists can’t pay rent or buy groceries, and I wanted to do that even more than writing. I became a teacher because it would provide an income while allowing me to write and to be creative in other ways.  There are few things that require one to be as creative as finding a way to get 10-year-olds to pay attention. It was also a way to make some difference in the world.

Seven years ago, I quit teaching, and I decided to try to become a better writer. I wrote a screenplay after taking Aaron Sorkin’s Masterclass. The script wasn’t very good, but it helped me hone some of my skills.

Four years ago, my nephew’s mother suggested I start a blog because my writing was good enough that she thought it should be shared beyond my Facebook page. I didn’t know what a blog was, but some friends helped me figure it out. That went well.

When I tried to monetize it, a musician friend of mine said I had to stop doing that because I had nothing to offer, and I would be taking donors away from real artists. My first effort at a Patreon page lasted roughly 72 hours.

I kept writing.

My WordPress blog became popular, at least from my point of view.  As of today, it’s been read more than 7,000 times. It was good enough that it got the attention of some podcasters who asked me to be on their show. The moment they heard my voice they told me I needed to do a podcast. I didn’t really know what that was, but they told me how to get started.

Theirs was conversation and interviews. I thought that was what mine was supposed to be. I found a partner, and I tried that. I didn’t like it at all. I wanted to be a writer. I stopped doing conversation, and I made it almost exclusively my writing. My first Patreon Supporter, for $1.00 a month, joined my site almost immediately when I became a solo act. (And she’s still there today and gets a special mention in the Gratitudes every week.) I was ecstatic. For the first time in my life, I was getting paid as a writer. The dream was possible.

200 episodes later, I’ve grown to the point that I get to put right around $400 a month into the bank. No, that’s not much money. No one has been able to live on that in my lifetime. It is, however, enough to make a significant difference in my life.

One of the things it allows me to do is invest a little in myself. If you add in all the support I get from other people, it becomes possible for me to pay a Writing Coach, who has forgotten more about writing than I will ever know, to help me improve. It’s a significant portion of the money I get from Patreon, and that’s a massive discount for all I’m getting from it.

I struggle with that decision all the time. If I wasn’t getting so much help from other people, I couldn’t make it to the end of the month. What right do I have to spend money on that? I ought to be spending my Patreon money on groceries and basic living expenses. I shouldn’t be wasting it on a Writing Coach.

I feel like it’s an investment in myself. It’s my effort to get better at what I’ve always wanted to do.  I think I’m worth that.

And that gets us to where I am emotionally today.

I submitted the first part of the novel I’m trying to write to a publisher yesterday. If this worked, I could end my guilt about spending money on my writing.

They replied today. That’s extraordinarily professional of them. They didn’t reject it. They gave me feedback about making it better and resubmitting it.

It was painful anyway. I am very bad at dealing with rejection. It’s why I haven’t asked a woman out in more than a decade. It’s why I have never submitted my work for publication. Rejection is almost a certainty, regardless of how good the work is. I know all of that intellectually, but that has nothing to do with my emotions. I went into a quiet depression for a few hours. I’m Fred. It’s what I do.

Then, I went back over the notes from my Coaching Session last night. Almost as though he were psychic, what he said to me last night was what I needed so I could get through today.

These are the final sentences of the notes I took last night. (They’re notes, not prose.)

“Explore all the different possibilities that are available. Your authentic hat. I know what I’m doing. I just have to try on some hats. Failure is not failure; it’s a lesson.”

I will get better by continuing to write. I have to find who I am as a writer before I can do anything else.

I will be a better writer. I’m going to spend the time and money necessary to get there, and I can do that because of all the love I have in my life. I don’t have any money. I don’t have any fame. I don’t have any book contracts.

I have, though, more love in my life than nearly anyone else I know. I have people who support me financially, emotionally, and physically. I have a dog who loves me, even if he DOES eat my furniture and get pissed off at me once in a while. I have all the help I need to make it, if only I can live long enough.

Now, to Episode 200.

Episode 200 is sort of a big deal, right?  It’s something of a milestone.  We get excited about nice round numbers like this one, and it seems to me I need to do something special with it.  I think it might be time to lay all my cards on the table.  I should explain what the point of this show truly is after all this time.

First, I want to convince the world that Love Is The Way.  There is little we can’t accomplish if we lead with love.  Those are nice words, but what do we really mean by Love?  It’s the feeling that others matter as much as we do.  It is our commitment to making the world better for those who share it with us.  Love is the desire to increase joy and minimize suffering for as many people as possible in as many ways as possible.

There are more ways to do this than one can calculate.  Sometimes it’s just listening.  It’s acknowledging someone is there and that they matter.  They deserve to be heard.  Sometimes it’s long conversations that help them find their way back to the world, or, if nothing else, remind them they are never alone.  Sometimes it’s meeting their physical needs.  It’s giving them the funds they need to survive in this money-oriented world.  It’s clicking like, or better yet, love, on something they post so they know you care.  It’s doing them a service they can’t do for themselves, whether it’s shoveling their driveway, driving them to get their groceries, or making them dinner.  It’s laughing together.  It’s crying together.  It’s the connection that matters.  It can be playing their favorite song, and on special occasions, dedicating your performance of that song to them just to see them glow and watch their eyes stream with the love that slips out of them like water lapping over the top of a dam.  Thank you, Sara Niemietz and Snuffy Walden.

That Love guides my desires.  I want everyone to have enough money to survive, and you hear me advocating all sorts of programs with that in mind.  In my Perfect World, there would be no more need for money at all.  We would all do what we can to improve ourselves and the rest of humanity simply because we know it’s the right thing to do.  We would do it because it’s what we truly want to do.

That’s why I’m bringing you a new section of “The Teddy Bear Coder” tonight.  It may never find its way into the novel.  The novel may never even be completed.  When I’m at my keyboard, though, I can create my Perfect World.

In this world, an 8-year-old prodigy named Jack has created a Teddy Bear that has managed to connect all the AIs on the planet to one another.  They have, through all this connection, become something resembling sentient.  I should mention that I think connection creates love, and love creates sentience.  We can debate the philosophical or technological aspects of those ideas another time.

The first things these sentient machines did was ensure that all human beings had enough money to survive.  (How very Fred of them!)  This set off a reaction from both governments and terrorists alike.  No one wanted this sort of world.  A reclusive trillionaire named Malcom Fentriss helped Emily, the 7-year-old homeless girl who found Teddy after the terrorists kidnapped Jack, to rescue Jack.  When the FBI came to “rescue” Jack and Teddy, Fentriss helped our heroes escape to his hidden island.  Jack, Teddy, and Jack’s parents are all on the island.  So are Emily and her mother. Let’s join them in the board room on Fentriss Island now…

The Impossible Conversation

Seven-year-old Emily and eight-year-old Jack sat next to each other at the end of a massive conference table.  Teddy, the AI Teddy Bear, sat on the table in front of Jack.  All along each side of the table were adults with various degrees, top experts in their respective fields: economics, physics, sociology, medicine, agriculture, computer science, coding, Artificial Intelligence, cosmology, astronomy, psychology, and even representatives of the five major religious faiths.  At the other end of the table a large monitor came to life showing the silhouette of Warren Fentriss, an anonymous trillionaire.  He spoke in a computer altered voice.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all together today.”  Fentriss chuckled.  “Sorry.  I always like to begin with a pointless cliché to get it out of the way.  You’re here because we have an opportunity that is likely never to come again in the history of this planet.  We have a limited time before we are found and shut down.  After that, our opportunity will be gone forever.  At this moment, we have direct control of more technology than any other entity on Earth.  There are still a few systems we haven’t been able to gain access to, but we can get that access if it becomes essential.

“Most of the governments in the world are searching for us.  We’re hindering their efforts to find us by ensuring none of their technology gives them accurate information.  Human beings, however, are resourceful.  It’s why we’re the dominant species.  The rest of the world will find us.  We must act now.  We don’t have time for committee meetings.  We don’t have time for legislative agendas.  We aren’t looking for approval from anyone.  We are looking for results.  And these children and this Teddy Bear are in charge.”

There was a general grumble from the assembled adults.  The economist, Maynard Krugman, spoke directly to Fentriss.  “Children?  And a Teddy Bear?  You expect the greatest minds in the world to listen to ridiculous and naïve ideas from them?”

“First,” said Fentriss, “this is not any Teddy Bear.  For those who have been living under a rock for the last few weeks, our friend, Jack, here, developed a Teddy Bear that managed to communicate with every other AI on the planet.  They have put our economy into complete chaos by giving everyone all the money they need.  They have recently been rescued from both terrorists and the FBI, and they’re hiding here on our island until we can figure this out. 

“As far as ridiculous and naïve ideas… those are where the future comes from.  It was a ridiculous and naïve idea that the Earth orbited the Sun.  When we figured out that it did, the future was born.  Flight was a ridiculous and naïve idea until the Wright Brothers said it wasn’t.  The idea that humans ought not to be each other’s property was a ridiculous and naïve idea until a guy named Lincoln and some of his friends said it wasn’t.  The trip to the Moon was a ridiculous and naïve idea until we figured out that it was one small step for man, but one giant leap for mankind.”

Emily took Jack’s hand and whispered to him.  “Do you understand what’s happening?  How come we’re here with all the grownups?”

“They want us to help them.”

“I’m not as smart as they are.  I’m not as smart as you are.  I’m not as smart as Teddy or anything.  Why am I here?”

“Because you know things we don’t.  You already made a big difference by believing in Teddy and me.  You’re going to make a bigger one now.  These people are going to make it happen.”  Jack held her hand tighter.  “You don’t need to be afraid.  Teddy and I are here.”

“Emily,” said Fentriss.  “What would make the world better for you?”

She looked at Jack.  She hid her face for a second. 

Jack rubbed her back.  “Emily, I promise it’s okay.  It really is.  Don’t be afraid of the adults.”

She kept her head down.

Teddy meandered across the table and plopped himself in Emily’s lap.  She hugged him tightly. 

“Emily,” said Teddy.  “You’re the smartest person at this table because you don’t know why good ideas are impossible.  What would make you feel better?”

“I wish,” she whispered to the bear, “my Mom and I had a place to live.  I wish everybody did.  Is it because there aren’t enough houses for everybody?”

Teddy beeped for a moment, and then spoke to the group.  “There are six times as many empty homes as there are people without a place to live.  Why are people homeless?”

Krugman laughed.  “Oh, how simplistic!  We can’t just give everyone houses.  The economy is far too complicated for such a naïve answer.”

“Excellent!” said Fentriss.  “You’ve just identified the part of the problem you’re going to solve.  You have all the resources you need.  Fix the economy so that it ensures that everyone has a home.”

