"Dad, c'mon I'm gonna be late!"
Maggie clamored through the breezeway, then ensuring that every stomp and huff up the stairs would be easily audible to her never punctual father.
As she approached the door to the master bedroom, she briefly puzzled at the sound of the running shower. Dave had always been an evening bather-- a fact he spoke to at painstaking lengths ("it relaxes your muscles for sleeping!", "who wants to wallow for eight hours in their own stink?"). Regardless of the time of day, Maggie knew not to disturb her father's cleansing rituals. She quickly returned to her anxiety over the upcoming USACO US Open, as she sulked back down to the ground floor of their home.
The moment she set foot on the last step, just in front of their doorway, the doorknob began the shutter. Another moment later it flew open, propelling her father onto their entrance rug where he stayed. Stunned, Maggie watched his blood first seeping into the silk fibers before saturating them and pooling above.
After a few moments of dumbfoundedness, her adrenaline and instincts kicked in. First: she knew she couldn't move her father without understanding his injuries. Second: she knew she couldn't let him lose consciousness. Rushing to the kitchen, she grabbed the ammonia from under the sink. A few capfuls on the floor covering under his face prompted a sudden wretch and gasp from his prone figure.
Dave's head snapped up from the carpet and his eyes locked with Maggie's.
"You cannot call the police. You cannot call anyone. Leave now. You are no longer Maggie. No electronics."
In that moment she saw the visual manifestation of human consciousness.
It floated, an ethereal wisp, a spark, retreating somewhere back into his skull.
YOU ARE READING
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Science FictionOur world leaders and academics debate AI rights and electronic personhood while the influence of machines over markets and industrial production grows exponentially. Is it too late for humanity to maintain control of Earth? Millennia too late?
