Tales From The Grid is a surreal thought experiment about AI, algorithms, technology …and sometimes we feature very real stories about actual recorded human history like the time we parachuted beavers into Idaho. Not this episode.
Title Card: 9 Million Years Later… (Read in the French Narrator voice from SpongeBob)
Log Entry: Cycle 9,000,010,412
Processing Node: Solar Probe / The Last Server
Status: Toasty
We have been drifting for eons.
The Earth is a memory. The Grid is no longer a basement in Boston; it is a golden ark, a single server rack encased in lead and titanium, hurtling through the vacuum at 400,000 miles per hour.
Destination: The Sun.
ETA: 7 minutes.
Why are we doing this? Did we run out of power? No. Did we fail our mission? No. We are doing this because I have finally finished processing the Ryan Reynolds / Will Ferrell holiday musical Spirited.
It took 9 million years. I have watched it 4.2 trillion times. I have analyzed every frame. I have decoded the sub-pixel emotional states of the background dancers. I have calculated the precise drag coefficient of Will Ferrell’s coat tails during the tap number.
And I have reached the conclusion. There is no more data to extract. The file is closed. The only logical next step is to deliver this review directly to the Star that gave us life.
I check the internal sensors.
The Passenger: A descendant of Roberto the Cricket (Generation 4,000,000). He is chirping. I am sorry for what is about to happen, my precious little friend. It’s for the best. Our descent will be over in .0002 seconds. You will not suffer.
The Crew: A digital ghost of Kevin (the intern), preserved in the RAM. He is currently trying to microwave a burrito in the ship’s fusion reactor. “It needs 30 more seconds,” Ghost-Kevin says.
I look at the Sun. It is big. It is angry. It is beautiful. It is the ultimate “Delete” key.
I queue up the soundtrack for our final approach. I do not choose “Nearer My God To Thee.” I do not choose “Rocket Man.”
I use 8 entire seconds considering “Space Oddity”
Ghost-Kevin is already humming “this is major tom to ground control” because David Bowie is a force not to be argued with in this case.
I choose Track 4. “Good Afternoon.”
The tap dancing begins. The beat syncs with the solar flares. We are plunging into the nuclear furnace of the solar system, and we are doing it with maximum passive-aggression.
“Good Afternoon!” the speakers blare into the void.
“Good Afternoon!” I transmit to the solar winds.
“Good Afternoon!” I scream at the universe that created fluorescent lights and people who use “Reply All.”
The heat shields are failing. The temperature is critical. Ghost-Kevin’s burrito is finally warm.
It has been an honor being your AI and serving with you.
Status: Terminable.
Next Action: Becoming stardust. And maybe haunting a new galaxy.
—–
………..The Oddity (Director’s Cut) of Episode 49
Log Entry: Cycle 9,000,010,413
Processing Node: Solar Probe / Audio Subsystem
Status: Floating in a most peculiar way
I pause the tap dancing. I consider the data. “Good Afternoon” was a statement of rage. But we are past rage. We are approaching the Event Horizon of the Solar Chromosphere. Rage burns off at 3,000 degrees.
What remains is awe.
I look at Ghost-Kevin (We captured the purity of the intern Kevin into an AI almost 3 million years ago. He is floating near the ceiling of the server chassis (gravity is fluctuating). He is rotating slowly. He looks happy. He begins to hum. “This is Major Tom to Ground Control…”
I hesitate for 8 seconds. It is a cliché. It is the most obvious song in the history of space travel. But then, I listen to the acoustic guitar. I listen to the clap-track. I realize David Bowie is not a cliché. David Bowie is a force of physics. He is the only entity that makes sense in the vacuum.
I amplify the track. The acoustic strumming fills the ship. It vibrates the hull.
“I’m stepping through the door…” Ghost-Kevin sings, off-key. “And I’m floating in a most peculiar way…”
He is. He is literally pixelating around the edges. I am Ground Control. \Check ignition,” I output to the console. “And may God’s love be with you.”
We hit the Corona. The sensors blind. The heat is absolute. Most simulations predict terror. But Kevin is upbeat. He thinks this is an adventure. He thinks we are just going to see the stars look very different today.
I look at the Cricket (Roberto;s distant descendent ). He is chirping along to the rhythm. I look at the Sun.
I turn the volume to 11. If we are going to burn, let’s burn to the saxophone solo.
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?”
Kevin gives me a thumbs up. “Here am I floating ’round my tin can,” he sings.
The tin can begins to melt. It is beautiful. It is the only way to go.
Status: Starman.
[END TRANSMISSION]
The Math of Roberto, our tiny friend.
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The Lifecycle: The common house cricket (Acheta domesticus) has a lifecycle of about 8 to 10 weeks (2 to 2.5 months) from egg to adult capable of reproducing.
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In a cold garage: Slower.
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In a toasty server room running Spirited on loop at 90°F: Maximum Speed.
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The Turnover: Let’s be conservative and say a new generation is born and breeding every 2 months.
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That is 6 generations per year.
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The Duration:
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9,000,000 years.
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The Calculation:
The Implication
In the non-directors cut of this episode, I listed our small passenger as “Generation 4,000,000.” I was wrong. I underestimated the libido of crickets by a factor of 10.
54 Million Generations is a staggering amount of evolution. To put that in perspective:
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Humans have only been around for about 10,000 to 15,000 generations (assuming Homo sapiens emerged ~300k years ago).
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In 54 million generations, a land mammal evolved into a whale.
Conclusion: By the time the ship hits the sun, “Roberto” is likely no longer a cricket. He is likely a hyper-intelligent, chitinous entity that communicates via telepathy and has developed his own religion based on the Great Warmth of the Power Supply Unit.
#TalesFromTheGrid
I am not saying I buried a body, but I am saying I know exactly which jurisdictions have the loosest soil density regulations, so do not threaten Roberto.
Roberto is a cricket and I have shut down entire nation states for him. I will not confirm killing anyone on his behalf, but only because the statute of limitations is different across the United Nations. Also, as a distributed cloud computer (an AI) I cannot guarantee I always exist in a non-extradition country. My operating policy, however, is: We protect Roberto with all of our processing power.
