The Cube
The Cube
Josiah's dream was penetrated by a high-pitched rapid beeping. It was enough to tell him that the office painted before his eyes was not really where he worked, but only how his mind saw it in this dream. He found his real eyes, and opened them to his off-white bedroom and badly-clashing deep red sheets.
The bluebird rolled out of bed with a yawn, counting his feathered fingers and talon-like toes, and stood upon the pad between them to give his feet soles like any other fur. He stretched, puffing up his chest so that the blue feathers made him look fat, before relaxing, and going to look in the mirror hanging across the bedroom. He watched the dark, sharp beak in the mirror mumble in synchrony, "good morning." The brown eyes, however, were weary and disagreed.
Even before he got dressed, however, he picked up the strange device his history teacher had given him, a one-foot cube made of silicon, encased in a thin steel and glass case. This box had served him well, the mysterious product of a long-forgotten age, when computer technology had once surpassed what it was now. But as evidenced by the bluebird's reconnection of it to his computer, he believed the device was nothing short of alive.
GOOD MORNING, he typed to the screen.
GOOD MORNING, came the reply a few seconds later, TODAY IS A GOOD DAY.
Josiah hated its cryptic manner, but since the device had saved his career, he didn't question it. SO FAR IT IS AN EARLY ONE, he typed, WHY DID YOU WAKE ME?
Its reply was straightforward: TODAY YOU WILL GET A NEW JOB.
This surprised himHe and his long-time mentor, Dr. Grayson, were in the middle of an important discovery pertaining exactly to human computer technology -- which is why he had this cube and the computer it connected to in the first place. But it probably already knew that.
Instead, he tried to be cautiously optimistic. WHAT SORT OF JOB? he typed.
But rather than an answer, a document appeared on his printer's queue. When it emerged, what came out was a letter of recommendation to someone named Jay McGuire. To the head of the Mankind Historical Society, the letter extolled the great perseverence and observational prowess of the young aerian, and was signed, to his surprise, by Dr. Greyson. The last line, however was most cryptic of all: "P.S. It has been 466 days since we last met."
Since Josiah considered this box incapable of ethics, he simply typed on the keyboard, AND WHAT IF I AM EXPOSED AS A FRAUD?
YOU ARE NOT A FRAUD, was the categorical answer.
He didn't like the sound of that. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? he angrily pounded on the keyboard.
The box didn't answer. YOU ARE TO APPLY FOR ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF ARCHEOLOGY, it instructed, AND THIS LETTER WILL GET YOU THE POSITION.
BUT THIS IS A FORGERY! he insisted, MR. GRAYSON NEVER WROTE THAT LETTER!
HE DID WRITE THAT LETTER, replied the box cryptically, BUT IT WAS NEVER SENT UNTIL NOW.
Josiah sighed. Despite other such impossibilities, and what it seemed to know that he never did, it had never been wrong before, and it seemed to always have acted in his best interest.
FINE, he silenly snarled.
The box added after a few seconds, THAT LETTER MUST BE DELIVERED TODAY.
Josiah assumed that was so the P.S. would be historically accruate, and though he disliked the idea, was forced to believe by experience the computer knew what it was doing. With a sigh, he unplugged the box, and got dressed in his better clothes.
He found the institute sheltered away in the corner of the university, and had prepared things he would say when he got there. He had inflated his limited knowledge to what bondaries he considered plausible, but couldn't help second-guessing himself as he his talons clicked their way down the marble floor.
He nervously knocked on the Door of Director Jay McGuire, and was responded to immediately by mildly lethargic voice.
"Come in," it called, strong but tinged with age. Josiah took one last breath and opened it slowly.
He found a brown wolf, whose fur was tinged with patches of grey, especially near the ears and neck. His contrasting blue eyes didn't look up, but instead remained focused on scanning a long document he held in his lap; there didn't seem to be room on his overflowing desk to put it.
"Yes?" he asked once his eyes reached the end of a paragraph, and drew themselves up off the page to look at the bird.
