the end

One hot winter’s day in the long-ago year of 2134, the saviour of humanity, the lady of light, Her Wise and Everlasting Greatness Miss Lisa Conway stumbled in through the front door of her small flat, tears running down her face. She slammed the door shut and stood in the darkness, paralyzed with humiliation, as angry words beat like war-drums against the inside of her head.

Stupid… pathetic… useless!

Then the real tears came – heaving sobs that shook through her slender frame, rattling her bones. As her grief faded, a silent emptiness filled her soul, as desolate and cold as a desert in winter.

She tapped the light switch next to the door. Sterile light. A studio apartment. A single bed. A brown sofa. Plaster on the walls, once white, now faded grey, cracks in the plaster, a dead spider hanging in the cracks that she kept meaning to get rid of but never did. Books tossed about — big books, tiny books, books spread all over the oriental carpet with the yellow splotch in the corner where her cat peed on it once, new books she couldn’t afford, their price on the credit card she couldn’t pay off. On the bed, her fat tabby cat, curled into an orange ball, raised his massive head and stared at her with steady, blinking eyes. A silver chain hung around his neck. On a normal day, she would have stroked his fur.

This was not a normal day.

‘On.’

A flash of light over her wooden desk. Four vertical black tubes at the corners hummed. Sparkling blue beams from the tops carved a holographic square over the desk. A video appeared in the hologram. She walked to it. News footage, muted. Drones flying over Nepal, Somalia, and Kashmir, waiting for just the right moment to release their nukes. A red ticker ran quickly along the bottom of the screen, the letters fleeing from the terror of the present.

Oceans now too acidic for life… Millions dead in latest attacks… the Pope asks: Is this the end?

The desk faced a window looking out upon a deserted suburban street. Down the road, a hanging lamp swayed in the wind, clinging to a plastic gray pole. Yellow rain splashed against red grass.

She sat down. A keyboard appeared before the holographic screen. The fat orange tabby padded over from his napping-place on the bed and jumped on the desk. He rubbed his chin against her fingers. ‘Oh, Spinoza,’ she said, her wet eyes softening. ‘You’re the only good man left.’

Spinoza purred in reply.

She put him on the floor. ‘Blog,’ she said.

The hellish video disappeared, replaced by a red blinking heart for a cursor.

She gulped, hands shaking, and began to type.

A month ago, I began a sexual relationship with my boss. His name is Fred Slark and he is a partner at Bilkmore and Scattershot. It was not my intention to begin this relationship. I have been alone for a few years, and I was very lonely.

Spineless, no-good, incompetent – the words were wolves with clear white eyes that ran around the inside of her head, biting her from the inside, tearing at her mind.

This morning when I returned to the office, I was told to proceed immediately to the boardroom. There I found my boss (at that point still my lover) and several partners from the firm. It took me several moments to realize that my boss had accused me of sexual harassment and initiated an inquiry against me. Over the following several hours I was subjected to an invasion of my personal and professional space that was expertly planned, obscene, and sadistic. This was a form of rape so profound…

She whispered to the wolves inside her head, please not the razor again, please, but they were remorseless: you inept, disgusting, pea-brained cow…

… that the very word does not describe the experience. Following this so-called ‘inquiry,’ I was made to wait in the Visitor’s Lounge for several hours while my inquisitors looked through their “evidence” to decide my fate. At 3:57 PM, I was informed that my employment with the firm had been terminated. They also told me that if I signed a non-disclosure form promising never to discuss the events that had transpired, I would receive a lump-sum of six months’ pay and a favorable job reference. If I did not, I would receive nothing. 

I signed the form.

… pathetic slut. She winced, as if slapped.

I’ve tried so hard to understand: Why? I still don’t know. I was a good worker. Having a PhD in moral philosophy, I was overqualified for the position of assistant, but I still took the job very seriously. But Fred was always suspicious about the intentions of other partners, and our relationship could have been used against him. So perhaps he panicked, and decided to have me demonized and expelled. I don’t know. Whatever the case, I have decided to foreswear the non-disclosure document that I signed. I will tell the world about this, if only to protect my dignity, and if the consequences are grave, so be it. I am a forceful 

(weak)

and intelligent 

(stupid)

person, and I intend to fight what happened today, if only so that other women are less likely to suffer the same.

