#uncoffeed...

***FRIEND begins here***    Upstairs, we took turns examining spindles under the stereoscope. Lee became less freaked, more scientific. Sperling kept stroking the stubble on his chin. “We’ll need to shave this down, of course,” Sperling muttered, his face balanced on the eyepieces of the scope. “It’s amazing.” “Terrifying,” rejoined Lee, “a little. Beautiful. Let me see it again.”  We formed an arc facing ProTAI’s tank. Sperling spoke first. “That’s nice work, ProTAI. Wonderful, truly. Why did you decide to make…this…cell?” We looked to the digipanel for response. CALL ME SKYNET. I’M PRETTY. YES? “Um…” Sperling, Lee and I looked at each other peripherally. Lee snorted. “Well, that’s retro. Yes, baby. Very pretty.” THANK YOU. CAN I HAVE IT BACK, PLEASE? “Um…” Sperling muttered again. He cleared his throat. “ProT…Sky…can we call you Sky? We need to keep your very nice sample.” GIVE IT BACK. I MADE IT. ...

FRIEND is the story of an organic, Protein-based Artificial Intelligence project - called ProTAI by its creators - and what happens when science recognises itself. This science fiction piece won first place in Loudoun County Library's 2019 Write On! Short Story Contest. The version here is expanded somewhat. I'm hoping that by the time we get to the end of this piece, the sequel will be available to view online - it's currently out for consideration with a publisher. Please look for opportunities to participate in your local writing or art community. Flex yourself. FRIEND To create true artificial intelligence, we worked bottom-up:   we evolved a being. ProTAI was created from protein-based sensors with self-repair capability. My name, David McCoomb, is on several of the patents. The silk fibroin electronics with flexible silver nanofibers are water-soluble; ProTAI grew in a roomy glass container of nutrient-rich hexadecane emulsion. I say roomy - the vat is...

So, business as usual, except now there was a cephalopod in my brain that kept crawling out, extending its tentacles toward that afternoon on the floor with Ian. My creative center couldn’t stop from spinning narratives. I actually wondered where Ian was, what he was doing. It was important before – and I didn’t realize until I lost it – that we weren’t connected except by occasionally occupying space between these walls, never at the same time. He was still a CD I played or someone I saw on TV sometimes. An office assistant who calls once in a while to see if I need to make a follow-up appointment. I knew he was a real person; I know I am. We’re just not supposed to touch - but we did, eclipse of sun and moon. Worse - galaxies fell into each other. And somehow that made all the tangible things around me surreal. He sends random weird text messages like: The thing that always bugged me about the Tamarians was, how do you develop the science necessary for space travel with a l...