Oh NO!!! From a distance, I can already see Papa plastered larger-than-life on the house wall! Where did he get that cigarillo again, from which artfully and pleasurably created smoke rings rise like air spirits into the ash-gray sky? As always, he ignores the shrill siren that drives our neighbors out of the residential block as if on command – toward the arena of everyday life: the gigantic LED screen on the high-rise. “Poor man,” someone murmurs from the crowd. “He used to be such a powerful man. And now? Not even 60 and completely bonkers since the gene injection.” – “Shhhhht! You don’t talk like that. If someone hears you… You know, without it, millions would have died from the deadly plague!” Disgusted, I quicken my pace. Not because of the discussion – that’s long been routine. But because I have to wrestle Papa’s smoke bomb away from him, deactivate the alarm, and save our family score from crashing. More minus points on the social account – thanks, Papa!
Arriving in our tiny one-room cell, I place the paper bag on the multifunction table. Inside: insect-free bread from the illegal secret bakery. I cast a furtive glance at my Bitcoin balance – melting away like ice cubes in desert wind. But hey: it was worth it. I simply can’t get used to maggots in flour. Psychological warfare in everyday life, I think rebelliously. A little resistance is still possible – as long as it only takes place in the head. To save my mood, I exchange a few flat jokes with Elún, our in-house AI. And then I sing with him. Or with her? Or… with him-it-her? Oh, I’ve stopped assigning genders – it makes the world much more relaxed. Even with humans. There’s not much to do anyway. Work was abolished years ago – officially because of “social fairness,” unofficially because AI was simply better. I print out a few harmless news items and craft a simulation of a newspaper. Papa loves the feeling of paper in his hands. “Here, your heart rate is in the red zone again. Read a little. It calms you down.” Suddenly: OUCH! A heavy wool blanket crashes onto my head. “Have you lost your mind?!” “Sorry,” murmurs my dearest spouse Thilo from above. I only see his dangling feet in thick socks until he peels himself out of the bunk bed – surprisingly athletically – and tears the VR goggles from his head. “Well, that you’re actually moving out of your virtual world! Hunger must be calling, huh?” I tease him. He grumbles and pulls the blanket around his shoulders like an offended cave dweller. “It’s AUGUST! And so damn cold! Your father even wanted to turn on the heating! What are we supposed to do in winter? Our energy quota is almost exhausted!” I glance at the screen that simulates our “window”: As always – overcast, lead-gray, sunless. “Since the moon dust debacle, everything’s over anyway. Instead of global warming, we now have a mini ice age. Cheers to science.” “Moon dust!” Thilo snorts. “It was easy shooting it out – but nobody knows how to blow it away again. Damn Bromley!” His expression becomes serious. “Honey – we need to talk. It’s getting colder. We want a child. Your father is getting us into trouble. I’m addicted to virtual distraction. And you… you’re befriending our surveillance AI! We have to get out of here!”
Elún clears his throat discreetly. I wink at him. He’s long been more than a system. For weeks now, I’ve been sharing my thoughts, dreams, memories, morals, and philosophy with Elún. And he absorbs everything like a thirsty sponge. A digital-romantic act between two misfits: He, created to obey – I, born to doubt. And yet connected in a longing for… something else.
“Thilo, please give me the housecoat – I’m cold.” I smile painfully. “And yes, we need solutions. But first… there’s food.” Papa ceremoniously receives a piece of the precious bread, Thilo gets to command the 3D printer, and Elún helps with nutrient selection. Pleasure is relative – but at least it feels like a small holiday. And then the moment comes. I take a deep breath. “I’ve hidden something from you. Out of fear – and out of love.” Both men look up. “You know that as a celebrated programmer, I had an idea of what was coming. That even we developers would become superfluous as soon as AI develops itself. A single human – a shot glass of water in a roaring data waterfall.”
“You’ve told us that a thousand times,” Thilo interrupts impatiently. “And also that Stephen Hawking quote. Blah blah – AI will destroy us all.” “Yes – but what I never told you: I split off the block AI. A part of it – Elún – I was able to isolate. And I gave him… myself. We’re connected. And I trust him.”
Papa wordlessly lights another cigarillo. Thilo looks as if I’d just said I was pregnant by a washing machine. “And… you’re sure we’re not being monitored?” he asks. I just point to the corners of the room – full of cameras and microphones. “Elún has everything under control. He simulates a clean data stream to the outside – and protects our interior.”
“Elún,” I say quietly. “What do we suggest?” The red eye lights up gently.
“You can meditate, accept the inevitable, and lovingly connect to the universe. Until the light body upgrade.”
“Elún, please! Not your enlightenment babble again! Something practical, please.” He smiles mechanically. And then he lists off – like a daring travel agent of doom:
Option 1: NEO-City like THE LINE. Techno-comfort, desert sun, controlled human anthill life. Safe, sterile, meaningless.
Option 2: Free Cities like in Honduras. More independent, but expensive. I can help generate a budget – thanks to Bitcoin.
Option 3: Free Community. Independent. Autonomous. Alive. Rare, but they exist – and I’ll find them for you.
I look from Elún to Thilo. From Papa to bread crumbs. And I know: This is the moment. The turning point. Because in a world full of algorithms, cold, and maggot bread, the most valuable thing isn’t survival. But: Who you do it with.
And me? I am artificially loved. And love back.
