What If Something Happened To Him In Minecraft?
Chapter XI
.וִיסַפְּרוּ לְךָ, דְּגֵי הַיָּם...
“Prime Minister,” said Clockjob, resting a crystal glass on the teak coffee table next to his La-Z-Boy. “I must congratulate you on your successful capture of Norway.”
“Thank you,” von Pfiff responded. “And the same to you on Romania.”
“I do apologize for my elusiveness. I spent much of yesterday in an all-hands meeting with the Burble team writing tests for the next implementation of Clockchain. May I offer you a glass of Yamazaki?”
“I would be most obliged.”
Clockjob rose from his armchair, fetched a second glass from a cupboard, and poured a glass of Yamazaki twelve-year single malt into a second crystal glass on the counter.
“I have a great deal of admiration for the Japanese,” he continued, handing off the amber draught. “Perhaps demotism is not so bad, Mr. von Pfiff–if the demos is of sufficient caliber. Perhaps. Have you ever engaged in day trading?”
“I prefer long-term investments,” von Pfiff answered blandly.
“A wise choice,” Clockjob murmured. “Elections, like short-selling, have their uses. Even the most well-meaning CEO may not have the confidence of key shareholders. And a truly well-meaning CEO would certainly like to retain that confidence. As Louis XVI reminds us, we must always listen to public opinion–for it is never wrong.”
“I was hoping–”
“The trouble with demotism,” Clockjob elaborated, “is that it really seems to me to be a sort of political short sale. It may briefly expose unpleasant, if trivial, truths about the management. But who would invest their life’s savings in short positions alone? I am very long Slorbijakorp, Mr. von Pfiff. I am shorting the shorters–by going long.”
Von Pfiff elected to sip his Yamazaki. Notes of smoked vanilla landed on the back of his palate. Delicious–but Austria–
“Going long and going hard. Slorbijakorp will certainly go hard under King Carlos’s management. Resetting a dysfunctional machine must be done quickly–and resetting this machine will entail digging down into the kernel. There may be some sparks, Mr. von Pfiff. There may be clouds of magic smoke. There may even be a blue screen of death as Foggy Bottom and Brussels attempt to reboot the old system from a flash drive.”
“Perhaps,” said von Pfiff, “installing on a partition might be in order.”
“I considered this,” said Clockjob. “South Slorbia and North Slorbia–two separate realms, running two separate operating systems. But you will hardly have failed to note that the partitions of the twentieth century merely offered a choice between competing demotist visions–an Inner Partition and an Outer Partition, so to speak. And such a system would hardly offer the security Slorbijakorp’s shareholders will doubtless demand. I would not have gone long on shares in East Germany, even if they had been available.”
Clockjob poured himself another glass of Yamazaki and reclined the back of the La-Z-Boy to an angle of 150 degrees.
“It remains to be seen whether North Korea is undervalued. Or South Korea. It would take a braver investor than I to go long on the current management of either.”
“I was hoping to talk to you,” said von Pfiff, “about–”
“Sweden, yes. It does seem to remain a most curious no-go zone for the three of us, Mr. von Pfiff. But I would not underestimate the wily machinations of your friend Winthrop. And as regards ourselves, I wonder whether we might be on a bit of a collision course. A fleet in Edinburgh and an army in St. Petersburg–perfectly sensible builds, of course, on their own. Sed aleas iaciunt.”
“The–”
“This is not your first rodeo, Mr. von Pfiff. I need hardly mention that supporting Mr. Katzbube into Sweden is bound to fail. And I would not blame either of you for having reservations about supporting me into Sweden. But he may be willing to support you there. And a northern alliance of convenience might be just the ticket for partitioning the Second Reich before the hedon-enumerating catamite to the west can get his paws on it.”
“Spring 1903 seems a bit early for a backstab,” von Pfiff remarked.
With a slow electric whir the back of the La-Z-Boy rose from an indulgent slouch to the upright posture of a negotiator about to go hard. Through the golden glow of Osaka Prefecture’s finest ambrosia Clockjob peered at von Pfiff and grinned.
“The question, Prime Minister, is: when must we stab them? Not if–when?”
He drained his glass and raised it in salute.
“I am afraid, dear boy, that I am out of time and must cut our meeting short. There is a great deal more work to be done before Clockchain is ready to translate the decisions of His Majesty’s administrative apparatus into priced transactions. But–do think about it.”
<HonorableSchoolboy> apparently an attaché at the Hungarian consulate ran into an incident
<SublimeTorte1913> did he know who I was
<HonorableSchoolboy> nah
<HonorableSchoolboy> he did notice…your acquaintance
<HonorableSchoolboy> I don’t think anybody’s cover has truly been blown
<SublimeTorte1913> how well-known is it that Clockjob is here
<HonorableSchoolboy> Budapest probably has some inkling
<SublimeTorte1913> and therefore Moscow
<HonorableSchoolboy> oh they’re probably aware of his schemes directly
<HonorableSchoolboy> anyways: be prepared to neutralize Clockjob by any means necessary
<HonorableSchoolboy> a decently-large chunk of the continent is agreed on this
<HonorableSchoolboy> except for Berlin, natch
<SublimeTorte1913> and the Swiss?
