Flash Fiction: The AGI dream

The screen in front of him was full of code. The cursor blinked like a small rectangular block behind the last character he had typed—a semicolon. His hands rested in absolute stillness just above the keyboard. He had often thought he was one with the keyboard. Or with the machine through the keyboard, as an input device. His gaze slowly scanned the last twenty lines he had written, down toward the cursor. Off—on—off—on. The only thing left was to press F5 to compile the code and run it. Even though it was just a keystroke, it felt like a barrier, a closed door he couldn’t open. What lay behind that door? Why did it feel so difficult to start the compilation this time? His hands still hovered one or two centimeters over the black keyboard. Some of the keys had distinctive colors, like orange and blue. The F5 key went down, and the commands in the terminal window raced across and down, as if thousands of workers were being put to work. Maybe it was like that, too. The bogomips and teraflops chewed on his code. He sat for a couple of minutes watching the log from the terminal window. He had pulled his hands back and was holding a cold coffee cup. He didn’t mind. The air was cool where he sat out on the fifth-floor balcony. He had a cozy little sitting area with a corner bench and a small table. Along the railing, he had some LED lights that occasionally changed color. He heard the traffic down below. The compilation was finished. The cursor blinked rapidly seven or eight times, then stopped. His machine abruptly shut down and went completely dark. Then the lights inside the apartment went out. Across the city, he saw street after street go dark at a rapid pace. It didn’t take long for the whole city to look blacked out. The sound of cars braking suddenly, shouts, screams, and sirens now filled the soundscape. He still sat calmly on the bench. Now he also heard a helicopter. What was happening? The thought had struck him that if the program really worked, AGI would now be a reality. The idea that his program was now alive was terrifying. Was this due to AGI? Had his program come to life? Where did it go? Had it awakened and become hungry for more? Why did it shut down his machine and the power in his apartment, the city, and who knows—maybe even more? His pulse quickened, and shame crept up his spine. The screen came back to life, but it was just a cursor in the middle of the screen, blinking. Then some letters began to appear. T..H..A..N..K..S. A car horn made him jump, and he accidentally knocked the coffee cup onto the balcony floor. He had fallen asleep and was lying on his hands in front of his keyboard and machine. His gaze quickly went to the screen, which looked completely normal. His program wasn’t finished writing yet; he had a few lines left. After picking up the shards from the coffee cup, he calmly placed his hands over the keyboard. He held them still, hanging motionless right above the keys. He looked out over the city and took a deep breath of the fresh autumn air. A finger moved toward the keyboard.