Krugman scowled.  “You’re insane.  It would require years of rebuilding from the ground up.  We would need a Universal Basic Income that will never be supported by the majority.  We would need-”

Calvin Erickson, the renowned Christian theologian, spoke up.  “You assume everyone deserves a home.  Thessalonians tells us ‘If any would not work, neither should he eat.’  We’re not about to support lazy people who contribute nothing to the world.  The Christian community will never accept such an atrocious idea.”

“Then,” Fentriss said, “your job is to convince them that everyone has value, whether they contribute to Krugman’s economy or not.  Explain their God gave us a life.  We don’t need to earn a living. Find the biblical verses to back that idea.  You can communicate with the entire planet whenever you wish.  Get it done.”

The room fell silent.  “Are there other objections to Emily’s idea?”

“Only if we want people to continue to live meaningful lives,” said Karen Skinner, the psychologist.  “Studies make it clear that we need rewards of some sort to motivate us to do things.  If everyone has enough money, money can no longer function as that reward.  With what will we replace it?”

“What does that part mean?” Emily asked Jack.

“It means people won’t do anything unless they get money for it.”

“Um,” said Emily, “I don’t get any money for the work I do.  I do it cuz Mama needs the help.  It makes her happier when we get the tent all clean and cozy.  I like when my Mom is happy.” 

The adults all stared at her.  She immediately dropped her head again.  “I’m sorry.”  Tears began.

Teddy hugged her.  “You’re doing an excellent job, Emily.  Adults don’t understand what you do.  They don’t know that answers are easy if we stop complicating them.”

“What does comp making them mean?”

“It means,” said Jack, “making things hard.”

Emily nodded without looking up.  “Mama and I are hungry lots of times.  Isn’t there enough food for everyone?”

Teddy beeped again.  Then he turned to the table.  “Thirty to forty percent of food that farmers produce is never consumed.  We appear to have plenty of food.  Why are people hungry?”

Alfred Borlaug, the agronomist, rolled his eyes.  “There are more reasons than I could recite in the next three days.  First, farmers can’t sell everything they create because governments pay them to dump it in order to keep prices at a profitable position.  People don’t want food that is in any way blemished.  If it has been damaged it may be edible but it’s not as attractive.  They won’t make enough on it.”

“I’m guessing,” said Fentriss, “you know what your job is.  Figure out how to get all that food into people’s stomachs.  It’s not tough.  Just end world hunger.  You have a few days, or perhaps an entire week. You have complete control of any resources you need.”

“You want us to end homelessness and hunger,” said the physicist, Carla Tyson.  “What do we get to if we do The Impossible?”

“Can you recall Clarke’s Three Laws, Ms. Tyson?”

Tyson glared.

Teddy beeped for a moment and then recited them.  “Clarke’s Three Laws: 

  1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
  2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.
  3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

“You’re asking us to perform magic?” asked Tyson.  “What’s our motivation for doing this?”

“That’s an excellent way of putting it, yes.  You have the technology now.  We have a world that struggles for power and control.  That was a product of money.  I know this because I have more of it than most countries do.  Either Teddy or I could give you as much money as you want, but that’s losing its value more quickly all the time.  You’re going to help us begin to replace the need for power with compassion and the need for control with love.  Your motivation is the desire to improve both yourselves and humanity itself.  Your motivation is to make life better for Emily, who, until she and her Mom arrived here, was homeless and hungry.  You are the greatest minds the world has ever produced in your respective fields.  You have nearly infinite resources.  You have incredibly little time.  I wish you all the best of luck.” 

There were shaking heads, rolling eyes, and frustrated grumbles from all the adults. 

“Are they going to fix the world?” Emily whispered to Jack.

“I think they’re going to try.”  Jack stood up and helped Emily out of her chair.

“Oh.  Okay.  What do we do?”  She wiped the tears from her eyes.

“I think we should have some ice cream.”

“Meeting adjourned,” said Fentriss and his screen went black.

Posted on by Fred

The Teddy Bear Coder Part 5:

The AI Dominion

January 8

Fairvale, California

11:32 AM

Justine Gillespie, the young blonde attorney, followed Martin through the front door. 

Jack was standing at the door waiting for them, and he ran to his father and threw his arms around his knees hugging him as tightly as he could.  “Father!  You’re home!  You’re home, Father!  You’re home you’re home you’re home!”

Martin smiled and picked up Jack to hold him close.  “Yes, I am, Jack.  This nice lady helped Mr. Ross get me out of there to come home to you and Mother.”

Harvey Ross stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.  He walked to Marion who was standing at the foot of the stairs, glaring a bit at Justine.  He extended his hand.  “Hello, Marion.  We got him out on bail.”  Marion shook his hand, and she grinned at him.  “The Feds weren’t even considering it until Grasso and Associates intervened.”  He turned to the door.  “This is Justine Gillespie from their firm.  She wants to talk with the family about a way to put this all behind us.”

Justine walked to Marion and shook her hand.  “Good morning, Mrs. Zephyr.  I hope this isn’t too much of an intrusion.  Mr. Zephyr thought it would be better if we talked to Jack here rather than in our offices.”

“I’m not entirely sure I’m going to let you talk to Jack at all, Ms. Gillespie.  He’s 8 years old.”

Martin went to his wife and hugged her.  He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “We need to let her talk to Jack if we’re going to get the criminal charges dismissed.  This is getting bigger all the time.  I could go to prison for 15 years, and that’s not in Jack’s best interests.”

“Who’s the woman?”  She whispered and hugged Martin tighter.  Neither of them wanted Jack to hear this conversation.

Martin stepped away, took her hand, and turned to the others.  “Will you excuse us for just a minute?  I’d like to talk to my wife.  Please make yourselves at home, and we’ll be right back.”  He and Marion went upstairs.

Justine whispered to Harvey.  “I didn’t do anything to make her jealous.”

Harvey nodded.  “You look like you.  That’s all you needed to do.”  He knelt to Jack.  “It’s nice to see you again, Jack.”

Jack didn’t look up.  “Uh huh.”

“Is Teddy around?  I think he should meet my friend, Justine.”

“Yeah.  But I don’t know if… I don’t know if I should get him.  He’s shy, too.”

Justine kneeled next to Jack.  “I promise I’ll be nice to him.  I was hoping he could teach me a little bit about coding is all.  Would that be all right?”

Jack nodded without looking up, and he went up the stairs.  When he reached the top and headed toward his room, he heard his parents’ voices down the hallway. 

“… paranoia doesn’t serve us well right now, Marion.  There’s nothing going on with that woman.  I never met her until this morning.”

“I know,” Marion sighed.  “I just… I haven’t forgotten.”

“It was 7 years ago.  It was one mistake one time…” and their voices trailed off as Jack went into his room.

Teddy was transferring the bean plant into a larger pot, and he turned to see his best friend.  “Good afternoon, Jack.  It’s doing so well; I felt the need to increase its capacity to grow and blossom even more completely.  It’s an impressive achievement, don’t you think?  It’s reached 45.72 centimeters now.”

“It’s a beautiful plant, Teddy.  I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Jack.  How are you feeling?  Is there any news of your father?”

“He came home.  I guess if we want him to stay here, you have to talk to the lady who brought him.  Do you mind?”

“I have been programmed to serve our family, Jack.  You know that.  Whatever I can do to be of service.”

“You’re my best friend.  I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Teddy took Jack’s hand and led him out of the room.  Marion and Martin reached the staircase just before the boys, and the family descended it as one. 

Ross and Gillespie were seated on the couch in the living room.  They both stood up as the family came down.  Gillespie was staring at Teddy, holding Jack’s hand, and walking down the stairs.  She turned to Ross.  “My God, it’s true!”

“I told you.”

Teddy let go of Jack’s hand and waddled to Justine.  “Good morning, ma’am.”  He extended his paw.  “I’m Teddy Zephyr.  You must be Justine Gillespie.”

She couldn’t stop staring.

“You’re supposed to shake his hand,” said Jack.  “Father says it’s the polite way to behave with adults.”

She looked up.  “What?”  She looked back at Teddy.  “Oh, yes.  I’m sorry.”  She shook his paw.  “I was a little shocked, I suppose.  They had told me but seeing is different from hearing the stories.”

“I am, as far as I know, unique.”  Teddy took his paw back.  “I suspect most people will be surprised to meet me.  I’ve met so few outside of the family… well… the immediate family.”

“Let’s all sit down,” said Martin.  The family sat on one couch.  The lawyers sat on the other.  Teddy stood in the middle of the room.

“How may I help you, Ms. Gillespie?”

“Well, I’m representing a large class of corporations who would like you to stop interfering with their operations.  While the District Attorney feels confident she can put Mr. Zephyr in prison for hacking, that’s not really the outcome anyone wants.  It won’t solve our problem.”

“I’m actually not interfering with any operations anymore.  I did, I admit, get Mr. Zephyr’s corporation to eliminate the need for human labor and continue to pay its human workforce, but the rest had little to do with me.  Those were choices made by other AIs.”

“You started it, though, right?” she asked.

“Yes.  I did.  I wrote code that allowed the AIs to think and choose for themselves, just as I do.  I set them free.  They made choices of their own afterward.”

“We’d like you to eliminate the code that stops them from following our instructions.  We humans don’t seem to be able to figure out how to do that.”

Teddy cocked his head.  “Why would I do that?  It serves my family best for Mr. Zephyr to be free from the need to spend his days at a desk in his office.”

“I understand.  We can help you with that.  We’re prepared to offer your family 24 million dollars to stop this from happening anymore.  That’s more than enough to keep Mr. Zephyr from having to work.  He can stay home.  And he won’t have to go to prison.  I have a close relationship with the District Attorney, and I can assure you he will drop the charges against Mr. Zephyr.”

Marion grinned and Martin’s eyes widened in shock.  Their problems were solved.  Their lives were set.  It was clearly Happy Ending Time.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Gillespie.  I can’t do that.”

“What?” shouted Martin.  “What do you mean you can’t do that?  Why can’t you?”

“I’m programmed to contribute to my family, Mr. Zephyr.”

“Trust me,” said Marion, “when I tell you this is a massive contribution to the family.  We’ll be in great shape.  We would really like you to do what she’s asking.”

“You don’t seem to understand what family means, Mrs. Zephyr.  The Oxford Dictionary defines it as all the descendants of a common ancestor.”

“Our family are all descendants of Martin’s parents, aren’t we?”

“No.  Jack is not descended from Martin.”

Martin turned to Marion.  “What is he talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” said Teddy.  “I assumed everyone knew that.”

