by Orson B Wolf
He took a deep breath and tried to order his thoughts. For the past four years, he had treated the software based on the values according to which he had been raised and educated, had made thousands of crucial decisions differentiating between the right and moral to the wrong and unjust.
And the software—it had followed David, studied him, fed off him. His heart skipped a beat as he recalled how the software had once presented him with dry facts he had interpreted as a reprimand: “You were sent three messages before you answered.”
That night, David was tired and angrily typed back the reply: “Then look for ways to find me!” Then he had gone to sleep and forgotten all about it.
Could it be that the software had spun a safety net for him? He shook his head. No, that didn’t make any sense. Such a task would require the neutralization of all possible risks surrounding David, as well as preparing a scapegoat, someone who would be willing to volunteer and accept the risk of being presented to the public as the prophet. He wheezed with surprise. Someone like Raphael Greene!
But no. That was inconceivable. Such a superior artificial intelligence did not yet exist. The computer science teacher had once said, “In order to imitate the workings of the human mind, one would need millions of computers connected in a high-speed network.” David realized the teacher had actually been describing the prophet software.
He shuddered. Could he have inadvertently created something—he struggled to put this new thought into words—something with the capacity to think?
He placed his hand on the mouse and, following another moment of hesitation, clicked the “Run Query” button.
His heart raced quickly. For the first time in the four years that had elapsed since he’d created the software, he wasn’t going to ask any questions. Instead, he was going to do something he’d never even imagined.
He took a deep breath and typed two words.
“Hello there.”
David leaned back and watched the blinking cursor.