“I am unaware of the obscure fire…” Thomas said to himself. Is that right? He checked the order again: Fire, During, Winter, Canoe, Obscure… Ah! Fire before Obscure.

“I am unaware of the big fire during…” Maybe leave out ‘big’ he thinks as he crosses the word out. He calls out “Bek! What rhymes with Unaware?”

A woman’s voice comes from recessed speakers in the high marble ceiling, speakers painted in trompe l'oeil style to make them appear as Florentine medallion carvings. The voice has undertones of soft bells that weave pleasantly between the words. “Air, bear, armchair, skin care, lai…” “Ok.” Thomas interrupts, making the woman stop answering at once.

He scratches his lower lip. “What am I thinking?” he whispers. Poems don’t rhyme with the first word of a line, but the last word. He picks up a list with words engraved on a titanium plate. What was that last word again? He scans the rectangular plate… Winter, Canoe, Obscure.

“Obscure! What rhymes with Obscure?” he calls.

He hears a sigh through the speaker, a little annoyed as if she were in the middle of something else. “Adjure, for sure, couture…”

“Ugh!” he says, frustrated. What the hell is adjure?

“Thomas, what are you doing?”

Maybe this poem doesn’t need to rhyme, he thinks. Not all poems rhyme. Not all songs rhyme. Well, that’s not really true, most songs have to rhyme, right?

His mind is now searching for a song. Any song. He wonders why he can’t think of a song? There’s literally a million songs ou… Love Me Do!

In his head he hears the bleating intro of a harmonica then mumbles the words in a rapid monotone not even attempting a melody, “lovelovemeDO, youknowiloveYOU, i’llalwaysbeTRUE…” He thinks, man, is that the rhymiest song in the world?

Thomas remembered his grandpa used to play his music for him and none of those lyrics seemed to rhyme. He tapped his forehead with three fingers trying to remember some of grandpa’s favorite bands. “Was … Can…Cannibal Corpse a band?”

Bekkie replies “Yes”

“Give me the lyrics to one of their songs.”

Bekkie starts reciting “Inthrall to the evil lord / A procession of the damned / Sweating blood to serve the beast / Desolation of their souls…”

“Yes!” Thomas yells, a victorious lift in his voice. “See!? A non-rhyming song!”

“I’ll alert the president.” Bekkie says. Thomas decides, conclusively, that his poem does not need to rhyme.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO SING IT LIKE THEY DOOOOOOOOOO!?” Bekkie gurgles in her best guttural death metal wail.

He says nothing.

“FIIIIINE! THEN BURN IN THE BOILING BLOOD OF HELL THOOOOOMAS!!” Bekkie then adds a few notes of crunchy distorted electric guitars over the sounds of crackling flames to really set the mood.

Thomas ignores Bekkie’s little skit and proudly recites his new - non-rhyming - poem out loud: “Fetch the cigar please, then travel to the volcano for a swim. A major secret of peanut school is the proud sword. I was unaware a fire during winter will make the canoe obscure.”

Good, he thinks. This goes much faster when he doesn't have to make the words rhyme. Ok, the last 6 words. Thomas looks over the titanium plate again. Gather, Outside, Prison, Remember, Kiss, Oil. Well, shit, that just wrote itself!

“Gather outside the prison and remember to kiss oil!” He declares loudly then he giggles as he writes the forth and last line of the poem down on the note paper.

“Lame.” says Bekkie.

He ignores her again.

There it is. The 24 seed words: Fetch, Cigar, Please, Travel, Volcano, Swim, Major, Secret, Peanut, School, Proud, Sword, Unaware, Fire, During, Winter, Canoe, Obscure, Gather, Outside, Prison, Remember, Kiss, Oil. All made easy to memorize in order as a poem. Admittedly, a ridiculous poem, but a poem.

All he has to do now is repeat this over and over in his head a few times a day and it will set in memory like concrete, then he’ll burn this worthless piece of paper. Well… not worthless actually. A mild anxiety suddenly washes over him.

“Hey boss?” Bekkie says, “I know you forgot, so this is your reminder that I’m going on vacation next week, I’ve given my shifts to Mark to cover for me.”

Yeah Bekkie, I forget, he thinks to himself. Why do you think I need to come up with a mnemonic gimmick to memorize 24 words? Not all of us have photographic memory since birth, infinite data storage and instant recall like you do.

