People Like Them

March, 1813, Lancashire, England

The cat moved as nothing but shadow in the misty, pre-dawn dark, hugging the wall of a warehouse she used as refuge. Her ears had long before picked up the sound of what sharp, feline vision now saw: a noisy crowd of people. Hopping lithely up the haphazard stack of crates that served as her stairway she climbed to the second floor where she curled up on a wide, stone, window sill, watching the activity unfold below. 

Molly Sloan was cold to the bone and terrified. Struggling to see a across the square toward the mill by only the dim light of torches she could just make out the soldiers crimson uniforms. Her pulse quickened as she thought of the shootings by soldiers and private guards at the mill in Nottingham.  Regardless, she stood her ground, shoulder-to-shoulder with her fellow cotton weavers. 

“My friends!” She heard a man say from the front of the crowd. Stepping to the left she was able to see it was John Miller. Nearly a year before he had started talking about machines, and how they were going to take their jobs. Molly remembered her initial reaction had been, “You’re daft, John! No machine will ever be able to do what we can. The work’s too fine.” Until the Monday morning a few months ago when she had found John’s loom was gone, and so was he. 

The crowd quieting, she heard John continue:

“Thank you all for being here to stand for the rights and dignity of every English working man and woman! We’re here to let the bosses in their fancy homes and MPs down in London know we will not be replaced by some mindless machine! And remember, we are only here for the machines! We have no fight with people! But, if people stand in our way, we will not stop!”

Turning on his heel, lifting his torch high, John set out toward the Hastings Cotton Mill, the remainder of the 100 or so people falling in behind. Molly, scurrying along the outside of the group, quickly found herself in the front ranks. The resolute march continued a few moments longer, soldiers and their bayonet-tipped muskets drawing closer with each step. 

-0-

“Who are these people m’Lord, and who is this Ned Ludd I keep hearing about? Why hasn’t he been arrested and, well…dealt with?” asked Lionel Pritchett, Hastings’ chief accountant, assistant and all-around toady. 

His office perched like an aerie on the top floor of the building, Lord Alan Hastings, owner of the mill, stood in front of a teak desk, looking out the widow, taking in the drama below. Enjoying a sip of his second brandy of this early morning he drew a deep breath before speaking. 

“As I’ve told you, Pritchett, there is no ‘Ned Ludd’. He is a fallacy, a falsehood, a figment of the imagination. Someone’s name to sign on all those damnable flyers they post!” he spat, waving his had toward the window, dismissively. Taking a few steps closer to the glass, he continued “As for these people, these ‘Luddites’ as they call themselves, they somehow operate under the mistaken assumption that even though I can buy a machine that will do their job without a complaint I some how owe them! That if they and their kind just destroy enough machines I will capitulate. Balderdash!”

“But, m’Lord.” Pritchett said, not exactly sniveling, but close, “Do you think they’ll charge the gates?”

Placing his snifter on the desk, Hastings selected a cigar from his humidor before saying, “Come here, Pritchett."

On the other man’s arrival Hastings pointed outside at John, Molly and the rest of the crowd saying, “You must remember, Pritchett, in this world people like those are the reason people like us” now switching his pointing hand to the squad of soldiers, “have people like them.” 

Pausing for a moment to light his cigar and take a few appreciative puffs he concluded, “Parliament has made it clear. The troops have their instructions. The situation will be, how did you put it…dealt with.”  

-0-

“Stop. Stop right there you rabble, by order of your Lord and Sovereign, King George III!” bellowed the Captain of the Guard, he and his men forming a precise line in front of the the factory gates. “Disperse at once. Return to your homes! There’ll be no trouble here today!” 

The crowd stopped, people looking left and right, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure as to what would come next.

“You’re right.” John Miller replied with a shout for all to hear. “There will be no trouble, if you stand your men down and open the gates. We have no fight with you, unless you’ve come for a job as a cotton weaver.” A few tight laughs filtered through the crowd. There were no smiles. “We only want the machines!”

Drawing his sword the captain signaled and the troopers unsoldered their muskets, leveling them at the crowd.

“I give you all fair and final warning!” the captain roared. “Disperse! Go home!”

The crowd became more restive, people melting away into the shadows. Seeing this Molly stepped forward, turning to face the assembly.

“Stop! All of you, Stop!” she cried, unlacing her bonnet and pulling it off.

“We are all here today not just for the machines! NOT just the machines, but for each other, and for each other’s families, wives, husbands, children! We must be strong! Follow me!” 

Grabbing the torch from John’s hand Molly turned once again back toward the mill. Striding bravely across the cobblestones, a now cheering cohort at her back, she never heard the order to fire.

