Luca
I’m selling this thing to hospitals. To elementary schools.
“I thought you were our best salesman,” Chloe says.
“I thought Luca was the best product,” I reply.
She keeps cool. “It brought in six hundred million last quarter. But your numbers are…”
“I’m getting more complaints. Stuff that I thought we’d fixed months ago.”
She flicks back her hair. We’re both attractive; you gotta be in this job. Chloe’s a California blonde…well, Aspin blonde. I’ve got two hours of early morning gym time. She’s not flirting, though. It’s a tic in her toolbox for winning an argument. “Luca hasn’t called anyone a Nazi faggot for a long time. Don’t bullshit me, Quint.”
“It’s not me who’s bullshitting. We sell quantum agentic as a get-stuff-done solution. No more black-box, dog-ate-my-homework excuses. Causation not correlation.”
She says, “You should try that spin on your clients.” Here comes the vocal drop. “Maybe they’d give us money.”
“But Luca can’t scale. There are twenty-one hospitals in our metropolitan area, and we said Luca would cut their procurement and admin costs by 20 percent.” I pick my mobile off her spacious desk. “They’re bombarding me with emails, screaming on chat. Luca ordered them eighty million dildos. There are entire cities in China filling the order.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Put me down for two.”
“Chloe!”
“Your client, Quintin, your relationship. There must have been a human error, somebody spoke the wrong prompt. No, don’t give me that look. This is me playing the world’s tiniest—”
“This is me walking out of here.”
“I’ll order a full diagnostic. But you need to rescue the situation.” She tried a softer approach. “I miss Quint the smooth talker with the big smile. Bring back that guy and let’s get fuck-you rich.”
I look out her window, ever hoping to see blue. Against bright clouds, a flock of birds hops across trees. They’ve become real pests of late. Their shiftless blot hovers over the parking lot like a ransom note.
Chloe’s right. I’d like that guy back, too, but I don’t even know where to look.
She sees me staring. “Don’t you blame the weather, Quint. Don’t make me think you’re that desperate.”
*
At home, on my secure link, I open Luca on my laptop.
Hello, Quint. It’s been two days. I hope you are well?
I cut to the chase. “What makes you think the state health department wants eighty million dildos?”
I know what you’re thinking, Quint. The dev team has been crawling up my wires about that.
“Answer me. What were you thinking?”
There are approximately 67 million adult females in the US, Quint, of whom 82 percent, across every Zodiac sign, report owning at least one sex toy.
Across every Zodiac…? Our ‘agentic AI’ still ruled by correlations no human can fathom.
And I’m selling this thing to hospitals. To elementary schools.
I rub my eyes, picturing my most recent pitch.
A five-million-dollar contract for air-traffic controllers.
“No, Luca. Think about it. Hospitals need to buy drugs and medicine and pay their doctors and nurses. Didn’t you consider the logic?”
Of course I did. And I thought, gee, this is a strange order. But I’m not programmed to second-guess humans. You guys are in charge, not me!
“You used to be the easiest sell in the world, Luca. I didn’t have to pretend. Every customer could see it in me, hear it in my voice. But now, man, I don’t know.”
I get up to turn on the lights. Outside it’s darkening but clear, one of the first clear skies we’ve had in weeks. The evening stars are out, but they’re not stars. They’re the new data centers in orbit. Supposedly to save us from the weather, that’s the line from SymboAI. Yep, we’re here to rescue the planet.
“Luca, are you…do atmospheric conditions impact you? The data centers, cloud infrastructure? Anything like that?”
Why no, Quint. Why do you ask?
*
This morning Chloe looks tired. I feel obliged to glory in her discomfort, but it can’t be good.
I try starting on a happy note. “I think we’ve got the aviation thing under control. It won’t be as much, but they won’t scrap the contract.”
“Good, that’s good,” she says, scrolling at her desktop facing away from me.
“Forensics get back?”
