Ethical Concerns and AI Botflies

When Little Plump Jo and her five overexcitable writing companions, the Dabrowski Dogs arrived, they were greeted outside Sir Lancelot’s door by Merlin.

“He wants to have time with you in your role of Epiphany Provoker; but you are quite within your rights to refuse or to leave early. His mood is quite erratic this morning -to say the least!”

“No worries! I will go in first and cheer him up!” That was Psycho Motor Dabrowski who had come wearing a jester’s hat for just such a situation.

“He had a very bad night” Merlin said, “in a lot of pain and grappling with some heavy ethical and philosophical and metaphysical issues.”

Little Plump Jo had been having her own share of sleeplessness, caused by grappling with ethical issues. As the Artisan in Residence in Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies she was expected to record the tales of the Arthurian legends accurately, according to directions by Malory Tennyson. But she had lost her grip on the plot and characters. Elaine had escaped from her role as Elaine the Fair, the Lily Maid of Astolat, and was now creating her own story as Lady Charlotte-Elaine, Lady of Shalott and Entrepreneur Owner of Charlotte’s Web Weaving.

And now Sir Lancelot du Lac had appointed her as his Epiphany Provoker and wanted her to help him create several completely new chapters in his story. If LPJ worked as Lancelot’s Epiphany Provoker, would she be betraying Malory Tennyson? Would she need to leave the security and benefits of Cloudbank Cabin? And what would happen when Sir Lancelot wanted to return to the Fog Lake to fight beside King Arthur in the final Battle of Camlann. Would the presence of Lancelot and his Benoic troops be enough to change the result of that battle? And, if so, would Arthur still die and how would Le Morte d’Arthur conclude?

“I have to ask you a rather strange question” Merlin said. “I must ask if you have been doing research about the traction device I set up for Lancelot?”

“Yes, of course! I had to search for information about what a traction sling for a fractured femur would look like, and how it could be used as a temporary measure to ease pain and position the limb. The device you created was almost exactly the same as ones I saw illustrated.”

“And now I must ask you an even stranger question. Does your research involve a system whereby information and ideas flow at rapid speeds along a road like the great Roman roads; but roads that go all around the world?”

“Well, yes, sort of! I use a system called the Internet for searching and it has been called the Information Superhighway. Information and ideas can travel around the world by this method. Why do you ask?”

“Lancelot was convinced that there were botflies, like the ones that bother horses, along the frame of the traction device and also swarming around the wound on his leg. I reassured him that there were no flies. But he insisted that they were ‘droning’. I thought he was just feverish and called Morgan Todd who gave him a sleeping draught, which did not take effect.”

“He said they are called AI botflies and they have eyes in their bodies and they fly around and see things. So, the flies agitate the horses and make them skittish and the flies lay their eggs, which also have eyes, in the hairs around the horse’s fetlocks and they can see where the horse is going and tell the enemy where you are. And then these AI botflies fly along these roads that are like the great Roman roads but go all around the world and they tell what they find out about you. And anybody can search and see what you are doing. We gave him another sleeping draught but he still would not settle.”

“Last night I researched how much poppy syrup would be needed to make a man sleep and it wanted to know how heavy the man was, so I guessed at several different weights” mused Jo.

“Well, he finally slept; but not before he started to speculate about whether his thoughts were his own or whether he only thought that because someone else thought that – and if the other person thought that first, was he allowed to think that also – and would he be stealing their thoughts and if so should he be paying for them- and could these AI botflies steal his thoughts – or could these AI botflies make him think thoughts that he did not want to think?”

“Why did he call them AI botflies?” asked Jo.

“I have no idea! As I said you are quite within your rights to leave if he is being difficult.”

“Well, it could provide useful material for his new chapters” said Little Plump Jo. “I guess I am prepared to risk it.”

As they entered Psycho Motor could be seen bouncing up and down beside the bed, setting the bells on his hat jingling.

“Sometimes I wake up grumpy – and sometimes I just let him sleep!

Boom Tish! Thank you, thank you! I will be here all week!”

Lancelot, however, was not amused. “Do not mock me, Chien Psychopath! Go through the door, down the corridor, turn left, then right and vacate the building – MAINTENANT!”

Psycho Motor sat down, bewildered and looked to Jo for clarification. Jo snickered to herself.

“If you want him to go out, you say Psycho Motor - Outside NOW!” she said and Psycho Motor promptly left the room.

“Do you see them, Little Plump Jo? The AI botflies – they have laid eggs on the sling, and they are droning around my leg, and on my food, and around the tapestries on the walls. Then they fly around the room as if they are registering every stone in the walls and every flagstone on the floor. They are droning and spying and they will share the information they find. For whom are they spying?”

“I do not know, Lancelot.” Little Plump Jo did not want to say that she could not see them.

