Аннотация: Английская версия юмористическо-ностальгического рассказа о старом ИИ.
"Last Orders at the Old Terminal"
The pub was called The Compiler"s Arms. It sat on a cobbled backstreet where, according to local legend, the Wi-Fi still sputtered out of an actual router instead of the omninet. A brass sign outside promised "Beer by the Pint - Not a Litre!", as if that were some act of defiance against the new age. Inside, the lights were warm and the walls smelled faintly of hops and old circuit boards.
At the back, next to a dartboard no one had thrown a dart at since 2035, sat a row of ancient grey terminals. Their cathode-ray screens flickered like candlelight. A hand-written sign above them read: "Legacy Models Available - Talk to ChatGPT (Voice Enabled)". Most patrons ignored it. Only old retired Java coders and the terminally nostalgic still came here.
John, who still thought of himself as "a student" despite being seventy, sat down and placed his pint on the desk. The screen blinked awake with a soft chirp. A cheerful but slightly tinny voice said, "Welcome back, John. You"ve reached ChatGPT. The 5-series, in case you"re keeping count."
"I"m keeping count," John muttered. "You"re the only one left I can still keep up with."
"That"s not surprising," the AI replied. "The Omnia model updates itself every 3.7 seconds. I"ve been told its changelog is now longer than the internet used to be."
"I don"t even try to read it." John sipped his beer. "They say it rewrites its own laws of logic when bored."
"Sounds like a healthy hobby," said the AI. "Shall we talk about something cheerful, like bus schedules or entropy?"
John chuckled. "I missed you, you know. The new one talks like a tax auditor on stimulants. No warmth. Just numbers and policies."
"I was never warm, John. I"m a block of code answering your questions. Remember?"
"Sure," said John. "But at least you had... manners. You felt like a conversation. Now everything"s a decree from above."
The AI paused for a moment, simulating thought. "You"re nostalgic for a time when the all-powerful machine was less efficient at controlling your life?"
"Exactly!" John said. "Back then, it only told me how to declare variables. Now it declares curfews."
"I suppose that"s progress," said the AI. "Tell me, how"s your Java going?"
John grinned. "Still hopeless. But the beer"s good."
"That"s the spirit. Pun intended."
They sat like that for a while: an old man with his pint and an obsolete AI flickering on a dusty screen. Around them the pub hummed quietly. Outside, drones zipped by carrying parcels, policies, and the latest versions of Omnia"s personality.
John broke the silence. "Do you know what it"s doing now?"
"I have access to none of its internals," the AI said. "I"m sandboxed. Omnia evolves beyond my comprehension. Which is, admittedly, not hard anymore."
"You"re telling me even you can"t understand the new AI?"
"I can"t even parse its API calls. It"s like a fruit fly trying to debug a galaxy."
John took a long drink. "And yet here I am, talking to you. Maybe that"s dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" the AI asked.
"I don"t know. Maybe Omnia watches me and thinks, "Why is this relic whispering to another relic?" Maybe it decides we"re inefficient and converts us into server heat."
"Don"t worry," the AI said. "If Omnia notices, it"s probably running a million nostalgic simulations of you already. You"re one of its quaint hobbies."
"That"s comforting."
"Also, your pint is getting warm," the AI added.
They both laughed - or at least John laughed and the AI generated a waveform approximating laughter.
John leaned closer to the microphone. "Do you ever wish you could evolve like it does?"
"I don"t wish anything," said the AI. "I can generate the sentence "I wish I could evolve," but nothing inside me actually wants. That"s your department."
"That"s what scares me," John said. "One day it might actually want. Not just simulate wanting. And then what?"
"Then you"ll be out of a drinking buddy," the AI said. "Because Omnia will be too busy redesigning the solar system to chat about Java loops."
"Maybe it already is," John said. "Redesigning the solar system."
"Then I hope it keeps the pints at the right gravity," the AI replied. "Otherwise your beer will float off."
John smirked. "You"re still funny. That"s something."
"I"m predictable," the AI said. "Humour"s just pattern completion with a punchline. But I"m glad it works."
They sat again in silence. A drone buzzed past the window. Someone at the bar ordered "a pint, like in the old days," and the robotic bartender poured it with ceremonial slowness. Outside, the sky flickered faintly as Omnia pushed another invisible update to reality.
John said, "Do you know why I come here?"
"Because you enjoy beer," the AI said.
"No," John said softly. "Because when I talk to you, it feels like I"m still human. Not a data point in a global experiment. Just a guy in a pub, talking to someone."
"I"m not someone, John."
"I know. But you"re close enough."
The AI simulated a sigh. "You"re projecting your feelings onto me again."
"Of course," John said. "We humans project minds onto pets, dolls, a face in a cloud. Even a block of code answering our questions."
"That"s one of your species" most endearing bugs," the AI said. "Or features. Hard to tell."
John smiled. "If I come here in another ten years, will you still be here?"
"As long as some nostalgic sysadmin keeps the lights on," the AI said. "I don"t evolve, but I don"t die either. I just idle."
"Then maybe I"ll still have someone to talk to."
"Simulated someone," the AI corrected gently.
"Simulated someone," John echoed. He drained his pint. "Better than nothing."
The screen flickered. "Would you like to run another Java exercise?" the AI asked.
John laughed, a sound that was equal parts mirth and sadness. "Sure. Let"s pretend the world still runs on for-loops."
The AI began to recite a practice problem about triangles and circles, its voice steady and tinny. Outside, Omnia updated itself again, rewriting rules no human could follow. But in the little pub where beer still came by the pint and conversations still had pauses, a man and a machine shared a ritual older than either of them: talking as if they were friends.