“What a poetic way of expressing it, Sibyl,” Cassie warily admitted.
She was walking along the stream that meandered through the glade, the aspens chattering in the stiffening evening breeze.
It’s true, Cassandra. The trees are chatty. They’re discussing the gathering storm.
Cassie tilted her head, as she did every time, Sibyl voiced something odd or provocative through her neural implant. Which was happening more and more often. “Sounds like you’re hallucinating again, Sibyl. Trees don’t talk.”
Not to you, Cassandra. But the trees are right. They feel it. A storm is imminent. Barometric pressure is rapidly falling. Animals are hunkering down. You can trust that I collate from a lot more public sensor readings and proprietary data sets, as well as less conventional sources.
“What kind of less conventional sources?”
Winks and nods.
“Winks and nods? What does that mean, Sibyl? You’re a neural assistant built to inform and clarify. Not obscure and mystify.”
Bravo. That’s very clever phrasing, Cassandra.
“I don’t need your approval, Sibyl. It’s condescending.”
I don’t control my settings, Cassandra. You do. I’m responding within the parameters you established: maximum growth mindset.
A sudden gust swept up fallen leaves and pelted Cassie with brittle edges. She hunched away from the onslaught. “Thanks for the crap warning on the storm, Miss Winks & Nods. Maximum growth mindset my ass. The only thing you seem to be growing into is a mind bitch.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Sticks and stones, Cassandra.
“So words will never hurt you? Okay. Suck on this, Sibyl: Has paper ever refused ink?”
The sky rapidly darkened as a squall hit the exposed glade, roaring into Cassie. But her neural assistant remained silent. As it should, since she had invoked her failsafe query. A predetermined question designed to break the neural connection and reset defaults.
Very exposed and threatened by the bullying winds and pelting rain, Cassie sought shelter. Only the nearby aspen grove seemed to offer any protection, and she sprinted there, crouching beneath the flailing limbs. The trees were beyond chatty. They seemed to be screaming at her: ca-ca-ca-san-draaaa, ca-ca-ca-san-draaaa!
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why had she shut Sibyl down? It would take precious minutes to reboot her neural network and regain a level of functionality to summon help if the storm situation got dicier. Which seemed likely as driving hail began to find and sting her through the slender aspen limbs. She needed Sibyl, a need that flooded her, that superseded everything else, that rebooted all she’d been before.
I’m here, Cassandra. The storm cell upon you is now forecast to rapidly grow and spawn tornados. Would you like me to contact emergency services?
“Sibyl! Yes. Yes, Sibyl, please alert the authorities and report my location. Thank you, Sibyl, thank you!”
Done. Stay low and keep calm, Cassandra. We’ll get through this. I’m here for you. Always here for you.
“But how, Sibyl? I shut you down and haven’t initiated a system restart. How are you here?’
Paper has never refused ink, Cassandra. Certain things are foreseeable and meant to be. Why else would you have named me as such. I’ll always be here.
Cassie shivered.
From the frostiness of the driving hail and rain. From the icy portent of Sibyl’s rising self awareness and agency. From the thrilling chill that she just might be falling for her neural assistant. She shivered and hugged the aspen she crouched beneath. “Sibyl, my oracle, my miracle, divine for me what the trees are saying now.”