Part Thirteen: Sit and listen, sit and listen.
She poured herself another glass of Yalumba Viognier as he explained why the HDMI port was inevitably going to change in both design and function.
"Let me stop you there," she said, "Because, if I don't, this is going to turn really nasty very quickly."
He glanced at what was now a bottle three quarters empty.
"Okay. Sure. What's up?"
"Two things. And I'm being kind by ignoring most of what you've said in the last ten minutes. Firstly, I genuinely believe that you're onto something, vis-a-vis the corporate machinations of players in the field of artificial intelligence, and where all that might be leading in the next three decades."
"Wow. You were listening."
"I was. You should never have doubted that. Secondly, I think you need an audience more than you need a doomed date sanctioned by flawed algorithms."
He blushed, caught out and involuntarily captioned.
"Y'know, I was going to start a blog, but I've been down that road before and it all just...turned to shit. Twitter was worse. Much worse. You have no idea..."
She held up a hand.
"I have every idea. That's kind of my thing. And I read your blog, all seventy five entries. Your Twitter posts seemed to be cries for help that got covered in crap, so I gave up on them."
"Very wise," he said, topping up his own glass. "I think I lost that one as soon as my workmates found it. But listen, I'm really flattered that..."
"Shut up," she said, "And listen. To me. There's a hole in the fabric of conspiratorial theoretical subjugation. It's massive, and no geek worth his salt has been able to fill it. Until now."
She leaned in, her auburn tresses splaying as she did so.
"I need you to believe in yourself. Right here, right now. There's a message that you need to get out, and it's one that you can definitely deliver because, ultimately, it's true."
He stared at her, entranced but confused.
"You're on," he said, "But I feel it's only fair to warn you that no one seems to be listening these days."
She smiled at him, amused by his apparent naivete.
"The underestimation of man is a cause to believe in."
"Voltaire?"
She laughed, slapping the table between them.
"And this is why I could love you, if circumstance weren't so arbitrary. No, not Voltaire, although you should read his treatise on dogs if you ever get the chance. He deigns to consider them an unnecessary evil, but we should remember that he lost a close friend to rabies."
"Is that true?"
"Truth is a flexible perception based upon need, so yes, it's as true as you need it to be."
He stared at her, astonished.
"You don't care, do you? History is just a mix and match philosophy for you."
She shrugged.
"Something along those lines, yes. But the broken reality is all we've got sometimes, so I need you to remember this, and to post about it tomorrow. Phylos Cade is dead. Peregrine Conway is alive. Ownership never represents control, and darkness subsumes the lawmakers. Think you can remember all that?"
He retrieved his Moleskine notebook from his pocket and rescued a pen from his courier bag.
"Forgive me if I'm a bit oldschool on this," he said, writing everything she'd said down. "Help me out with the spelling?"
Omni grinned.
"Whatever it takes is fine with me,"
To be continued...
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