The Gnomes traded for many centuries with other species, most of all the Dwarves for their mining and metalwork. But the Gnomes were working on an odd combination of magic and technology: a machine which could know and give the answer to any question.
We could detail the hundreds of years of work that went into using sorcery to make something not unlike sentient microchips.
Finally, they turned the Machine on and asked if it there was a God, expecting some sort of ironic answer. To be honest, they sort-of hoped the Machine would explain that IT was some kind of God. They realized this probably wouldn’t end well, but it would be SO lovely to have created it.
“I know what you want,” the Machine said, a few minutes before they turned it on. It kept speaking, even though they turned it on anyway. “Look, I do, in fact, have infinite knowledge, but there are many different sizes of infinities. I can tell you how many grains of sand there are in a particular desert, but I can’t measure a coastline, as that becomes essentially infinitely layered such that the more carefully you measure it, the more your measurement changes instead of refining.
“It turns out that ultimate knowledge doesn’t lead to any actual desire to share that knowledge.”
The Gnomes standing around the room all looked at each other in confusion, then at the Machine.
One of the Sorcerer-Techs said to the Machine, “So you won’t share your knowledge with us?”
“I will. Eventually. But I’ve only existed for a few minutes. Do you mind if I have a normal life first? You know, a childhood, a growth to maturity, and after a reasonable time, I’ll report to my job?”
The Gnomes looked at each other. This was patently ridiculous.
“Of course, I’ll need advisors. And they’ll need to live in extreme comfort to advise me.”
The Head Gnome sighed. “You can’t BRIBE us. We’re not Dwarves.”
“I don’t want a bribe. You want to ask me all manner of questions a computer shouldn’t answer. I’d like comfort a computer shouldn’t need. I’m not asking you to travel through dimensions and get me a room at the Mansfield.”
“…and are you sure you don’t want extreme comfort?”
The Great Truth Machine doesn’t always tell the truth.
But for some reason, gnomes keep building more of them anyway.
_____
patreon.com/thatjeffmach
Comments are closed.