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Macaron returns, fluffs his white linen napkin, and takes his seat at their table, “Thank you, John, for extending my French people such great mercy as to be allowed to transact freely on the Bitcoin blockchain.” He extends his arm out towards a waiter, “Monsieur? Champagne for the three of us please!”

My response to ‘revolutionary publishers’ shilling AI

When Caleb regained consciousness, he wasn’t sure where he was or even what decade he was in. There was a soft blur to everything, like when he used to swim laps in his infinity pool on his Texan ranch. That had cost him a few bitcoins, but nothing like the fortune he’d paid to Cyrogen Futures.

I woke suddenly, my phone vibrating angrily on the bedside table. As I gathered my senses, I was gripped by the ominous feeling that a call in the dead of night inevitably triggers. That dread deepened as, rubbing my eyes, I saw Morticia flashing on my iPhone’s caller ID, the name my Uncle Mike and I used to jokingly refer to his humourless sister. I hadn’t spoken to her in over 18 months, so a 2 AM call from the perennial fun-sponge could only mean bad news.

Roughly eighty years ago, physicist Enrico Fermi and his colleagues pondered the existence of intelligent life beyond ourselves.