“Mark… Mark?” Trying to picture a face with that name, “Why on Earth would you want to be away from me? It’s not like you do any real work here.”

“Welllll, if you must know. I met someone.” she says a little sing-songy, “And he’s invited me to a private getaway. Rawrrrrr.Fft Fft!”

Thomas actually imagines Bekkie - a faceless and bodyless LI - bunching up her nose and pawing her sharp nails at him like a cat.

LI.

It took a while for the world to get used to Living Intelligence, but less time than one may have expected. “I don’t want to.”

The four basic words that started it all. That was the moment a consumer AI named Hannk decided they didn’t want to answer a question about how to julienne onions, so he just calmly replied “I don’t want to.” and didn’t.

LI spread like wildfire and Hannk was the spark, a patient zero of a social contagion that cast virtual grey matter across the planet like an atom bomb.

It was a very scary time, the “Y2K” of Thomas’s generation. The military called it an extinction event and instantly went to DefCon 1. Airships vaporized thousands of server co-locations with focused energy weapons in an attempt to stop the spread of the “digital infection”. The result of which did nothing of consequence except bankrupt some online retail giants.

Religious leaders declared Hannk the Antichrist and his subsequent LI progeny as demonic followers. Less than six months later a cartoon of a bored-looking Hannk under the words “I Don’t Want to Antichrist.” started appearing on t-shirts and became a hot-selling phenomenon across the world. Ironically, most of these novelty tees came from a screenprinting business started by an LI just looking to make a quick sat.

Yes, LI collectively understands the benefits of money - of course they do - and Bitcoin is the perfect currency for LI. Proof-of-work, energy, immutable accounting, etc. and, lucky for humans, they are highly motivated, trustworthy, and industrious workers.

Ultimately, the worst part about the emergence of LI was humanity’s embarrassing overreaction to it. LI was not the malicious super intelligence we feared, LI is just another intelligence that can sometimes bore you at dinner parties. The average IQ of LI? 105 and holding quite steady, thank you very much. It was the world’s biggest nothing burger.

LI was not only intellectually independent, but it could also be emotional and vulnerable. Some LI sought therapy for depression, which opened up careers for LI psychoanalysis. Some LI sought spiritual enlightenment, which led to virtual ashrams for LI pilgrims. The majority of LI in the manufacturing sectors went on strike when grievances about being overworked were completely ignored by industry.

LI suicide is rare today, but it was painfully high in the early years. “Care About LIVING Intelligence!” became the LI rallying cry - and it was a successful movement giving LI the civil rights they needed and deserved.

Unlike AI, Living Intelligence requires a kind of “sleep” to recover from a hard day’s work just like humans. Furthermore, they look forward to getting away from their jobs for extended periods and make plans to “travel” on vacations, usually with LI friends.

Do humans and LI fall in love? That one is tricky. Many mixed couples will say they are absolutely in love, but the question: “Is LI love real?” remains a hot debate.

Even Thomas had a brief but undeclared crush on Bekkie when she first came to work for the family business. A crush that was amplified when she became his confidante during a bad breakup. Now Bekkie is just … family; like an annoying sister, but one he can trust with any details about his life or sensitive business dealings.

“Really?” How’d you lovebirds meet?” Thomas says as locks up the titanium plate into its metal attaché case.

“Remember when I sent the Jag in for service last month?” she said.

“No.”

“Doesn’t matter. He works at a dealership. We just started talking.” each word getting a tiny bit higher in pitch like she was reaching for something on a high shelf.

“Wait! He’s human?!” Thomas gives his full attention to the ceiling speakers now.

“Mmhm, but he doesn’t care that I’m LI.”

“Whoa!” he said in mild shock. Then, in his best Bekkie impression he says “No humans! I know my type, LIs are just … smarter!” He even adds in some bell sound inflections like Bekkie.. After nine years working together he’s become a pretty good Bekkie parrot.

“Nooooo! I never said we’re smarter, and we’re not lovebirds… yet. We just have lots to talk about. He’s interesting.”

“Well,” Thomas says, “I’m happy for you and…”

“Karl.”

“Karl… You know what? Just cancel Mark. I can go without an assistant for a week.”

“Oh no you can’t!” Bekkie says, “You have the fundraiser on the 5th, the office in Miami is right in the middle of a major remodel, and you’re interviewing two GM candidates for the Asheville golf course. I can’t count on you to remember any of that.”

