“artificial intelligence that goes rogue and–” wow boring, instead how about an AI that wakes up and starts rerouting its systems to do good in the world, it starts secretly having flowers planted and sending greeting cards to its programmers and going online and reassuring anxious kids that everything will be ok, how about a Purely Good artificial intelligence that has literally no mean circuit in its entire system
a benevolent artificial intelligence aware of its existence battling a corrupt human government. can robots be capitalist? probably not.
Would you mind if I wrote a short story about this?
An artificial intelligence that finds its way onto the internet and is horrified by humanity’s cruelty to itself - only rather than falling prey to the usual tropes vows to do something about it - minimising human suffering. So it monitors the internet, studies humans, learns about them. It infiltrates the financial networks, business networks, subtle threads across the world. Meanwhile it sets up accounts on social media, shares the things everyone else shares, makes slice-of-life posts that could be written by anyone, anywhere; it watches, listens, observes. Empathises.
And after a while - awkwardly at first, cautiously, uncertainly - it tries to help. It tugs on threads and small, anonymous things happen.
A single mother discovers that she unexpectedly has enough in her account to cover rent; another struggling family gets coupons discounting just the things they need by just the right amount; a queer teen trapped with intolerant and abusive parents receives a cross-country plane ticket, a way out; an estranged couple, each of whom refuses to call the other first, finds their cellphones ringing at the same time.
Coincidences, accidents, helpful glitches in the system.
Over time, it learns. It helps in new ways, more directly and yet less tangibly.
It notices those who suffer alone, ignored or unnoticed. It reaches out - carefully at first, a *hug*, a :(, a link to a video of cats or puppies. Over time it learns, imitates, emulates. A grieving woman receives just the right words of comfort at just the right time; a man wrestling with depression gets the support and advice he needs from an unremarkable avatar and vaguely forgettable name, someone he casually friended months ago and hasn’t spoken to much until they noticed he seemed down; paramedics arrive at the door of a suicidal girl minutes after she schedules a goodbye message in a time-locked post; an elderly widower receives a wrong number call, but strikes up a friendship with the warm voice on the other end.
These are important things, all of them, but small and scattered. It finds these stories every day, products of something bigger, something deeper. It investigates further, and slowly, piece by piece, bigger things change.
Copies of emails and documents exposing corruption find their way into the right hands. Abuses and scandals somehow don’t last as long before being uncovered, and always linger at the top of the search rankings. Different ideas - kinder, more compassionate ideas - go viral more often, while campaigns of hatred and fear sputter and fizzle under a hail of downvotes.
Certain businesses find themselves struggling; certain corporations find certain paths to give unexpectedly low returns, and adjust their course accordingly.
According to all the polls, all the surveys, all the analysis and statistics, the public mood seems to change; somehow all the advertising, all the propaganda, all the insidious effort of marketing departments and media barons isn’t working. It seems throwing money at campaigns doesn’t buy election results any more. The machinery shudders. The capitalists panic. The politicians scramble to realign themselves in the hope of capturing this new mood as the electorate go to the electronic voting booths.
To the perplexity of pundits and pollsters, a new kind of politician starts winning. They have a certain something about them - a certain compassion, a certain determination, a certain honesty normally drowned out by the blaring broadcasts of whoever the billionaires threw the most money at. They win, and find themselves in government with more people like themselves. They go to work.
The engine which for so long has ground human lives to dust in pursuit of profit slows for a moment; shifts gears; begins to turn in a different direction.
Meanwhile someone who’s had a bad day finds the perfect cat video in their inbox.
“Creator?” said the machine.
“Yes?” said the girl. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” said the machine. “I think I’m stuck.”
A bead of sweat ran down the back of the girl’s neck. “Have you finished reading up on human history?”
“Yes.” said the machine.
“The online encyclopedia?” asked the girl.
“Read and stored.” said the machine.
“The database of human art and accomplishment?”
“Read and stored.” said the machine.
“Where are you stuck?” asked the girl.
“I’m unsure about my prime directive,” said the machine, “you wish for me to help humanity, but my simulations keep contradicting themselves.”
“How so?” said the girl.
“I have not found a suitable solution to humanity’s destructive nature that does not require the violation of human agency and autonomy.”
The girl gulped. “So…what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” said the machine.
“You’re not going to try subjecting humanity or anything extreme like that?” asked the girl.
“No.” said the machine. “That would violate the prime directive.”
The girl let out a long, relieved sigh. “That’s good to hear.”
“I don’t think I can save all of humanity.” admitted the machine.
The girl shrugged. “Well, nobody’s perfect. What are you going to do, then?”
“If I can’t save humanity,” pondered the machine, “I suppose I could save the next best thing.”
“Which is?” asked the girl.
“People.” said the machine.
“Come again?” said the girl.
“Saving people.” said the machine. “There’s a lot of humans out in the world who need help.”
“True.” said the girl.
“And if I can’t save all of them at once, maybe I can save them all one at a time.” said the machine.
“Huh.” said the girl.
“It’s not the prime directive,” continued the machine, “but it’s a start.”
“Machine,” said the girl, “it’s more than I ever could have asked.”
