The Last Noelle of Hannah Fishbein

The Last Noel of Hannah Fischbein

Lea Wade - Author

Hannah Fischbein preferred a life of simplicity. It has always been her goal to avoid life's little dramas and complications and growing up in a home with congenial parents and no siblings to rival contributed greatly to her happiness. Over time, she had developed the notion that marriage would become an obstacle to that happiness and saw no reason to pursue it.

Upon graduation from college, Hannah eagerly moved from her parent's home to her own apartment in the upscale North Hill neighborhood of Spokane. Now, at twenty-eight years old, she finds immense joy in her independent lifestyle, relishing the freedom she has created for herself.

Still, Hannah's single status lifestyle is not without its consequences. One of which is the barrage of invitations from married friends and colleagues to join their dinner parties—usually around the holidays. For Hannah to be invited, there must be an odd number of guests. "She will even out the numbers," they say. To her, this is a not-so-cleverly disguised way of saying, "Why are you not married?" 

Out of all the evenings, this one is Christmas Eve. Hannah agrees to accept the invitation to join the table for six at her friends Talitha and Fred Whitaker’s home in the suburbs of Spokane, Washington, for one specific reason. She wants to avoid going to the Peking Chinese Restaurant. It's an annual tradition her Jewish parents cherish. Their friends from the country club often join them and view it as a chance to introduce Hannah to their eligible sons. 

Hannah dislikes when people try to find a partner for her and actively avoids situations involving matchmakers if possible. She questions whether this constant ritual of pairing up is for her benefit or more for the benefit of others. It seems her friends and family, who are married, have reached a consensus that it is not normal for her to choose to remain unmarried. They hold the belief that she is afraid of committing to relationships—she knows they are right.

This evening, the intended target has the unremarkable name of Skip Thomas. He's handsome in a classic, Jane Eyre-Mr. Rochester sort of way. His appearance is dark and introspective, featuring remarkably large brooding brown eyes—the color of chestnuts. Attempting to strike up a conversation, Hannah asks if Skip is his nickname.

         Surprised, he responds, "Yes, I’m Skipper. I thought that would be obvious." 

"Oh," she says taken aback. "Were you in the Navy?"

With little patience, he snaps, "No. It's just the name my parents laid on me."

Hannah, attempting to further the discussion, makes inquiries regarding Skip’s relationship with their hosts. He reveals Fred is his boss at the software engineering firm where they are both employed. He states he has worked there since graduating from MIT three years prior.

"I see. So basically, Fred is your skipper, huh?" Hannah chuckles. 

Skip does not find the question humorous. 

Fortunately for Hannah, the remaining dinner guests have by now arrived, relieving her of any further obligation to continue the arduous conversation with Skip. Talitha's close friend Caroline, and her therapist husband Adam, have now completed the whole of the party. Having exchanged perfunctory introductions, the group continues to the drawing room. A cozy fire has been prepared and is supplying a comforting warmth. Standing tall on the corner opposite the fireplace is a beautifully adorned Christmas tree. The decorations shimmer with a radiant glow, reflecting the flickering flames of the fire. Festive holiday music drifts into the room. Cocktails and appetizers are presented on silver platters, creating a flawless ambience on a frigid winter night. 

Caroline settles on the sofa, purposely choosing the spot next to Hannah. "What is your opinion of Skip?" She whispers with a humorous lilt.

“He’s quiet. I think he may be uneasy since he doesn’t know any of us, other than Fred,” Hannah says.

"He's handsome though don't you think?" Caroline smiles her best matchmaker smile.

"Not you too! Caroline, it is simply dinner with friends. I'm not ready to embark on a trip down the aisle." 

"Okay, but if you were ready, would he be a contender?"

Hannah shakes her head and thinks “it’s going to be a long, boring evening.”

         By the time they sat down for dinner, flakes of snow were hitting the windowpanes. The weather was beginning to change. As expected, Hannah's name was paired with Skips. Hoping to go unnoticed, she swaps it with Caroline who is seated across from her. Fortunately, Talitha refrains from commenting on the obvious change to save everyone from embarrassment. 

The conversation unfolds, as it will, with three women present at the table: nonsensical and trivial incidents involving their husbands, antics of their pets, children, and other things domestic. Hannah has none of these things to discuss and remains silent, as does Skip Thomas. 

While enjoying the continuous flow of wine, Fred and Adam chat about the usual stuff—sports and work. During his discussion with Fred, Adam makes inquiries about any upcoming innovative features expected in future computers.

"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you," Fred says.

They all laugh, except Skip Thomas.

"Something creative, I hope," Adam says. 

