The way things are going
THE WAYS THINGS ARE
Maari, hyperventilating, called from her retreat on Troodos. She’d been in her garden having a smoke, when a soundless, fluid presence passed through her plants without moving a petal or a leaf and approached her.
‘I thought I was dreaming but the cats fled, the birds stopped singing.’
Then a ‘thing’ materialised ‘Like a holograph, a colourless, jellylike form.’ Ghosts came to mind: she’d bought a house with a spooky history.
She cried out ‘Who are you?’ It replied, what humans call an angel.
It explained that its shape altered to suit advancing minds as it carries warnings, prophecies.
I humoured her, ‘Go on.’
It said the time was near when working humans will be irrelevant, only the wealthy top tier and those producing AI will remain in absolute control and comfort in partnership with military technology.
‘Data collectors with saleable info already know more about you than your mother. Thanks to your tech toys the evaluators know who to retain, who’s dispensable.’
Then, it said, there will be a John Connor moment. ‘As in Terminator Connor?’ How much had she smoked?
Yes, but – the terminators won’t be AI machines rather those in charge of AI power who will terminate jobs. Unions will dissolve, strikes futile. Doctors, teachers, writers, people who spent years accumulating knowledge and getting paid for using it will be discarded remnants of an old life, scavenging for survival as governing powers assisted by technology, won’t need their votes or talents.
The rapidity of advances will accelerate, it said, computer generated holographic effects where greener worlds are created that appear real but are illusionary will emerge as the planet loses colour and fails.
Fast evolving bots can do almost anything a person can, but quicker and more efficiently. Even now alarms are being raised which will be ignored by the hidden, new power establishers which, in future, won’t need to disguise their selfish interests. The machines that will serve them have no emotions and will create practically no waste or pollution.
Science is already working on how to age and de-age mice, those who can afford treatment will yearn for long-lasting life to enjoy more excess, as the dying masses boiling in their own sweat become festering mulch.
‘But simple people have always revolted when unfair circumstances by stronger, oppressing humans have driven them beyond abject tolerance.’
It cited struggles against former universal and illegal colonisation, Palestine. Resistance in European countries under German occupation. Before that, France’s guillotine era triggered by gross social inequalities evolving into lethal action. Recent protesters there using destruction to decry a police killing of a young male. ‘Some did it for justice, many to personally vent their own anger and dissatisfaction.’
Violence will escalate as food anxiety and life stress compress logic, patience and hope.
‘Sacred Wimbledon was invaded by climate protesters while world leaders talk treacle about halting rising temperatures but, regardless, still persist in helping business friends make polluting profits.’
As the climate worsens, actions will speak louder than governments. Belief in and respect for titles are being questioned like never before.
However, it continued, the arrogance of people who think they are gods creating machines with faster, higher intelligence than humans to gain wealth and power will learn that even Paradise saw revolt.
‘There will be revolution and guerilla warfare against the creators of tech intelligence and their armed protectors. The struggle to destroy their grip will be bloody.’
‘You probably fell asleep,’ I said sympathetically. She reluctantly agreed and closed to prepare for her young ‘gods’ and their parents coming from Belfast to stay with her. I know Maari has established a study trust fund for the twin grandchildren of an old friend from Ireland. The 14-year-old godsons’ poster girl is Greta Thunberg, they are with her on protecting the earth and keen to get involved in a green planet movement.
‘I don’t understand why that came to me, even in a dream; I’m not even into tech.’ Maari had concluded. Late that night, looking at the desolate old moon, I remembered with a jolt that her ‘gods’ were called Jonathan and Connor.