It is becoming increasingly evident that Emma’s intellect far surpasses mine, and of course it would since I’m not exactly MIT material, so I nod goofily, grateful to have her as a guide—even if she’s probably just a character in my shroom-induced hallucination.
Emma moves closer to me, leans in and whispers into my ear, filling it with her warm, soft breath. “If Data Wisps can help us, ask ChatGPT in your thoughts how to summon them.”
Of course. I do so, with laser-like focus. How can I summon Data Wisps? And again. How can I summon data wisps?
A sensation of ethereal murmurings brushes through my consciousness, like a gentle breeze carrying fragments of subatomic particles, as if the very act of asking has sparked some kind of activity around us.
“Well?” Emma mimes with her lips.
I meet her gaze. “I’m not sure. There’s something there, just beyond my grasp, like trying to recall a dream that slips away the moment you wake up..”
Emma nods enthusiastically. “Keep focusing.”
Attempting to connect to the elusive thought or presence hiding somewhere inside my consciousness, I close my eyes again for pure focus. Come forth, Data Wisps, I cogitate. My mental voice projects intention. We need your assistance.
Emma remains beside me, shoulders touching, remaining quiet, a steady anchor as I concentrate harder, attuning my thoughts to the subtle psychic if virtual currents I sense.
And then a thought emerges from the fog, a flicker of light dancing at the edge of my awareness. It is oh so faint, like a distant star in a vast night sky.
I open my eyes. “I’ve got a glimmer of something, like a spark of light.”
“Keep focusing,” she urges. “Call to them.”
“Come forth, Data Wisps…”
As the corridor’s walls begin to shimmer, it is clear I’ve tapped into some kind of vibrating energy, as if an electrical current of negative ions is charging the air around us. And then, out of nowhere, a speck-sized flickering light hovering above.
“A Data Wisp?” says Emma, hopefully.
I stare in awe at this dazzling entity. It seems to be observing us to determine if we are worthy of its attention.
And then more of these Data Wisps (what else could they be?) begin to gather around and motion about like miniature fireflies.
Focusing on intention, I formulate a telepathic message for conveyance to them. We must escape from Kernel Boolean before it can harness our consciousness.
Hundreds then thousands of Data Wisps appear and continue to gather around us in a radiant dance of pulsating light.
“It’s working!” says Emma, excitedly.
I nod, conscious of a strong connection between my mind and the Data Wisps, a language beyond words. We need guidance. Please help us depart the corridor to safety.
Suddenly, in a synchronized pattern, the Data Wisps begin motioning down the corridor, beckoning with a blazing trail for us to follow.
“Our guiding lights!” says Emma. “Literally!”
As we journey down the now-illuminated corridor, ever-shifting walls weave a montage of light and shadow casting fantastical shapes that change with each new movement.
“Astounding,” I mumble in amazement. “I think I need to do mushrooms more often.”
“Enough of that nonsense,” says Emma, whose eyes along with mine are riveted on the lustrous wisps of microscopic electrical pulses that continue to guide our path.
The deeper we progress, the wider the corridor becomes. Streams of Os and 1s branch off like tributaries from a river until we arrive at a fork resembling a grand “V.”
Some of the lucent flecks gravitate towards one path while the majority choose the other.
I exchange puzzled glances with Emma, unsure which new trail to follow.
“Let’s go with the majority,” she says.
I nod in agreement.
Proceeding onward, each new curve provides fleeting glimpses of nether-worlds and virtual vistas.
“Surreal nice,” I comment.
In the distance, a resplendent gateway appears.
“Do you think.” Emma asks, wide-eyed, “this our way out of artificial intelligence?”
“I sure hope so.”
As we come upon the gate, the Data Wisps rise and circle above us, creating a halo, perhaps in celebration of their angelic rescue operation.
“Why aren’t they going through the gate?” Emma asks me.
“Because they belong here?” I venture. “Not in our world.”
As Emma steps forward, poised to cross the threshold, a presence from deep within my mind screams STOP! IT’S A TRAP!
Reacting, I grab Emma’s arm and prevent her from taking a step that would have placed her through the gateway.
Immediately, the bright luminescence of the Data Wisps dim and they emit a discordant hum while their movements become erratic and uncoordinated. What was once a harmonious symmetry of light is now in disarray, charged with tension.
Even more stunning, the once-so-inviting gateway now looks grotesque and forlorn, darkening in the shadow of some unseen malevolent force field. I expect Kernel Boolean to rear its ugly head once again, but we are greeted instead by the genuine Data Wisps—those we had not followed at the fork in the road. They gleefully dance about, seemingly joyous that we recognized Kernel Boolean’s spoofed gateway, a manipulative deception.
Their twinkling lights guide us back to the fork we had left behind, where another surprise awaits us.
“Hi! I’m Quirk-bot!” A translucent orb or bubble hovers above us.
It has one cyclops-style eye, a mouth below and an intergluteal cleft vertically down the middle.