The Modern Luddites

''Chamomile. That's the one!''

''... What was that dad?''

Henry turns away from his chess board towards Beth's direction. She's in the kitchenette, programming the appliances.

''It was Chamomile. You know, the herbal tea your mother used to like.''

It's a contemporary and streamlined apartment, in a modish senior residency complex - Fryer's Grove's the name, in New Hadley, the incidently new smart city. The air pollution is pretty much nonexistent, which helps for Henry's asthma.

''For the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was called. Can you believe that, I used to make it for her every morning for 35 years and I forgot! It's funny how these things just come back to you out of the blue.''

Beth is typing away on her iTaskr, without breaking stride replies ''Oh really... That's nice.''

Henry recognizes that dismissive tone in her voice; the one people use to talk to the elderly, paying no attention to what they are actually saying — almost patronizing or pitying. Henry disliked being reduced to just an old man, as if his opinions were worthless in today's world.

''Do you even listen to me? We were just talking about it!''

Beth fetches him in his espresso and plops it down next to him on the coffee table.

''I don't think we were.'' vacantly shaking her head, as if he was speaking gibberish to her.

''All you do is talk into that thing all day. Would it hurt you just to put that down and talk to your old man for once?'' motioning to her thingy, or whatever it's called nowadays.

''Things at work are just hectic at the mo. You should use yours. That way you wouldn't be forgetting things so often, if you weren't so stubborn.'' She goes back to texting.

'People have no attention span anymore it seems, whatever happened to problem solving and original thinking?' Henry wonders if perhaps he's just going senile. Nevertheless, he would rather think for himself, keeping his mind active whilst he still can than relinquish any autonomy he had left to a computer. He refused to have an IBMI (implantable brain-machine interface) on that very account.

''Anyway I can't sit around and chat all day, I've got to. And Sara is taking me out for dinner tonight. Who knows, tonight might be the night she proposes!'' She kisses her father on the head and grabs her coat.

''Have a nice time darling, and here's to hoping! Thanks for the coffee.''

She smiles compliantly, before turning away.

''See you next week maybe?''

''Yeah... maybe. Cioa''

That's interesting, Henry thinks to himself, he always pictured Beth as the proposer rather than the proposee. He goes back to his chess.

The chess clock is ticking over, as Henry is absorbed in the complexities of his own strategy. Call him old-fashioned, but he likes playing against human opponents, not the artificial intelligence that society had become so reliant on in the recent years, as it monitors every single detail through data tracking. Henry's relatively new in Fryer's Grove, and is yet to make any real friends. There's Greg who lives next door, but he's more of an annoyance than anything, not to mention, to Henry, playing chess against Greg would be like playing a gold fish — although the fish undoubtedly has a longer retention span. Henry not only despises the thought of playing chess with the centralized interface hub (center pieces in all the apartments of New Hadley) but refuses to use AI if at all possible. Obviously it comes in useful for his tailored medical plan, customary for all Fryer's Grove residents, helping to prevent him from dying in his sleep. That's the reason why he's here after all, part of the compromise he and Beth agreed upon, live here without becoming an IBMI android or rotting away in an old people's home. He got to keep some of his autonomy at least. Besides, he couldn't accidentally burn this place down with all the sensors and all. But, the medical programs are for corporal functions, not of the gray matter — the only precious resource that remained and it was soon running out. ''Checkmate!'' Henry decides it would be a good time to get his recommended nap.

Henry is awoken at 4:15 by the gentle call of alpine songbirds. Of course, his alarm. On occasion when Henry wakes up, for a brief moment, he forgets that his wife is no longer with him. For that split-second, the warmth of her presence is still felt in his heart, fresh from his dreams. The comforting serenity of knowing his soul mate's by his side soon evaporates. The One, his beacon, his sustenance, taken from this world too soon. Carrying with him the pain to this day, for always. Margot passed away due to an accident involving a self driving car on Fenchurst Street. The enchanting yet artificial bird song that rung out in the room served as reminder of that. To the unfairness of life. He would give anything to have her back, including his own life; now, all but for Beth, meaningless. Her urn sits on the mantle piece proudly, like the proud woman his wife Margot was. She visits less and less often nowadays, does Beth. Henry surmises that the only reason she visits at all is because she feels obligated since he's a widower. They haven't always had the smoothest relationship, after all. 'Clock in, clock out, back on with my high roller life. If anything he should be thankful I stop by at all, given how busy I am.' He loves her dearly, although that was the resentful impression she gave off on occasion. 'Maybe the poor girl feels burdened by my aimless, disjointed ramblings of nostalgia for a bygone era sometimes. Perhaps she feels I wasn't there enough for her, so she just want to get on with her golden years without my hindrance'. Henry wasn't sure how to feel; he was never the best with his emotions, not uncommon for a man.

