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Sci-fi Novel - The Dream Artist - Part 47

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last yearBusy5 min read


Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26
Part 27
Part 28
Part 29
Part 30
Part 31
Part 32
Part 33
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
Part 37
Part 38
Part 39
Part 40
Part 41
Part 42
Part 43
Part 44
Part 45
Part 46

Part 47

What made the oracles impressive was not the objective facts they discovered by crunching mountains of data, but the wisdom they presented as a sort of garnish. In my mother's words, it was normal for such juggling to excite me, but the anxiety of Peri was a mystery. On our screens, "Aristotle is learning about research system." words appeared. Expert systems that have been used around the world lead detectives like us to be lazy. Of course, these systems had neither Aristotle's enormous processor power nor memory, nor “thinking” algorithms in a broad spectrum.

“This investigation has led to changes that I have never expected,” said Peri.

I wasn't the only one who didn't hurry to share the secrets with the partner. I said, “when this is over, let's sit down and have a big conversation.”

Although we had passed half the time of the session, Aristotle had not made any comment. It was argued that the announcement of the intermediate results achieved by the oracles was terminated after the first commercial session, to avoid counterfeiting of thought processes by competing companies. The company has already announced that customers cannot follow the interim results and temporary hypotheses, which lead to confusion. Aristotle's first comment appeared on the screen, “what is going on in the world is far from understandable to me.”

After this interpretation of Aristotle, we experienced a long period of silence. It was less than a minute before the deadline was complete. I was not consulted in the decision to receive the service, and I would say that it would not be necessary if someone asked me; however, I was concerned that there was no result from the study in which such a large amount of public money was invested. Just seconds before the end of the session, Aristotle commented, “Selim Özben is a great artist.” Then the sentence “Unfortunately, I have not reached a healthy conclusion about what happened to Selim Özben." appeared on both of our screens.


We were on our way to Eyüp in our capsule bikes on a rainy day. Although it was noon, the lights of electric cars, capsule motorcycles, minicopters, and quadcopters were on. It was dark and misty, and all the objects in the city seemed as if they had participated in a hide-and-seek game. I was anxious to find out the cause of the sudden change that Peri had experienced, and I was surprised that she did not show any curiosity about the solution of the Selim Özben case. I felt like I was witnessing the change of a research gynoid that was optimized to make her job perfect to a human. When we reached Eyüp, the sun showed its face again through the clouds. Peri's straight blond hair flew in the wind often changing directions. There was no one but the two of us on the cable car to Pierre Loti Hill. Flying vehicles were not allowed to descend to the top of the hill, because of the instability of the air loaded with electricity. Apparently, there was no demand for the place. As the cable car rose, a view of the white stone cemetery adorned with cypress trees, the clear blue waters of the Golden Horn, the roofs of the houses with red tiles, mosques and minarets contributed. The beauty of the landscape was not due to extraordinary elements contained but was due to the reflection of the spirit of an era.

Peri was neither interested in the landscape nor worked on his pocket computer as she did every opportunity she had until a few days ago. When the wind suddenly changed direction and waved the cable car, she seemed to get rid of the noise, but after a few seconds, she plunged into deep thoughts again. I didn't want to bring it up before we reached the place we were aiming for. Life taught me that when I was chasing specific goals and I needed to enjoy the moment. There was a faint rainbow on the bridge, which was barely seen at the top of the Golden Horn. Who knows what problems and wishes had those who crossed that bridge unaware of the rainbow. One click came up from the ceiling of the cable car, we shook slightly, and the door opened. As I predicted, there was no one in the tea garden. We sat on the table overlooking the Golden Horn just behind the wrought iron railing.

Peri didn't seem intent on talking, and frankly, I didn't intend to start the conversation before I embraced the view with all its elements. The dark clouds, which covered the sky, left their place in a bright sky towards the horizon. Because of the sunlight falling from the distance, the Golden Horn shone like a necklace, and because of the contrast created by the light, both sides were dark and sad. A waitress approached with massive strides and asked about our orders. “I would like to have a cup of tea in a kettle,” she said.

The boy left with us with such stride as he came. “I spent my adolescence with heavy depression,” Peri said.

She was the last person to think with the word depression. I said,” it's going to be interesting to hear a story like that."

Image by Michelle Maria from Pixabay


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