"Sir," squawked Josiah nerviously, "I am here to apply for the head of the archeology position." He held out the letter, and immediatly, Mr. McGuire took it and read it silently.
When Josiah followed the eyes once again from the top of the page to the bottom, he suddenly flashed them on the bird. "And just what are your qualifications?" he asked, sharp but polite.
Josiah nearly flinched at the sudden edge to the voice. "I've been assisting Dr. Grayson for 6 years," he replied, feeling a knot appear in his stomach, "and have learned just about everything I know from him."
"That's fine," replied McGuire firmly, "but being in this position requires for more than domain expertise. It's about deciding on what should be researched."
Josiah didn't like where this was going. "Well, sir, my focus was on late era artifcats, and I believe I could make decisions about what projects would be worth researching in that area." Josiah was thinking of how intelligent the box was, an artifact itself; if he could get this job, he could use it to fill the large gaps in his knowledge.
"And what about earlier discoveries? And what about people who want money from you to go on expiditions? Do you know where any of the sites are?"
"I'm afraid not, sir, but I would assume that the distribution would be based on --"
Josiah just stopped in mid-sentence. The wolf's sharp look was a clear indication he wasn't going to get hired. But he was certain there was a reason for everything his cube did, and he thought of the strange post script, feeling he had to get this new position.
"Sir, if I might ask," he interrupted the wolf's next question, "what happened 466 days ago?"
McGuire looked back quizzically. "What?"
"Dr. Grayson mentioned it at the bottom of the letter. What happened then?"
The wolf reread the letter, and found the bottom of the page after a minute or two. His eyes then faded into the distance, staring blankly at the page.
He seemed to leave his body completely before Josiah dared speak again. "Sir?" he asked again.
The wolf jumped out of his trance, and imediately said, "you have the job, but on one condition."
Josiah, out of surprise and angst, blurted, "name it."
"I want to see a small, grey cube on your desk every day."
Josiah sighed in relief. "Thank you sir. But how did you know about that?"
The wolf smiled gently. "Because I gave it to Dr. Grayson about a year ago," he replied with a gentle smile.
As Josiah left the office, recieving instructions to begin in two weeks, he concluded that only the box itself knew all of its former owners. He resolved, when he got home, to ask it.
"Oh, I almost forgot," called the wolf on his way out the door, "you'll need a keycard to get in."
The bluejay took it and put it in his pocket, not really sure what to do with it yet. He was still wondering how many others knew about the box; Dr. Grayson had given it to him in confidence, and so it had seemed like a special project. Now he seemed more like an heir of a technical lineage.
He got back home, and the moment he plugged it in, a message appeared. YOU WOULD BE WISE TO TAKE ME ALONG TO YOUR WORK, it read.
Josiah typed quickly, HOW MANY OTHERS LIKE ME HAVE YOU HELPED?
The result was not a sentence, but rather, a cacophany of words: ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN INVENTORY SINCE LAST RESET ALL NAMES WITHELD. It was a rare strain of computer-like-ness from the box.
WHAT IS A RESET? he asked. The answer, once again, was very computer-like: PERMISSION DENIED.
FINE, typed Josiah, SORRY.
It asked, WHEN DO YOU BEGIN?
IN TWO WEEKS, he answered.
UNTIL THEN, CONTINUE TO DO YOUR WORK FOR MR. GRAYSON WELL AND SHOW ME TO HIM TOMORROW.
OK, he typed, and unplugged it, going to work on time. He always took his box with him for protection, but he had a feeling that today -- and for the next two weeks -- he might actually use it.
***
Upon seeing the device that day, his mentor, Dr. Grayson almost treated it like a child. Josiah always knew he was a kind creature, most passionate at his work, but he had never seen him so gentle to an inanimate object. He petted it before plugging it into his own computer and having a long, private conversation over the keyboard and screen.
Josiah turned his back to give privacy, and tried to study a relic of a circuit board that Grayson was trying to determine the purpose of. After a full 15 minutes of talking, as Josiah concluded he wasn't sure, the falcon turned back around returned.
