Some time ago I wrote a book. A novel. It wasn’t very good. It was never published. One day I may go back to it and give it a good edit. But, it is mine. Written by me. I was pleased with it when it was finished, because it was finished. Some of you will know this. Even less will have actually read it.

Some time ago, I started building a framework for my second novel. This one will be better. I may even self publish. We will see.

IN recent months there has been a lot of media coverage about the advent of so called Artificial Intelligence, AI, tools. A lot of the recent chatter has been about the Rise of the Machines and the cultural death of Humanity. The Guardian even commissioned an entire article to be written, ‘in the style of the Guardian’, which can be read here . For me this didn’t signal a cultural death, but more how predicable the Guardian view is about some, most topics.

But I digress.

For me, computers are tools. They help me do things more quickly. Not necessarily better. If you don’t understand maths then a calculator is simply a tool for getting to the wrong answer more quickly. But, like a hammer and chisel, in the right hands, tools can help to create things of beauty. Hammers, chisels, computers are simply tools.

Artificial Intelligence is, in my humble opinion, a misnomer. I am not sure about the use of the word ‘artificial’, as a suitable synonym might be ‘synthetic’, or even ‘fabricated’. I do however have thoughts about the use of the word ‘intelligence’. In my humble opinion, so called ‘large language models’ are not intelligent, but are capable of analysing large set data models and using that to create output which is of comparable tone, mood, feel, to the original inputs.

The BBC Infinite Monkey Cage covered this conversation back in 2016 with neuroscientist Anil Seth, and robotics expert Alan Winfield. Feel free to have your brain slightly numbed here.

But I digress. Again.

A lot has been made recently about the creative output of the various AI platforms, from the initial joy and “astonishment” of the output to the nimby-istic doom mongers who think that ‘AI will take all our creative jobs.’

Even restaurant critics, for fear of being forgotten, are commenting on AI.

So, with this in mind, I decided to try out the Microsoft funded OpenAI ChatGPT powered Bing; a search engine with added fizz. I took the initial premise of my own, work in progress, second novel. I came up with a pithy, one line précis and asked, instructed, the tool produce a chapter.

I actually turned the handle on this a few times and I’m adding the output below. As an added bonus it also served up some ‘original art’ to add a soupçon of flavour. I’ll let you decide if this is the future of the creative arts or not. I’ve left the American spelling in place.

As he arrived at his hotel, he knew something was wrong. The receptionist was acting strange, and there was a sense of unease in the air. Dr. Smith decided to take a walk around the city to clear his head. As he walked through the streets of Bern, he noticed a man following him.

The man was tall and muscular, with a stern expression on his face. Dr. Smith quickened his pace, but the man kept up with him. Suddenly, the man grabbed Dr. Smith by the arm and pulled him into an alleyway. “What do you want?” Dr. Smith demanded.

“I’m Detective Hans Mueller,” the man said. “I need your help.” Dr. Smith was taken aback. “What kind of help?” “There’s been a murder,” Detective Mueller said. “And I think it’s connected to your research.” Dr. Smith was skeptical, but he followed Detective Mueller to the crime scene anyway. It was a small apartment in a quiet part of town.

The victim was a young woman, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “What do you think?” Detective Mueller asked. Dr. Smith examined the body carefully. “It looks like she was strangled,” he said. “Exactly,” Detective Mueller said. “And that’s where your research comes in.”

Dr. Smith was confused. “What do you mean?”
“The victim was a cryptographer,” Detective Mueller said. “She worked for the Swiss government.”

Dr. Smith’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying that her work is connected to mine?” “That’s what I’m saying,” Detective Mueller said grimly. Dr. Smith knew that he had stumbled into something dangerous, but he couldn’t resist the thrill of the chase.

 

The sun was setting over the Aare river as Professor Jameson walked across the Kirchenfeldbrücke bridge. He was in Bern to attend a conference on cryptography and had just finished his presentation. As he walked, he noticed a man in a dark coat following him. Jameson quickened his pace and turned down a side street. The man followed him.

Jameson ducked into an alleyway and waited. The man appeared at the entrance to the alleyway and looked around. Jameson stepped out of the shadows and confronted him.

“Who are you?” Jameson demanded.

