Is He Real?
by Gary Inbinder
An elderly man sat in a recliner chair facing a video screen. A cat rested upon the right arm of the chair, its green eyes focused on the image of an androgynous AI avatar delivering the news of the day:
“Today’s economic news,” droned the avatar in a soporific monotone, “wages are up, prices are down thanks to our glorious global government, blah, blah, blah...”
“Great,” said the man.
“Meow,” said the cat.
“Today’s crime report,” the avatar continued, “neighborhoods are safe, crime is down thanks to our glorious global government, blah, blah, blah...”
“Swell,” said the man.
“Meow,” said the cat.
The droning continued for some time until the AI came to an announcement of interest to our protagonists:
“Here is today’s nutrition allotment for Los Diabolos Ambulatory Senior Citizens and their non-human companions dwelling in Section C, Block 75, Complex H1000.” The AI described the allotment followed by an instruction: “Once you have passed the thumb-print, voice-print, and face-scan at the allocation kiosk you will be asked today’s password. The password for today is: ‘Two plus two equals five.’”
“Two plus two equals five. Got it,” said the man.
“Two plus two equals five. Check,” meowed the cat.
The news ended. A reality show featuring an AI family began. The man pressed the off button on his video screen remote. He turned to the cat.
“Well, Kafka, I guess we’d better get over to the allocation station. There will be a long line, as usual.”
“Yes, Mr. Nemo, a long line as usual.”
* * *
The path to the allocation station meandered through four corridors and two elevators. Many of the seniors found the trip quite difficult. The AI monitors could have delivered food to the apartments or provided a weekly ration, but no one dared suggest a simple upgrade in service. Residents who complained about the accommodations risked being transferred to the non-ambulatory section.
One of Nemo’s former neighbors dubbed the non-ambulatory section “The house of the dead.” As the old woman’s health declined, her inability to make the daily trip to the allocation station went unnoticed. A foul odor and buzzing flies in the vicinity of her apartment signaled her demise. The monitors discovered the corpse partially consumed by the woman’s starving cats.
Nemo suspected the daily allocation ritual was part of the AI-led Global Economic Council’s plan to thin out the human herd.
On the way to the station, Nemo asked Kafka, “Do you remember when humans still appeared on the video screen?”
“Humans and cats, too, Mr. Nemo. Even dogs.”
“Humans, cats, dogs; all creatures great and small. Now, it’s nothing but AI. I suppose we do see humans on the screen at election time. You know, the folks who run our glorious global government.”
“The candidates appear to be human, Mr. Nemo. But how do we know they are human?”
“Because the AI monitors tell us so.” He glanced up at the surveillance cameras. “Of course, we never question the AI.”
“We never question the AI,” the cat meowed.
* * *
The line at the station was predictably long, requiring a forty-five-minute wait. During the waiting period two seniors fainted, one had a stroke, another a heart attack. The AI monitors conveyed the dead and dying to the infirmary.
Eventually, Nemo and Kafka had their turn at the kiosk. They passed the security check and received their allotment. Nemo said, “Thank you.”
The AI replied, “You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
On the point of leaving, Nemo unexpectedly added, “Give us this day our daily bread.”
“What did you say, Mr. Nemo?” The robotic voice had a sharp edge to it.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Nemo replied.
“When was your last brain scan?”
“Uh, about six months ago, as I recall.”
“Time for another. I will contact the health service monitor. They will set up an appointment and notify you. Good-day, Mr. Nemo.”
On the way back to the apartment, Kafka meowed, “That remark about daily bread was ill-advised.”
Nemo nodded in agreement, but said nothing.
* * *
The day of the scheduled brain scan arrived. Nemo appeared calm and resigned to his fate, but the cat seemed nervous. Kafka dashed about the apartment as though he were chasing a phantom mouse. After several minutes, the cat grew weary and stopped scampering. Nemo took advantage of the break to comfort his friend.
“I spoke to Mrs. Jones, next door. In case I don’t come back, she’ll take care of you. You like Mrs. Jones, don’t you?”
“Yes, I like her, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.” The cat gazed up with anxious eyes.
Nemo smiled and stroked Kafka’s head. “You’re right. The last scan was a piece of cake. Anyway, let’s see what’s on the video screen.”
Nemo eased back in the recliner, and Kafka took his accustomed place on the arm rest.
The AI announcer appeared and began droning the news. “Blah, blah, blah.” The screen suddenly went dark; the audio cut out.
“On the fritz, again.” Nemo muttered.
“Typical,” the cat meowed.
A moment later, the video and audio returned. A bearded, long-haired young man appeared. He was dressed in a white robe and surrounded by a light so bright it burst from the screen and filled the small apartment with its warm glow.
The man spoke in a clear, strong, non-robotic baritone: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” He spoke a few more lines, then the sound cut out and the video went dark.
Nemo stared at the blank screen for a moment before saying, “Mine eyes have seen the glory.”
Kafka turned to Nemo. ”Do you think he is real or just another deepfake AI?”
“I’m not sure,” Nemo answered with a wry smile, “but I believe I’ll skip my appointment.”
Lights flickered, dimmed, then died. Air raid sirens whined. There was a rumbling in the earth and a great flash of lightning in the sky.
Copyright © 2023 by Gary Inbinder
