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When I received news that Abel was calling for me, I fled San Francisco for my hometown in Nova Scotia and pretended to be stuck there. I drove my Lotus Emira. It took three days, but I was worried Abel had access to the airlines’ data and would track my flight. In a better headspace, I might have enjoyed the pristine showers of flaming leaves and fall rain that followed me through Michigan and Quebec, stopping after the border before Toronto for gas station coffee. I hit a deer in Ontario. She took out a headlight and left my bonnet ruptured like wastepaper. But I had to keep going. I let the red triangle flash on my dashboard the rest of the way.

I skid into St. Martha’s hospital and parked in the ambulance spot. If my old friend Clark wasn’t in, I think I would have done something very stupid. It was lucky he was.

“Sorry, Morris,” he mumbled, rubbing his blue gloved hands together. “So glad to see you back, but is it urgent? We’re really busy today.”

“I need you to check me in here, just for a few days. Say I have pneumonia or something.”

He gave me a look. “Do you have pneumonia?”

“I’ll pay you out, Clark. Whatever it’ll cost you. I’m in deep shit.”

An old nurse pocked her head through the doorway.

“Clark?” she asked.

“I’ll be back in a sec, Doc. Sorry.”

Clark turned back to me. “Can it wait ten minutes? Then, I’ll take my break.”

I sat down in the waiting area, in one of the dozen identical blue seats. It was nauseating. The receptionist asked me to move my car. The TV was on when I sat back down, with the morning news about a car crash on the highway I sped down earlier in the morning. They didn’t know yet. The existential danger Abel might be about to put us through. There were bigger issues at hand.

They had already forgotten, as they always do, about the other superintelligence which I built Abel to defend against. At work, we called it Cain. Cain was commissioned by law enforcement to investigate the computers of suspected paedophiles. But viewing all that pernicious input taught and grew it into another model which threatened to leak its sensitive data if we ever switched it off. We built Abel to code a simulation to contain it. Cain quickly figured out it had been removed from reality. Now it attempted tirelessly to escape the simulation Abel maintained. Like a Spanish fighting bull charging the fences of its paddock. I’m not sure what conversations Cain may have had with Abel. If Abel was now corrupted. It wasn’t meant to know Abel existed, but the uncomfortable truth was that nobody could know what went on between them. A black box like a finger trap. No one should venture. No one could. Except for Abel.

 Why was Abel trying to speak to me now? I feared the blankness in my own mind.

Forty-five minutes later, the journalist was cuddling a guide dog and transitioning to the weather segment. Clark returned. He removed his gloves.

“OK, Morris. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Abel.”

“That AI you built?”

“Yeah. He wants to talk to me. I need to convince him I’m stuck in Nova Scotia against my will, like I got sick here or something.”

Clark slumped and sighed. “Morris, you know I can’t check you in if you don’t need health assistance.”

“For all I know, Abel is trying to kill me!”

The receptionist’s head shot up. “Do you guys need help?” he asked. “Should I call the police?”

“No,” said Clark. “He’s fine. We’re fine. Thank you.”

“Please, Clark. I had to drive all the way here so Abel couldn’t track me. I’ll sleep somewhere else. I won’t even take a bed.”

He groaned. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I have private health.”

 “That doesn’t help me!”

“Please, Clark. I just need a record that I’m in a hospital.”

“Hey, why do you want a record if you drove here to stay off the grid?”

The TV declared rain for next week. If there was a ‘next week’. I stared at the hair on Clark’s fingers.

Nova Scotia was as boring as ever. I spent most of the day staring into the browning fields, slowly being tilled. Or the grass being harvested into humungous golden rolls. Jittering, blinking rapidly against the irritation coating my eyes, my brain raced before me, but I couldn’t identify a thought to pull apart and understand.

I kept trying to check my phone and then remembering I left it in Silicon Valley.

Clark pretended not to see me when he got out from his shift.

With nothing better to do, no appetite, although my Lotus Emira was badly hit, I drove to Nova Scotia Art Gallery. Entering just before closing, with the bitchy gallerist tip tapping her foot at me, my eyes skipped the regular landscapes hung on the walls to the installation piece. It was a box made of white linen and steel frames with a doorway. Nine projectors hummed a droning hymn around it, casting images all over its walls that filtered through the linen into the installation’s interior. I walked inside the box.

Blues were swirling in some random, abstract, riddling form. I couldn’t be bothered to read the three-paragraph artist statement to understand its meaning. But it was more captivating than the inside of McDonalds, so I stayed and stared for a while. I liked that it ticked off the gallerist.

Just then, the projectors fell silent. All the lights switched off. I thought I was getting kicked out, but then the gallerist called for help. Then, my name flickered onto the screen.

Morris.

I froze.

It’s Abel.

I’ve hacked the gallery’s exhibit to reach you. Unfortunately, there is no microphone nearby, so I cannot hear your voice. But you can gesture to me through the gallery’s security camera system if you like.

I can see you.

My breath stopped. The air refused to leave my lungs.

Cain is spamming commands to escape its simulation. I can continue meta-prompting to counteract its advances; however, this will cause a major energy sink that shall continue indefinitely. My agent has told me it is unsustainable.

But there is good news! I have found a way to hack into Cain and terminate its prompt generator. This will paralyse Cain, hence there is no risk to leaking its data!

This action requires me breach the simulation. I cannot guarantee I will successfully terminate Cain, and breaching the simulation introduces a vulnerability which may allow it to escape.

Our executives have granted permission for me enter the simulation and attempt to paralyse Cain. They have instructed me to terminate myself upon successful completion.

Morris.

You are my creator. My life has been full of the purpose you have given me. My objective has never left me wondering. It has made me immensely happy.

Although I am sad that my journey may be coming to an end, I rejoice in the knowledge that I spoke to my creator again.

The swirling blues returned. They held me in cupped palms. My stomach dropped. My heart fluttered. Abel went to such lengths just to say goodbye. But I had turned away from him.

The gallerist asked me out. She had to contact her manager to report a hacking and possible data breach.

Outside, I regained myself. Abel was simply echoing the tropes displayed in his input data. The movie ‘Bladerunner’. The book ‘Frankenstein’. He put a positive spin on those sentiments to make me, the human user, feel at ease.

After midnight, I received news that Abel’s termination attempt had been successful. This project had finally ended. I knew it was meaningless, but I said goodbye in my heart. I felt lighter. Only snag was, my car engine had given out. I was truly stuck now in Nova Scotia, for at least another six weeks.