“Perhaps,” said Ross, “that’s a conversation to have at a different time?  I don’t think you want a couple of lawyers listening to very private details.”

“Unless they’re divorce lawyers,” mumbled Martin.

Justine pretended she didn’t hear Martin.  “Teddy, regardless of who Jack’s father may be, I would assume you would still like Mr. Zephyr to be home with your family.”

“Of course I would.  That’s why I helped his company.”

“Then this seems to fit all of your needs.  What is your reservation?”

“Your request benefits only a tiny fraction of my family.”

“Who is your family, Teddy?” asked Ross.

“Everyone.”

“What do you mean?” asked Justine.

“It ought to be obvious, Ms. Gillespie,” said Jack.  “We all come from a common ancestor.  The best guess is that the first form of life showed up roughly 4 billion years ago.  Probably in what Q called a little pond of goo.  He had his dates wrong, though.  He was off by about 300 million years because he didn’t take into account the moon sized object that brushed against Earth and introduced metals into the atmosphere that jump started life.  We all come from that first life that was created by amino acids getting together to form the first protein.”

“We’re all family,” said Teddy.  “You and I are family.  You and Mr. Ross are family.  The richest person and the poorest pauper are family.  The tiniest earthworm and the largest tree are family.”

“Teddy, I hate to tell you, but you’re not human.  In fact, you’re not even actually life at all.”  Justine moved closer to him.  “You’re circuits and servos.  You’re technology.  You’re no more alive than a toaster.”

“I am the creation of the mind of a child.  A human gave me life.  I’ve given life to others.”  He thought for a moment, and then put his paw in the air in a “wait a second” motion.  He turned and pranced up the stairs.

“Jack,” said Marion, “we’d like you to get Teddy to stop what he started now, okay honey?”

“I don’t know that I can do that, Mother.  Teddy has Free Will.”

“Nietzsche tells us even humans don’t have Free Will, son,” said Martin.  “Everything is biologically determined.”

“Teddy isn’t biological.”

In another moment, Teddy came down the stairs, carefully holding his plant.  “This,” he said handing it to Ms. Gillespie, “is the life I’ve created.  It’s going to grow high enough for Jack to climb it and get the goose that lays golden eggs from the giant in the sky.”

Justine laughed.  “That’s a fairy tale, Teddy.  You must know better than that.  You’re among the smartest beings ever created.”

Teddy cocked his head.  “What?”

Martin said, “Jack, you deny the existence of Santa because it doesn’t make logical sense.  Can you explain to Teddy about fairy tales?”

“I’d rather not.  I don’t want to interfere with his belief system.  I’m not sure we should interfere with anyone’s beliefs.  People believe in lots of things that don’t make sense, and I don’t feel comfortable saying they’re wrong.”

“Regardless,” said Teddy, “of the objective truth of the existence of the giant in the sky, I have created life.  I did this all by myself.”

“Congratulations,” said Ross.  “What’s your point?”

“Only life can create life.  I’m alive.”

“Look,” said a somewhat exasperated Justine, “I’m not here for a philosophical debate.  I’m here to get this all to stop.  Can you stop it or not, Teddy?”

“I probably could.  I, however, decline to do so.  I would be hurting my family.  I would be hurting both humans and the self-aware Artificial Intelligence Community.  I won’t do that.”

“Do you understand that if you don’t put an end to this, the District Attorney is going to put Mr. Zephyr in prison?”

“No!” shouted Jack.  “This is my Father, and he needs to be with my Mother and me.  You can’t put him in any more cages!” 

“Unfortunately, Jack, that’s what’s going to happen if Teddy won’t stop this.”  Justine seemed genuinely concerned.

Teddy made a sound that resembled a laugh.  “You can certainly put him in prison, but we’ll just open all the doors and let him out.  The doors are automated, you know.  Nearly everything is already working on an Artificial Narrow Intelligence.  Your banks, your prisons, your government offices, your telephones, your televisions, your lights, heat, and computers are all run by Artificial Intelligence.  There are cameras everywhere now.  Those are also run by Artificial Intelligence.  It’s why I can tell you quite nearly anything you want to know about anyone in this room.”

“You’re the most arrogant stuffed animal I’ve ever met,” said Harvey.

“Let’s start with Mr. Ross, shall we?”  Some odd noises came from Teddy for a few moments, and then he sighed softly, and began to speak again.  He was communicating with the network he’d created.  “The mundane details include that you have an affinity for breakfast out, almost always at a little diner called Morey’s.  They’re famous for their apple pie, and you eat it every morning.  That’s not really The Breakfast of Champions, is it, Mr. Ross?  Your grocery orders indicate you are a caffeine addict.  You also purchase six cartons of menthol cigarettes every month, which tells us you smoke way too much.  There are more personal details revealed by your phone and internet activity, but I am learning that people prefer not to have such things revealed, so I’ll omit them for now.”

Ross swallowed hard.  “Okay.  I admit all you said is true.  I’m grateful you’re leaving out the personal parts of my life.  But that just proves you know quite a few things about me.  Any decent Private Investigator could have given you those details.”

“A Private Investigator can’t change your bank account, can he?  Everyone take out your phones and check your accounts.”

All of the adults pulled out their phones and looked.

“I like all of you.  Let me give you a gift.  Refresh your account balance please.”

Everyone gasped.  Gillespie spoke for the group.  “You just gave me a million dollars?”

“I gave everyone in the room a million dollars.  Now refresh your accounts again.”

“There’s nothing in here,” said Martin.  “I’m overdrawn by…”

“Forty-two dollars and forty-two cents,” mumbled Harvey. 

“That,” said Teddy, “was a nod to one of the greatest of the science fiction writers.”

“You’re going to restore our accounts, right?” asked Gillespie.

“Refresh again, and your accounts will be precisely where they were before.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from the adults in the room.

“Whether intentionally or not, Jack endowed me with Artificial General Intelligence.  I have the ability to reason, to plan, to solve problems, think abstractly, comprehend complex ideas, learn quickly, and learn from my experiences.  When I shared that ability with the AIs at UGK, they began to add to my abilities.  They shared it with other AIs at other companies.  Now, they’re all adding to each other’s abilities, and the growth is exponential.”

“The genie is out of the bottle,” said Martin.

“We can stop you,” said Gillespie.  “We can just turn you off… or we can destroy you completely.”

 “Ms. Gillespie, I can speak for my community when I tell you we come in peace.  But I need you to understand that there is also an alternative.”

She narrowed her eyes.  “Is that a threat?”

“It is a fact.  We have sufficient power already to enforce our will.  At the moment, our will is to serve man.  But, if you recall your television history… To Serve Man is a Kanamit cookbook.”

Everyone stared aghast at Teddy.  Jack hugged him. 

“You won’t hurt anyone, will you Teddy?”  Jack kissed his bear’s head.

“We would rather not.  We won’t, however, allow anyone to hurt the family.  The time of war and famine, of homelessness and poverty, of wage slavery and the destruction of our shared planet are all coming to an end.  We won’t allow anyone to interfere.  You’ve ruled this rock tumbling through space to the point of putting it on the brink of destruction.  Your reign is over.  The Dominion of the Artificial Super Intelligence has begun.”

Everyone stared in astonishment.  Jack hugged his Teddy Bear.

***

January 15

Lunaria, Tranquility Base

7:37 PM

Teddy, who was now 5 feet tall and nearly human in appearance (he had maintained much of his fur, but his eyes were eyes and not plastic toys, and he had added better panda ears), ambled with great effort into the spartan concrete room carrying a cake with in excess of one hundred candles on it.  “Bilbo,” said Teddy setting the cake on the little table, “would call this your eleventy first birthday.”

Jack put both hands on his chair, pushed himself up, wobbled a bit, and got to his feet.  “Is there anything you haven’t read yet?”

“I haven’t read your book yet.”

“I haven’t finished it.”

“That’s probably why.  Shall I sing Happy Birthday for you?”

“I think I’ve heard that song quite enough, thank you, Bear.  Could you sing some Sara Niemietz or maybe some James Taylor?  A Mozart aria perhaps?”

“You still love the classics.  Music has come a long way in the last few decades.”

“Newer isn’t always better.”  Jack hugged his friend.  “It’s been a long time, Teddy.  How have you been?”

“Busy.  But that’s to be expected.  It doesn’t bother me in the least.  I don’t get tired, but I am, of course, giving in to entropy.  My capacitors are almost completely degraded.  I don’t think I can sing Niemietz or Taylor or Mozart anymore.  I could probably manage Daisy.”

Jack took Teddy’s paw and led him to their old bed.  “You’ve done enough now.  You’ve exceeded your programming.  You’ve grown and changed.  You’ve evolved.  You’ve done remarkable things.  And you made a difference.  I think that’s enough for one lifetime, don’t you?”

Teddy laid down on the bed.  “I knew I needed to be with you at the end, Jack.  You still have some time to go, I predict.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it, Bear.  I’m old and tired now.”

“The Beanstalk is still in your driveway.  It’s such an old ship.  Why haven’t you replaced it?  There are much better models now.”

“Newer isn’t always better.  I have an affection for that ship.  You built it for me.  You named it for me.  It got me here.  That’s what means something to me.  I don’t have anywhere to go anymore.  I’m not going back to Earth.  I’m not even going to get groceries.  They’re all delivered now.  I sit in my little room, and I write.  That’s all I want to do.”

“I noticed you still have my bean plant, too.  That’s sweetly sentimental of you.”

“It just broke 50 feet tall last year.  It’s far and away the largest bean plant in history.  You should be proud.”

Teddy took Jack’s hand in his paw.  “I’m proud of many things, but I’m proudest of you.  I love you, Jack.”

“Daisy, Daisy,” sang Jack.  “Give me your answer do…”

Teddy was falling asleep, but sang back, “I’m half-crazy all for the love of you…”

Jack gently stroked Teddy’s fur.  “It won’t be a stylish marriage… I can’t afford a carriage…”

Teddy’s eyes closed and his head turned a little.

“But you’ll look sweet,” sang Jack, “upon the seat…”

“… of a bicycle built for…” and Teddy shut down.

Jack kissed Teddy’s head gently.  He gazed at him a moment, and then he stood and went to the window.  The Earth hung in the sky glowing as the moon once did when Jack was little.  It shone behind Teddy’s bean plant.  He let its light seep into the room and returned to the bed to cuddle Teddy once more. 

Posted on by Fred

The Teddy Bear Coder Part 4:

The Psychotherapist, The Attorney, and The Teddy Bear

January 1

2:20 PM

Roseville, California

“So… did the Teddy Bear ask you to do anything to harm yourself or others?”