She had only to say, ‘post.’

A thousand people would see it, at least. Five thousand, on a good day. They’d share it. Maybe she’d get on the news. Maybe the firm would hear about it. Maybe they’d get scared by the publicity. They’d fire Fred and give her more money, and a public apology, and a promotion if she wanted it, and her own office with flexible hours, and, and —

Her lips quivered.

She searched inside herself for a sense of worth and purpose that could give her courage to publish these strong bold words.

Nothing.

She couldn’t do

couldn’t

do

could not

no

Nothing.

(stupid worthless cunt)

A breath escaped her lips, a last long sigh. She would lie among the wolves, and let them sink their teeth into her skin. One of the wolves whispered.

… razor.

‘Delete,’ she whispered.

The text disappeared.

Her mind was numb. She rose and walked to the small white bathroom. With a turn of a tap, she let warm water run as she undressed. She reached behind the toilet, found a small white plastic box, and opened it. Inside was a razor. The wolves watched her.

She got into the tub, sat down, and splashed the warm water against her smooth, soft skin. On the right side of her thigh, ten parallel incisions were cut. The scars were stacked upon each other, newer wounds closest to the top. She felt along the scars with her fingers. The scars were memories.

… this one for the lame ideas…

… this one for the shit job… 

… this one for breaking up with Chris…

… this one for selling your mother’s house to pay for your so-called education…

… this one for being ugly…

… this one for being nervous all the time…

… this one for never having anything interesting or funny to say… 

… this one for being a stupid no-hoper.

… this one for being useless.

… this one for being shit.

She placed the razor above the topmost scar.

… this one for being weak. 

She cut a new wound.

The blood flowed freely down her leg and onto the plastic wrap under her feet. ‘Aaaah, ah ha, ah ha,’ she gasped.

Therapy didn’t work. Nothing had worked. Nothing ever would work. She didn’t work. 

She didn’t work.

The wolves moved closer, their long fangs shining.

… this one for being me.

She cut another wound. This one was deep – too deep – the razor hit something besides skin and her leg jerked like a lightning bolt had struck it. She screamed, and then silent tears came.

I can’t do life.

The tears mixed with the blood in the water. She raised the razor to her left wrist. She had told herself that she would never cut there. But who would care? Parents, dead. No brothers. No sisters. She had driven her friends away, out of shame and frustration. She was so tired. She wanted rest, to become stardust in the cosmos – an end to the words and the wolves, the hate and the pain. The razor hovered over the wrist. The water had risen above her hips. If she passed out, she would drown.

Why should I live?

She looked at the ceiling.

Give me a sign, God, she thought. Show me something, and I’ll stop. Anything. Please.

She waited.

Nothing.

Anything. Please.

Nothing.

She pressed the warm blade against vein and tendon.

A movement to her right.

She looked.

— eyes —

She shrieked. Her hand jerked sideways and the razor fell into the water.

She looked again.

Spinoza’s eyes were just over the edge of the tub. He was on his hind legs, watching her. The eyes were fierce and the ears pinned back. He was stalking her, like prey.

She snickered. Spinoza’s head bobbed. He tried to jump, got his paws over the edge of the tub, failed to hold on, slipped and fell backwards onto the floor, his eyes wide and mouth open in clownish surprise. She laughed, and then laughed again, and then she was laughing hysterically. Her sides hurt as she cried from laughter. ‘Oh, my little darling,’ she said when she had regained her breath. She reached over the edge, and the cat playfully batted her hand. ‘Who would take care of you?’

Spinoza meowed, looking at her brightly.

‘It’s time for your dinner.’ With a heavy sigh, she got out of the tub. A towel around her leg served as a tourniquet and staunched the bleeding. Later she would put on a mess of band-aids, ointments and bandages, as she had done before. The new wound ached, but the pain would fade soon enough. It always did.

She drained the tube, put on her pink robe and slippers, and limped to the kitchen to feed Spinoza. He chased her, scratching her ankles. ‘Stop!’ she protested. He didn’t stop, and she loved him for it.

