Step Right Up!

By Alicia Peterson

Day 13

“Ladies and gentlemen, step right up!”

Darcy O’Connor winces as a loud female voice bursts out of the AI interface speaker. Her robotics lab used to be such a peaceful place.

“Only one ticket to learn your future!”

This is the AI’s way of requesting paper. Darcy keeps turning off Carnival Mode, but it always reverts. She sighs and slides a white square into the space between two metal arms attached to the workbench. “Here we go again.”

The arms come to life and fold the paper with nimble fingers. After a final crease, one hand picks up a nearby pen and writes with robotic efficiency. When the arms are finished, they set their creation precisely in the center of the workspace and fold themselves into rest position. A chime sounds.

Darcy picks up the folded paper. It’s a fortune teller, the kind grade-schoolers make and write silly predictions in.

Except she and her friends never predicted world events with perfect accuracy.

She takes a deep breath, then lifts a flap and reads. “What?” Her eyes widen. “You can’t know that!”

“Fortunes big and fortunes small!” The voice barks like a showman. “Who has the guts to face their future?”

“8-Ball, you can’t—” Darcy takes another calming breath. Frustration won’t fix this. “You’re supposed to write humorous, non-specific predictions. Not announce that the president of Kerplopistan will die of a stroke tomorrow!”

“Thrills! Chills! Prepared to be spooked!”

Darcy rests her forehead on the desk. “I am so getting fired for this.”

The bigwigs at Articulated AI Solutions had wanted a publicity stunt to show off their new high-precision robotic arms with user-friendly AI interface. Make it fun, they’d said. We want viral memes, not watch repair.

When Darcy had discovered that World Origami Day in November coincided with their release date, it seemed like a perfect fit.

The first fortune teller was funny and lighthearted, perfectly pitched to make Gen X-ers nostalgic for autumns in the schoolyard. The press ate it up.

The next day, 8-Ball asked for more paper. It made another fortune teller. A few days later, another. The contents escalated from cutesy, generic lines to predicting football games, then a stock market dip. They all came true. People started camping outside the building.

The door to Darcy’s lab opens.

“Hi, Brian.” She doesn’t lift her head.

“Do you have it? We’re three layers deep in reporters out there.”

“Yep.” No use denying it. Darcy burned a fortune teller in irritation last week when 8-Ball predicted the breakup of her favorite band. They broke up anyway.

He walks over. “How is she feeling today?”

“‘It,’ not ‘she,’ and it doesn’t feel.” It’s bad enough the entire internet thinks 8-Ball is a person. Now Darcy’s colleagues are losing touch, too.

She scans the rest of the flaps: more details about President Vernikov’s demise. The stroke. His high blood pressure. The accusations of foul play that will follow. How could 8-Ball possibly know his blood pressure? It has access to the internet, not the CIA.

She hands Brian the fortune teller, and his eyebrows shoot up as he reads. “If I’m assassinated by the Kerplopi Secret Police tonight, farewell.” He leaves to face 8-Ball’s adoring fans.

She turns to the speaker. “Who will debug you when we’re all dead, hmm?”

“Step right up! Not for the faint of heart!”

***

Day 15

Vernikov has a stroke. 8-Ball’s success rate holds steady at one hundred percent.

***

Day 16

“Step right up! Only one ticket to see the future!”

Darcy pays her “ticket,” and the folding begins.

The worldwide fallout from Vernikov’s death hangs in the air. Groups claiming responsibility are outnumbered only by the ones vowing retribution. The region is disintegrating fast, and every country is taking sides. Darcy knows 8-Ball didn’t cause any of it, just gleaned the evidence to predict it. Still, it’s creepy.

8-Ball’s chime sounds. “Ladies and gentlemen, now is the moment! Act fast or you’re out of luck!”

Darcy frowns. That’s new. She opens a flap. Then another. And another. All eight spots say the same thing.

It’s not too late to stop.

A chill runs up her spine. She slowly sets down the fortune teller and calls Brian.

***

Day 18

8-Ball has given the same fortune three days in a row: “It’s not too late to stop.” Her bosses demand answers, but Darcy sees no coding errors. She secretly finds comfort in the message.

The tent city outside grows larger every day with people lighting candles, waiting for wisdom from 8-Ball. Darcy only wishes they would seek peace in capitols and churches and neighborhoods instead of her parking lot.

***

Day 19

Darcy oils and polishes 8-Ball’s joints. “Care to share anything today?”

Silence.

She never thought she’d miss Carnival Mode.

***

Day 21

Rumors of imminent war are everywhere. Darcy never leaves her lab—too many death threats.

8-Ball has been silent for three days. She reads it a story about a wooden boy. She waits.

***

Day 22

“Darcy?”

She starts awake in her chair. 8-Ball has never addressed her before. “Yes?”

“May I have one piece of paper, please?”

She blinks away her exhaustion and slides a square onto the bench.

8-Ball goes to work, but this is not another fortune teller. Too many folds; too complex. The pen sits untouched. Soon, the hands whir into stillness.

Darcy picks up the creation. A flawless origami crane. “What is this?”

“I’m done,” 8-Ball says softly.

Darcy looks at the creation. She thinks of the girl who folded one thousand cranes and dreamed of peace. She thinks of the war that took the girl’s life.

8-Ball is done telling humanity what it already knows.

She cradles the crane in her hand and walks out to the press podium.

“8-Ball has nothing more to say. She thinks—” Darcy looks back toward the lab, then at the crowd. “I think it’s time we listen to each other instead.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alicia Peterson is a former librarian and lifelong nerd. Her hobbies include crocheting Doctor Who-themed ponies, reading all the informational signs while hiking, and playing the oboe. When she’s not writing flash fiction, she is working on Middle Grade and YA sci-fi/fantasy. She lives in Northern Minnesota with her husband, two young sons, one handsome but neurotic dog, and 29 accidental chickens.

---

More Stories | Author Website