Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: Counting Lightning, published by Jsevillamol on December 7, 2021 on LessWrong.
When Samir returned to the base JiuJang waited by the entrance. There was no point in denying he had disobeyed JiuJang's warning, so he was upfront about it.
"I went outside," Samir admitted. "It was raining heavily. The wind blew so strong I barely could hear anything. And every second or so, lightning. I kept waiting for thunder to come, but there was none."
JiuJang sat down, and sunk his face between his arms.
"It is not lightning", JiuJang said. "You cannot count lightning".
"What do you mean?" Asked Samir.
JiuJang didn't respond.
Through the tinted glass, Samir could just barely notice the pulses of light. He tried counting them.
One. Another. And a third.
Then he saw it. One, two. One, two. A pattern, instead of randomness. Not lightning then.
"What does it mean?" Samir asked once more.
"It means you have doomed you and your people," JiuJang answered, somber.
One, two. One, two. The lights became brighter with every flash. Getting closer.
Samir panicked. He looked out of the window, trying to distinguish movement in the shadows. Then he ran inside the base, to alert the rest of the refugees.
JiuJang sat and waited. He knew it was pointless to do otherwise.
Seconds after, the windows broke. The drones, as always, ignored him, and lurched inside.
He heard screams. Shots. Then silence.
The drones flew out, orderly.
When the pulses grew dimmer, JiuJang descended into the basement. The door was out of its frame.
On the other side, Samir lay dead. His body was covering a smaller one - his daughter, Alotta. She was alive, but had been shot in her lungs.
Xianxi, JiuJang's wife, was trying to get Samir's corpse off her daughter. JiuJang helped her, and she rushed to cover her wounds. Xianxi was no doctor; Alotta would not live long.
A dozen other corpses were scattered throughout the room. Their faces were frozen in terror.
JiuJang sighed, shed a tear and grabbed a shovel. There were graves to be dug.
Stella zipped through the factory on her rollerblades.
She moved carefully and she moved fast. People were counting on her. Hopefully the owners were not.
She took a left and then a sharp turn right. She had memorized the schematics, and was anticipating every movement she would have to make until reaching the neural processor assembly line.
What she didn't expect was a cleaning drone in the middle of the hall.
Stella crashed against it with an unceremonious thud, and fell to the floor. She grunted.
The drone turned around, and her heart stopped beating. Then the drone turned back, and kept sweeping the floor.
Right, of course. She was wearing her seals. Any computer would recognise her as a stray cat. At least the ones using the latest patch of openCV software.
Here, she was invisible.
Stella got up and continued like an arrow.
The door to the assembly line was locked. Voice activated; not a problem for a witch of her caliber.
She took her phone out and typed the name of a script. She spoke into it, and out came her voice, disguised in the pitch of one of the factory executives.
A voice sample for fine tuning hadn't been hard to come by. He had come out in television a few days back, testifying about the slaughterbot genocide in western China.
The door opened with a click. Abracadabra. Stella let herself in, and marveled at the assembly line.
The factory was fully automated. Cameras oversaw the operation, and in theory so did the engineers sitting behind the cameras. In practice, they rarely bothered to check; there was rarely a need to.
Stella was after the neural architecture the bots were using for face recognition. With that, her coven would be able to make seals of protection for the refugees.
Not all of them. If the kill count got too low the military would realise, and quickly find the i...