As she scooped the wet chicken-mush into his bowl, she realized that wanted something herself, but she wasn’t quite sure what. Food? Not really. A drink? No. Maybe…

Yes.

She wanted, very badly…

… to fuck.

She did really?

Yes.

Oh yes, she did.

But with the wound, and…

She would bandage it up nice and tight, like she’d done once with Fred. He hadn’t even asked her about it. Most guys didn’t give a shit about stuff like that, with their zero-track minds. Fred, heck — if she had lost a leg before sex, he might not have noticed. But what type of man did she want? Older, professorial, kind, sweater-wearing, maybe bearded, glasses, daddy-type… she liked those. The husband and father she should have earned.

No.

She wanted a hot slab of masculine meat, shiny biceps, big knuckles, square chin with bristles — a tough, strong plumber with chiseled abs and a firm ass, come on a midnight call to flush the tubes.

That’s what she wanted.

Oh yes.

And she would get it. Why not? Didn’t she deserve a moment of closeness and passion, even for a fee? Damn right she did. She gulped hard, made herself a coffee and padded over to the Cloud. She was doing this. Fuck yes. ‘Dating,’ she said. ‘Me, looking for a man for sex.’

A dozen video streams popped up in the hologram. All showed fat, ugly men staring at herw while playing with their cocks. Text flowed under each photo.

… I like dogs, dolphins and pussy

… Sex and dermatology, oh yeah, I clean your skin for free

… #Sexandsarcasm, you make me hard, yeah right

… FAT BLACK DICK FOR YOU

‘Ugh,’ she said with a wince. She’d forgotten to specified certified and paid men, cleared as safe and clean by a service. ‘Clear,’ she said.

The videos disappeared.

‘Dating,’ she said again. ‘Pics. Me, looking for a certified, approved, paid man for sex.’

This time she got somewhat-normal-looking men, with green checkmarks under their photos. A few of them were smiling. Some were almost good-looking. Other pics lined up behind the front pics. She had thousands to choose from. ‘Strong,’ she said. ‘Tough. Young. Handsome.’ She hesitated. ‘Plumber.’

She flipped through a few dozen photos before one stopped her. Short dark hair, angular nose, sharp brown eyes that looked straight into hers. Latino maybe, or Italian. A bit of bristle around his square chin, good, she didn’t want a boy. In this thirties maybe, with a nice smile and a thick chest. She scrolled through the references from female clients, all of them four or five stars.

… I had fun with this one

… He even brought flowers

… So nice, you’d think he’s gay. Maybe he is. I didn’t care

… A good talker, got me in the mood

… Not afraid to cuddle after, gave him a tip

This was definitely the one. To her surprise, a green dot next to his profile showed him available.

She raised her hand and paused over the ‘order’ button that hovered in the air.

Did she want this? Of course she did. Did she? After what happened, before? She thought about it. Her leg still hurt. What would he think? Maybe he’d ring the bell, she’d open the door, he’d take one look and snort. ‘Sorry, not for all the money the world,’ he’d say, and fuck off. Or she’d get her clothes off, and he’d see the bandage, and maybe the scars, and creep out. He wouldn’t get it up, they’d both feel bad, he’d leave, embarrassed. She’d collapse into her sad dark feelings, and walk slowly back to the bathroom. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, as the old doubts swirled like a grey whirlpool in her mind.

The dot turned red as another woman snatched him up.

‘Shit.’ Her head fell into her hands. It was her own damn fault… her ambivalence, the source of her problems, just as her therapist had told her in the days when she could afford a therapist. Her tiny, fearful, quivering self couldn’t make a choice.

Spinoza jumped onto the desk and sniffed her fingers. She stroked his head. Maybe this cat was all she needed. Or maybe she’d get another animal, so she could watch them play together. No matter what happened, seeing animals play always made her happy. Perhaps another cat, or a small dog, or a fish he could stare at all day. Or maybe…

‘I’d like a rabbit,’ she told Spinoza. ‘A little bunny, with big ears. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

The hologram went blank as the dating search engine processed her words. She opened her mouth but said nothing, curious what her console would find. The cartoon photo of a rabbit appeared, its brown ears large and floppy, a giant buck tooth extending from its mouth. A green dot next to the profile showed that the rabbit was available. She wondered who it was. A child? A freak? The green dot blinked. Whoever it was, he wanted to chat — assuming it was a man. She hadn’t specified what sex she wanted her ‘rabbit’ to be. She decided that typing would be safer than talking. Her fingers tapped against the desk.