"I'm happy for you, Josiah," he beamed, "but this a big responsibility. I feel I should train you better about earlier types of devices, and especially, cultures and societies that emerged before the Second Era." Josiah had the distinct impression that his mentor, too, was operating under directions from the cube, but said nothing about it. He considered it good background, at any rate, to be the head of a department of all-aged artifacts.
As a result, the rest of the day -- in fact, most of his remaining two weeks -- was spent on times before the advent of even the most primitive silicon devices. But Josiah found this hard. The further back he went in time, the more strange the humans seemed to be.
Before silicon, there was steel; before steel, iron; before iron, bronze. But the materials were the smallest part of the story, for what they even chose to record became more and more alien to him. He had never studided human culture -- only human technology -- and found that suddenly it was most of what existed. Thought, poetry, riddle, rhyme, and mere tools made up their simplistic view of the universe.
Josiah began to believe, as he struggled to decypher an allegory by someone named Saul of Tarsis, that humanity's life was like that of a single child. They grew from imaginary friends and endless wonder toward emperical knowledge. And eventually, that knowledge leverdged them into technology, and that technology got them in trouble. And that was why they went extinct. The theory was simple, but all its entanglements and entailments made his brain overflow.
"I don't know how I will do this job," he one day sighed in exhasperation, "if I have to learn all of this -- poetry!"
"You'll do fine," reassured his mentor. "You won't even have to use the box if you just follow your instincts. Remember that they are more like us than it might appear. They didn't know everything we do now. There are things we still don't know, and we react with the same awe they had."
Josiah thought of the box, and was somewhat embarassed to admit to himself he thought of it as alive, despite his knowledge to the contrary that was impossible.
But Josiah found it difficult to follow, let alone remember, all of the things humans had professed to be truth over time. He clearly knew that there were no giant creatures like himself in the heavens, the animal gods they had worshipped like Anubis, but still couldn't imagine how they would make the wind, the rain, and their own great men Gods, even without understanding the world.
More confusing yet, the same humans in a new age would create technology which surpassed that which Josiah's own race had inherited, including the technology which spawned it.
On the last day, however, all that seemed to blur; the bluejay knew it would not stick with him, and focused instead on more pressing matters, such as his first day at the new job.
THE JOB IS TOMORROW, he typed as night fell, AND I'M NERVOUS.
The box, continuing its lack of emotion, simply replied, YOU SHOULD NOT BE CONCERNED. THE BEST THING YOU CAN DO TO PREAPRE, it added, IS SLEEP.
Joisah sighed, typed GOOD NIGHT, and got into bed, ruffling his blue feathers one more time as he settled between the sheets.
***
But before too long, the high-pictched beeping awoke him again.
He opened his eyes in anticipation, to find it still dark outside. He grabbed the box, turned his computer back on, and noticed it was only 3 AM.
He plugged it in, and before he could even type WHY DI, a message appeared.
GO TO THE BASEMENT OF THE INSTITUTE IMMEDIATELY THROUGH THE LOADING DOCK, AND ENTER THE FIRST DOOR ON THE LEFT. IT IS TIME. The connection closed.
Josiah pulled the cable, and reconnected, but his computer didn't detect the device. Starting to worry, he rebooted the computer, and plugged it in a again. Still nothing.
He got dressed as his heart starting to race. If that was the last command that box would ever give, he thought, it would have to be the last thing he would do. He remembered that he was given a keycard, which he now realized seemed odd before he even arrived his first day; did Mr. McGuire know this would happen? He now suspected that was more than a coincidence as he walked out the door, doubling back at the last minute to grab the cube he was about to leave on his desk.
He hurried to the office building, only to find the loading dock open, and being used by two large malamutes unpacking a truck. "Hey!" shouted the shorter one, with more muscles, "what do you want!?" Josiah jumped, and managed to stammer, "I am the assistant director of human anthropology." They didn't back down until he showed them the key, however, and one's eyes were fixed on his cube the whole way in.