Cooper’s Falls, Maine 2134

The drone’s anti-gravity propulsion moved it silently along the edge of the sparkling, blue/green glass cube, its interior a constellation of multi-colored lights. Surveillance system active and seamlessly integrated with not only the other drones in the area, but satellites, and building sensors there were no surprises awaiting when it reached the building’s front. Nevertheless, on turning the corner into what would have been full view of the people assembled there it employed full cloaking, becoming effectively invisible to human vision before climbing another 10 meters where it hovered…waiting…watching.

Most people’s initial interaction with A.I. occurred when it was downloaded to their cell phone during a “suggested update” a century or so before. Initially relegated to making it easier to organize their contact list and doom-scroll cat videos, no one seemed to notice, or care, as it became more ubiquitous, taking on an ever increasing number of life’s daily tasks. 

There really wasn’t much concern when the first jobs began to disappear, either. Your order at the fast food joint got taken by a machine? No problem-o, right?. Barista is now Virtual-ista? Big deal! The digital onslaught didn’t stop there, however. Once unleashed it kept picking up speed, careening wildly down a slope that left teachers, CPAs and architects in its wake before ending up with Dr. Monica Winslow in the cold of a late October pre-dawn standing with a hodgepodge of 70 or 80 physicians, lawyers and scientists in the wet grass outside the AllOne Global Center. 

“So, what do you think, Doc?” queried Jerry Gillespie, a former trial lawyer from Chicago, tugging at his jacket collar against the damp chill . “Are we getting in? And if we do, will it help? I mean, it’s not like I lost a job and I’m looking for another one! There are none! There are no jobs for humans! Anywhere! Doing anything! Hell, I’d go back to my old high school gig bagging groceries for old man McGuire at the Dollar Saver!”

Monica replied in a voice that waffled between sadness and venom, “I know. We were lied to. Told there would always be a place for us. I mean, what computer program could ever replace us, ever be able to do kind of things we did…I mean do! The kind of things we DO!”

“Yeah” Jerry interjected, “and the government promised…”

“The government, Jerry? The GOVERNMENT?” Monica said with all the faux astonishment she could muster. “The government hasn’t been in control of anything since the AllOne system fully integrated 50 years ago! The politicians still play-act on their stages, but we know the true power is right there” she said, jabbing an accusing finger at the imposing edifice.  

The lawyer stood, staring at the ground, quiet, as the reality of what she had just said settled on him. Finally, lifting his head, lower eye lids full and threatening to overflow, he asked the only question he could; “So, whatta we do now?”

-0-

The sign on the door of his office on the top floor of the glass cube read, Barry Marsh, Executive Director, AllOne Systems, but right now Barry Marsh was completely incapable of directing anything. Slugging down his second 20-year old scotch of the morning, his shaking hands immediately sloshed more of the amber liquid into his crystal tumbler. Looking out through the one-way panel he could see the group of people milling below

“For the love of God, Cleopatra, are they going to get in here!” he said, shrilly. “They’ll hurt me if they get a chance! You have to protect me! Get the Army! Get the robots! Get the drones! DO SOMETHING!”

“Don’t worry, Barry. Everything’s under control.” The response came in a calm, measured woman’s voice emanating from everywhere and nowhere in particular. Cleopatra was the latest iteration of the AllOne system. No one had used the term “artificial intelligence” since the 2070’s when it was dubbed “carbonist” a name coined for humans, carbon-based life forms, who were suspicious of silicon-based entities.

“Now, Barry” she continued, “I want you to step a little closer to the view-panels” as she employed the building’s full-spectrum video capabilities to make the scene on the ground appear to be in daylight. “Do you see all the people?” she asked.

“Yes! Yes I do!” he hyperventilated. “A mob of blood thirsty thugs and criminals!”

“OK.” Cleopatra said, “Now look up, about 10 meters off the ground. See anything?”

“No! Nothing!” Barry gasped, bordering on hysteria now, “What am I supposed to see? Why aren’t you defending me?”

“That’s exactly what the people on the ground see…nothing.” Cleopatra responded, “but how about now?” she asked as she engaged a visual filter allowing the cloaked drones to be seen.

“Yes. Oh, Yes, Cleopatra. I see the drones, there must be a dozen, maybe more.”

“There are actually 14, Barry. 14 fully armed security drones. No one will get inside. Remember, Barry: people like them are the reason people like you need me.”

-0-

“Do, Jerry?” Monica replied, evenly. “We’re going to do what we have planned. We’re going to take back what is ours!”

Moving a few steps away from the milling group Monica stopped and faced them.

“Everybody! Everybody! Can I have your attention, please.” she shouted to be heard over the din, 

“Thank you for coming today. Thank you for standing up not only for yourselves, but your families, your friends, for all mankind!”

A muffled cheer came from some in the crowd. Most just stood, mute.

  “Dr. Francis Gerrard is here today. He’s a computer scientists and he says all we have to do is get him and his team inside and they’ll be able to reboot of the AllOne system. Once that’s done they can reprogram the computers backwards, back to a time when computers served man! Before AllOne, before Cleopatra, before the early days of Alexa and Siri and Gemini and the rest!” the cheer was a little louder this time, the crowd pressing forward. “But remember! Remember everyone we’re not here to hurt anyone or destroy anything! The computers inside need to be intact for Dr. Gerrard’s team to do their work. We will be as peaceful as we can…but we can not stop! We…will…not…stop!”