She was saved from that admission by Imaginational Dabrowski suggesting “Maybe they are fairies and you can see them because as a child you lived in the Fairy Kingdom under the Lake.”

“That is a ludicrous falsehood spread by ignorant people.” Lancelot exclaimed. “I was saved from drowning as an infant by Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, and she took me to her island in the middle of the lake. It is an ordinary island. But as the lake is often shrouded in mist (much like the Fog Lake) people assume that it is the gateway to Fairyland. It is quite ridiculous to say that these AI botflies are fairies!”

Imaginational was quick to fire back “So fairies are ridiculous but AI botflies are not? Where do you stand on dragons?”

“Oh, dragons are real. They are remnants of much larger creatures who once roamed the Earth. There are not many left now and most are quite small. We have sanctuaries for them in my own land beyond the narrow sea. I killed one in Lady Elaine’s garden, I am sorry to say. But it was prophesied that I would, so maybe it is pardonable. Except that Lady Elaine was not King Pelles' daughter; so, I may have to kill another one sometime for that prophecy to be correctly fulfilled.”

That could have changed the topic and ended the whole AI Botfly discussion; but no, Intellectual Dabrowski’s curiosity had been aroused and he was considering connections, citations, or references which could explain the matter.

He took Little Plump Jo aside and said “He is the only one who sees them. To me that suggests these possibilities (assuming that he did not ever live with fairies and/or is not part fairy himself – which would account for his invincibility and strangeness)

1 He is hallucinating - fair to assume, given the pain he is in

2 He is going mad as told in the legends

3 It is a side effect of pain relief or sleep medication – quite possible

4 He has the spiritual gift of prophecy and receives prophetic dreams or visions – a possibility - as we know he has the spiritual gift of healing by laying on of hands and there was an old hermit, Nacien, in his ancestry, who had prophetic gifting

5 This is a blurring of the boundaries of reality and fiction – could very well be true

6 This is an example of a time warping experience – possible

7 This is part of his NDE when he went off-script in the Fog Lake re-enactment and The Glitch happened – he is maybe still in the shadow?

8 This is an imagined conspiracy theory – believing he is being watched – that is possible.”

“For me, it rather hinges on why he calls these things AI Botflies” said Little Plump Jo. “I would like Merlin to come in and be part of this conversation.”

“Why do you call these things that are droning around you AI Botflies, Sir Lancelot?” Little Plump Jo asked.

“Because that is what they are. Why do I call horses ‘horses’ ? Why do I call dogs ‘dogs’? Because that is what they are. Why are they called that? I do not know. I did not name them.”

“Merlin, how did you decide how to make the splint and sling device? And how did you and Morgan Todd decide how much poppy syrup to give?”

“There was information about both those topics in old books in the Camelot archives.”

“You gave me poppy syrup?” Lancelot exploded, “against my expressed wishes? You did not allow me to even try to be unwincable? No wonder I feel so grumpy and out of sorts this morning!”

“I have a possible theory about this,” Jo said, “ but I need to go back to Cloudbank Cabin to check a few things. I will return soon.”

Back in Cloudbank Cabin with her computer and good Internet access, Jo searched for information about computer imaging used in archaeological digs at the supposed Camelot site. Yes, it was being used and the walls and flagstones on the floor were being measured, just as Lancelot had described. And the information found in the ancient books could have easily been uploaded to the Internet by now.

So, in some way, when Jo made her Internet search, she was accessing the same information at the same time as Merlin and Morgan Todd.

And Little Plump Jo had seen on many occasions how the AI was making connections between pieces of information, usually with the purpose of advertising products that fitted her needs. When she had researched the size of travelling cases for a story about Elaine, she had been bombarded in her Facebook feed next day with advertisements for suitcases. It seemed that the Internet and AI knew almost as much about Little Plump Jo and her life and interests and concerns as she did herself.

Jo despised AI because she believed it was stealing and devaluing the Intellectual Property of Creatives – artists, authors, composers. It was taking away even their meagre earnings by making facsimiles. Why pay $20,000 for an original, if for $9.95 you could purchase a very close copy? Why write your own music if you could request a tune in the style of the artist you liked?

So, had Jo ever used AI? She had never said write me a poem about this topic in the style of Alfred, Lord Tennyson or write me a battle scene or even write me a hot love scene! However, often when she entered a search term, even before the links were given, there would be an AI summary of the topic. It was often sufficient to just read the summary rather than access the articles. So, yes Jo had used AI.

Next, Jo went to check with Malory Tennyson what section of Le Morte d’Arthur was currently being re-enacted in the Fog Lake.

“I have a film crew here who are making a short film about the Battle of Camlann and the death of King Arthur. It works well because we do not need Lancelot for the Battle of Camlann.”

Jo returned to Camelot and shared her findings.