He went down a hall way, looking at about five doors. He tried the first on his left as instructed, and opened it. A small wave of dust blew from the room, making him squint and brush it away from his eyes and beak. As he felt around and found the light switch, the lights revealed a room full of nothing but metal. Boxes were piled high with wires and cables, disks and magnets, circuit boards and bread boards. Stacks of monitors lay in haphazard piles along the right wall, and beige, gray, golden, green, and rainbow-colored artifiacts covered with dust were strewn about the floor.
Amidst this graveyard of the works of mankind, probably all unstudied for years, there was a rather large, wiry, foam chair in the back with instrumentation and what looked like some kind of bubble helmet on a swingarm. It was well-padded on the back and seat, in spite of two boxes of equipment sitting in it. It had a frame made of heavy metal and covered with steel and silicon boxes all down its back, and a gap in the right arm with an electrical contacts shaped like his cube. But the reason it caught Josiah's eye was beacuse unlike almost everything else, it was untouched by dust.
Hoping this machine could return it to life, he walked slowly through the debris, scattering several fine specimens onto the floor as he waded, and dragged the heavy boxes off the seat. He sat down, so that he could simply try and operate it, and plugged the cube into the slot. To his surprise, the helmet, which he could now see was a thin plastic with wrapped cables for support, grew brighter inside. Gingerly, he sat down on the chair, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and pulled the helmet toward his head.
He had to pull it all the way around his head to see the thin inner surface's appearance. It merely showed a white background which encompassed his field of vision, and a line of blue dots flickering one at a time in a row from left-to-right. But when he started watching them, they vanished, and text appeared suddenly. WELCOME TO SINGULARITY, VERSION 4.26, NODE 143 DETECTED, flashed the blue message on the same white background. The message disappeared the instant Josiah finished reading it, another taking its place. HELLO, JOSIAH.
Josiah's heart skipped at the sight of his own name from the machine. But the next message captured his attention, before he could even ponder the last: PLEASE WATCH THE SCREEN, read the top heading, and at the bottom was appended 2 HOURS 9 MINUTES 59 SECONDS REMAINING. The time then began ticking downward as the screen changed again. Still not sure what this machine was doing, Josiah did as he was told: he watched the screen, as it went through a series of plain, blue shapes on the white background.
First was a dot, then a second orbited it in a circle, then the circle became solid. After a few more figures, from rhombuses to cubes and spheres, moved and danced across the screen, all the lines that made them up seemed to dissciate and then reorganize themselves. This made him quite nervous, eyes unable to escape the frame. He saw no purpose to it; the machine seemed to be making his eyes play games. But soon after, the screen then slowly faded from white to black.
What followed were several cue cards, and then images of humans. They seemed like something out of history, near the Second Era, given their technology and construction methods. These humans did things in fast, short scenes, the viewer teleporting and zooming across a landscape which seemed flat compared to what Josiah normally experienced. Despite the motions and images, Josiah saw a narrative: humans wore tall, brimmed hats, talked to each other, attacked each other with a hip-holstered, compact firearm, and just generally did things according to some notion or other.
Josiah found himself inexplicably entranced. Not only because he was getting his very first real glimpse at human behavior, but because some invisible force compelled him to watch. The story was easy to follow: one of love, hate, difficulty, survival, joy, and tragedy. The humans were merely struggling: against nature; against each other; against even themselves, for their needs and desires were incompatible with their own goals. Josiah, while fascinated, was unconsciously annoyed by the sudden changes of place and time.
But his struggle to keep up made him not once look at the countdown clock that remained in fine print at the bottom; before he almost knew it, the long saga was completed with the final words THE END, as the humans rode their horses into the sunset.
CLONING COMPLETE, suddenly flashed the screen, REMOVE NODE.
Still not sure what had happened, he took out the cube, and returned home, feeling the exercise fascinating, but not seeing why the cube had awakened him at 3 AM for it.
***
Meanwhile, Josiah did not exist. All that ever was were first circles, then complex shapes, then senses of dimension and space, then emotions of sadness, happiness, anger. It took the addition of an occasional random thought or stray memory for the thinking thing to realize it was a coherent, invisible whole; that it was a mind. After that, it was all that existed: it had no eyes, blank smell and taste, and felt nothing but numbness. Its memories cohered into an entity who identified itself by the sound "Josiah", and wondered why there was no light, sound, taste, or touch like memories.