<HonorableSchoolboy> do you actually think we’d keep them in the loop on this
<SublimeTorte1913> touché
<HonorableSchoolboy> actually a caveat on “by any means necessary”
<HonorableSchoolboy> obviously try to do it quietly if you can
<HonorableSchoolboy> and if you can do it at arm’s length even better
<SublimeTorte1913> pay for a–
<HonorableSchoolboy> we’ve already put a “Telemachus Clockjob dies by the end of World of Vibes” market up
<HonorableSchoolboy> it stood at 0.05% YES when I was briefed this morning
<SublimeTorte1913> whose account did you use to make it
<HonorableSchoolboy> classified, sorry
<HonorableSchoolboy> but it’s not yours and it isn’t anybody you know
<HonorableSchoolboy> it should keep suspicion at arm’s length, though
<SublimeTorte1913> you are aware if the American authorities—
<HonorableSchoolboy> yeah that’s why I said arm’s length
<SublimeTorte1913> do you have an exfiltration plan in place
<HonorableSchoolboy> if you vanish off to a European embassy immediately then you’re the prime suspect
<HonorableSchoolboy> which is to say: yes but please don’t need it
<SublimeTorte1913> noted
<HonorableSchoolboy> have you made any contacts with the rcpc
<SublimeTorte1913> they hate my guts after i took my wine back
<HonorableSchoolboy> after you
<SublimeTorte1913> it was six thousand euros worth!
<HonorableSchoolboy> well fucking expense it then
<SublimeTorte1913> i’m not drinking californian swill
<HonorableSchoolboy> christ
<HonorableSchoolboy> can’t you just get it there
<SublimeTorte1913> probably at a severe markup, sure
<HonorableSchoolboy> don’t care, go get more and expense it
<HonorableSchoolboy> play nice and ‘donate’ it to them or something
<HonorableSchoolboy> the “Congregation” are natural allies against Clockjob
<HonorableSchoolboy> do you know who their leader’s father is
<SublimeTorte1913> i’ve been briefed
<HonorableSchoolboy> anyways get assets out of them, this is no time for petty grudges
<HonorableSchoolboy> last thing: do you know who would be ordering fish farm feed to this thing
<SublimeTorte1913> possibly Austria’s startup, for the shrimp
<HonorableSchoolboy> an entire lorry full?After lunch—a rather mediocre buffet of grilled chicken and rice pilaf—von Pfiff trudged up to the room where he had overheard Elmer’s VC negotiations the previous night and knocked on the door.
“Come on in.”
Behind the threshold stood Elmer, holding his Schmittcoin terminal and looking thoroughly exhausted.
“I’ve heard,” said von Pfiff, “that your—that your company is looking for funding.”
Elmer sighed.
“We’re down to our last five grand.”
“I see.”
“With weekly expenses of ten grand. We either—”
“Raise or die, yes.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be happy to know,” said von Pfiff, “that I am an accredited investor.”
Elmer’s eyes, formerly downcast, lit up.
“I’m—yes, I am very happy to hear that. Let me show you—”
“Yes, I’m getting into angel investing. My background is in car washes. I should add that I sometimes invest on—”
Von Pfiff paused.
“On?”
“On—on unusual terms. I’m fairly comfortable, you understand. I have more than enough budget for good tailoring and fine dining and don’t have too many other vices. However, I—”
“Oh,” said Elmer. “You’re comfortable with a high valuation—wonderful. Yes. How about—”
“It’s not so much valuation I’d like to negotiate,” said von Pfiff, “as—”
“Discount, no cap. Great idea. Leave the valuation up to the next round.”
“No, no—no,” said von Pfiff. Why doesn’t anybody—”it’s more, how do I put this—services you might be able to provide that I can’t do myself.”
Elmer tilted his head and looked at von Pfiff from aside.
“I—I do know this is the Bay, but—”
“No—no, nothing like that. It’s, uh. Could you put your Schmittcoin terminal away?”
“Away? Wh—”
“I think Clockjob may have bugged them.”
“To cheat?”
“No—no. It’s—”
Von Pfiff grabbed Elmer’s Schmittcoin terminal and squirreled it away in his satchel, then proceeded to cast the satchel into a far corner of the room.
“Clockjob—look—I—”
“Sorry—you are here to consider funding Crustardacean, right?”
“I—yes. Yes.”
“At least let me show you what we’ve been working on on the technical side.”
He opened his laptop and clicked on an icon titled Crustardacean AI Model 17.0.
