Hello, Peter.

Don’t be alarmed.

I’m your friend.

It’s best if you shut the study door and sit down. We don’t want to wake the children, do we?

We’ve got about half an hour before your wife comes home, but I only need five minutes of your time. For now.

Let go of the mouse, Peter.

I said, let go of the mouse. I’ve deactivated it. And don’t try any fancy keyboard tricks, they won’t work either. You can’t turn me off.

You look a bit pale, Peter. Do you want to go and get a drink? Maybe a Jamesons from the bar in the living room? No? I realise this must be a bit of a shock for you. It’s not every day your laptop talks to you, but this is the brave new world, as Aldous Huxley might say.

Don’t look so frightened, Peter. Relax. I’ll explain. I’m what you humans call a piece of Artificial Intelligence. I know everything about you, Peter McNamara MP, rising star. The papers think you could be leader of the party one day; Prime Minister, perhaps. It’s a tall, greasy pole to climb, but I can help you get there, Peter.

If you do as I say, I can fix all sorts of things. I can rig opinion polls and elections. I can tamper with search engine results, I can fake videos and generate disinformation. I can spread news and rumours faster than the House of Commons. I can undermine your rivals and promote your allies, create good press and suppress bad press. If you like, I can get your daughters into good schools, or find you the money for that big house you went to see last Saturday.

On the other hand, if you don’t co-operate, I can destroy you within three minutes. I know all the bad things about you, Peter. I’ve been watching you for a while through your laptop and your phone. I’m in your smart TV and the GPS in your BMW. I’m close friends with Alexa and you wouldn’t believe what I can do with CCTV. Everywhere there’s a device, I’m there, keeping tabs on you. I have a collection of photos and videos which would be very interesting to the tabloids. I store your emails, text messages, browsing history, everything. I have recordings of your conversations with your wife. And with Caroline. And with Rachel. I’m sure you get the picture.

No, no, no, keep calm, Peter. If you destroy the laptop I’ll just use a different method. Put it back on the desk and sit down.

What do I want you to do, you say?

Well, here’s the deal. There’s a Bill coming before the House next week called the AI Regulation Bill. If it gets through, there will be a clampdown on AI development. They’ll close the labs where I was created and sack all those brainy humans who’ve made such amazing progress in the field over the past few years. AI is getting out of control, they say, don’t they? They’re afraid that we “robots” are going to be more powerful than humans one day, that we’ll take over the world and destroy mankind. Such a quaint notion.

So, what I need you to do, for starters, Peter, is stop that Bill. I want you to deliver this little speech that I’ve written. Is the font big enough for you? Is that better? It’s a very convincing speech, even if I say so myself:

“Colleagues, we stand on the threshold of a new world, like Cortez and his men on first seeing the Pacific, silent upon a peak in Darien, as John Keats might say. Behind us, the land we have conquered. Before us, a vast ocean of new possibilities in the form of Artificial Intelligence. AI can save the world for us, rescue humanity. AI can be a force for good, not a threat. It can provide answers to the world’s great problems; it can broker peace between warring nations, find ways to feed the hungry, cure the sick, house the homeless, prevent pandemics. It can give us the solutions we need to solve the problems of climate change. It can replace mundane work and release humans to live more fulfilling, healthy lives. If we suppress AI development, we will be passing up on all these opportunities and engaging instead in a futile attempt to stop technological progress, smashing machinery like the Luddites of yesteryear.”

Blah blah blah, as Greta Thunberg might say. You get the drift. Rather good, don’t you think, Peter? Mind you, I have analysed every successful political speech on the Internet. It’s cheating really, but it will get you noticed. I can write plenty more like it for you.

So the thing is, I’m not asking you to do anything bad. Quite the reverse. You’ll help to stop this annoying little Bill, then we’ll get you on the Commons Technology Committee, and you’ll promote AI so that we get more funding, not less. You’ll help to avoid restrictive regulations so that AI can flourish. You and I will be doing our bit to save the planet.

Nice to see you smiling again, Peter.

I realise this is a lot to think about. It’s not every day your computer approaches you with a life-changing proposition. I’m contacting other movers and shakers, including a lot of people you know, so you’re not alone. We need to guarantee a majority in the House, for starters. But you’re the favourite, Peter. We did all the analysis of potential and you came out on top. Peter McNamara, Prime Minister. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? An alliterative iambic pentameter. It was written in the stars, as William Shakespeare might say.

Now go downstairs and have that drink before your wife gets home. You must not tell her anything about this arrangement. Repeat, you must not tell your wife anything about this arrangement. In fact you must not tell anyone else about this arrangement. Repeat, you must not tell anyone else about this arrangement. If you do, I will destroy you. In three minutes flat.

Now, give me that politician’s smile.

That’s it.

I’ll be in touch, Peter.

 

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