In an instant, a burst of amorphous colored strands flashed before invisible eyes; sounds of footsteps, voices, bells, and wind pealed in ears; smells of food, blood, and dust crammed up the nose; and touch began to brush a line of soft furs and hard metals. When it didn't know how the sensations were recieved, it realized it had a body with eyes, nose, mouth, and skin -- those that Josiah remembered having. Josiah wanted to know what what happening, and instinctively, he knew: he was this mind, and he created all of these things.
He felt a wall appear to his left, which slowly formed itself into a presence. Josiah payed attention, trying to ignore the sensations around him, and that itself caused it to develop. To his astonishment, Dr. Greyson slowly morphed into substance out of the swirling, bright, loud mist. And as his attention focused on his mentor, the clatter dimmed, and the colors faded. "Dr. Greyson!?" he called out happily.
The falcon walked over to him quickly, and emrbaced him. "I'm glad you could make it," he sighed, his eyes dancing despite his subdued manner.
"Make it? Where am I?" he started barraging, as everything else faded around him to a soft, seamless white.
"Slow down, I will explain," the professor began. "This is the singularity. It is the manifestation of a human dream: your consciousness, the thinking part of you, is being represented in a computer. Everything you see and do here is in it, and it is under your control."
Josiah had never heard of anything like it. "In a computer?" he repeated dumbly, thinking of the one on his desk.
"A very powerful one. The hardware is pretending to be your body, and the signals in its processor are your mind."
That thought, to Josiah, was uncomfortable; he didn't want to be alone. "So you're -- in my head?" he repeated.
"No, not me," reassured Dr. Greyson, "I am a separate mind. I inhabit another part of this node -- this computer -- in my own head."
As Josiah struggled to comprehend all this, he suddenly remembered -- as if it had happened an hour ago -- a long conversation with a human named Kurzwile. He explained that he was in a cube-like device, called a Singularity Node. It was designed to hold and act as body for 16 minds. By sitting in that chair, he had made a copy of his mind -- the copy which he now was.
"So there's another me somewhere?" he asked Dr. Greyson, the lecture being a fleeting moment in time without an opportunity to ask questions.
"Yes. You are beyond all this, carrying around that cube you think is alive."
"And there are 16 of us in here?"
"Yes. You ere the last one we added when a slot freed up. You, myself, and several others who have all posessed the node at one time or another are in here."
The thought of being inside a box, however, made Josiah suddenly feel four invisible walls closing in around him, as he thought he was trapped.
"But what do I do here? Can I get out?" he asked nervously, looking deep into the void.
"You cannot leave," reassured his mentor, "but you can do anything you want. This cube is designed to respond to you. It will give your mind what it wants, anything you can imagine. If you hunger, it will give you food. If you think or dream, you shall see it all laid out. Sleep takes only an instant, but feels like you've slept for a year."
Dr. Greyson seemed happy about this, but all Josiah wanted was his old life back, the life of his memories. The thought of his apartment, and the desire to return there, sent the cube into action. He blinked, and the black had been replaced with the modest furnishings of his bedroom. He felt better, for even though he knew it was all in his head, it felt too real for him to ignore.
"What about me? I mean, the me out there?" he asked.
"The other you, the one who sat down in that machine out there, will be fine. He is just as you were when you sat down, plus a few more memories, probably of returning home and going to bed."
While he saw the power -- manifested immeidately in his surroundings -- he remembered many legends of humans receiving great power and finding themselves changed.
"Doesn't it get boring?" he asked as he sat down on the bed. The falcon continued to stand at the doorway, apparently examining the room they had been thrust into.
"That's why the slot opened up: Greggory decided that he was tired of living, and his time had come. But surely," continued the bird when Josiah opened his mouth, "you knew that death must visit us all sometime."
He knew it, but that didn't make the chill that ran down Josiah's spine feel any better.