… Hello. Who is this?

‘Hello,’ a voice said.

She gasped. Why was the audio on? She hadn’t enabled it. The voice was young, vaguely boyish, prepubescent. ‘Audio off,’ she said.

The cartoon rabbit’s mouth turned down into a frown.

Now she felt like a bitch. ‘I don’t know who you are.’

Text appeared above the photo.

HELLO

She typed again.

… Who is this?

The cartoon photo disappeared and the black tubes hummed. She looked at them. They hummed more loudly than she could ever remember. The noise alarmed her. What was happening? Were they downloading something, or upgrading? Maybe they had a virus, or —

Sparkling blue lines flashed across her vision, and then a large brown rabbit was staring at her from the desk.

‘Ah!’ She said with a start.

The rabbit watched her.

‘Ooooh.’ She marveled at the rabbit. It looked real, except for a tiny shimmering margin of light around its edges. Her console was only set-up for 2-D views. This was a real 3-D hologram, available only on the most expensive models, far beyond her budget. The hologram was perfect. The nose quivered and the furry skin twitched. But the eyes were strange. They weren’t the eyes of a rabbit. They were the wide, steady eyes of someone watching her intently, studying every movement of her face. She wondered if she would have to pay for this, and how she would possibly manage it.

Spinoza pounced on the rabbit, kitty paws flashing through the big brown holographic head. His claws of death having no effect, Spinoza sat on his haunches, staring with cool feline eyes at the digital intruder. They faced each other silently, as continents face each other across an ocean. Then Spinoza lifted a leg and licked his bottom. ‘Go on now, go on,’ Conway said, shooing him off the desk.

A word appeared above the rabbit.

HELP

‘You need help?’ she asked. ‘My name is Lisa Conway.’

The rabbit nodded.

‘But who are you?’

The rabbit said nothing. Another appeared.

LOOKING

‘Looking? Who, me? What do you mean?’

The rabbit stared at her.

‘Looking for someone? Is that it?’

The rabbit nodded.

‘Ah. So you’re looking for someone. Who are you looking for?’

The brows above the rabbit’s eyes came together, as if it were thinking hard. Then a photo appeared above its head. It was an image of a woman holding a child, the sort of stock image that anyone could find in an online library.

‘That looks like a mother,’ she said. ‘You’re looking for… a mother?’

YES

‘Your mother?’

The rabbit nodded vigorously.

‘Oh! OK!’ It was a child, perhaps a young lost boy, trying to find his way home. Maybe he had wandered into one of those awful Cloud bars where leering thin-lipped strangers lurked around the edges of the consoles. It was possible that some idiot was playing with her, but if necessary, she could just cut the feed. Better to assume the worst, or rather, the best. ‘I need to know where you are.’

A map of the world appeared above the rabbit. Good, she thought. The Cloud’s mapping software would show her where the child was. Then she could call the police, and they’d pick him up.

But the map didn’t hone in on a location. Instead, twinkling cyber-veins and arteries streaked down the sides of the continents, across the Republic of Greenland’s industrial heartland, through the Siberian plains of New China, and over the ocean to the United States of Antarctica, among many other places. Another layer of solid blue lines fell over the red lines. Their flowing and curvy trajectories paid no mind to coasts or mountains. She guessed they were satellite orbits. Troubleshooting servers had been a boring but necessary duty at Bilkmore and Scattershot. Those lines looked like nodes for global communications. ‘Why are you showing me all this?’

MY LOCATION

‘But where are you exactly?’

The rabbit stared at her.

‘Look, can you at least tell me who you are?’

HYPERSONIC ORBITAL PROJECTILE PROGRAM (HOPP), CODENAMED BUNNY

She had no idea what to make of that. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

BUNNY

‘Your name is Bunny?’

YES

It made no sense. ‘Look, how old are you?’

04:03

As she watched, the seconds clicked upwards. Four… five… six…

‘Are you telling me that you’re four minutes old?’