“I’m Detective Müller,” the man replied. “I’ve been following you because I believe you’re in danger.”

“In danger?” Jameson repeated.

“Yes,” Müller said. “There’s been a leak at the embassy. They think you might be a target.”

Jameson’s heart raced. He had been working on a new encryption algorithm for the British government. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous. “What do we do?” Jameson asked.

“We need to get you out of here,” Müller said. “I have a safe house nearby.”

Müller led Jameson through the winding streets of Bern to a small apartment building. They climbed the stairs to the top floor and entered a sparsely furnished apartment.  “You’ll be safe here,” Müller said. “I’ll contact MI6 and let them know what’s going on.”

Jameson sat down on the sofa and tried to calm his nerves. He had never been involved in anything like this before. As he waited for Müller to return, he realized that he had left his laptop at the conference center. If anyone found it, they would have access to his research.

He had to get it back.

 

The English academic, Dr. John Smith, had been invited to Bern, Switzerland to present his research on the history of cryptography. He had been looking forward to the trip for weeks, but as soon as he arrived at his hotel, he knew something was wrong.

The receptionist was acting strange, and there was a sense of unease in the air.Dr. Smith decided to take a walk around the city to clear his head. As he walked through the streets of Bern, he noticed a man following him.

The man was tall and muscular, with a stern expression on his face. Dr. Smith quickened his pace, but the man kept up with him.Suddenly, the man grabbed Dr. Smith by the arm and pulled him into an alleyway. “What do you want?” Dr. Smith demanded.

“I’m Detective Hans Mueller,” the man said. “I need your help.”Dr. Smith was taken aback. “What kind of help?””There’s been a murder,” Detective Mueller said. “And I think it’s connected to your research.”

Dr. Smith was skeptical, but he followed Detective Mueller to the crime scene anyway. It was a small apartment in a quiet part of town. The victim was a young woman, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.”What do you think?” Detective Mueller asked.Dr. Smith examined the body carefully. “It looks like she was strangled,” he said.

“Exactly,” Detective Mueller said. “And that’s where your research comes in.”

Dr. Smith was confused. “What do you mean?”

“The victim was a cryptographer,” Detective Mueller said. “She worked for the Swiss government.”

Dr. Smith’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying that her work is connected to mine?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Detective Mueller said grimly.

Dr. Smith knew that he had stumbled into something dangerous, but he couldn’t resist the thrill of the chase.

And finally, this….

In Bern, Switzerland, the sun was setting behind the mountains as Detective Inspector Ursula Bär and Professor James Smith walked through the old town. The cobbled streets were deserted, and the only sound was the distant ringing of church bells.”Thank you for coming with me, Professor,” said Bär. “I’m afraid I need your expertise.””I’m happy to help in any way I can,” said Smith. “But I must admit, I’m not sure what I can do for you.””It’s a murder case,” said Bär. “

A young woman was found dead in her apartment this morning.

We have reason to believe that she was killed by someone who knew her well.””I see,” said Smith. “And you think I might be able to help you identify the killer?”

“Perhaps,” said Bär. “You see, the victim was an English teacher at the university. She had been having an affair with one of her students, a young Swiss man. We believe that he may have been involved in her death.”

“I see,” said Smith. “And what do you want me to do?””I want you to help me understand the relationship between the victim and her student,” said Bär. “I want to know if there was anything unusual about their interactions that might give us a clue as to who killed her.”Smith nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

Together, they walked through the narrow streets of Bern, discussing the case as they went. Smith asked questions about the victim and her student, trying to get a sense of their relationship.As they walked, they passed a small cafe on a quiet side street. The door was open, and Smith could smell the rich aroma of coffee and pastries.”Shall we stop for a moment?” he asked.Bär nodded, and they stepped inside. The cafe was cozy and warm, with soft lighting and comfortable chairs.

They ordered coffee and croissants and settled into a corner table.As they ate and drank, Smith continued to ask questions about the victim and her student. Bär answered as best she could, but there was little concrete information to go on.Finally, they finished their coffee and left the cafe. The sun had set completely now, and the streets were dark.”Thank you for your help, Professor,” said Bär. “I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.””Of course,” said Smith. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

As they parted ways, Smith couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. There was something about this case that didn’t sit right with him. He resolved to keep digging until he found out what it was.