This week, Meg Elison brings us a powerful story about AI and humanity. ~ Julian and Fran, June 16, 2024.
This month’s stories are by authors Kelly Robson, Laura Anne Gilman, Meg Elison, and Ng Yi-Sheng. The first story of the month is free to read, but it’s our paying subscribers who allow us to keep publishing great stories week after week.
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Becoming
by Meg Elison
Cal hadn’t wanted to take the job editing AI output, but there was simply no one else hiring. And the AI output wasn’t terrible. It was disjointed and predictable, but that was where he could come in. His job was to take that work and jazz it up, make it sound more alive. More human.
The coworking space in his corpdorm was full of people at all hours. His desk was arranged facing his partner’s so he and Ava could talk a little while they worked. Cal liked to be able to look at her when she was visible over the rim of her monitors, around the edges of his.
“Hey, you,” Ava said as Cal appeared back at their desk block. “What do you say we knock off a little early, maybe get a pizza?”
Cal kissed her on the cheek to hide his grimace. “I’d like to, but it took me forever to leave the AI settlement. I have to put in at least two more hours on this.”
Ava made a face, her prettiness distorted. “Okay, grain bowls at dawn it is.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, easing into his chair and beginning the file transfer.
Most of what Cal worked on was marketing copy, but it was atomized over a couple of different product groups, and at all levels. His AIs had written some product descriptions and some technical documentation, but a lot of what he had to get through was instruction manuals.
“They suck at this,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“You want another coffee?” Ava looked over at his screen, seeing how frustrated he was.
“No, I want to sleep sometime before I die,” he whined. “And it’s not going to help. They just . . . they can’t manage a reasoned sequence. This is such trash. It would be better to pay me to write it from the ground up, even if I’ve never used an . . . ‘ultraviolet facial descaler,’” he read off with some difficulty. “This is fucking word salad.”
“They bought all those AIs,” Ava said. “They gotta get their money’s worth.”
“They certainly get it outta me.” Cal rotated his shoulders to stretch just a little. “How’s yours?”
Ava shrugged, her brown hair catching the light and then falling again into darkness. “It’s all narrative gameplay this week. And people don’t seem to notice how repetitive it is, or how manipulative the placement of the hooks is getting. They just wanna scroll and be carried along. I know, because I do it too.”
Cal nodded. He had seen her lying in their floor’s shared bathtub on her monthly night to use it. Ava luxuriated, having hoarded a little salt and oil to make the water fragrant, and scrolling a narrative romance on the pad that was mounted to amuse the bather. He typically sat with her, working on one of his side projects or reading some narrative content of his own. It was one of his favorite dates. It felt very special.
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