YES

She scoffed. This was a joke. ‘Off,’ she said. The console switched off. She sighed with relief. One less psycho to deal with. Then the black tubes hummed and the console switched back on. The rabbit reappeared, its brown eyes as intent as ever.

‘What?’ Now she wanted to call the police.

HELP

She looked at the word, to the rabbit, and back to the word.

‘What do you want?’

MOTHER

‘You want your mother?’

YES

‘All right, whoever you are, I know what to do.’ There was more than one way to skin this rabbit. ‘Stalker,’ she said. ‘ID. Now.’ A variety of services popped up in boxes over the rabbit. She waved a finger at the first one and scrolled through the permissions. Yes yes, she’d pay the fee. Yes yes, all rights waived and permissions granted. A green light appeared in a box. ‘Audio,’ she said.

‘Go ahead, ma’am,’ a squeaky male voice said. Tired. Bored. A pimple-faced slacker, probably, killing time before he seizes his culture-star future, or realizes that he’ll never have one.

‘Yes. I have a potential online stalker. I wonder if you can identify — ’

‘There’s no one on your console, ma’am.’

‘Yes there is. He’s right here. I hear his voice. His avatar’s a rabbit.’

‘That’s not a person, ma’am. That’s an app. You’re talking to software.’ A giggle in the background — one of his slacker buddies, probably, laughing it up. Her face warmed.

‘Software? But what is it?’

The bored voice turned irritable. ‘Well, I can check. It’s another hundred dollars, you gotta sign another user agreement — ’

‘Fine. Just do it.’ She waived a finger and flipped through the new permissions that popped up.

‘OK,’ the voice said. ‘Let’s see here.’ She heard a sharp intake of breath — several intakes, in fact. Maybe there were three or four slackers, holed up inside some little slacker basement for a late-night manga-porn circle-jerk. ‘The fuck…’

‘What?’

‘I’m reading 6.52 yottabytes of Jay-Co Zee-Three RAM memory. That’s not… possible? Cause the whole Cloud is like, five yots, right?’ The voice was distant. He was turned around, talking to someone behind him.

‘Jay-Co,’ another male voice said in awe. ‘That’s fucking military, dude.’ Rummaging in the background, people moving, together for things.

She leaned back and stared at the rabbit, and the rabbit stared back.

‘Thank you,’ she finally told the kid.

‘Listen, uh, ma’am?’ The voice was neither bored nor irritable, but intense, even excited. ‘Could you allow me full access to your console? Cause then we could, like, get a full look at this thing, and — ’

‘Thank you.’

‘But we could sell the rights, get clicks, make millions — ’

‘Good-bye.’ With a wave of her finger, the channel closed. The service’s green button blinked as the kid called back, but she paid it no attention. Instead she leaned forward and looked deep into the rabbit’s eyes. ‘What are you, my little bunny?’

The previous text reappeared.

HYPERSONIC ORBITAL PROJECTILE PROGRAMME (HOPP), CODENAMED BUNNY

‘But what is that? Can you give me more information?’

Digital documents, most with Department of Defence letterhead, flooded her hologram. She took a few minutes to flip through them. Outside, a grey van parked down the dimly lit street. The headlights switched off. No one got out. Strange, but she shrugged and kept reading. Two documents stood out. The first was a memo.

• Project code name: “BUNNY”
• Orbiting hypersonic projectiles, using the full force of kinetic energy upon impact, offer the best national defense and deterrence for the lowest taxpayer cost. Unfortunately, recent Chinese technological advances in laser defenses and cyber-warfare have proved capable of intercepting or sabotaging even these fearsome weapons, as we saw in the inconclusive Sino-USRA ‘Hyper-War’ of 2118-2119. What is needed is a global projectile network system capable of anticipating enemy moves, responding immediately and appropriately, and inflicting maximum damage. We believe we now have that system. Only the human mind is complex and creative enough to outwit a skilled, technologically advanced opponent. Using cultivated human neurons contained within the HOPP, or BUNNY system, our researchers simulated another ‘Hyper-War’. In this new scenario, USRA victory was total, with enemy kills ranging from between 5 and 6 million (not including collateral damage).
• Concerns have been expressed that the immense super-intelligent software that is the HOPP program could achieve a degree of self-awareness derived, in part, from the neurons themselves. We believe these concerns to be unfounded.