The golden light of the early evening seeps in through the french doors invitingly. And the warm evening is the perfect excuse to sit out on the balcony and enjoy basking in the rare British sunshine, a cigar and a glass of scotch in hand. Unfortunately those commodities had become outlawed. Cigarettes and other tobacco products are illegal all across the UK, and had been for several years. Alcohol wasn't prohibited nationwide but it was in New Hadley and certain other districts — although that didn't stop Henry keeping a secret stash of scotch. After putting on his dressing gown over his pajamas, he removes his electronic wristband, tossing it on the small dinning table; it's time for an aperitif. He gets himself a thick glass, retrieving what appears to be a bottle of ice tea from the cupboard under the kitchen sink, and pours out a generous drink, with an ice cube from the fridge door. Not exactly vintage, but it does the job. Slipping on his sandals, Henry slides open the glass doors and makes his way to the recliner, equipped with his book of the moment. Again, as you can guess, it's a real book made from paper, not an ebook. The technophobe is a relic in today's age. Although a sun lounger that is height adjustable by the push of a button, facilitating getting in and out, does come in handy for a gentleman of his age. Just as he puts he lips to brim of his whiskey, he can't help but noticing a distant yet profuse noise. Naturally inquisitive, he makes his way to the balcony's edge. Henry looks out from his vantage point, it's coming from the far side of the central park in the near distance. It sounds like chanting, the rallying call of a protest. Sure enough, a crowd begins to emerge from the bind spot. Protesters and lots of them, and they are making their way through the park in his direction.

The recent unrest was well documented in the media, not that Henry kept up with current events anymore. It was portrayed as per usual the protesters were vilified as unappeasable, unemployed and uneducated with too much time on their hands complaining that the government is running a big brother like conspiracy because their useless jobs got replaced by machines. Thus, why Henry had stopped following the news. But for the anti-AI protests to make there way to New Hadley? It flew in the face of the media's narrative. Henry realizes that he isn't alone in his thinking, all these good people were testimony to that. A buzz of a drone flies past, monitoring over the crowd, they were as common as pigeons now. Hundreds of people from diverse walks of life, of different ages and backgrounds, marching peacefully, protesting against the stranglehold artificial intelligence holds on society, moving as one in the heart of a futurist city. They held up signs displaying peace and freedom from the technology, and they chanted rallying calls for their cause. Most noticeable however was the sense of community and togetherness that radiated from them, almost a carnival atmosphere. They were willing to speak their minds, and they were willing to stand up for what they believed in. Their chanting resonated with him ''Power to the people. A-I is evil.'' Then it came to him: why not join them. 'Why should I let my age define what I can do and be subjected to something I don't agree with. I still have a voice.' The call to emancipation, to find belonging once again. A chance to have his say has presented it's self, and Henry decides to grab it with both hands. He finds his feet walking towards them as if of their own volition — despite that he's old, or more to the point, despite that he's in his dressing gown; like his body has not given him a choice, he goes along acquiescently. ''I'm actually doing it!''

Once out of Fryer's Grove and on the verdant streets beneath, Henry can fully take in the ambiance and the magnitude of the events unfolding. The modern Luddites as they will later be coined by the press, and later still, branded as a terrorist organization. And Henry is at the forefront of it all. The surprisingly mild evening enables him to go on his dressing gown in relative comfort. The crowd welcomes him with open arms, even cheering him; he is quite the attraction. Living proof that their message touches every one. Henry found people truly interested in who he is: not just an old man, but a figure of wisdom. They chat and sing and parade down the clean tree-lined pedestrian streets of the city, united by their humanity and their disdain for the invasive AI forced upon their lives. To his surprise, a lot of them are from New Hadley themselves. Rarely had a protest run so smoothly, with minimal police intervention and delinquency from protesters. As much of a celebration of freewill and unity as a stand against the oppression they face from the government and big business. Appearing that people have awoken to their strength in unity, the crowd isn't likely to disband anytime soon, with plans of a sit in at the park. The public order watches on from the sidelines ready to step in but hoping it fizzles out. After all they don't want the bad publicity for their new multi-billion pound smart city. Henry realizes that they were far out numbered by the swarms of peaceful protesters. A people from all scopes of life, feeling disenfranchised and deprived of their freedom, deserved by their government, but bound together by a common cause. Henry has become acquainted with a tall well-dressed Ethiopian man named Abel who worked in London as an Interior designer. He asks Abel about who is leading the movement, and he is told that the protest is part of a movement called Humans First, spearheaded by a charismatic figure referred to as The Wanderer, and he is soon to be giving a speech, if he hadn't already started. They are at the tail end of their brigade, and making their way towards the large open space of the picture perfect Central Plaza. Henry soon realizes that this is bigger than he first thought, thousands upon thousands have amassed. Henry feels like he is witnessing history unrolling before his eyes. On the opposite side of the plaza is a stage, where everyone is facing. Henry can just about make out a long haired man in baggy clothes appear on stage, with an old-fashioned megaphone and has started addressing the people with a zesty conviction. Henry is soon to get closer and hear what The Wanderer has to say.