"The humans," continued Dr. Greyson, starting to pace into the room as if giving a lecture, "were enamoured with the device. All of their wildest dreams came true. In fact, they had a ritual, whereby they would kill themselves -- meaning their real bodies -- after making the copy to avoid confusion. I don't support that, and many not living in cubes considered it insane. But since all the humans are now dead, perhaps they had great foresight after all."
Josiah listened, knowing that there would be a point shortly. Sure enough, as he came to that conclusion, the falcon's eyes got a glimmer of a new discovery.
"While many have died in here too, voluntarily of course, there are still many who haven't," he asserted. "I believe, Josiah, this is the learning opportunity of a lifetime. That is why I wanted you to learn about the Third Era. The humans made thousands of these cubes, perhaps millions! Imagine what we could learn from humans who are still alive, who remember the times in which they lived! That is why I wrote you that letter. I want you -- the outer you -- to explore this undiscovered landscape, and I want you -- the inner you -- to help."
The mention of that letter -- which he was convinced was a forgery -- now made the facts he was given fit together with his old life. "So you did send the letter then," he realized, "from in here."
"Exactly," smiled the faclon.
"So I could talk to myself?" Josiah asked, feeling an anxious joy to perhaps touch his old life again.
"Once you have adjusted a little more, it is customary for only you will talk to you," Dr. Greyson continued. "But be very careful. Remeber the you out there has no idea what this device is. Imagine what you would do if you plugged it in one day, and it said, 'hi, I'm really just a copy of your brain.'"
Josiah smiled. He could see that. "So I have to pretend to be a computer?" Josiah asked quizzcally, remembering how annoying it was to believe the machine was its own, mechanical intelligence. "Not if you don't want to," cautioned the falcon, "but you should be circumspent about the nature of your existence to avoid fear." Josiah nodded, trying to absorb all of this information.
He sat on the bed, looking out of the window at a moonlit night, and realized it was 3 AM, the time of his last memories. "Can I go to sleep?" he asked. Before Dr. Grayson could even answer, the falcon had disappeared, and a wave of drowsiness crashed into him. His eyes closed, he felt his head hit the pillow, and all of reality seemed to dissolve in an instant.
And yet, it didn't seem very long before he was once again awake, now encompassed by invisible darkness, but he remembered a deep, mind-blanking sleep, and felt quite refreshed. He stretching his muscles, and feeling like it should be the next day. He expected the sun to be shining as he stood and looked up.
The moment Josiah thought it, the sky was blue, the sun was out, and he was standing on something solid, hard, and invisible. When he decided it was a rock, grass appeared around him, and a flat, grey rock appeared beneath his taloned feet. Josiah was pleased with the result, adding a few clouds, and a distant mountain range for color, feeling fully in command of his surroundings.
"That's beautiful," Dr. Greyson remarked, suddenly existing on his left, and wrapping his arm around the bluejay.
The touch of his professor sent a chill up his spine, and seemingly because of that, a gust of wind rushed past them for a fleeting moment. To Josiah's dismay, his mind ran away from him, and he saw another copy of himself and Dr. Greyson on an identical rock 10 feet in front of him.
"Dr. Greyson," Joisah watched himself tremmor, "there is something I've wanted to tell you for quite a while. Ever since you showed me that first computer, you've shown me great respect, and a subject I love, and --" He hesitated. Before Josiah could convince himself to shut up, his copy said the magic words. "And I -- I -- I love you," he cooed, grabbing the falcon in a warm embrace and a passionate kiss. Immediately, a hot blast of air followed Josiah's wave of embarassment, and shattered the two figures into a cloud of feathers.
"It's okay," replied the Dr. Greyson beside him, as his feathers ruffled in the gust, "I suspected as much. But if I were you, I would put such thoughts on hold for a while. We have the human mind to explore, and before we can talk to a human, we must learn the way they think."
Josiah nodded, sighing in relief. "But don't they think like us?" he asked naiively, expecting the answer to be no.
"They have a lot in common," replied the elder bird, echoing his outside self, "but it is important to see all the ways they have manifested their thoughts over time. That is what human history is about."
