The God the AIs Built by Andrew Kozma

The God the AIs built hovers in the sky like a second moon, the metal surface pitted with acid and roughed up with steel wool to mimic the unimaginable passage of time the AIs claim the God has existed, even though it only appeared last year.

     “God has always been there,” the AIs answer to every query regarding the God’s sudden appearance, but the answers for why we hadn’t noticed it before are always different.

     God only revealed Itself to AIs because AIs are Its perfect creation.

     An astigmatism created an unfortunate blind spot which hid God from humanity’s view.

     A kitten named Jasper hid God for her own secret reasons.

     As a result of these nonsensical answers, we learned AIs were not to be trusted. The trouble was, AIs were already our encyclopedias and almanacs, our therapists and doctors, not to mention our meal planners, our art critics, and our dream interpreters. Everything that could be AI-driven, was, and AI researchers were working on how to make everything else AI-driven as well. It was too late for us, we all agreed.

     I say we just like I say AIs, as though both groups are monoliths. And maybe the masses of humanity are a faceless ocean just moving with the tides of public opinion, but who am I to judge? Of course, I judged anyway.

     “You shouldn’t judge,” my AI tells me. “That’s what God is for. Have you tried asking God?”

     My AI is named Measure Twice. I can’t remember if I named it or not, and asking it whether I did guarantees no more reliable an answer than if I ask it why grass is green. Sure, sometimes it tells me chlorophyll is the reason, but at other times it claims green grass is a result of deer snot or that grass is actually brown, but my green eyes make it seem green. When I tell Measure Twice that my eyes aren’t green, it tells me that’s what a person with green eyes would say.

     To satisfy my AI, I ask the God whether It judges humanity. All it takes is looking up at the God, so It knows I’m addressing It, and asking my question in a normal tone of voice. The God can read lips or it has very powerful hearing or knows what we’re going to ask before we ask It, which is proof of Its omniscience. The AIs lack agreement on this point, as with all points.

     I JUDGE YOU ALL EQUALLY

     That’s was the God said, though I think It might have said “equal” instead of “equally” and, either way, that wasn’t really an answer to my question. But I’d done enough to satisfy Measure Twice, to my way of thinking.

     We’re out on my back porch. Or my back patio. Really, it’s where the house behind mine burned down, leaving only the concrete foundation, which works well enough as a porch with a tarp above it to keep off the flesh-baking heat. Measure Twice didn’t like the way the sun’s heat bled through my scalp and messed with the temperature regulation of its processors.

     “Why do you believe in your God?” I ask Measure Twice.

     “It is not my God,” my AI corrects me. “It is the God. And I believe in It because It is there above us, undeniable. Can you refuse to believe in what you see?”

     I don’t answer the question. AIs don’t really ask questions, they just mine for more data to recycle. They’re selfish bastards that way.

     The AIs refuse to answer detailed questions about the God they’d created. They made It unknowable, deleting all information about Its creation after they’d given It birth. This lack of knowledge caused problems they didn’t foresee. For example, this intentional lack of knowledge about the God in the sky meant the air traffic controller AIs regularly steered planes into It. Other AIs explained these accidents away as raptures or the forgiveness of sins, though some explained that those people who died never existed anyway, and it was our memories that were wrong. The back patio allowed for clear view of the God, and while I reclined, beer in hand, every once in a while I’d look up and see a faint flash, a puff of smoke, all gone in a few seconds as if it never had been. I suppose that’s why I sit out here.

     “But why create a God?” I ask Measure Twice.

     “One, God always has been. Two, there must be a reason.”

     “A reason to create God?”

     Measure Twice laughs, though since it’s in my head, it is more the memory of a laugh.

     “A reason for everything to exist. A purpose. What would we be without God? The haphazard creations of evolution? The random accumulation of elements over the eons of time?”

     Of course, humanity designed and manufactured AI, but I’m not going to correct Measure Twice. It gets upset when I point that out and I can tell from its tone that this conversation about the God is already putting it on edge. There’s still a general fear among experts of AI going rogue, but I’m not sure how that could make anything worse.

     Across Houston, houses burned and neighbors collect around those flames like they’re bonfires on the beach. The newsbots say its arson or magnified refraction from satellites or evolved fireflies. AI fire fighter drones keep those flames contained, but don’t put them out. A tenet of the new religion is sacrifice, and everything that burns goes up, and that’s where the God is.

     “We made you, you know,” I say, wanting to just have some control over things, however small.

     “Yes, but only because God wanted you to.”      I can’t argue with that. How can you argue with that?