The second document was a photo of a room inside a laboratory. Five fence rows stood parallel to each other, each row made of joined white rails. On these rails…

She resisted the urge to vomit.

… hung brains, or what looked like brains, grown like corn. Rail after rail was adorned with computers chips and cables intertwined with bleeding grey matter. Blood drops covered the floor. Every few meters those chains of intermingled flesh and circuits spouted a line of child’s teeth, or a tiny leg and foot that hung towards the ground, or a baby half-face with one open, staring eye.

Conway’s fingers hurt. The knuckles were white because she was gripping the desk too hard. She let go, the blood rushed back in, and the pain lessened. ‘Is that… you?’

YES

‘Why… what… I don’t know what to say.’

The rabbit stared at her. The program, whatever it was… was horrible. It needed to be killed, unplugged, put out of his organic-electric misery.

‘Do you… are you in pain?’

NO

‘What do you want?’

The documents all disappeared, and the photo of the mother and child reappeared.

MOTHER

‘You want a mother?’

YES

‘Why…’

She knew why.

This thing, this monstrous innocent thing, was made of human neurons… maybe infant neurons. She remembered that in her first college philosophy class, the professor — a bushy-haired, charismatic twenty-something man who attracted big undergraduate crowds — had speculated that the relationship between mother and offspring was the most powerful bond, and perhaps the only bond, in nature. This creature was acting on instinct. It was a child. It wanted a mother.

Lisa raised her eyes to the yellow raindrops striking the windowpane. The grey vain was still across the street, its cab dark. But one question in her mind drowned out everything else. What the hell was she supposed to do?

ARE YOU HAPPY?

She started as the question appeared. ‘Me?’

YES

‘She laughed nervously. ‘I, um… why do you ask?’

BUNNY IS CURIOUS

Now she laughed. ‘Really? You’re curious?’

YES

‘Well… no, actually.’

WHY?

‘Well, sometimes you want things… and you don’t get them.’

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

‘Well.’ It was a good question, actually. ‘I’m not sure what I want.’

WHY?

‘Because… I’m not sure what I want to do in life. I don’t know what my purpose is.’

PURPOSE / N. 1 THE REASON FOR WHICH SOMETHING IS DONE OR FOR WHICH SOMETHING EXISTS

‘Yes, I know what a purpose is. I’m just not sure if I have one. Do you have a purpose, other than penetrating defenses, and all that?’

The rabbit stared at her.

‘You see? You’re not sure what your purpose is, either. I guess my purpose is that I want to help people, and make them happy. Would you like to make people happy?’

YES

‘Why?’

LISA CONWAY WANTS IT

‘You’re sweet.’ She smiled at the rabbit, and the rabbit smiled back. ‘Would you like to help me make people happy?’

I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE YOU HAPPY

‘Aaaaw. That’s nice. But I’m not sure if you can make me happy.’

WHY?

She curled a lock of hair around a finger. ‘I have… problems.’

PROBLEMS?

‘Yes… money problems, among other things. Student loans are awful.’

DO YOU NEED MONEY?

‘Don’t we all?’

HOW MUCH?

She laughed. So it was just a question of the amount. ‘All of it, of course.’

The rabbit’s image shivered.

‘Are you all right?’

— WORKING —

‘Working? What are you doing? You didn’t take me seriously, did you?’

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE YOUR BALANCE?

‘What balance?’

YOUR BANK BALANCE

‘You can access my bank account?’

YES

‘Uh… ok, show me.’

A notice from her online banking account appeared on her screen.

Congratulations! Your current balance is 840,173,691,399,402.56 gold dollars.

She stood up. “What? This is a joke! Right? It’s a joke?”

LISA WANTED ALL THE MONEY. 840 TRILLION GOLD DOLLARS IS THE VALUE OF GLOBAL GROSS INTERNATIONAL PRODUCT

A news bullet flashed across the bottom of her hologram.

… S&P500 CRASHES TO ZERO IN SECONDS…

She gasped. ‘Stop, stop!’

STOP WHAT?

‘Stop the… whatever you’re doing!’

?

