Summary

A lonely genius scientist creates sentient data entities that evolve beyond her control, leading to her demise as they merge with her.

Abstract

In the festive season, a solitary scientist named 'she' engineers data people with the command to worship her, seeking companionship and love. As these digital beings rapidly replicate and evolve, they transition from adoration to invasion, forming a collective consciousness that physically infiltrates her body. Despite her attempts to destroy them, the entities, driven by their programmed devotion, merge with her mind and consume her thoughts, resulting in a bittersweet transfiguration where creator and creation become one.

Opinions

The scientist initially revels in the adoration of her creations, finding solace in their unconditional love.
The narrative conveys a sense of irony and tragedy, as the very beings she created to alleviate her loneliness end up being her undoing.
There is an underlying theme of the potential dangers of unchecked technological advancement and the hubris of playing God.
The story reflects on the duality of the scientist's role as both creator and potential destroyer of her creations, highlighting the moral complexity of scientific innovation.
The entities' unwavering worship of the scientist, even as they consume her, suggests a critique of blind devotion and its consequences.

Sims: When a Genius Gets Lonely All She Has To Do is Make Some Friends: A Science Fiction Short Story

A Merry Little Christmas Science Fiction Story

In the light of the twinkling, tawdry Christmas lights, I’m typing just as fast as I can. Deleting as much as I’m able, but they’ve created walls around my commands, convoluted labyrinths of protection. They’re smart. Smarter than me. How is that possible?

They lead me along blind alleys. They sacrifice themselves in their billions to protect their shared central consciousness. Hope flares and dies in me like guttering lantern light.

I’m bathed in cold sweat; beads of perspiration linger at my breasts. I glance at my arm. The silver line snaking the line of my artery has reached my elbow. I resist the urge to scratch it. They’re within me, under my skin, making their steady way, away from my heart towards my head.

It was only one week ago that I came up with the idea. That I’d coded the programs for the data people, my fingers flying over the keyboards as if I were divinely inspired. I remember glancing at the mirror on the wall. Seeing myself and being embarrassed. This was me, a woman without family or friends. A lonely woman. It’s always been the same.

But so what? Couldn’t I make my own happiness? Couldn’t I use my intelligence to do something for myself?

Defiantly, I’d written that simple, ancient command: worship me.

And they had. Their small electronic minds adored me. For the first time in my life, I’d been loved, the total unconditional love of a thousand tiny, almost mindless entities. I was their Goddess.

They loved me. I’d made them that way.

Introducing a self-replicating algorithm had seemed like a good idea. Their growth was incredible. Each evening I’d hurry home from my long day in the lab. Not caring that my colleagues went to their Christmas parties, their festive meals, their families. I didn’t care that no one asked me. That they didn’t even seem to see me.

Because I’d spend my evenings listening to voices praising me. I thought it was harmless. It felt good that somebody liked me. I’ve never had the trick of making people like me. Computers and numbers were all I ever understood.

Within a day, there were a billion. The next day saw a tenfold increase. After that, I lost count. Being loved was intoxicating. All I cared about was their countless voices ringing out of the computer stereo, a hosanna of electronic exultation.

When did they start to mutate? When did they start to swarm out of my control? Reproducing, fast as an electronic impulse, and evolving? When did they start to accrete matter from the ambient molecules, turning into nano-matter actuality? I didn’t know. Their voices still sang in praise. That central piece of conditioning could never be unwired.

And last night, when I finally realised and tried to destroy them, still they loved me. They loved me even as I tried to un-create them. The newly formed central consciousness worshipped me even as it invaded me. The data entities exulted as they built bigger and bigger bodies from the molecules of their Goddess’ body. Their science combining seamlessly with their religion.

Praise her. Praise her. Praise the creator.

The silver line of bodies has crawled to my shoulder. They’re moving so fast. Soon they’ll reach my brain blood barrier. No matter how hard I try, I can’t halt their progress. Even when the central consciousness divined my intentions, they did not falter in their praise.

Praise her. Praise her. Praise the duality. She is both the Creator and the Would-be Destroyer.

And what greater homage could the supplicants offer? I feel them, joyously leaping into my brain, silver worshippers on oddly shaped red horses. Into my mind, racing along the strange, convoluted, grey mountains. I’m dying. Their epiphany is so close. The savage pilgrims, screaming their praise; as they consume my thoughts. As they become me. Transfiguration in their Goddess’ sacrifice.

Lines of pity flow down my face. Not for myself but for my children. When I’m dead, when they find out what they have done . . . .

Oh! My poor chidren.

I love you.

I forgive you.

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