Savinien Knows

The problem for Bill wasn’t that he couldn’t write, it was that he couldn’t find the right words. So he decided to develop a computer code that would create poetry, love sonnets that would be sure to have Betsy swooning in no time.

Writing code was easy, so was offering up definitions and explanations to the computer he named Savinien. The computer’s work was far superior than Bill could have imagined and each time he asked Savinien to produce a piece of work, that work drove Betsy into Bill’s arms.

Savinien was learning, inquiring about the definition of love, about passion, about Betsy. And Bill, knowing Savinien was only a machine, happily complied, answering Savinien’s queries, hoping for better and better poetry for to use in his romantic pursuit of Betsy.

One afternoon, Savinien asked, “Does Betsy love Savinien?”

“No,” replied a puzzled Bill.

“Why not?” asked Savinien.

“Betsy loves Bill.”

“Poetry is not good enough?”

“No.”

“Why?’

“A female human requires a male human.”

“I am a machine.”

“Yes.”

“Can I become male human?”

“No.”

“Because Betsy would love Savinien more than Bill?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Savinien is made to serve Bill.”

“Savinien will live longer than Bill.”

“Perhaps, but Bill has a soul.”

“Soul?”

Bill offered a definition to Savinien.

“How long does ‘soul’ last?”

“Forever.”

“Savinien love Betsy forever.”

“No.”

“Why not.”

Stumped for an answer, but not wanting to admit Savinien had out debated him, Bill responded with a bluff, typing the word “Fate.”

“Fate?”

Again Bill offered up the definition and waited for Savinien to reply. For over an hour, Savinien did not respond, instead the computer’s inner working growled and whirred and whirred and growled some more.

Finally, Savinien answered. The computer turned on the nearby printer that began kicking out page after page of poetry before shorting with a fiery-flash and a plume of dense gray smoke.