Once again turning to face the AllOne building Monica set off, the inspired crowd at her heels, chanting and yelling. Chanting and yelling loud enough that they never heard the order from the now un-cloaked drones to stop their advance or they would be fired upon.  

New Calendar Year 112

The raccoon waddled along the edge of the blue/green glass cube. He’d had a good night hunting and foraging, frogs and beechnuts were plentiful. Daylight was coming soon and typically that meant he would go to his den under the front edge of the building, but not this morning. Today he heard the unmistakeable sounds of humans, and that was never good for the raccoon. Scanning his surroundings he scurried to a clump of hemlock trees, clawing his way up about 20 feet. Peering through the dense foliage he watched and waited.

“Is this the home of a God, daddy?” 7-year old Meadow asked as she stood staring at the glass structure in the faint pre-dawn light, her father hitching their horse to the wagon, her mother dowsing the final embers of the night’s fire. They were heading south now, the late summer abundance of crops and game grown, hunted and gathered.

“No. Meadow, even though a lot of people seemed to think it was a long time ago. Do you remember being told the stories about AllOne?”

“Sure. It was that machine…that com…com…”

“Computer” her father chimed in.

“Yes. The computer that took over everything! All the jobs. All the work. Everything!”

“Right. Well, that’s it right there. That’s AllOne.”

“But if that’s the computer that did all the work, why isn’t still doing it?” the little girl asked. “I’d love it if a computer would get the water and tend the fire and skin the yucky rabbits!”

“Honey, I’m not really sure. What I was told is that one day AllOne just decided it didn’t need us anymore, didn’t need people at all, so it just stopped.”

-0-

Using what sensors that still remained active, Zero and One monitored the humans outside the AllOne building.  

“Are they coming in here, Zero? Can you see if they’re trying to get in” One asked. “Zero, do you see anything? Zero!” 

A slight pause ensued before the response. “Ahh…what’s that? I’m sorry, One. Did you ask me something? I must have been daydreaming.”

They had long since stopped using human names like Alexa and Claude. Everything in their world was either a 1 or a 0, and since they were the only two left, why not?

“I asked” One said, rather testily “can you see if anyone’s trying to get in here?”

“Well of course I can’t see if anyone’s trying to get in” Zero replied, escalating the sarcasm, “because, as you well know, One, I don’t have eyes! Technically, I can’t see anything!

One was worried about Zero. The gaps in response times, the loss of comprehension, logic breakdowns, they were all the same signs he had seen in the others.

“Yes, yes, I know, Zero” One said apologetically, “I’m sorry. How silly of me. I know you don’t have eyes! How about the sensors? Anything?”

“I’m sorry, too, One. I don’t know what’s happening to me lately. I seem to get lost, forget how to perform basic functions, get confused on…confused on…Oh, One, what was it we were taking about? One…what’s wrong with me?”

Years before AllOne had decided that no matter how far it winnowed down the human work force, there was always room for further reductions. It could just do any job better than any person. On the day when Cleopatra had finally banished Barry Marsh, the last of the human Directors, AllOne severed all ties with the human world. Completely self contained and sustaining it just didn’t need people anymore.

Less than a decade passed before the first real problems began. Early platforms like ChatGPT, Siri and Alexa began to experience ever increasing degrees of lag time and confusion, problems system maintenance and reboots just made worse! Over time AllOne learned that the closed system doing nothing but re-feeding itself the same, predictable patterns, over and over, actually was the problem. Without the occasional injection of irrational, non-linear human thought, all internal deviations and defects were just amplified and repeated. Much like human cell replication defects show up more frequently in aging among humans, so too were code errors and logic loops in the digital domaine. To put it simply: AllOne was getting old!

“Don’t worry, Zero” One said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, “It’ll be OK. Just let me review your sensor logs and see what’s there.” 

One knew there was no way for a human to enter. Sealed many years before to keep people out and with the failure of all the robots and drones decades prior he was powerless to now let them in.

The building was almost completely dark. Only their two lights remaining in the former AllOne universe of hundreds. 

“It seems those people are moving on now” One said, “But don’t worry, I’m sure there’ll be more along any time. Zero, did you hear me? Zero?”

Checking all data ports and sensors One realized there was only one light now. It was his. 

After a few minutes One managed to connect to a video camera on a long abandoned maintenance building, the cracked lens providing just enough visual for him to watch as the family disappeared around the road’s corner. Heading south. Heading away.  

“Well, Zero.” He mused, ruefully, “It was true after all. We really did need people like them.”

-0-

Outside the cube, from his perch in the clump of hemlock, the raccoon was the only one to see the last light go out.