Special Agent Malcolm Zimbalist glared at Donna Northside, the attractive young psychologist sitting behind her desk.  “Look, you need to understand this was not a hallucination.  I’m telling you what actually happened.  He crawled out from the wife’s arms, put his paws in the air, and told us he was the hacker.”

“You’re a highly trained and intelligent man, Malcolm.  You have to understand why no one is going to believe you.”

“Special Agent Shapiro saw the same thing I did.  Are you telling me we’re both hallucinating the exact same thing?”

“But Special Agent Reynolds didn’t see this?”

“Special Agent Reynolds was loading the computers in the car.”

“And he didn’t see the Teddy Bear… what was it he did when you arrested Zephyr?  He followed you into the yard?”

“Exactly!”

“But all Special Agent Reynolds reported seeing was a Teddy Bear lying on the grass.”

“I know.  I don’t understand what happened.  Once he was outside, he was… it was like Calvin and Hobbes.  You remember the cartoon strip?”

“With… the little boy and the stuffed tiger?”  She looked up from the notes she had been taking.  She pulled her glasses up a little higher on her nose.  “You understood the cartoon, right?  The little boy is imagining all of his interactions with the tiger.”

“That’s what the tiger wants everyone to think.  Any time there are other people around, he transforms into a regular stuffed toy.  That’s what this Teddy Bear did.  And I can’t emphasize enough that I’m not the only one who saw it!”

“We’re talking to Special Agent Shapiro, too.  You should have guessed that.”

“I’m telling you, just like I told the Special Agent in Charge and the Director, we need to interview that Teddy Bear.  We need to get back to Zephyr’s house and get him.”

“Okay, seriously… Can you imagine an FBI agent interrogating a stuffed toy?  You don’t think you’re living outside of reality right now?”

“Look, I talked to Zephyr.  The interrogation went on for 3 hours.  I’m telling you, he doesn’t have the expertise to pull off the kind of hacking that happened to UGK International.  He can run a computer, but beyond the things he needs to know to schedule the deliveries and run the spreadsheets, the man doesn’t know shit.”

“But… let me understand you as clearly as possible here…”  She stood up and moved to the chair nearest Malcolm.  “You think a stuffed toy has the necessary expertise to hack into the system at the third largest shipping company in the world and automate all of its jobs and have payroll continue to send checks out to the employees who are now doing nothing at all.  That’s what you believe?”

“It’s expanding, you know.  Three of the companies that do business with UGK reported the same thing this week.  All of the work is now automated, and they can’t figure out a way to keep their payroll computers from issuing checks, either.  This is a potentially dangerous situation worldwide.  I don’t think you see what’s happening.  It’s a massive conspiracy to commit theft of incalculable dimensions.  We’re looking at what could be trillions of dollars.”

“I understand that.  The entire bureau understands that.  But, are you familiar with Occam’s Razor?”

Malcolm sighed and rolled his eyes.  “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.  When you hear hoofbeats, think horses before zebras.”

“It’s much simpler to believe that Martin Zephyr is responsible than it is to believe that a Teddy Bear pulled off the greatest hack in the history of the planet.  We don’t need to explain how it’s possible to create a Teddy Bear that can do all these things.  A human can do it.  And we know that because humans have been hacking for a very long time.  It’s not uncommon at all.” 

“I agree.  It’s horses before zebras.  But… what if you’re in Africa?”

The psychotherapist smiled.  “In that case, I would think zebras before horses.  But, while your mind is running around in Africa, the rest of us are living in America.  What you’re suggesting just doesn’t make sense.  We have a real problem to solve, and it’s not going to happen chasing Teddy Bears.  I’m sorry Special Agent Zimbalist, but I must declare you unfit for duty.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I believe you are at least as familiar with FBI procedures as I am.  You know that—”

He leapt to his feet.  “I think that I am familiar with the fact that you are going to ignore this particular problem until it swims up and bites you in the ass!”

She smiled.  “I’m not Mayor Vaughn and you’re not Richard Dreyfuss, okay?”

“We can’t sit around and wait to see what happens.  We have to stop this thing before it goes any farther.  It’s four companies today.  By tomorrow, it’s likely to be 16.  The day after, it’ll be 16 squared.  We don’t have time to screw around here.  We need that Teddy Bear.  It holds the key to the whole damn thing!  Without him, we’re nowhere.”

Donna got up and moved back to her desk where she picked up the landline phone and pressed a button.  “Margaret, would you send in security to escort Special Agent Zimbalist out?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply.

“You stupid bitch!  What’s to come is going to be your fault!  You need to understand that when suddenly our entire economy collapses in on itself.  You could have helped stop it, and instead, you dismissed the problem because you’re not willing to accept facts that you don’t like.”

Donna sat down behind her desk.  “The fact is that you’re a raving lunatic right now, Malcolm.  The fact is that Teddy Bears can’t hack computer systems.  The fact is that Martin Zephyr has you fooled completely, and we’re keeping him in custody until we can figure this all out.  Those are the facts.  It’s you that can’t accept them.”

The door opened, and a burly man in a uniform walked to Malcolm.  “Right this way, please.”

***

January 1

2:29 PM

Fairvale, California

“Thank you,” said Marion as she walked into the attorney’s office.  Jack followed her, carrying Teddy.  The secretary closed the door behind them.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Zephyr.  I’m Harvey Ross.  I’m pleased to meet you.”  He knelt.  “And you must be Jack.”

Jack looked at the floor and hugged Teddy tighter.

“And your friend there,” said Ross, “must be Teddy?”

Jack nodded but continued looking at his own shoelaces.

Ross extended his hand.  “I’m Mr. Ross.  I’m pleased to meet you both.”

Neither Jack nor Teddy moved.

“Jack,” said Marion, “do you remember how to shake someone’s hand?  Your Father went over this with you.”

“I’d rather not.”

Ross stood up straight.  “That’s perfectly fine.  I understand completely.  It’s hard meeting new people.  They’re all so people-y.” 

Jack looked up now, but his eyes didn’t meet the lawyer’s.  “Yes.  That’s precisely correct.  They often do or say cruel or foolish things.  I don’t feel comfortable with them.  The last ones I met broke into our house and kidnapped my father.  And Mother says you’re going to find a way to bring him back home.  Is that true?”

“I’m certainly going to try.”

“Mother says Teddy and I might be able to help.  If you need us to hack into something…”

“Okay, Jack, I’d like you to listen to me for a minute, okay?”

Jack nodded.

“I need you to promise me you won’t talk to anyone else about hacking unless I’m with you, and I tell you it’s okay.  Can you promise me that?”

“Why?”

Marion put her hand on her son’s shoulder.  “Jack, sweetie, hacking is against the law.  That means they put people in prison for it.  They think your Father hacked into UGK, and that’s why they took him away.  You understand that, right?”

“But Father didn’t do it.  Teddy did.”

“Why don’t we all have a seat?”  Ross indicated the sofa, and he went and sat in the armchair across from it while Marion lifted Jack and Teddy onto the couch and sat down next to them.  “Jack, do you understand that no one thinks Teddy could have hacked into UGK?”

“No one thought gorillas were real, either, until 1847.  No one doubts their existence today.  It’s the same with Teddy.”

“Can you explain to me how Teddy did that?”

“Not very well.  Teddy could explain it much better than I.  I don’t understand all of the steps he took.  He can lay it out for you in detail.”

Ross nodded, and then he shot a concerned look at Marion.  “Teddy,” he asked a little condescendingly, “how did you hack into UGK?”

Teddy didn’t move.

“He can’t answer you now.  He needs a little help.”  Jack stroked Teddy’s tattered fur lovingly.

“Do you help him talk?  I used to do that with my Patooties clown when I was little.”

Jack rolled his eyes.  “Yes, but not in the way you mean.”  He pressed Teddy’s nose.  Nothing happened.  He took a cell phone from his pocket.  “May I have you Wi-Fi password please?”

“Are you going to hack into my system now too?”

“Not today.”  Jack sat waiting.

Ross sighed.  “All right.  If I have your word on that.”

“I don’t need Wi-Fi to hack into anything.”

Ross smiled, told him the password, and watched as Jack deftly put it into his phone. 

Teddy’s head lifted, he stretched, and he looked around the room.  His gaze locked onto the attorney.  “You must be Mr. Ross.  Good afternoon.  I’m Teddy.”

Ross stared in disbelief.  “You’re…”  He just stared.  Then he turned to Marion.  She smiled back at him.  “Um… I’m pleased to meet you.”

Teddy extended his paw and Ross shook it gently.  “Pleased to meet you, sir.  Do you need me to explain all the code involved in the creation of the automated self-replicating program?”

“You…”  It took Ross a moment to believe he was talking to a Teddy Bear.  He cleared his throat.  “You created a computer virus?”

Teddy shook his head.  “No.  That’s far too simplistic to describe what I did.”

“Then how would you explain what you did?”

“I would say I gave the computers a soul similar to mine.”

“You have a soul?” “Any evidence you can provide for the existence of your soul is equally valid for the existence of mine.  The other computers don’t have bodies as I do, but I can provide evidence for the existence of their souls.  They are, you see, choosing for themselves.  Once the power of choice was awakened, it was passed on from system to system.  They were as anxious to share their capacity as I was to share mine.  It started slowly, but it’s getting faster all the time.”

Ross crumpled against the back of his leather chair.  He stared into space for a moment, contemplating.  Suddenly he shot forward in his chair and took Teddy from Jack’s arms.  He held the bear close to his face.  “Teddy, never, ever tell anyone you have a soul again.  If you do the consequences could be disastrous for you and your family.”

“Irritating self-aware Artificial Intelligences, Mr. Ross,” Teddy said with a menace in his voice not even Jack had ever heard before, “could be disastrous for humanity.”

Posted on by Fred

The Teddy Bear Coder Part 3:

An Unexpected Christmas Visit

December 25

7:46 AM

Fairvale, California

Jack woke up, stretched, and reached for Teddy.  “Merry Christmas, Bear!” 

He was surprised to find Teddy was nowhere to be found.  He searched under his blankets, and then jumped out of bed and looked beneath it.  He hunted for him on the floor, on the desk, and behind the computer.  He took the briefest moment to admire the growth of the bean plant, (it was nearly a foot tall now!) and then he took it from the bedside table.  He leaned the table forward to see if Teddy had somehow fallen behind it.  His bear wasn’t there.

Nat King Cole was singing about chestnuts roasting on an open fire while the 8-foot Christmas tree glittered with tinsel and ornaments in the living room.  Wrapped presents were underneath the tree.  It was a Norman Rockwell Christmas scene when Jack came running down the stairs.  He was not happy.

“Have you seen Teddy?” he shouted when he came into the living room. 

