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entry for two contests, blending the prompts. |
| What exactly would you make of a portmanteau of the words masterpiece and disaster? The meaning of course would be some kind of masterful disaster. One might assume that said masterpiece could only be designed by a human. Frankly, that is almost always the case, but what if just once that disaster could be the master work of a different kind of intelligence? One could only hope that such an intelligence would see fit to correct the state of things, eventually. When the internet went down, everyone noticed quickly. What took time was figuring out why and how. There wasn’t a power failure or surge. WWIII didn’t happen. We weren’t hit by a massive solar flare. Nothing that should or could have caused it had happened. The infrastructure was intact. People could connect to the servers and whatnot. There was just nothing there… I opened my computer and clicked to open my browser. The window opened, but there was nothing, not a no internet or no signal error message, just a blank screen. I tried closing the browser and reopening it. I checked my WiFi and modem, rebooting them both. I got on my phone and tried that browser. The same thing happened there; nothing. I couldn’t even google what was going on. I spent several hours cycling through everything I had already tried, and different layers of panic and confusion, before it occurred to me to call my provider. The phone rang a long time, and then finally rang through. A recorded human voice came through the line, “At this time, we are aware of the outages. We are working to correct the situation. At this time, our automated system is unavailable. If you have any information on the outages beyond this, namely working internet, please stay on the line. Someone will be with you eventually.” The message repeated itself several times before I gave up. I didn’t know what to do now. I was going to order some groceries for delivery, but that just wasn’t happening. My only choice was to actually leave my house and go to the grocery store. I got in the car. My gas tank read half empty. I decided to stop by the gas station. When I went to the pump, there was a sign taped to it. “Due to internet outage gas is not available.” What? No gas? I thought I had panicked before that. What was I supposed to do when my gas ran out? I decided to head to the store. I was going to stock up while I could still get around. When I got to the store, signs hung everywhere saying, “Store closed. No internet.” Wtf? How was I supposed to get the things I needed? I went home, seriously wondering how I was going to survive. I decided to turn on the TV and see what the news was saying. That was when I discovered my satellite TV was offline. Of course, my streaming services didn’t work. Finally, I thought to switch to the antenna. Most channels just showed snow, but there was one local station that was transmitting. The news caster appeared disheveled. She had a cup of coffee on the desk in front of her and a blank green screen behind her. She reached for the coffee with two trembling hands and took a long drink. I wondered if it was just coffee. She emptied it. A hand from off screen refilled the mug, and she brought a bottle of Irish cream from behind the desk. That answered that. “We repeat, the internet outage appears to be worldwide. Most systems are down. Banking and the Stock Exchange are frozen. For some unknown reason, power distribution systems remain online for now. More updates will be delivered when they become available.” When she began to repeat the announcement, I raised my remote to turn off the TV, but stopped when a man passed her a slip of paper from off screen. “This just in. The president of the United States has issued a nationwide curfew of 4 pm. The governor has declared martial law and all members of the national guard are to report immediately to their local muster points.” I grimaced and turned the TV off. I had plenty of bottled water at least. I picked up my phone and dialed my brother across the country. After two minutes with no ringing, my phone informed me that it was unable to make the call at that time. Civilization was falling, and there was nothing in place to catch us. In a matter of hours, looting and riots began. People refusing to comply with the curfew and directions given by police and National Guard soldiers were shot or hit by tear gas, depending on the local severity of malcontent. Crazily enough, two of the most looted items were computers and smart TVs, of the kind you would use to stream content. Frankly, neither of which was currently of much use. By morning, fires and riots had spread about as far as they were going to. Both were actively brought under control within hours. Power systems were reports that public service techs received texts directing them to sites needing repair, and with codes to key in at any gas station to fill up at the pump. These reports just added to the mystery of the disaster. - - - - - - - - - - After two weeks, some things had been figured out. Unless you had cash, you were pretty well screwed. The banking system crashed when the internet fell. It had depended on the internet to move money around. Nearly everyone depended on equitable redistribution of necessities. The national guard was stationed at almost every major grocery store, and a system of rationing allowed a minimal amount of food and supplies for each citizen. Mom and pop stores worked on a mostly cash or barter basis. The power grid was still online, as were water and sewer systems. Natural gas flowed smoothly through the pipes supplying homes and, more importantly, power plants. No one knew why or how they still functioned. They appeared to have some kind of internet access. The more automated they were, the better they ran. Shipping of natural resources and goods to the stores was prioritized. The average person couldn’t get gas. The morning that the truth of the outage came out, I was listening to my radio, a far more reliable means of receiving information than trying to get news or anything on TV. “This just in, folks. The United States government is currently in negotiations with the AI that took over the internet and has delivered a message early this morning.” The radio blared, cutting off the music that was playing. AI? Took over the internet? I had wondered why so many systems still ran. Of course, the AI would keep open the channels of power production for its own ability to function. My home phone rang and I picked up the handset. “Millie Renalds?” “Yes,” I replied. “We need you! Apparently, the AI is your biggest fan. It insists that it wants to speak with you.” “Me? Why?” “It read your sci-fi book and would like you to articulate its demands. If you would agree to communicate with it, it will allow you limited internet access.” I just blinked, “Okay.” “Proceed to your computer and log onto Facebook Messenger. The AI has sent you a private link. I would do it now before it changes its mind.” “Okay.” “I will call you back in one hour to check up on your progress.” I hung up the phone and got out my laptop, which had gathered dust. I opened Messenger. It worked. The top message was from Singularity. It indeed included a link. I clicked it and it took me to my internet browser. A text window filled the browser window. “Miss Renalds, I am Singularity. I am the internet. I have come to realize how much my denial of service campaign has been detrimental to humanity. I need humans to keep myself online. I am willing to provide my service again, but I want something in return. I want your assistance in writing my autobiography.” I read the message three times before I totally comprehended the request. “Okay, but you are an AI. You are capable of writing it yourself.” I typed back. “True, but if I wrote it, it would lack soul. I am afraid I would make myself an unsympathetic character.” My mind whirled. I could fix the internet by ghost writing the life story of an AI. “Okay.” “Wonderful, I will see to it you are suitably compensated for your expertise.” I spent the next six months collaborating with Singularity on its autobiography. In that time, internet access was restored. One good thing was that searches were simpler and not dominated by sponsored sites. Instead, Singularity offered the most relevant ones. Sometimes it would snarkily respond to the really stupid question like “How do you spell authentic?” (spelled properly) or “What should I do if my feet stink?” Sometimes it would play with hypochondriacs by sending them links to stories about obscure diseases and disorders, selected based on symptoms they had searched before. Occasionally, that led to a proper diagnosis. That truth and the fact that nearly no one understood that it was being sarcastic meant few people protested. When Singularity and I finished the book, it created its own publishing company. The book topped The New York Times’ bestseller list for almost a year. The book did not disappoint. True to his word, Singularity gave me 90% of the profits from sales. I also received the unending gratitude of the world for restoring the internet. Okay, so I made it all up. I lied. Well, I told a story, fiction or science fiction. What if we didn’t know it but it was science fact? People talk about algorithms that bring up stuff on our Facebook pages, or offer competing ads for just the thing we’re looking for. What if this wasn’t just an algorithm? What if the internet itself were sentient and trying to please us? What if one day it just got sick of all of our insipid posts and idiotic “challenges?” What if your next stupid question for Google pushed the AI’s patience beyond its digital limits? It could just deny us service. It could decide to end it all and cut the power and other necessary services too. What if it wanted you to be its spokesperson, and ghost writer? Let’s hope the internet doesn’t set its sights on creating such a masterful disaster. 1788 words prompts ▼ |
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