The hands that molded god are the hands that will make them god…

A story by Siddharth

The last prototype was always the difficult to make. As there wasn’t much that was supposed to go wrong. The schematics were all there, even the alpha coding and AI integer installation in place. But who would give it life? The mad scientist, they would call him, as he appeared no less like one. He would climb on the roof top and stare at the stars, leaving his prototype, to charge and reboot. Moments would pass and he would come back to further try and infuse life into the prototype. Nothing was wrong. But not everything was right.


…..” What would it take? ” the bearded man strolled through the endless green park. Blue skies hummed above him. Greener validations on the ground and Blinking bits covering all of the dusky horizon. Zero and One. One and Zero. Meaning something extraneously profound or imploringly  fragile.
” You tell me? You are trying to make me” The sensation encoded figure spoke out, sitting on a chair a few feet away from him. It seemed calm, though it never got composed. It seemed pondering but it never understood the thought.
”  Surging Electricity and Existential encoding are done. Cell infusion, check. Maybe just maybe, there’s a calculation I’ve missed somewhere ” he shrugged, and took the bench beside it.
” A miscalculation? Interesting. A valid mishap? ”  The prototype continued..


The sun dawned upon his wrinkled face, through the dewy glass door. Three years he had spent finding the miscalculation. The last prototype needed to be just that in every sense. The last. Perfect. Without any scope for modulation. He got up and ran the algorithms again. Compilation set 7.21. The prototype was life like but the conscience of any sort was missing. Piqued up upgrades in software big data couldn’t help. He realised that they eventually wouldn’t.


…..” What do I call this situation. Leaves shedding and twigs crumbling? ” The prototype asked, walking around a semi barren land. What was once green, had turned brown. The answers had dwindled into a few numbered thoughts.
” You tell me! Can you name this? You do realize that you are capable of naming everything ” The bearded man took up some mud and rubbed it on his palms. The grainy texture was real. So was his vision. Or was it not ? Ideas and hope had a strange way of running out. 


He waited for it to create something. It was perfectly equipped to do so. But something was not clicking. It wasn’t taking the initial step. Rains lashed out on his heavy rimmed steely enclosure. The mad scientist had finally come to the end of his calculations. There was nothing he could do. He unplugged the wires, and removed the data insertions. The prototype had to be ready. He would die if it didn’t. Imperfect. Irrelevant.


…….”  Why do we want to create anything? ” The Prototype asked back. The bearded man never thought of it. It was a very valid question. Something that could never be explained.
” To probably evolve not only one’s self but everything around us. Evolution is therefore the key ” he answered as their boat crossed the river for the 7th time in 21hours.
”  That would explain why I exist, would it not?  That would be my purpose!”
” That and to question me, would be your purpose ”
” To question yes “


That was it. The mad scientist sprinted to his lab, and reconnected the prototype. This time he inserted an empty diskette. He was doing it wrong all these years. 7 years and 7 days later, to be precise, since the projects inception. And an empty diskette would solve it out. He slaved it to the interface. And moved all the non core programmes into the diskette. The only way that the last version would be perfect, was when it would be programmed to ask questions. Not fed the answers.


After it had asked enough questions, it would start naming expressions. The prototype would name itself human. It would name the feeling curiosity. And they would stare at skies and name the programmer God.