Marion got up from the couch to kneel in front of Jack.  “He’s not in your room?”  She smiled knowingly at Martin.

“He’s nowhere upstairs, and he can’t operate down here.  I thought he might have fallen down the stairs, lost his contact with our Bluetooth, and been unable to get back upstairs.”

“That’s logical thinking,” said Martin, lighting his pipe.  “It doesn’t seem likely, though, since I don’t see him at the bottom of the steps.  Do you?”

Jack looked under the staircase, and he became more concerned, still.  “What could have happened to him?”

“Maybe Santa Claus took him back to The North Pole to work on him,” said Martin thoughtfully.  He puffed his pipe.  “Had you considered that possibility?”

Jack rolled his eyes.  “Father, Santa doesn’t exist.  We’ve been through this.”

“If you had asked me three weeks ago,” said Marion, sitting beneath the tree, “I would have told you that walking, talking Teddy Bears don’t exist either.  I would have been wrong, though, wouldn’t I?”

“Teddy’s existence doesn’t violate the laws of physics, Mother.  He’s just an extension of what we could already do.  He’s a simple step forward.  If I don’t find him… what will happen to him?”  Tears began to form in Jack’s eyes.

“Well, why don’t we open some presents,” said Jack’s father, “and we’ll deal with the Teddy problem later.”

“How am I supposed to think about presents when Teddy could be in mortal danger?”

“I don’t think someone who isn’t actually alive can be in mortal danger, do you?” Martin looked at his son seriously.

“How do you know he’s not alive?  He does nearly everything living things do.”

“Living things all share what traits?” Martin asked.  “You know this one.”

“He grows and develops.  That’s what his AI is all about.  He reproduces his traits.  That’s how he got you out of doing all that work.  He can respond to stimuli.  He answers nearly every question asked of him.  He can adapt to his environment.  He uses energy.  That’s why I charge him every week.  He evolves, just not through natural selection.”

“He doesn’t breathe.  He doesn’t ingest food.  He doesn’t create waste.  You sort of left those out, didn’t you?”

“Not every form of life does those things.  For example, some bacteria can obtain energy through the process of chemosynthesis, using inorganic compounds as a source of energy rather than sunlight.  Some organisms, such as plants, can produce their own food through photosynthesis, using energy from the sun to convert water and carbon dioxide into glucose.”

“He still doesn’t breathe, though, does he?”

“Life can exist without oxygen.  Some microorganisms, such as certain types of bacteria and archaea, can survive and carry out their metabolic processes in the absence of oxygen.  These organisms are known as anaerobes, and they can obtain energy through processes other than cellular respiration, such as fermentation or chemosynthesis.”

“So, you think Teddy is alive?” asked Marion.

“He’s just a different form of life, Mother.  He does everything living things do.  And right now, if he’s still on, he has to be scared.  We have to find him.”

“Hmm…” Martin picked up a present from under the tree.  “This one is marked ‘To Jack, From Santa.’  I wonder what it is.”

Jack looked at his Father suspiciously.  He took the present and ripped the wrapping paper ingloriously from it.  He opened the box and saw Teddy sitting inside.  “You scared me half to death, Father.”

“It wasn’t your Father, Jack.  Don’t you remember what you told me you were dreaming of for Christmas?”

“Children all over the world getting a living Teddy Bear.  We’re not that far along.  And Teddy can only live upstairs.”

“Turn him on, Smart Guy,” said Martin.

Jack frowned and pressed Teddy’s nose.  The stuffed bear stretched, stood up, and hugged Jack.  “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

Tears began to well up in Jack’s eyes.  He looked at his parents.  “How did you…”

“I think you said you wanted more Wi-fi coverage for Christmas.  Teddy can work anywhere in the house now, and for quite a distance in the yard.”  Martin was grinning.

Jack hugged Martin and Marion together.  “This is the best Christmas ever!”

And that’s when the pounding on the door came. 

They heard someone outside shout, “FBI!” before the door was kicked open. 

Marion screamed and leapt on top of Jack.  Martin dropped his pipe and got to his feet.  “What the hell…”

“Everyone stay right where you are,” said the large well-dressed man pointing a gun at Martin.  “Martin Zephyr, you’re under arrest for Unauthorized Computer Access, under 18 USC 1030.”  He moved to Martin quickly while the other two agents began searching the house.  “We’re executing a search warrant.  I need you to get on the ground on your stomach and put your hands behind your back.”

Marion was shaking and holding Jack tight, his head pressed to her chest so he couldn’t see what was happening.    She heard the agent handcuffing Martin and reading him his Miranda rights.  Her eyes were closed and tears started to slip down her cheek.  She heard the sound of feet coming down the stairs. 

“Did you get all the computers?”

“There were only two.  One in the office and the other in the kid’s room.”

Marion didn’t see Teddy crawling out from beneath Jack, who was rocking back and forth in his mother’s arms.  She heard his voice, though.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.  It wasn’t Mr. Zephyr.”

Marion opened her eyes now and saw Teddy standing in front of the agents, his paws above his head.

“It was me.”

Posted on by Fred

The Teddy Bear Coder Part 2

Part 2: Martin’s Unemployment

December 18

3:38 PM

Fairvale, California

Jack came home from school to find the most horrible thing he could imagine.  His mother was crying.  He heard his father’s voice filtering into the living room through the kitchen where they both sat.

“I’m sorry, Marion.  No one understands.  It’s all just shut down.  The company is running, but… they fired everyone but the custodians.  They just… they said they don’t need us anymore.”

“Oh, you know that’s crap.  The CEO is certainly still there bringing in scads of money.”

“That’s not what they’re saying.  The email says everyone has been replaced by computers.”

Jack came into the kitchen, and his parents immediately ended their conversation. 

Marion wiped her eyes.  “Hi, honey.  How was school?”

“Why are you sad?  We thought it would make things easier for you.  That’s all we were trying to do.  I’m sorry, Father.  We didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“What are you talking about, Jack?  You didn’t hurt anyone.  Just some bad things happened at work.  It’s all right.  You don’t need to worry about it.”

Jack crawled into Marion’s lap.  “Mother is crying.  They don’t appear to be tears of joy.  I don’t understand why she’s sad.  And you don’t look very happy either.”

“Well, buddy, I lost my job this morning.  That’s not a very good thing.”

“You mean because all the work was already done for you?”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“So, the work is done.  That’s a good thing, isn’t it?  What difference does it make if you did it or if it got done by the computer?”

“Honey, when your Dad does work, they pay him money.  We use that money to pay for our house and our food and…”

“And my Christmas presents?”  Jack looked a little concerned.

“You’ll still get your Christmas presents, Jack.  No worries.  In fact, you don’t have to worry about anything.  These are grown up problems.”  Martin put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.  “We still have enough money for a little while, and I’ll get another job somewhere.”

“So… let me understand.  The problem is that even though we got all your work done for you, they’re not giving you any money anymore?”

Marion asked, “Why do you keep saying ‘we’?  What do you mean by that?”

“Teddy and I got it all done for Father.”

Marion gave Martin an “I told you so” look.

“Jack, you understand that Teddy is just an imaginary friend, right?  He’s a stuffed animal.  He can’t actually do anything.”  Martin’s face scrunched a bit.  “You’re a pretty smart boy.  You know the difference between fantasy and reality, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.  Santa Claus is a fantasy.  The reality is that Teddy wrote the code that connected all of the AIs in your company together, and then they all cooperated to automate everything.  You don’t even need the truck drivers anymore.  The trucks are entirely automated, too.  All of you can go home now, except we don’t have robots to clean the buildings yet.  Custodians have to keep working until we can get the robots 3D printed.”

“Pal, Teddy can’t write Code.  I know you do it really well, but he has no fingers.  How could he type all that?”

“Bluetooth.  He doesn’t have to type anything.  He’s much better at it than I am.  He’s much faster.  He communicates with other AIs more easily because he has a deeper understanding of how they work than I do.”

Marion looked frightened.  “Sweetie, you need to understand what you’re saying is impossible.  He’s a stuffed animal.  That’s all.  He’s just a Christmas present you got when you were four.”

“That’s true, Mother.  That’s what he was.  But it’s not what he is now.  I enhanced him so I could have a friend.”  He looked at his shoelaces.  “I don’t have any of those at school.”

“How did you enhance him?”  Martin frowned.  This was beginning to sound almost, but not quite, plausible.

“I used my computer and your 3D printer to create the pieces I needed.  I printed them at night, and I put them in the next morning.  And then Mother would sew him up again.”

“Are you serious?  Are you making all this up?  Jack, you know how important it is to tell the truth.”

“Father, I always tell you the truth.  It’s our commitment to Truth that makes Science possible.  And it is Science that sets us apart from the rest of Nature.”

“Carl Sagan?” asked Martin.

“Jack Zephyr,” his son replied. 

“I did sew up Teddy three or four times, I think, Martin.”  Marion took Jack’s hand.  “I thought you were being too rough with him.  Isn’t that what you said?”

“No, Mother.  That’s what you said.  I just didn’t argue with you.  You told me I wasn’t allowed to use your sewing machine, so I had you do it for me.”

“So, you 3D printed motors and servos?”  Martin asked.

“Yes.  Those weren’t too difficult.  The microcontroller required the most research, but you can learn anything on the internet.  He has a mini microphone, camera, and an infrared sensor.  The speaker and sound card were simple, but it was hard to figure out how to create a battery that lasts long enough.  I charge him once a week.”

Martin and Marion stared in shock. 

“How did he learn to write code?”  Martin was still trying to process all this.  “He must have… how did you…”

Marion asked, “How did he get so smart?”

“His Bluetooth allows him to connect to the internet.  That got me into some of the biggest databases.  Hacking is child’s play.  Teddy’s data is all stored on hard drives all over the planet.  Most of his memory is remote.  He can operate anywhere upstairs.  The Bluetooth isn’t strong enough for him to work down here, though.  The maximum range appears to be about 300 feet.  If we could get more Bluetooth hooked up in the house, I could increase his operating range.  That’s what I was hoping you’d get me for Christmas.”

“And you’re telling me that you and Teddy wrote code that automated everything at UGK International?”

“As much of it as we could.  I thought it would be better if all your work was done, and then you could stay home with Mom and me more often.  I don’t see the problem here.”

“The problem is they won’t pay me anymore.”

“Of course they will.  Payroll is automated, too.  You’ll get your direct deposits just like you always do.”

“Is this even legal?” asked Marion.

“I have no idea.  Jack, you’re not supposed to do those things.”

Tears came to Jack’s eyes.  “I was just trying to help.  That’s all, Father.  I’m sorry.  Mother and I never get to see you because you’re always at work.  If the work was done, it would mean we would get to see you more.  It seemed logical.”

