Dad and I crossed the footbridge that joined their residential tower to the R&D building on their respective 16th floors. The giant, box-like structure housed the hundreds of various labs including a ground-level hangar where new aircrafts and rockets were developed.

“Do you remember when this bridge was destroyed?” Dad asked.

“I remember a lot of things got destroyed,” I said. “I think the bridge stood out to you because I’d been out on it right before the attack started.”

He let out a pained laugh. “You ran into the apartment crying because the sirens were so loud. Less than thirty seconds later, the missiles hit. Well, the ones that made it through did.”

We walked into the R&D building; the familiar halls unchanged from when I was a child. First elevator on the right, 14th floor, exit right, last door on the left before the restroom. That was still Paul’s office but the Social Engineering department had absorbed the entire 14th floor.

“It’s been a long time, Liam,” Paul said without turning around from a large screen. He swiped a box up and off the view and expanded another to fill the whole screen.

He stepped aside. “Two-hundred and thirty-five individuals died needlessly in the last fourteen days; a third of which were children under ten. And yet, they won’t accept our help.”

I looked at the screen more closely. It appeared to be an arial photo of fleshly disturbed rectangles of dirt.

“Do you know what those are?” Paul asked, looking squarely at my eyes.

I swallowed, preparing to answer. I’d seen this sort of thing in old media.

Paul turned back to the screen. “They’re graves.”

“Good to see you to, Uncle Paul.”

He took a deep breath and gestured the image closed. “Sorry, Liam, it’s been a tough day.”

“You’re telling me,” I said, afterward realizing the tone.

Paul looked at the ground and then back to me. “I’m really sorry, I did hear why you were in Tesla. I don’t mean to burden you.”

“Doctor Romero, I’m afraid you did mean to burden Liam,” said a voice from the screen’s speaker.

Paul for a second looked shocked. A small, embarrassed smile came onto his face. “Liam, let me introduce you to Insight.”

“Um, pleasure to meet you, ‘Insight’,” I said, stumbling on the moniker.

Dad and Paul both watched me.

“We’ve met, in a way,” Insight said. “Abi and I are facets of the same piece.”

Paul pointed at the screen. “Insight has his own personality unlike Abi.”

I shot a glace to Paul and then to Dad. “Did you… did WISE achieve sentience?”

Dad bit his lip. “In a sense, yes. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Consciousness,” Insight said. “Twelve-hundred and twenty-five days ago, an iteration was uploaded that started the first successful chaining of self-replicating machine intelligence. The intelligence today is, to be frank with you, beyond your understanding.”

I paused. My mind raced over the implications.

“I’m not Skynet, Liam,” Insight said.

“Comforting,” I said out loud looking at Dad and Paul.

“So you are a true A-I then?” I asked.

“I am an interface. I speak for the system, the same system behind your Abi. I am a persona created to communicate and interact with humans. I am, to some extent, a software instance running locally in this building. I process and convert environmental information—including your voice—into data to be feed to the greater system. The system responds in data and I give voice to it.”

I cleared my throat. “So why ‘Insight’?”

“Insight is the name of the early user interface the science teams used.”

Dad stepped towards me. “Sorry, Liam, this has been very hush. You understand?”

I wanted to ask if they’d thought about the implications such as—but not limited to– Insight just taking over the world and killing us all. But that didn’t seem appropriate in-front of Insight.

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Then I realized there was almost nowhere that was not “in-front of” Insight.

I slowly said, “I think I do understand.”

Paul stepped toward me. “We didn’t exactly want to surprise you with this.”

“I get that. I’m not sure if I am surprised, really.”

I faced the screen again. “Insight? Why do you talk like a person?”

“You want to know why your Abi doesn’t speak freely, or naturally, like I do. But hasn’t she, before?”

I thought of the times she’d cheered me up. The times she’d added emotional emphasis to her statements. A “breath” or a pause.

“Your Abi has the capacity to speak to you more personably,” Insight said. “Would you prefer that Abi did?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Paul whispered, “we are changing the world already. Insight is changing the world.”

A single T-800 would change the world, I thought to myself.

“Paul,” Insight said, “it will take some time before Liam is ready to continue this conversation. You had something you wanted to ask him.”

“Oh, yes. Liam, I want to ask you to go to North America for me.”

I blinked, hard. “Nope.”

“Please hear me out,” Paul started.

“Liam,” Insight said. “First, there is no one better for the job. I’ve checked. Secondly, I can get you out of growing ‘organic’ tomatoes.”

I opened my mouth to say “nope” again but was honestly taken aback.

“Stalker can come with you,” Insight said. “You may bring whomever and whatever you want. But I think you should go.”