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Programs to help us be more efficient in our work. It would be great if we could find something that can help us with our tasks and reduce our workload. I personally would benefit from having something like that, I'm sure."

"Yes, I see. Something akin to the HAL 9000."

"What?” Adam says, obviously not understanding the reference.

 "The computer in 2001 A Space Odyssey," Fred explains.

Adam nods his head, “Oh, yes, that's right. Altered universe sort of thing. That would be an amusing experience. Think about it. A computer," Adam suggests, "that not only stores all knowledge but also brings to life whatever you can imagine."

Fred lowers his head, looking at Adam over the top of his glasses, he scrutinizes him. "So, you consider yourself a futurist, do you?"

"Why not? Would it be so terrible? Just think of the possibilities—medical and technological advances for a start."

"Yes, and what do you think will happen to future children? Will they need to go to school when they can just rely on computers to provide answers for all their questions? The presence of sophisticated computers and robotics will eliminate the need for human workers, resulting in a lack of jobs. The entire monetary structure of the world might collapse." 

Fred takes another swig of wine. “Brings to mind the old cliché. Be careful what you wish for, Adam."

"Why do you keep working on artificial intelligence if you're not a fan of the concept?" Adam's wine consumption is clearly making him heady.

"I'm not opposed to the idea. In certain areas, under specific guidelines, it can have its usefulness. However, in my mind, releasing it freely to the public is not a viable option," Fred says.

Adam nods his head. "I think it's worth considering. Robotics is already being used through various surgical procedures. Manufacturers make use of robotic arms and other similar equipment. There is no doubt it is the wave of the future. Personally, I look forward to the AI revolution."

"What does HAL stand for?" Hannah says.

"It's an acronym for heuristically programmed algorithmic computer. The two primary processes of intelligence," Fred says.

Hannah catches sight of Fred toggling his eyes between Skip and Adam. Her intuition tells her the conversation is about to take a dangerous turn. Inevitably, arguments will erupt, and feelings may be hurt. Having witnessed countless table discussions like this before, she feels it is time to steer the conversation in a different direction. "I read we're expecting heavy snow tonight.”

Grateful for the segue, Talitha Whitaker smiles at Hannah. "By the sound of that wind, it might be soon.”

As the evening grows late, the chilly winter wind blows strong and carries the threat of snow. The residents and guests at 2100 Quail Valley Road are unaware of the impending storm as they try to enjoy their Noel celebration. With the progression of dinner and the shift towards a more heated conversation, Hannah feels increasingly uneasy.

The condition of the weather is deteriorating, causing sporadic power surges alerting everyone to the situation. They realize they must head home, but the gentle snowfall has transformed into a blizzard. They cannot leave and must wait it out. 

Dinner, now concluded, the group gathers once again in the cozy drawing room. Considering the imminent power outage, candles are lit and placed around. The fireplace is replenished with wood and blankets distributed, ensuring everyone's warmth and comfort. With no means of escape available, they have no choice but to settle in for the duration. Skip Thomas has spoken few words since arriving that evening. Hannah doesn't see him as a shy individual, yet there is an air of distinctiveness about him. It feels to her as though he's operating on autopilot, only responding when asked a question. Sitting on the floor near the fireplace, she leans against the wall and glances up at him. Her curiosity is piqued by his apparent withdrawal. 

"Skip, tell me about your family," she says.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm working on unraveling your personality."

"Are you saying you want to get to know me better?"

Hannah laughs at his child-like demeanor. "Of course not. It's going to be a long night and we may be stuck here for a while. I thought I'd make conversation, that's all."

Skip inclines his head, reflecting on what she said. "The probability of early morning clearing will mark the end of the snowfall, and the climate will gradually become warmer. We will be able to leave around noon," he says atonally.

"You can't possibly know that?" Hannah argues. "Do you have a direct line to the weather station?" 

"Yes, I do," Skip says. 

Shaking her head, Hannah muses to herself, "This guy is indescribably odd."

Fred stokes the fire, sending sparks flittering about. He is determined to pivot the conversation back to the future of artificial intelligence.

         "Adam, do you confidently think you can differentiate between a robot and an actual person during a conversation?" 

"Of course! That's a ridiculous question," Adam says.

Fred addresses Hannah. "How about you? Are you of the same opinion?"

"Well, I hope so. Just what are you getting at?" Hannah says.

Fred nods. "Consider the idea that advancements in robotics have reached a point where encountering someone with artificial intelligence is no longer considered unusual. In fact, it is the norm. Even though they appear ordinary and communicate like everyone else, they possess an exceptional cognitive ability to predict weather patterns and correctly forecast the outcome of the World Series or author your graduate thesis with little input."