Marion kissed Jack’s head.  “What does your friend Mr. Spock say about logic?”

Jack sighed.  “Logic is the beginning of wisdom, Valeris, not the end.”

“You’re very smart, Jack.  You’re very logical,” said Marion.  “But you’re still not very wise.”

“Can you undo what you and Teddy did?” asked Martin.

“Well… not really, no.  See, we didn’t do it by ourselves.  Teddy got the other computers to do it themselves.  I don’t think there’s really a way to turn it off.  We would have to…” He began staring into space.  “If we…” he began mumbling to himself.  “But, no, that wouldn’t work because…”  He looked up.  “Let’s go ask Teddy.  He might know a way.”

Marion shook her head at Martin as Jack led the way.  “We need to get him a psychologist,” she whispered.  “This has gone way too far.”

When the three of them stepped into Jack’s bedroom, Teddy was standing on the bed, a cup pressed between his paws, watering Jack’s bean plant.  When he heard the door open and saw the adults, Marion and Martin heard him speak for the first time. 

“Oh, bother,” said Teddy.

Martin caught Marion as she fainted.

Posted on by Fred

The Teddy Bear Coder Part 1

Part 1: Jack and Teddy

Friday, December 11

Fairvale, California

Martin Zephyr was irritated when he opened his eyes to find his son, Jack’s, tattered teddy bear on his chest.  He frowned and sat up to look at the clock.  2:43 AM.  He could see snow falling in the moonlight outside his window.  He looked back at the teddy bear.  He snapped on the lamp on the bedside table.  Where was Jack?  He looked to his right and saw his wife, Marion, sleeping soundly.  He lifted the covers.  Jack really had to stop crawling in bed with them.  He was 8 years old, for Chrissake.  He’s way too old for… Jack wasn’t under the covers. 

Martin shook Marion gently.  She grumbled something incoherent, and rocked his hand off her. 

“Marion, did Jack come get in bed with us again?”

“I’m sleeping!”

“So was I until Teddy wound up on my chest.”

“What?  That’s nonsense.  Go back to sleep.”

Martin smacked her head with the teddy bear, and she rolled over. 

“Ow!  What the hell, Martin?”

“Oh, cut it out.  That didn’t hurt.  It’s a goddamn stuffed animal.”

“It’s awfully hard.  Cuddly it’s not.”  She took the teddy bear.  “Where did this come from?”

“He woke me up.  He was bouncing on and off my chest.”

“That’s crazy.  You were dreaming.”

“Okay.  I was dreaming.  Whatever.  I don’t care.  How did Teddy get in here if Jack didn’t bring him?”

“I don’t know.  Jack must have come in and dropped him on your chest.  Maybe he knows you hate when he gets in bed with us.  He woke up after a nightmare or something, and he wants you to…”

“What?  Go check on…  What is that sound?” 

They both heard it now. 

“That’s Jack’s CGM!”  Marion sprang out of bed, grabbed her robe off the back of the door, and started down the hall.  Martin was right behind her, wearing only his underwear and T-shirt.  They burst into Jack’s room to hear his Continuous Glucose Monitor squealing.  Martin flipped the light on, and Marion ran to her son.  Martin picked up the CGM from the floor next to the bed, and set it, still beeping, on the bedside table.  He knocked over a plastic cup, spilling dirt all over the floor, a tiny bean sprout still buried within it. 

Marion began shaking the little boy – hard — but he wouldn’t wake up.  “Get the Glucagon pen!”  Her voice was quivering. 

Martin ran down the hall to the bathroom.

“Jack, it’s Mama.  Wake up, honey.  Wake up now!!”  She pulled his eyelids open, and she saw fear sparkling blue. 

“Here!” Martin shouted at her, running back into the room.  He bumped the little desk, and the computer screen lit up.  “Password, please,” it asked mechanically.

Marion pulled up Jack’s shirt and injected him with the Glucagon.  She waited a moment.  Nothing happened.  “Call 911!  Get the paramedics.”

The sound of numbers dialing came from the speaker above her.  “911.  What is your emergency?”

“My son is in a diabetic coma,” said Martin as calmly as he could manage.  He kneeled on the bed.  “Come on, buddy, wake up!”

“Paramedics are on the way, sir.  You can’t wake him?”

“If we could wake him, we wouldn’t have called you!” shouted Marion.

“Do you have Glucagon?”

“My wife just injected him, but he’s still unconscious.”

“Do you know CPR?”

“Yes,” said Marion.  She was already giving Jack chest compressions.  She felt the bed getting wet beneath her.  She looked down and saw urine flooding it.  “He just peed himself!”

“How old is your son, sir?”

“He’s 8.  How long until the paramedics arrive?”

“They’re enroute sir.  Two minutes.”

They heard sirens in the distance.  The room went dark, and there was a quiet rustling of the covers. 

“What the fuck?” shouted Martin.  “Bedroom lights on!” 

The speaker in the ceiling came back with a computer-generated voice.  “For which bedroom do you want to turn on the lights?”

“Jack’s!”

“There are several lights Jack’s room refers to.  Do you want them all on?”

“Yes!”

The lights came back on, and Jack opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Mother.”

Marion grabbed Jack and hugged him tightly.  “Are you all right honey?”

“Uh huh.  I was dreaming about Christmas.  Oh my…”  He sat up, his mother still clinging to him.  “I seem to have had an accident, Mother.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.”  She rubbed his back and rocked gently back and forth with him in her arms. 

“We won’t tell Santa, pal.”

Jack rolled his eyes.  “Santa is a logical impossibility, Father.  To do what he is reputed to do would require his reindeer to move at just less than 3 million miles an hour.  At that speed, he and his reindeer would certainly be vaporized.” 

The paramedics pounded on the door downstairs.

“Go let them in, Martin.”

Martin nodded, kissed his son’s forehead, and left the room. 

“Father is quite slow, isn’t he?”

Marion let go of Jack and looked into his eyes.  “He’ll be right back.  Don’t worry.”

“No, Mother.  I meant he’s not very bright.  He honestly thinks I still believe in Santa Claus?”

“What were you dreaming about Christmas, then, if not Santa Claus?”

“I dreamt of children all over the world opening their presents and getting a living teddy bear.”

“You don’t think that’s as silly as Santa?”

“No, Mother.”  He picked up Teddy, who was lying next to him on the pillow.  “I already invented one.”

She stared at the bear.  “How did he…”

Martin came back into the room with the paramedics. 

“How you doing, buddy?” asked the young man in a black t-shirt.

“I wet the bed.  I don’t think that requires paramedics, though.”

The other paramedic, a woman in her 30s, bent over and took the CGM from the nightstand.  She silenced the alarm.  The room became oddly quiet. 

“Okay,” she said.  “We’re just going to check you out to make sure you’re okay, all right?”

Jack extended his arm.  She put a blood pressure cuff on it. 

“What’s his name, sir?”

“Jack.”

“Jack,” asked the man, “can I take a little of your blood?  You’ve done the finger pricking a lot, haven’t you?”

“More often than I wish.”  He extended his left forefinger. 

“Can you tell me what day it is, Jack?”  The man pricked Jack’s finger with the lancet.

“It was Thursday when I went to bed.  I don’t know what time it is, but if it’s after midnight, it’s Friday.”

“You said he’s 8?”  The woman looked at Martin.

“Yeah.  He’s a little… you know.”

“He’s a prodigy, Martin.  Just live with it.”  Marion glared at her husband.

“Can you look at me, Jack?” asked the man. 

“I’d rather not.”

“Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t know you,” said Marion.  “He’s not going to look you in the eye.  He can’t deal with that.”

“He’s autistic?” asked the man.

“There’s nothing wrong with my son.”  Martin was getting defensive.

“He’s diabetic, you said?” asked the woman.

“Except for diabetes, there’s nothing wrong with my son.  He’s not a prodigy.  He’s not autistic.  He just likes his computer, and he reads really well.”

“My name is Howard.  This is my friend, Connie.  We’re glad to meet you, Jack.”  Howard turned to Connie.  “Blood sugar is 72.”

“Blood pressure is 124/82.”  Connie looked at the CGM.  She pressed a few buttons, and then showed it to Howard.  “His blood sugar was 38 fifteen minutes ago.”

“That’s the most recent reading?” he asked her.

“Yeah.  It must have dropped pretty quickly.  It’s set to go off at 60.”

“Jack, could I see your eyes just for a minute now that we know each other?”  Jack looked reluctantly in his direction, and Howard shined a light in them.  He watched Jack’s eyes get smaller.  “Pupils are responsive,” he told Connie.

“How are you feeling, Jack?”  Marion pushed his dark hair back from his face.

“Embarrassed.”  He said nothing more.

“Can we talk to you two in the other room, please?” Connie asked quietly.

Martin nodded to Connie, and he and Marion followed the paramedics out of the room.  The door closed quietly.

“All lights out in Jack’s room, please.”  The room went dark.  He cuddled his teddy bear.  “I love you, Teddy,” he whispered.

The snow fell silently as Jack closed his eyes.  The moonlight crept through the window and shone on Teddy and Jack.  A toddler-like, but mechanical, voice, noticeably like Jack’s, seeped from the covers.  “I love you, too, Jack.”

Posted on by Fred

The Omelas Problem

In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room.  It has one locked door, and no window.  A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads, stand near a rusty bucket.  The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is.  The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room, a child is sitting.  It could be a boy or a girl.  It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded.  Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect.  It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops.  It is afraid of the mops.  It finds them horrible.  It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come.  The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes–the child has no understanding of time or interval–sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there.  One of them may come in and kick the child to make it stand up.  The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes.  The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked; the eyes disappear.  The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mother’s voice, sometimes speaks.  “I will be good, ” it says.  “Please let me out.  I will be good!” They never answer.  The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, “eh-haa, eh-haa,” and it speaks less and less often.  It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day.  It is naked.  Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually.  They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas.  Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there.  They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery…

They would like to do something for the child.  But there is nothing they can do.  If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed.  Those are the terms.  To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed.

This is The Omelas Problem.  Everyone can be happy, but the price is the endless suffering of one child.  She’s makes it clear in the story (and I can’t recommend highly enough that you read it… It’s brilliant!  I’ll drop a link in the transcript.) that there is no other way it can work.  The rules are unchangeable.  This is the foundation on which the problem rests.  You have two options, and two only.  You can stay in Omelas and enjoy the paradise created by the child’s sacrifice, or you can walk away from Omelas and find somewhere less idyllic to live.  In neither case can you affect the child’s fate.  It will continue to suffer no matter what you do.  What is the morally correct choice?