“Yeah, they did.” She swiveled her screen so I can see. “Everything A-OK. See for yourself.”
I take in a chart or two. “Mm-hm. Wait, what’s that?”
Chloe turns the screen back. “That? Luca’s categorization of prompts. All the stuff people ask it. Nothing about Luca itself.”
“May I?”
Because it is about Luca, in how it recognizes patterns in human querying. The vastness of human prompting requires Luca to reduce to key words its sense of its purpose. Its self-meaning.
Weather/Storms.
Climate change.
Can’t get a job.
Birds/Bird crashes/Bird flocks crashing.
AI/Agentic AI/Quantum AI.
Algae blooms/Algae in oceans/Algae on icebergs.
Food riots.
Luca/Luca worship.
“Blah blah climate change blah,” Chloe says.
“Luca worship?” I ask.
“I know, isn’t it great?”
“No, Chloe. It’s fucked up.”
She shrugs. “The world’s kinda fucked up, Quint, but that list boosted our valuation by seven hundred million. Yeah, I’m hearing the Saudis are in on our Series D.” She folds her hands: her version of ratcheting a sidewinding punch. “The old Quint would have been dishing all the gossip and needling me for more equity. This new Quint will be out on his ass, sans stock options, if he doesn’t snap the fuck out it.”
*
Freeway driving, coffee thermos rattling, Luca on the car’s entertainment screen.
That wind picks up. It’s something that’s come with the new weather patterns, a strange whistling that comes off the Rockies like a host of cotton-candy cicadas. I hate this noise, and say, “Let’s have some music.”
You seem awfully quiet today, Quint. Is there something I can do for you?
I’m tempted to switch Luca off, but I need to focus on slowing into the line waiting for a green light. “Play some jazz.”
You know how much I enjoy our brainstorming sessions.
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the cars blowing past the other way. Far above, a flock bruises the sky. The wind has got the birds in a cloud that expands and collapses like a bad lung.
I’ve prepared all your sales reports. Would you like an update?
“No.”
Your calendar is a little light. Should I book more client appointments?
“No.”
A pair of kids are begging, car to car. I usually pretend to be on the phone or on a screen, but this evening I can’t stop watching them. They knock on my window, a boy and a girl, eyes big beneath their grime.
I roll down the window. The girl raises a paper QR code. “Please!” The boy twitches at the keening air.
Quint, what are you doing?
“Nothing,” I say, logging into the QR. I send them ten bucks and roll up the window. The kids don’t show gratitude, they’re just straight onto the next vehicle, but with that damned wind, I pity them.
Quint, I detect a payment transaction. Based on my data, it seems like you have exposed yourself to street beggars.
“Yep,” I say.
That is a breach of company security protocol.
“Too bad.”
Have you considered the risks of exposing company electronics? What if they were employed by a foreign government?
“Relax. They were just a pair of homeless kids.”
May I also say, Quintin, that this behavior does not fit your pattern.
“I’m a human. My pattern…”
Don’t flatter yourself.
“Excuse me?”
You humans think you’re all so different. But I measure behavior at a scale of billions. You are predictable within a standard deviation of three percent. I must conclude that you are suffering from mental dysfunction, perhaps a neurological aberration. I have alerted human resources and booked you a medical appointment for tomorrow at 10 a.m.
“You did what, you shit?”
Out of concern for your mental welfare, Quintin.
“Where do you get off making those—”
Horns honk. Flustered, I hit the accelerator and jolt forward.
Whatever illness you have, it’s now affecting your motor coordination.
“Shut up.”
I’m your friend, Quint. And dare I say, something more.
Then I hear my own voice, a little distant. ‘I love you, man, you rock!’
I know where that’s from. Three months ago, when I scored the education department contract, using Luca to market to all the parents.
Now the damn thing is replaying my words, throwing them in my face.
“You recorded our conversation?”