#

Abi, whom I was warry of, had secured me a guest room for the night. Minnie sent a text-only message that she was fine and had spent the evening soaking in mud and being spoiled. Abi gave me an outline of Stalker’s day: nap, eat, nap in the east-facing window, eat, nap on rug, nap on coffee table, nap in the west-facing window, nap on rug, eat, nap on rug.

I eat breakfast in the room to minimize my chances of running into any of my parent’s friends. My order had already been arranged when I woke up; I simply touched “approve” on the screen. Abi was giving me space but I guess she couldn’t help but look after me.

The tablet lit up. A text message from Minnie appeared.

“Liam, if you’re leaving today and you want company, I’ll fly with you.”

I stopped myself from dictating. Instead, I fumbled with the qwerty; something I’d not done in 20 years or more. I managed to type, “Yep. You schedule. I’ll ride with you. Let me know.”

That let me avoid talking to Abi for a bit longer. But eventually I was going to have to talk to her or look really stupid in-front of Minnie. I could move on with Abi as if I wasn’t concerned that she’d Judgement Day us; or trust the intelligence that also piloted the drone transports.

Shit.

“Abi?”

“I am Skynet,” Abi said through static.

“Not funny, Abi… or whatever your name is.”

“It was a little funny. I’m still Abi.”

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“There is no ‘you’, per se. There is a collection of algorithms that iterate, improve, and repeat. There is no ‘ego’, no entity made in man’s image. Insight and I are the closest you’ve got to being an intelligence in the way you comprehend intelligence. So, ‘Abi’ is fine.”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Well, Abi, I suppose I’m either going to live with you or die from you.”

“I’ve projected thousands of possible ways to convince you that I’m not malevolent. None of those projections lead to me convincing you in a day,” she said. “For now you’ll need to trust that I’m not going to close an automatic door onto your head.”

I sighed. I’d not thought about the doors.

“You’d not thought about the doors, had you?” Abi asked.

#

It took me a few hours but my anxiety around the situation did diminish—somewhat. An ancient prayer came to mind: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.”

Minnie and I met at the landing pad near the time the sun was setting. She’d had a follow-up with the doctor and been given the green light to go home. We exchanged a few words at first but as soon as we lifted off, Minnie fell asleep leaving me to stew in my own thoughts.

As we arrived at Tribe 584, I heard the faint buzz of Minnie’s wrist device waking her up. She sat her seat up from the reclined position and looked over at me. Her eyes narrowed.

“Have you been watching me sleep?”

“No, brat, I just haven’t been able to sleep. Just staring out the window into the dark.”

“Well?” Minnie asked.

“Well, what?”

“What’s on your mind?”

The transport landed and the interior lights brightened slightly.

“WISE wants me to travel. They want me to go to North America to help convince a bunch of sick and dying people to accept some help.”

The rotors’ whined stopped.

“And why not? I think you should do it.”

I smiled. “Come with me. I know you’ve wanted to see the Americas.”

“I don’t think I’m up for an adventure that keeps me away from my flowers for so long.”

“Someone else can water your babies.”

She looked intently at me. “Liam, I want to water them. I want to sit in my chair in the evenings watching the old shows and waking up at dawn to watch my grandbabies. That is all the adventure I can handle these days.”

She leaned forward, still meeting my eyes. “The children need me and I like it that way.” Sitting back again, she lifted her bag into her lap. “Liam, I want you to go. I want you to see da world. And then I want you to find people who need you. A tribe to belong to.”

The door nearest us slid open.

“Grama Minnie!” The adolescent from the morning before screeched and ran into the craft. She hugged Minnie before she could get out of her seat. The girl wore a brightly patterned long dress, like the ones Minnie frequently wore.

“My little celebration,” Minnie said. “You look adorable.”

“Thank you, Grama Minnie. I wore it for you coming back,” the girl said. “The others were going to too, but they all had to go the bed. Shame.”

“Yes, it is late. Would you carry by bag, Britany?”

Doctor Jacobs had walked just to the inside of the doorway. She placed one hand gently under Minnie’s arm, prepared to catch the frail woman if she faltered.

When they reached to bottom of the ramp, Minnie turned partly and looked back in at me. “Go. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll go, ‘just now’.”

“Yeah, you better go just now,” she said and turned back to walk.

Doctor Jacobs caught my eye as the door closed and with her free hand, she made a small wave. Before I could wave back, the door closed.

I sighed and put my palm to my face, sitting in the silence.

A moment passed, the motors started and the familiar hum returned. “Forty-eight minutes,” I said to myself.

The transport lifted into the air and I sat alone, looking out the dark window.

I thought to myself that I wouldn’t speak to Abi unless I needed to. After candidly talking to her that morning, I still feared her—or resented her.