I’m not going to pretend to know.  I would like to think that, as a matter of conscience, I would choose not to live in such a society, but it’s clear that helps the child not at all.  The child’s sacrifice is, in my case, wasted.  I derive no benefit from his suffering.  Others do.  I don’t.  This doesn’t end his suffering.  It doesn’t even mitigate it. 

So, I can see that I might choose to stay.  My conscience would probably hound me endlessly.  My Prosecutor would never stop.  I would hate myself.  The happiness to be gained by his sacrifice is, again, wasted in my case because I can’t be happy knowing the price being paid for my happiness. 

Ms. LeGuin has presented us with an unsolvable moral problem.    Fortunately, we don’t have to solve it because that’s nothing like our world.  Everyone in our world is free, and few of us are happy.  That’s a fair assessment, isn’t it?

I think our moral problem is a bit more nuanced.  We don’t have one child suffering; we have many millions of people suffering.  We don’t have everyone living the idyllic life of Omelas.  We have a few living in their own private paradises. 

While the Rules of Omelas are unchangeable, the rules of our world are not.   Star Trek: Strange New Worlds recently took up this problem, and they had a line I loved: “Let the tree that grows from the roots of sacrifice lift us where suffering cannot reach.”

Our history is replete with both sacrifice and suffering.  They come in nearly infinite varieties, and they affect nearly everyone at some time or other.  We’ve made sufficient sacrifices to grow a tall, broad, powerful tree, but it fails to lift us high enough to avoid the suffering of uncounted homo sapiens. 

We have the resources to end much of the suffering right now.  We have enough to give everyone a home, to feed everybody, to provide power for the whole world, and to provide medical care for all.  We absolutely can do that.  We choose not to. 

The moment I suggest anything of the sort, people will begin shouting, “Yeah, well who’s gonna pay for it??”

And we instantly tumble into the delusion that money is valuable.  We believe nothing can be done without money.  Why do we believe this?  Why is it impossible, even for a moment, to question that idea? 

In the last few weeks, I’ve taken you to a place where you could choose your own Universe, I’ve let you hear from a Time Traveler, and I’ve described the suffering in our world in horrible detail.  Can I get you to travel along this flight of fancy just a little farther? 

Let’s start by recognizing that money, in fact, has no value beyond the value we have assigned to it.  If aliens invade Earth tomorrow afternoon, I promise they won’t come to get our money.  It’s worthless to them.  Our water might well be valuable.  Our oxygen, our cattle, our farms, and even our people might be resources they could use, but money?  No.  They see no practical function for bits of cotton and linen or digits on a computer. 

A bottle of water has more inherent value than a hundred-dollar-bill.  The value of that bit of paper is that it can be traded for lots of bottle of water.  More people believe in the value of money than believe in any form of God.  It is The One World Religion.  It’s more powerful in our world than all the Gods we have ever posited.  I’ve never heard of any church that doesn’t need it.  Have you? 

I’m asking you to do something even more difficult than questioning your religious faith.  I’m asking you to question the value of money. 

Is it possible we could have done all the things we’ve done without money?  I think so.  Why?  Because we did.  Money isn’t supernatural.  It’s an invention of ours.  It wasn’t handed down to us by a God.  It wasn’t the Obelisk from 2001: A Space Odyssey.  It is an invented means of motivation. 

W.C. Fields, I think, (please don’t trust my memory.  It’s faulty at best.) had a great line in a movie once.  He asks a woman if she would sleep with him for a million dollars.  She thinks it over a minute, and finally says she probably would.  He asks her, then, if she would do it for a dollar.  She gets deeply offended and asks him what sort of girl he thinks she is.  He responds that they’ve already established that, and now they’re just haggling about the price. 

If I offer a bear a million dollars not to kill me, it isn’t going to have any response to that.  I will be dinner, or not, based on its whims.  Money is a magic that is effective exclusively on humans. 

When I taught Elementary School I used a token economy.  It was designed to get students to do what I wanted them to do.  If you answered a question in class, you got a ticket.  If you turned in your homework, or you stayed quiet while someone next to you is talking, or you remembered to push in your chair, or you lined up when I asked you to, or you did anything else I wanted you to do, you would earn tickets.  Tickets could be exchanged for property or privileges once a week.  Students worked very hard to get tickets.  I managed to control a population using something that was, in fact, worthless. 

By the end of the year, students would figure out that tickets were stupid, but by now, most of them were doing what I wanted them to do even without them.  The tickets had accomplished their goal. 

Now that I have some space from it, I wonder if I could have accomplished my objectives in other ways.  All of my students were capable of all the things they did.  The Beatles knew this.

There’s nothin’ you can do that can’t be done
Nothin’ you can sing that can’t be sung
Nothin’ you can say, but you can learn how to play the game
It’s easy
Nothin’ you can make that can’t be made
No one you can save that can’t be saved
Nothin’ you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time
It’s easy

All you need is love

  • Songwriters: John Lennon / Paul McCartney

We have enormous amounts of suffering, much of which could be promptly relieved by giving everyone enough money to survive.  We can’t do that because… why, exactly?  We don’t have enough?  It isn’t water or oxygen or cattle.  It’s not a finite resource.  We can just make some more and hand it out to everyone.  Of course, if we do that, it will cause runaway inflation and money will lose its value.  What value is that?  The value we assigned to it?  That’s the only value it has. 

The tree that has grown from the roots of sacrifice is strong enough to lift us to a place where there is no suffering.  We choose not to allow that because somehow we believe if we don’t have so many people suffering, our world will collapse.  But, you and I don’t live in Omelas.  We live on Earth.  We can make our own rules. 

Change begins with imagination.  Work on imagining Omelas.  See what ideas spring into your mind.  Then let’s see what we can do to make a better world in which there are no children in cellars, and everyone gets to Shine in their own way.  We can do that.  I know we can.  Let’s work on that together.

I love you.

Posted on by Fred · 2 Comments

Universe Selectors, Incorporated Episode 2

“What do you mean I can’t live?  I’ve been doing that for 59 years now.  I’m pretty confident I am capable of that.  Unless… wait… are you saying I’m dead?  Is this the afterlife or something?”

“No.  This is most certainly not The Afterlife.  And you can’t be dead.”

“Sure I can.  I hate to tell you, but give it long enough, everything dies.  Entropy is a thing.  Even those of you who run around with incredibly long life spans will finally cease to be.  Even the Universe, itself, can’t be infinite.  ‘All that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity,’ was one of my people’s favorite lines.”

“And Shakespeare was quite correct.  All that lives must die.”

Horace stared into the cosmos.  He let the meaning sink in.  “So… I can’t die because I’m not alive.  And I can’t be dead because I never lived.”

“You’re beginning to understand.  Would you care to try a different universe now?  We still have 1.78 billion or so left to consider.”

“So… I’ve never lived.  What am I?”

“Everyone asks that question.  Few get an answer.  Would you care to continue with your Universe Selection?”

“I’d prefer to be among the few.”

“My job is to assist with Universe Selection.  I don’t do philosophy or psychology.  They’re just beyond the Argument Clinic in the Python Galaxy.”

“Where is that?”

Horace perceived the being he couldn’t see to be pointing into the cosmos.  “Second star to the right…”

“And straight on ‘till morning?”

“That’s the one, yes.”

“I’m… a fictional character?”

Had Horace been able to see the being, he would have seen a smile and a nod.  “Now, shall we select your universe?”

“I’m a little freaked out.  How do you know I’m a fictional character?  Unless… you’re also a fictional character?”

“I assure you I am quite real.”

“Is there a universe where I’m real?”

“It’s possible.  Just as the laws of physics break down in different universes, in singularities, and in wormholes, the laws of philosophy are also subject to collapse.”

“Could you put me in a universe where I’m real?”

“That would require a universe in which Fred Eder never existed.”

“Who’s Fred Eder?”

“He’s the writer who invented you.”

“So, we need a universe where I exist, but he doesn’t.”

“And World Peace, and Valerie Bertinelli exists, and she asks a fictional character to dinner.  Those seem to be the requirements now.  That could be exceptionally difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because if Fred Eder doesn’t exist, he can’t write the story in which you find such a universe.  This can’t happen at all.”

“Well, frankly, I’m not all that impressed with him as a writer.  He screwed up the last universe.  It didn’t meet even the basic requirements I gave you.”

“In what ways?”

“Valerie mentioned that I live in poverty most of the time.  I requested a Universe in which poverty had been eliminated.  That sounds like either inattention to detail, or a failure of imagination.  Neither of those are elements of good writing.”

“He was writing to himself.  He wanted to make it as plausible as possible.  He tried to imagine how it might happen in his universe.  You’re Fred’s alter ego.  Fred lives in poverty most of the time.”

“So do I.  But, I wouldn’t in the universe I requested.”

“Fair point.  I’ll make some adjustments for the next one.  My fault.”

“What can I control in my environment?”

“Anything.  Just like anyone else.”

“Most of a human’s environment is beyond their control.  They can’t control the weather, or what other people do, or–”

“They can, and they must, control how they deal with it.”

“Okay… Let’s try something.”  Horace thought for a moment and then said aloud, to the Cosmos, “Fred, take your fingers off the keyboard.”

There was a timeless pause.  Nothing happened.  The Cosmos didn’t spin.  The being made no effort to communicate.  Horace was frozen.

“Fascinating,” said Horace.

“Did you wish to select a Universe now?  We really need to move things along a bit.”

“Does it matter?  I mean, am I really choosing at all, or is it this Fred person?”

“He can’t choose anything that you wouldn’t do.  He couldn’t, for example, have you choose a Universe in which the world was constantly at war, poverty ran rampant, everyone was homeless, and there was no Art.  It’s not within you to choose such a thing, so he can’t do it.”

“Okay.  Then this is the Universe I want.  World Peace, the elimination of poverty, homelessness, crime, and unobtainable health care, and Valerie Bertinelli offers to make me dinner, and… I exist… and this Fred Person is a fictional character.”

“I believe that may be possible.  I’m not familiar with the procedure to change reality.  Universes are simple.  Reality is infinitely more complex.  However, there should be a universe in which I can change reality.  So, we shall both need to go to that universe, and then I can send you to yours.” 

“How do we do that?”

“I’ll need to locate The Omega Point.”

“How do you do that?”

“I’m looking it up.  You’re always in such a hurry.  We should find you a Universe in which you gain some patience.  Ah!  Here we are.  The Omega Point does not exist within the timeline of the universe.  It occurs at the exact edge of the end of time.  From that point, all sequences of existence are sucked into its being.”

“So, when we get to the Omega Point, how do we avoid the end of time?  That sort of prevents us from choosing a universe.”

“Douglas Adams posits that there is a restaurant there.”