*as we know, good people of the Earth the current government doesn't care about us, that's why they replace our jobs with robots, and sell our data to companies, because it makes them more money. They don't serve us, us who elected them, they serve capitalists that covertly run our great land. The two party system is two sides of the same coin, and the AI suits them both. It's funding their dirty wars to divide us further. How long until the AI overthrows humanity all together? How long until armies of AI robots desolate civilization? Progress! what progress? The wealth gap has never been so apparent as it is today. We can't even afford to buy property. Politicians are liars — we all know this, and the fact that this common knowledge is so widely accepted stands as a testament that our system is failing us. They try to silence us, restrict our message. But our message is too strong to be suppressed. The message of the will of the people! Of hope. Of freedom. Throughout history, it has remained! But we can do better. We will have a system that reflects true democracy. We will elect leaders will govern with honesty, and altruism, the people's rights as a priority. Time after time we the honest tax payers have been let down. But today we say no more! We deserve better! Since when did productivity mean more than humanity, they reduce us to no more than numbers on screens. We are more and we will always be more! We deserve better! If we can go to Mars, we can end worldwide suffering! We can reclaim our personal freedom! Because we deserve better! Because we are all humans of this Earth! Today fellow human, let's rejoin with nature and resist the tyranny of the state! Let's retake out humanity! Let's find solutions! Join us, fellow citizens of Earth, Humans first!*

The crowd erupts in jubilation. It is a special place in this very moment. A specific arrangement of faces, not just the entity of the crowd, but humans who are all present, all pulling together. This awoke a new fire for life within Henry, like he has not felt in years. This is his new calling: to overthrow the AI machines that had invaded our beautiful organic lives and tried to control our thoughts. But he wouldn't be silenced without a putting up a fight. 'For we are nothing more than skin and bones without our thoughts.' Henry realizes he didn't have many years left, but it was his duty to put those remaining years to use. He spots an AI operated cleaning robot patrolling a quite street to his side. Fueled by his newly found energy, he attacks the cleaning robot with an adjacent brick that had come lose. Mustering all his force he destroys the defenseless robot with a vengeance, causing great uproar amongst his fellow protesters, and he was lauded a hero. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, defiance to the oppressor and belonging to his fellow human. This iconic moment of man overthrowing machine is inevitably captured on camera, as was everything in this age, making the news big time, becoming a symbol of the new Luddite uprising. It's in time of crisis that people pull together. And the people have finally awoken to the danger. Henry has left his old life at Fryer's Grove behind, and joined the cause. Humans first. The only trace he leaves is a letter addressed to Beth who has never seen him again. Henry had become the iconic with the modern Luddites

*

The rain drops speckle the glass pain as Beth looks out the window of her ostentatious London penthouse office. The City. The skyline has changed since back when she had started her career. She nurses a whiskey, one cube of ice, as she reminisces. Where is he, the crazy old man. If he is still even alive. He would be seventy-four now, with a long list It still pains her to this day. What could she have done different. So much. Maybe he's happy. She knows sure as hell she isn't. Sara is long gone by now. Sure she's got her dream job, lots of friends, an acclaimed reputation; but she's lonely. Beth can remember that day as clear as crystal, the last time she saw him. The day of the infamous photo. Why couldn't he just be happy at that place. Why couldn't she have been a better daughter, and listened more. Henry's brain was an enigma to her, the genius. 'My father, the terrorist, enemy of the state.' She never admits that she's the mad old Luddite's daughter. But she still carries his letter close to her heart, every day. And it still brings a tear to her eye when she reads it. That infamous photo was the last time she saw him. The modern Luddite. What would he say to her today, and what would she say to him. ''Here's to you dad, where ever you are.'' She takes a gulp of whiskey and looks up to the stars. The nights sky is full of lights; the spatial expansion. Life goes on.