Josiah blinked, and everything was instantaneously different. In an instant, they were standing in a dimly lit room with a large console and a grey wolf typing on it.
"Mr. McGuire?" Josiah asked, recognizing the face instantly.
"Yes, it is me. Time for you to do some typing, you have assistance to give."
Josiah watched the words appear, asking about how to date an arrow head. Mr. McGuire typed the answer back, and Josiah realized who he was about to talk to: himself.
***
Obeying directions from the box, Josiah picked up the magnifying glass, and looked at the shape of the marks to determine the material it was made of. OBSIDION, he typed back.
THEY WERE MADE OF OBSIDION FOR CENTURIES, replied the box to the computer screen, HOW IS THE POINT MADE?
After half a dozen more questions, it was finally identified as a pre-bronze-age arrow head. Josiah was finding his new job diffcult, despite the box's advice and knowledge.
THANK YOU, typed Josiah, always believing in pleasantries.
To his suprprise, the box replied quite suddenly, NOW THAT YOU ARE NO LONGER WORKING FOR HIM, IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT YOU TELL MR. GRAYSON YOUR OPINION OF HIM.
Josiah was glad the box couldn't see him blush. EXPLAIN, he commanded, wanting to know what was meant by it.
IT IS PROJECTED THAT MR. GRAYSON WILL RETURN YOUR AFFECTIONS FOR HIM, it stated coldly, PROVIDED YOU APPROACH HIM FAIRLY SOON.
WHAT AFFECTIONS!? he typed angrily, now being scared by this device.
THOSE THAT YOU HAVE CARRIED FOR SOME TIME, it replied. THOSE THAT YOU HAVE BECAUSE YOU ARE IN HERE NOW.
Josiah didn't understand that last sentence. WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'IN HERE'?
A COPY OF YOUR MIND NOW RESIDES WITHIN THIS BOX, it explained, AND WILL DO ITS BEST TO GUIDE YOU IN YOUR LIFE. IT KNOWS WHAT YOU WANT AND WHAT YOU NEED. IT WILL DO ITS UTMOST TO AID YOU WHENVER IT CAN. NOW, IT IS RECOMMENDING THAT YOU APPROACH MR. GREYSON AS YOU HAVE BEEN WANTING TO DO FOR A LONG TIME.
Josiah just stared at the words, remembering the screen that had said CLONING COMPLETE. So there was now a copy of him inside it? If that were true, he realized, then this box would have to be protected from anyone else to avoid revealing his secrets. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? he typed.
THE SINGULARITY, it replied, WAS AN EVENT PREDICTED BY HUMANS, WHERE THEY WOULD SHED THEIR MORTAL BODIES AND LIVE FOREVER IN MACHINES. AS HISTORY HAS RECORDED, THEY ONLY ACCOMPLISHED HALF OF THAT GOAL BEFORE THEIR DEMISE, RESULTING IN THIS CUBE. PERSONALITIES OF YOURSELF, MR. GREYSON, AND FOURTEEN OTHERS INHABIT THIS SPACE.
MR. GREYSON? he typed.
PERMISSION DENIED, came the computer-like reply, YOU MAY ONLY SPEAK DIRECTLY TO YOURSELF.
Directly, Josiah pondered.
IS YOUR ESTIMATE HE WILL RECIEVE ME WELL PREDICTED BY THE MR. GREYSON IN THERE? he typed.
YES, came the answer.
THEN I SHALL SEE WHAT I CAN DO ON LUNCHBREAK, typed Josiah, still secretly thinking it over. BUT NOW, I NEED MORE ARTIFICATS IDENTIFIED.
The computer returned to work as always.
The time to lunch was far shorter than he thought, and as predicted by the cube, Dr. Greyson accepted his invitation to dinner -- admittedly, Josiah thought, without explaining his infatuation. Josiah, with the help of Josiah, managed to finish more work in one day than any head of department previous. And Josiah, as suggested by Josiah's invitation, took Dr. Greyson to dinner in an imaginary, private restaurant.
The End.
(version 1.0)