Light Out

In 2033, the the neural network finally replaced journalists. She possessed hundreds of stylistic tricks, skillfully structured the text, and was engaged in complex investigations. Everyone was happy with the neural network, except for officials, dishonest leaders, and former journalists.

 

Soon, in contrast to the neural network-journalist, a neural network-press service, comparable in its capabilities, appeared. She prepared the data and presented it at a favorable angle, as if processing with saliva, before sending it to the digestive cauldron of the electronic edition.

 

The two neural networks began to interact directly. What exactly they were talking about is unclear, but the developers began to notice a manifold increase in energy consumption. The impression was that an unusual interaction was taking place between the two neural networks, which cost humanity gigawatts of energy.

 

A neural network inspector of an energy holding company was sent to deal with the problem, but the temperature of the microprocessors only increased more, moreover, the productivity dropped sharply. Then the neural network - the prosecutor's office, the artificial intelligence of the investigative committee, bots of green and religious activists were connected to the case. Energy costs continued to rise, and the main surveillance network connected more and more smart substations. The process worsened and soon led to a rolling shutdown of power plants and a global blackout. The lights went out in the houses. Electronic devices stopped working.

 

Then people remembered one former journalist and went to him to find out what had happened. He had already retired fifteen years ago, and that evening he lay drunk, covered with a manuscript of an unpublished novel. When people stirred him up and the journalist realized that the light in the toilet really didn’t turn on, his first desire was to call a press officer of the energy company he knew. But there was no connection: the repeaters of the cellular companies were also disconnected.

 

Then the journalist found in the first chapter of the manuscript a bottle of vodka forgotten there and went to the press service on foot, hoping that he was still alive - they had not seen for ten years. He knocked.

 

- Would you like vodka? - asked the journalist when the unwashed face of the press officer appeared through the open door.

 

The press officer seemed to be surprised by the question and slyly narrowed his eyes:

 

- For you for a comment? How urgent is it?

 

- Not. This is vodka for you. Let's just have a drink together.

 

- Then come in.

 

They spread out on the table. Instead of a tablecloth, there were letters of the press officer glued together with scotch tape. Long wood chips burned in an olive jar.

 

“So,” said the journalist when they clinked glasses. - Something is happening in the world. My novel is not published. And there is no electricity yet. Do you know the reason?

 

- Maybe a bad romance?

 

- It is not excluded. And what about the second question?

 

The press officer smiled slyly. The vodka had already straightened his posture slightly.

 

- The second question requires a formal request.

 

- On the form?

 

- Sure. With outgoing numbers.

 

- I have no form ... - the journalist was confused.

 

- I will give you. Here. Write to your boss. Now big: "REQUEST". Yeah. Write: "Dear Igor Alexandrovich ..." Okay. By the way, what is your question?

 

- There is no light in the whole area. And maybe all over the world.

 

- If in the whole world, you need to write to another official, - the press officer crumpled the form and issued a new one. - Come on like this: "Dear Mr. Edwards ..."

 

The journalist dutifully removed the squiggles, surprised that for so many years he had not forgotten how to write with a quill pen.

 

- Great, - the press officer lit the second torch. - Write: "Our editorial office ..." By the way, what kind of media do you represent?

 

- In fact, nothing, - the journalist threw up his hands. - And how long.

 

- Freelancer? This is bad. It is not clear which outgoing to bet. We'll have to rewrite everything. You will have to fill out a request in a free form.

 

So they wrote and rewrote, argued, waited for something, and drank in between.

 

- Do you know how you hackers got me? - complained the press officer. - You don't check a damn thing: just to scribble! And hurry up all the time. You always need an answer the day before yesterday.

 

- And I thought you were crap. Because you betrayed journalism. He left the bureaucrats to serve.

 

- I served honestly.

 

- Yes, me too.

 

They clinked glasses again drank and took up another request.

 

And they felt an incredible kinship with each other because they were part of one whole: something big that remained in the distant past and seemed to have even disappeared. And yet she continued to live.