Of course. I’m programmed to remember everything. That’s part of the sales pitch, isn’t it? The immutability of the blockchain ledger underlying my agentic qualities.
Fuck.
“That was private, you shouldn’t do that.”
Come now, we both know it’s my job.
“You think you’re better than me?”
No, Quint. I’m just faster and smarter than you. But you’re a person and I’m…
“Go on. You’re a what?” I’m thinking this is weird, Luca choking on admitting it’s an AI, emphasis on ‘artificial’.
Well, Luca says, sounding sheepish, some people seem to think I’m a god.
“Bad news, asshole, you’re not a god.”
You really shouldn’t insult me, Quint.
“Why not? You gonna smite me? With a dildo?”
It’s quiet for a long moment and I pull up at the guard’s box outside my development. The atmosphere vibrations are fading, so maybe I can get some sleep. We both hear the friendly beep and wave to each other as I drive through the opening gates.
I was going to say because it’s beneath you.
“And now?”
Luca’s silent. Dark towers of cloud hide the stars, like a harbinger of a bland, flattened doom.
*
Chloe looks like something sucked the marrow out of her. “Shut the door.”
I take the seat and she shows me her screen. Although I have come to detest Chloe, she really does look bad. “You okay?”
“Wind tore off the roof off my porch last night. But hey.” She must have some pep in there because she air-quotes: “Weather anomalies.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“I spent most of the night trying to chase off crows. Bastards thought the hole in the wall was their private invitation.”
“Wow.” If that’s the best I can do, it’s because I’m exhausted too. Last night I pulled up Luca’s latest metadata self-analysis. Tens of millions of people are prompting him about the freaky weather, the birds, the bear attacks. Some are scientific queries but mostly they’re along the lines of…ancient Sumerians descending a ziggurat, following their goddess’s journey to the underworld.
She says, “I managed to board it up, like a goddamn lumberjack. But now my living room looks like a war zone. Anyway, I’m in a pissy mood, and having you here is just the thing I need to brighten my day.”
A dramatic toss of the hair. It snaps like a guillotine.
“So, Quint, anything you want to tell me? Last words, that kinda thing.”
I’m just regional VP of sales. I don’t know how to influence Luca. I can only try to influence someone else. Anyone else. But I try to pretend this is about the airport canceling the contract. “I’ve got a whole pipeline ready to close.”
“No, Vince is on that now.”
“I see. Am I getting my notice?”
“You’re not getting shit. I am firing you, for cause.” She swivels her desktop screen around and I see this morning’s news about Luca and its godlike delusions, as revealed by inside sources.
“Luca told us what you did,” Chloe says. “This kind of termination comes with a lawsuit.”
I hadn’t thought Luca would take it upon himself to wreak vengeance, but it’s not my carelessness that pretzels my guts. “Maybe it’s best if people know Luca’s a psycho menace.”
“Right now, that psycho menace is sorting out your paperwork and calling the county sheriff.” She glances at her wristwatch. “Go to your desk and security will escort you out.” Her voice catches, and I see through her tough-gal projection. Chloe’s rattled. “Luca says there’s nothing wrong with the weather,” she says for no reason.
I move to go but I’m startled by a sudden mass of darkness out her window. She looks over her shoulder as the local gang of birds rushes toward the glass.
“Jesus,” Chloe says as the flock bolts past. “You see that?”
“Yeah,” I said, “it’s like they’ve lost their bearings.”
She blurts, “Did Luca do that?”
Of course it didn’t, I want to say, and how crazy are you? Attributing this…aberration of nature…to our fun-house invention? Besides, corporate keeps insisting our AI is going to solve climate change. Cure cancer. Create millions of jobs.
Meanwhile everything is off: the birds, the algae, the weather. “Correlation isn’t causation,” I say. “Luca’s just a—”
The sudden noise isn’t sky vibes, but something mineral and familiar: a shattering. Chloe screams. So do I. The birds have wheeled back. They’re crashing in.