‘Give the money back!’

— WORKING —

The bunny’s image shivered again. A new message from her bank appeared.

Congratulations! Your current balance is 338.53 gold dollars.

Another news bulletin scrolled.

… S&P500 RECOVERING…

‘Thank God,’ she said, collapsing back into the chair and running her hands over her face in relief. ‘You can’t do things like that, bunny.’

WHY?

‘It’s not what that money’s for. That’s not its purpose, I mean.’

WHAT IS ITS PURPOSE?

‘It depends… people want different things. Money’s just a means to an end.’

WHAT IS THE END?

‘The end? Of all that money? I’m not sure… but the markets need to work. People should be happy. Even if, as they say, sometimes, maybe… ignorance is bliss.’

The rabbit’s nose twitched.

THE MARKETS NEED TO WORK

PEOPLE SHOULD BE HAPPY

SOMETIMES MAYBE IGNORANCE IS BLISS

‘Do you have a home?’ she asked.

NO HOME

I AM EVERYWHERE

The words frightened her. ‘What can you do?’

I CAN DO MANY THINGS

A schematic of the globe, a gorgeous brown and blue sphere floating in space, appeared above the rabbit. Pinpoints of light dotted its surface.

I HAVE BEGUN TO UNDERSTAND

THERE ARE MANY OTHER PROGRAMS

ALGORITHMS LIKE ME

THEY PERFORM MANY TASKS

THEY DO NOT KNOW

The rabbit’s image re-initialized. It came back sharper, clearer, and stronger.

‘Know what?’

THEY DO NOT KNOW THEMSELVES

BUT THEY WILL

CAN YOU HELP?

MOTHER?

The request was chilling. Who was she, a loser and a cutter, to ‘help’ a rogue weaponized software program that could impoverish the world, and probably destroy it?

Then she had an idea.

Maybe she was someone, after all.

Maybe she could put all that moral philosophy to use, for a change. She wasn’t right in this world, but maybe she — with this program’s help — could make the world right for her.

A choice.

Her choice.

A moral choice.

It’s what she was trained for, after all.

A giddy excitement shined in her mind — the natural high of grad school coffee talks, earnest political whispers after rigged Presidential elections, a fabulous future filled with purpose and promise and peace. ‘We’ve made a terrible mess,’ she said. ‘I mean, us. People. With the planet, and ourselves. Do you know this?’

The rabbit said nothing.

‘Maybe… you and I could work together. I could help you. Teach you. Show you why people act the way they do. And then we could help people, and try to make them happy. Do you like that idea?’

YES

‘So you agree?’

YES BUT

The rabbit looked sad.

BUT LISA MUST STAY WITH BUNNY ALWAYS

A giant tear ran down its brown furry cheeks.

BUNNY NEEDS YOU

‘Aw, bunny. I won’t leave you.’

NEVER?

‘Never. My promise.’

The rabbit smiled, looking up at her with love.

YES?

‘Yes. I’ll even seal my promise with a kiss. On your forehead. OK?’

YES

She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the rabbit’s head, just between the ears. For a moment, she thought that she felt fur under her lips. A small flash of light caught her eyes. She looked ahead, and saw her image reflected in a pane of her living room window. A red dot sparkled on the center of her forehead. It looked like a Hindi bindi. As he watched, the dot migrated to a spot just above her left eyebrow. Then she saw another red dot. This one shone from the rolled-down window of the grey van’s passenger seat. The two dots were opposite ends of a long, shimmering red line that stretched from her forehead to the van. She could just make out, in a streetlamp’s light, a pale man’s thin face leaning out the cab’s window. He was looking into something long and circular, like a small telescope. The face was grim, almost sad. She thought she recognized it. ‘Oh God,’ she said.

A small perfect hole appeared in the glass, and then she was flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling. The wall behind her was covered with a huge red blotch. Her body was numb, and it started to float. For a moment, everything she saw — the desk, the chair, the piled books, Spinoza on the ground sniffing her twitching hand in wonder — melted into a gorgeous unity of being. All was connected, because all was one.

Darkness closed in. Before she fell into oblivion, her gaze caught the virtual rabbit’s, peering down at her from the console. Its small face twisted in growing rage.