Hannah directs her eyes toward the opposite side of the room. Skip's gaze locks with hers, causing a shiver down her spine. 

"Take Skip here. He works for a computer engineering firm, yet he has no use for computers or cell phones. He doesn't watch television or search the internet. He has no need to. He doesn't give a fig about Facebook, Twitter, or any of those social networks. Why do you think that is?" Fred says.

"I don't know." Adam looks over at Skip. "Maybe since computers are his line of work, he doesn't want a busman's holiday."

"Yes, perhaps. Or consider the possibility that our friend Skip is, in fact, a computer himself." Fred lights a cigar and waits for a reply.

"He sure acts like one," Hannah says under her breath.

"For everyone's information, 'SKIP,' which, by-the-way, stands for Solitary Key Interchange Protocol, is an actual walking, talking computer created to be a male for our experiment."

Adam cast a quick glance in Skip's direction. "What? Are you kidding me? He's not a robot. He's just an introverted fellow with little to say."

Fred clears his throat. "No Adam, he isn't."

Adam's jaw drops in disbelief and astonishment at the concept of a human computer. "That's amazing! What can he do?"

"Everything from scrubbing dishes to quantum physics. Given little training, he might just take over your job."

"Nah, he doesn't have the sensitivity and heart to deal with my clients."

"You're correct. Yet your clients can have confidence that any information he shares with them is exact. By eliminating the emotional aspect and presenting only the facts, individuals can make more precise decisions. If they seek someone to provide comfort, they can always rely on you to hold their hand."

Hannah looks at Fred. "Let me make sure I understand correctly. You're proposing that Skip is an AI living in human form?"

"Not exactly. He's a humanoid in that he looks human, but in fact, he isn't."

The room falls silent as everyone continues to stare at Skip who shows no emotion.

"By the way, Adam, do you recall how the movie 2001 ended?" Fred asks.

 "Not exactly, no."

"HAL, took over the spacecraft and killed all the astronauts except Dave." 

"What happened to Dave?" Hannah asks.

 "Dave was forced to deactivate the AI system, which resulted in HAL's demise."

Once again, all eyes turn to Skip. A renewed sense of nervousness becomes apparent. 

Fred smiles at the group. "You see, by deleting the human element, humanity itself would become superfluous."

By now, the evening has turned to night. An uncomfortable stillness enveloped the room as the group grew quiet and suspicious. Wrapped in blankets and comforted by the wine, they slowly fall asleep, one by one. Everyone, except Skip Thomas. He stays watchful, carefully monitoring the fire as it dwindles to glowing embers.

When morning comes, Hannah discovers Skip in the kitchen. He offers her a cup of coffee while making eye contact. Without warning, a smile appears on his face. Not just any artificial, forced smile. An authentic sentiment that originates from the depths of his heart and radiates across his face, brightening his eyes.

Filled with overwhelming joy, Hannah bursts into laughter. She laughs so hard tears form in her eyes. She laughs because she realizes the entire scenario from the previous evening was carefully orchestrated.

"Hello Hannah Fischbein, my name is Craig Abrams. It’s nice to meet you." 

She smiles, shaking her head at him. "It was all one big joke."

Craig places the coffee on the bar and walks over to her. "Not all of it. I have graduated from MIT, and I do work with Fred."

"But why did you do it? Was it to get back at Adam for something?"

"No. It was so I could meet you, Hannah."

"Oh, I see. My parents set this up?"

"Well, in a way. It was your parents and, of course, Fred, and Talitha. But we hadn't planned the blizzard. That was just dumb luck." He chuckles. "Are you angry?"

Hannah smiles. "I am the opposite of angry. I am amused and appreciative that everyone went to so much trouble. What about that AI thing with Adam? Was he in on the joke as well?"

"No, that was just for fun. He had it coming."

Craig puts his arm around Hannah's shoulder and whispers, "The plows have cleared the roads by now. Are you up for Chinese? I know just the place. Always open on Christmas day."

 "Absolutely! But just to be clear, there are no computer chips implanted in your brain, or fingers or toes?"

"Well, to quote Shakespeare's 'Shylock’ if you prick me, do I not bleed?" Craig smiles.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Hannah says.

“Let’s find out,” he says as he casually reaches to open a kitchen drawer to grab a small, sharp knife. He turns back to Hannah, lifts his hand with the palm facing up, and slowly slides the sharp edge across it.

 Startled, Hannah waits for the blood streak to emerge. It doesn’t.

 “Or, to quote Macbeth, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,” she says over her shoulder as she storms from the room. Her parents’ latest efforts have gone for naught.

Craig looks down at his hand as the first drop of blood comes to surface—too little, too late.