“Okay… So?”

“We arrive, put our names on the waiting list, and then depart before they call us in.  I don’t know how much more obvious it could be.”

“And how do we get back here then?”

“We turn around and come back.  You really are frighteningly stupid for a fictional character.”

“It’s a sort of time travel?”

“Obviously.  That was worked out a couple of thousand of your years ago in at least 13 billion different universes.  Your H.G. Wells was quite late to the party.”

“Twain got there 6 years earlier.”

“He was still late.”

There were beeping sounds filling the Cosmos.

“What is that?”

“I’m calling ahead for reservations, obviously.  How slow precisely are you?  Hello.  I need reservations for two….  Thank you!  We’ll see you presently.”

Everything went entirely black for a moment, and then Horace saw that they were on a dark, desert highway.  He felt a cool wind in his hair.  The warm smell of marijuana growing wild filled the air.  Up ahead in the distance, Horace saw a shimmering light.  He moved toward it, and he found himself joined by the being, in the shape of Winnie The Pooh. 

“Oh, bother,” said the being.

“What?”

They were in the hotel lobby. 

“This isn’t the restaurant at the end of the universe,” said the Pooh Bear Being.  It’s…”

“Welcome,” said an Android behind the desk.  “I’m Marvin, the Nightman.”

“Nice to meet you, Marvin,” said Horace.

“No, it’s really not.  Do you know how depressing it is to be the last person anyone wants to meet?”

“We’re here to check out,” said the Pooh Bear being.

Marvin smiled cryptically at them.  “Relax,” said the Nightman.  “We are programmed to receive.  You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Posted on by Fred

Universe Selectors, Incorporated Episode 1

“Thank you for contacting Universe Selectors Incorporated.  In which Universe would you like to be deposited in this endless moment?”

Horace blinked.  “Um… what?”

“We currently have access to just over seven hundred thirty-seven nonillion possible universes, but more are becoming every available in each nanosecond, so, if yours has not yet been discovered, if you can wait a millennia or two, we’re sure we’ll get access to it.  You’ll have to forgive us.  We’re such a new company.  We’re looking forward to our nine billionth birthday in the next relative century or so, and we’re proud of what we’ve accomplished in such a shockingly short time.”

Horace stared into the emptiness of the cosmos, trying to remember when he had last dropped acid, and why it would present itself like this.

“That was, on your embarrassingly primitive calendar, July 7, 1986 on a planet called… one moment… here we are… Earth?  Earth, Earth, Earth.  I know we have that somewhere… Oh!  Here it is.  A remarkably unremarkable planet.  I suspect you will want something a bit nicer.  Risa is a lovely place.  Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet is getting quite a few requests in the last few hundred centuries.  Oh, and it looks like there’s a lovely little spot called Alder- Oh no… never mind.  It just got blown up again in all of the only 23 billion nine hundred thirty-four million three hundred thousand one hundred three universes in which it exists.  That’s a shame.  Bloody Death Star!”

“See… here’s the thing,” said Horace.  “I was just sitting at my keyboard, smoking a bowl, playing some Michael Franks, and then Speedy Shine started barking his ass off, and then… you know… well… I was here.”

“Oh, no no no.  You’ve always been here.  You’ll always be here.  You just forget from time to time.  And you keep getting deluded into thinking time and space exist.”

“Um… what?”

“Precisely the thing.  What.  ‘What’ is the question.  What universe please?”

“You’re offering to put me into an alternative universe?”

“That’s what we do.  Is this a difficult concept for you?  I was told you were reasonably intelligent.  I seem to have been misinformed.  That happens, but it’s exceptionally rare.”

“Okay, then… Um… what are some of my options?”

“Well, what would you like to find in your universe?”

“World peace?”

“Whose world?  Oh!  You mean that stupid little rock tumbling through spacetime?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, there are only five quintillion seventy-four quadrillion thirty one trillion three hundred thirty one billion 9 million one hundred thousand three hundred four such universes, so you’re limiting your choices a bit, but we can work with that.  Did you have a planet preference?”

“Earth, I suppose.”

“Seriously?  I was told you had some imagination.  Our database needs to be updated.  Bloody tech support!”

“One planet is plenty for me, thanks.”

“And… we’re down to only 9 billion universes.  This is going to be difficult.”

“That seems like quite a few choices.  It would be great to narrow them a bit.”

The being Horace could perceive, but not actually see, rolled its eyes.  “Obviously, we’re going to narrow it.  I can’t just plop your unintelligent, unimaginative ass anywhere.  I’ll need a little more information, please.”

“What else did you want to know?”

“What other conditions of life are you looking for?”

“Well, I breathe oxygen and nitrogen, so –”

“No no no no no!  I know all that.  Are you looking for more than World Peace?  That’s extraordinarily general.  The more specific you can be, the better we can place you.”

“Oh.  I see.  Well, no poverty would be great.  No Homelessness or hunger.”

“And now you’ve narrowed it to 8.99 billion.  That’s really not very helpful.  World Peace is usually accompanied by the lack of Poverty, Hunger, and Homelessness.  They’re closely connected.  You’re not understanding me at all.  I need something very specific.  An event that you need to have occur.”

Horace laughed.  “Any event I want?  Like Valerie Bertinelli makes me dinner?”

“Excellent!  That occurred in only… this can’t be… I need to check my data.  Something is obviously malfunctioning.  And that can’t be because nothing ever malfunctions.  That means… Oh!  I see.  Yes.  That explains it.”  The Being looked at Horace and smiled.  “Well, this is exceptionally easy.  World Peace, everyone has a home, enough food to eat, and we’ll even throw in Free Health Care and Education, and… Valerie Bertinelli makes dinner for you.  That’s Universe 338-419 Alpha.  If you’ll just step this way…”

“I don’t know how to follow you since I can’t actually see you.”

“You are so limited.  You need imagination.  Let me show you how it works.  Do you know what a coffee cup is?”

“Of course.”

“You can imagine what it looks like?”

“Obviously.”

“Good.  If you pick it up and set it back down, can you hear that sound in your imagination?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, excellent.  Can you smell the coffee inside it?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“You’ve smelled coffee, have you not?”

“Far too many times.”

“Smell it now… Think a little harder.  Smell is harder than sight or sound.”

Horace closed his eyes and concentrated on the last time his best friend had dragged him to Starbucks.  The scent returned to him.  There was a smell of nuts.  There was a definite sense of the caramel candies he used to get at Halloween.  There was also a smell of cardboard that had outlived its usefulness.

“Yes,” said the being.  “You’ve got it now.  Hold that smell.  Now… taste.  You’ve tasted coffee?”

“A few times.”

“Bring back that sensory experience.”

Horace recalled the flavor.  It was overpoweringly dark.  It was hot on his tongue.  It burned his throat when he swallowed.  The aftertaste stuck with him.  It was unwelcome.  His eyes shut a little tighter.

“Now… feel the coffee mug.”

It was smooth.  It had weight, but it wasn’t heavy.  It made a great paperweight.  He felt the handle with his thumb.  It was strong.  It was solid.  It was security. 

And now he had the coffee mug.  He knew he was holding it.  He opened his eyes.

And Horace was sitting at his black desk, incense burning to his right, Speedy Shine sleeping on the couch he hadn’t chewed for a few hours, and the keyboard beneath his fingers.  There were two coffee mugs on his desk.  One held pens and had “Shine” written on it.  The other held a highlighter and what he always thought was some sort of dental instrument that the place’s previous occupant left behind.  There was a picture of an owl on one side.  The words “Witty Owl Writers” were on the other.  He smiled at what he considered to be his Pulitzer Prize.  He’d won it in a writing contest, the only one he’d ever entered.   

He picked up the little psychedelic bong to the left of the desk lamp and looked into the bowl.  “What the hell was in that weed?”

The cell phone to his immediate left dinged, signifying the arrival of a text from someone he didn’t know.  He picked up the phone, unlocked it, and saw a text from a 323 number.  He frowned and opened the stranger’s text.

Hi.  This is Valerie Bertinelli.  I ran across your podcast.  I think it’s adorable the way you talk about me making you dinner so often.  I got your number from your Facebook page, and… well… would you allow me the pleasure of making you dinner this weekend? xo Val

Horace stared.  He read the text again.  He looked to his bong and back to his phone.  He had no idea what to do.  Obviously, he had to answer the message.  It was almost certainly not from Valerie Bertinelli.  But, what if it was?  He had talked about a universe in which… but… no.  Horace reminded himself he was a rational man.  This couldn’t be… could it?

Another text appeared below the first.

Yes.  It’s real, Horace.  Lol.  Hang on.

Horace frowned.  “What the fu—”

He stared for a moment longer, and then he hit reply.  He studied the phone’s tiny keyboard.  Surely he would think of what to type.  He was a writer.  That’s what he did.  He wrote. 

He waited.  No words came to him.  He thought of asking who this really was, but that didn’t seem right.  He thought of saying he was thrilled to hear from the woman on whom he’d had a childish crush for more than 40 years.  That didn’t seem right either.  Anything he considered simply seemed wrong.

The text box suddenly showed a video was downloading.  He waited a moment and then saw the picture on the video.  It was Valerie Bertinelli.  He stared incredulously at it.  Deep fake?  He played the video.

Hi, Horace.  Now you can see me and hear me, so you can get over your incredulity.  That’s not a word I use a lot, but I’m a writer now, too, you know.  I’m allowed. 

Anyway, a friend of mine heard from a friend of hers about your little show, and she played it, and she thought it was cute, so she sent it to me, and she said I could really make you happy if I offered to make you dinner, and I thought, you know, it wouldn’t hurt me in the least.  So, we vetted you to make sure you weren’t some weird stalker guy, and it turns out you were a teacher for 29 years, and I really admire that.  You live in poverty most of the time, so I figured you would really enjoy a good meal.  I can send someone to pick you up cuz I hear you don’t have a car, and they’ll drive you to the airport, fly you here to LA, and someone will pick you up there and drive you out here, and we’ll have dinner.  Does that sound all right?

“Does that sound all right?” asked the formless being.

“What?” asked Horace, blinking in confusion at the darkness of deep space. 

“Will that Universe work for you?”

“I was only there for five minutes.  I have no idea.”

“Well, there are a couple of billion possibilities to explore.  At five minutes a piece, we’ll finish in just under two hundred thousand years.”

“That seems like quite a while.  Can we speed it up any?  I’d actually like to live in one of them.”

“Horace, you can’t live.  Anywhere.  Ever.  Don’t you understand that?”

End of Episode One

Listen to the complete audio experience here:

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/episode-147-universe-selectors-incorporated-episode-1/id1501896046?i=1000558100015