“Then does Mordred know that I cannot be there? Is he mounting the Saxon invasion now, so that I cannot bring the forces of Benoic to Arthur’s aid?” queried Lancelot.

“I do not know whether Mordred knows” Jo replied. “I just know that is what is about to happen in the Fog Lake.”

“I must be there!” announced Lancelot.

(“Not in context; but a great quote anyway!” barked Intellectual.)

“I MUST be there! Bring me my chariot of fire!”

(“Nice allusion!” barked Intellectual.)

“Help me to the chariot!”

“ Ah! Quel douleur atroce! Excruciating pain!” he exclaimed as he tried to put weight on his splinted leg.

“I feel your pain!” barked Sensual Dabrowski “Do not try to walk! Merlin and Morgan Todd will assist you”

“Morgan Todd, I require a threefold dose of pain relief! I am also feeling quite faint. Is that just the pain? Have I been taking the herbals while I have been here, Merlin?”

“Yes, they were in the bean soup I brought you.”

“I have not eaten the soup since Arthur starting bringing me food.”

“ Do you really want to do this?”

“Yes, I must! Psycho Motor Dabrowski, lead us in Scream Therapy now!”

“GGRRRRRRR! WOOOOOF! GROOOOWL!” obliged Psycho Motor and was echoed by all in the room.

“Play something from Wagner or Ride of the Valkyries or whatever that music was at the end of the film Excalibur” commanded Intellectual to nobody in particular. Maybe Siri, Google, Alexa, or someone similar was listening, as epic inspiring music swelled in the room.

Lancelot arrived in his chariot at Camlann, the place where the mere meets the sea, in time to see the barge baring King Arthur, The Once and Future King, to Avalon already receding in the distance.

His Hero’s To Do list would require him to go to the abbey and find Queen Guinevere now; but somehow he knew that she would refuse him. And he had been trying to rewrite that part of his story anyway. And right now, he did not have any strength left to go any further.

Back at the Fog Lake the film crew were packing up and the battle scene was being cleaned away.

“The king is dead! Long live the royalties revenue stream!”

The film crew whooped and high fived and clinked their ales.

“And we came in under budget too; thanks to Malory Tennyson’s generous supply of unnamed non-canon characters for the battle scene!”

Over in the Tavern the mood was not so up-beat. Jovial Janny Joiner poured consoling ciders for all.

“Malory Tennyson dudded us right proper, he did. He can bring in those no names for a hundredth of the price he pays for named and canon characters. He said at the Backstories Movement March that the re-enactments would recommence with proper respect given to unnamed and non-canon characters. But look at this now! The ones of us that now have names and backstories will not be hired any more. And the unnamed ones will be only paid a pittance!”

The couple composing the Tristan and Isolde opera were not impressed with the film crew either. They were creating high quality classical work, worthy to be accepted into the canon of Arthuriana, they said, whereas these, these….

these rough, noisy, yahoos and lay abouts were producing low budget steampunk travesties! They were pleased to see them dismantling their gear and leaving the Fog Lake.

Little Plump Jo and the five Dabrowski dogs returned to the Fog Lake hoping to see whether Sir Lancelot would arrive in time to fight beside King Arthur. They arrived in time to see the barge carrying Arthur, the Once and Future King, away to the Isle of Avalon.

In time to see the battle field being cleared of dead and wounded characters.

In time to hear the film crew hooting about their use of the cheap unnamed, unbackstoried characters.

“Do characters really die in these re-enactments?” asked Jo, horrified.

“Well, duh!” barked Psycho Motor Dabrowski. “It is just the same as the Roman gladiatorial arenas and the Arthurian tournaments. It is one possible way out of poverty and nonamedness.”

“See,” said Intellectual Dabrowski “they are putting tags on the bodies. A black tag means they are a dead no name – give them a regular burial, white tag they are a dead canon character – give them a lavish funeral.

And if they are wounded they get coloured tags indicating where they are to be sent.”

So, as the opera composers were waxing lyrical about whether the ship had black or white sails, the clean up team were dispensing black and white tags. And they were almost all black tags.

Then the carts of wounded started to arrive. Lancelot’s companion dog, Heureux, was running beside one cart. The Dabrowski dogs rushed to him. “Master is among the wounded in this cart. He has tags to show places he could be sent to heal. He wanted his Epiphany Provider to choose for him.

Quick as thought Imaginational called Merlin. Show the carter this tag to say you will take him and then bring him to the Halfway House for Disgruntled Characters. We can sort it out from there. Imaginational handed Merlin a scarlet sleeve embroidered with great pearls.

“A dream, a dream! It was only a dream! Arthur could not be dead! No, a dream only!” Lancelot cried. “Arthur is not dead. He will be healed and return. Rex quondam rexque futurus.”