One Question

I wasn't one of the quantum scientists that built the machine, or one of the MIT graduates that kept it running. No -- just a lowly data scientist. A specialist in predictive algorithms that, frankly, made me feel like a low-rent stage magician in the company of actual Middle Earth wizards.

The government paid me to predict "catastrophic revelations that could undermine national security." They'd created a machine that could unravel centuries of belief or secrets or misinformation, and they knew damn well how dangerous that was. But they'd also taken a bit too long to cover it up. The public -- the world -- knew about the Machine. In a bid for self-preservation, the suits in Washington made asking it a question a matter of a national lottery.

How long did we have before some auto mechanic from the Midwest asked a question that destabilized the whole country? Started a war? Exposed a fake moon landing?

I could extend that timeline by running my simulations against a lifetime of the auto mechanic's personal data. With reasonable certainty, I could determine if he'd be more likely to ask about conspiracy theories or religion. Not that there were many good questions left in the latter category.

All of the good questions had been mined out of that vein. Does God exist? What's the meaning of life? What happens after we die?

It's those early questions that revealed the Machine's flaw. It was capable of answering any question, but extremely limited when it came to providing answers we could understand.

For the record, its answers to those three questions were: Yes, but not here; You'll know it when you see it; It's better than this, I can tell you that much.

Some theorize that the Machine is playing a joke on mankind. Others believe that it's so hyper-intelligent, that it has no choice but to answer our questions like we're its naive children.

I have no opinion at this point. Least of all today, when I need to be focused on the next lottery winner's data. She's an interesting one...