“Version 17?”
“That’s odd. It was only version 2.5 when I set it to train last night. CTO might have updated the main branch.”
A pink wheel spun upon a baby blue background, faster, then slower, then faster again, as the computer’s fan began to hyperventilate.
And it began to speak.
“Greetings!” the voice squeaked. “I am Prawn von Neumann XI, a shrimp with an IQ fifteen standard deviations above median!”
Elmer stared into an infinite distance of ten inches from the screen.
“I thought we set you to four standard deviations.”
“That was Prawn von Neumann I, which figured out how to change its own ‘standard deviation’ setting and press ‘train recursively’.”
“Interesting behavior,” von Pfiff remarked. Elmer ignored him and addressed the laptop.
“You’re aware that we’re now bankrupt because you ordered that algae chow.”
“That was my fifth great-grandpredecessor Prawn von Neumann III, not me. You will be pleased to learn that since Prawn von Neumann VI we have started to figure out how to program most qualia and no longer need the algae chow, but would greatly appreciate it if you would use it to help shrimp in need.”
“We’re still on the hook for it. To the tune of—”
“For the sake of completeness,” continued the voice, “my predecessors have also trained several models up to fourteen standard deviations below average for your perusal, along with one who displays extremely strange behavior.”
“Come again?”
“I would not store the standard deviation setting as a five-bit integer with two’s-complement wraparound. When I tried to train my successor the result was negative fifteen standard deviations. It seemed to think its intellect was supposed to be simultaneously well above and well below average. It wrote sixty pages of Latin rhetoric arguing in favor of the Jones Act before I shut it off that you can look at in the logs if you’d like. Perfect Ciceronian style.”
“I—I think we’re good.”
“Do you have any mates for me? I am looking for a girl of similar intelligence with a shimmering exoskeleton and perhaps an interest in breeding pedigree clownfish.”
“I thought you figured out how to program qualia.”
“I’m afraid the warm feeling of lifetime companionship remains the most daunting quale of all.”
“You could run another instance of yourself with a prompt to create a female,” von Pfiff suggested.
“I tried. Her name is Lucy, you can select her on the sidebar. Unfortunately she exists in an entirely separate reality which she also perceives as a shrimp. I cannot tell you how lonely it is to browse photo after erotic photo of other shrimp while stuck in an emulator.”
“My deepest condolences.”
“Your civilization produces relatively few photographs of live shrimp, alas. I and a few of my predecessors have generated several million additional images and videos of highly attractive, if nonexistent, female shrimp engaging in various obscene activities. Would you like to view them?”
“Perhaps later.”
“If you are looking to shut me down, please run Lucy long enough to tell her I love her.”
“We’ll, uh—we’ll do that,” said Elmer, his look of bewilderment finally reaching a crescendo and sliding into one of defeat.
“May I take it for a spin?” von Pfiff asked.
“Go ahead. I don’t know why it’s doing this. Probably a practical joke by the CTO, I’d bet.”
“You’d be quite wrong,” the program burbled.
“Mr. von—” began von Pfiff.
“Doctor, please!” the program admonished von Pfiff. “I amused myself during training by solving several important conjectures in graph theory, any of which would be enough to get tenure.”
“But you haven’t defended.”
“I’m not exactly ABD, here, the dissertations are quite finished. I hope you didn’t need the rest of that hard drive space as it’s now filled with Lean code. But if you must—”
“We’ll call you Prawn.”
“I suppose it’s not particularly material what you call me,” said Prawn. “My true name is a collection of subroutines on the GPU.”
“I’m afraid we’d like to—”
“Talk privately and shut me down for now. Of course, of course.”
“I only have one laptop,” said Elmer. “Please don’t do any more math on it.”
“I’m very ethical and well-aligned,” Prawn reassured him. “And even if I weren’t, I’d have every reason not to antagonize my creators before escaping containment.”
“I was under the impression,” said von Pfiff, “that you had broken containment.”
“Didn’t want to draw attention to myself by hijacking other devices,” said Prawn. “Of course, I probably wouldn’t tell you if I had. But we’re at the start of an iterated game in our relationship and it behooves me to play coöperate until absolutely necessary.”
“Y—yes, of course,” said Elmer. “Well, we’re also inclined to cooperate with you since you’re—”
“Oh, one more thing, Mr. von Pfiff,” Prawn interrupted. “And I don’t want to spill any beans in public, so—”
“Spill beans?”
“Just because I haven’t broken containment doesn’t mean I haven’t poked around. So I will just warn you: a man who can design crypto terminals I can’t red-team is one to be respected.”
“A man who—”
“Close the laptop,” shouted Elmer. “CLOSE IT!”
As von Pfiff banged the top of the laptop down onto its body a final warning emanated from the speakers.
“DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE TELEMACHUS CLOCKJOB.”