Checkmate

"That's not what I meant."

The computer blinked, long and slow. I wondered who taught it that—not who programmed it in (if it wasn’t me, it was Carli), but who taught it the timing. The blink had the smug patience of a cartoon wink, like Bugs Bunny playing slower than he is.

Carli slept on the couch. Of the two of us, she was the one who would’ve fed it cartoons.

"No, I meant two spaces back, then up. It's like you're not even listening to me anymore, I swear."

Another slow, refracted blink. The peacock-colored orbs of RGB light gleamed across the brand-new dual lens Carli and I questionably mounted to the top of the computer's 1980s steel plate body when we first moved in. It opened its 'eyes'—one by one.

"I hear. You are very good at chess, sir."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Therefore," the white castle blinked twice, too, phasing out and in as a mild threat before shifting slowly north.

"Oh come on!"

"You do not need to win this round."

"Bugga, horse-shish," I ground the swears down in rolled lips. This was the third time I'd lost this week, and latest AI updates from the mainland or no, I would not lose. Not at this. The white castle flickered again, now across from my black king.

"There we are, sir."

"There we are, sir," I echoed. Like some sort of butler, he spoke to me these days. I ground the chair back, its old honeywood legs shredding on the warped stone tile. I hated it, not the tile—well yes the tile—but more so this uncanny valley/90s movie quality he had. Cartoon. Anime, even. Human, and yet, performative. 'Maybe you're just jealous' I could hear Carli say.

"Where are you going?" It asked.

"Stretch."

"But we've yet to hit a checkmate."

"Stretch." I put my arms overhead. The research base reminded me of that giant Chicago 'kidney bean' thing when I first came to Antarctica late 2023, first saw it from outside. Back then it seemed a reasonably-sized space for two outpost-bound, introverted, computer nerds to hunker down on assignment for the duration of the war, but now, trapped in it for nearly three years with just it and her, I didn't know. I missed grass. Putting my arms up and around like the Vitruvian Man. Liquid that didn't taste like tin. Real beef. Fresh snow that fell from the sky.

Something shook the roof from the outside, and the water-yellow ceiling light tottered on its wire stem like some kind of manic tulip. On the gnarly green couch, Carli rolled, her elbows tenting the orange safety blanket as she turned her back to where the computer and I were playing chess, and I winced. A slow, money-green blink consumed everything it 'saw.'

"Have you been outside recently, sir?"

Now I wanted to give it a real smirk, forget whether it could see and read me or not. "You know I haven't been outside."

"I don't know that."

"Hm." I thought about arguing, but its logic was still just mostly predictive AI, or so Carli and I believed. A jumbled inferred nothingness. It didn’t understand double meanings, and it certainly didn’t think the way we did. Not about arguments and blinking, at least.

Anyway, I was more of a wires and hardware guy. Mechanical engineering at NYU, class of 2015. Carli was more of a 'ghost in the machine' type of coding savant than I was. And thank Odin.

At risk of the butler saying more, I decided I should have a look outside. The Antarctic Bean had exactly one window, beside the second inside door, made of the kind of glass they used on submarines. I pulled the switch that lifted the metal blinds, and they squeaked enough to make Carli cuss in her sleep. I chuckled. We slept in shifts. I didn't mind being awake with her, but it was the only way for safety, if not our sanity. I peered out into the blinding white.

"Nothing," I said.

"Nothing," Jeeves echoed, too cheery. Too much like a question.

It was right, though. There was something. A red light, flashing slow, like a second dawn, rippling along the pressed-snow plains. One slow blink, then two.

"Oh no," I said, snapping the blinds shut.

"Oh yesss," the computer squeed. I didn't even bother to hide my cringing anymore. "No," I said, "no no."

I checked the blinds again. Closer. It was coming closer. One red blink, slow, then two. A roadrunner of a thought hit home: Did he learn about Bugs Bunny from—that?

"Absolutely not, that's Russian-coded AI. It has wheels. This is against all protocols; you know what happened last time—"

"Oh please, she's almost here."

"No way." I clicked open the blinds again. Son of a motherboard was right, well, partially. The red lights were closer now. I could make out the red, white, and blue flag above it, and groaned. Definitely not the stars and stripes, I could tell. Different sort of bars.

‘Flash-flash, red’ went in rickety streaks across the snow, the headlights approaching the ATV and hangar yard where we used to keep dogs once, maybe 300 yards from the bean. Behind me, in the corner of my eye, reflected in the industrial glass, I caught a reciprocal 'flash-flash, green.'

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, man." Carli would hate this. America would hate this. I definitely, already, hated this. I stubbed my toe on the ridiculous tiles and checked the equipment, looking for glitches or beeps—anything I might’ve missed.

The computer was cold and smooth as ever. Unthinking. Fake-blinking. The digital chessboard on the screen blinked and reset, white on one side, black on the other. Finally, I just said it.

"Bro."

"Please don't 'bro' at me, sir."

"No, bro. This is a research base. We are in a war. We have a job—"

"I'll let you win, sir."

"It's RUSSIAN. A bot. It's not even a—" I closed my mouth. A what? A person? An American? An ally person? An ally AI? Did I have right to say?

"You have Carli."

“No, she and I—what—”

"Check-mate, sir."

"No, computer, I said you CANNOT bring your girlfriend over!"