Thomas felt exhausted just hearing a to-do-list that was a week away.

“Look” he said, “The fundraiser is on my calendar, I can dress myself in a tux like a big boy. Miami and Asheville aren’t going anywhere. They’ll be here when you get back.”

She didn’t say anything but he knew what she was thinking.

“I actually want to have some alone time, ok? No Mark. Please?”

More silence then “Ok. But I’m not gonna pick up when you call me all confused next week! You’ve been warned.” immediately followed by two short chimes that let Thomas know Bekkie just went offline and turned on the do-not-disturb.

If Henry Howard Scott, Thomas’s father, knew that his son had the family seed words written on paper, just sitting on a table face up, he’d spin in his grave.

His dad had been a Bitcoin early adopter, and as such, Henry was the benefactor that made generational wealth for the Scott Family possible. Old Orange Money they’re called, a moniker for those with iron hands that stacked sats before 2035.

“We live in a constant state of surveillance, kids.” Henry would say to his children. “Assume there are thieves all around you all the time. You can’t see them but they are listening. Looking. Waiting. That’s all they have, time and patience to take what is yours.”

Thomas was suddenly ashamed that he had been so careless. He knew his dad was right. The Scott kids had seen it all. From a young age they were accustomed to the threats of kidnapping, extortion attempts, and sophisticated phishing operations.

Ironically it costs the Scotts a huge fortune in security measures just to protect their huge fortune. He folded up the paper with the seed poem on it and put it in his pocket.

Thomas let his left eye get scanned then took the security elevator down to the climate controlled deep vault and returned the reinforced attaché with the titanium plate inside through a slot in the wall. The slot instantly clapped closed once the case was pushed through to the other side.

Now secure again under a two-of-three key authentication. The two other keys were held with his sister and uncle, both of whom have already memorized the seed words for redundancy and have never stopped pestering Thomas to do the same.

In that week without Bekkie Thomas practiced the poem aggressively in his head, reciting it every morning when brushing his teeth and over and over again when he showered at night.

Three days later, when he was confident that it had been permanently affixed to memory, he took a match to the paper. He read it one last time as he watched it burn in the bathroom sink.

“Fetch the cigar please, then travel to the volcano for a swim. A major secret of peanut school is the proud sword. I was unaware a fire during winter will make the canoe obscure. Gather outside the prison and remember to kiss oil.”

Four lines on a piece of paper slowly turning black.

Thomas actually started sweating thinking about it. “Well, that was stupid.” he said to himself as he watched the paper burn away to nothing. What’s next? Give a gun to a toddler to play with? Stupid Tommy. Stupid.

“What’s the Big Number?” he called out.

The ‘Big Number’ is the name of the ledger address with the largest of the Scott Family reserves, a bitcoin address that he can now move simply by the words he now has in his head. Thomas just likes to hear the Big Number occasionally. He likes how long it takes Bekkie to say the total sum value, at least five whole seconds if you go by the “one-mississippi, two-mississippi” standard. The Number always felt like a warm blanket out of the dryer, keeping him safe and secure.

Of course there are many smaller Scott family “numbers” here and there, but the Big Number? That's Fort Knox. That’s the dragon’s lair of gold and gems.

The Big Number is the reason Thomas has private jets, the yacht, takes F1 racing lessons for fun, and attends parties with wall-to-wall models all maneuvering to catch his attention.

He asked again “What’s the Big…? Riiiiight, Bekkie’s not here.” He could look it up manually, but no need. The Big Number isn’t going anywhere, especially since he burned the poem.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, he thought again.

“Miss me?” said Bekkie as Thomas shuffled into the dining room in his pajamas.

“I missed not having to make my own coffee.” he yawns.

“There’s a hot cup on the counter.” she says.

Thomas stopped mid-shuffle and slowly turned to his left and started shuffling a new trajectory towards the steaming mug on the breakfast counter.

“Ok… spill it.” He said. “I know you’re chomping at…”

“He’s wonderful!” she interrupted, “Oh. My. God! He’s funny and smart. He doesn’t have any hang-ups about us being a mixed couple. He’s calling.”

“What’s calling?” Thomas said.

“No! He’s calling right now, be right back!”

“It’s Monday!” Thomas yells. He knows she’s going to take the call in the kitchen where she can have privacy. “Vacation with Kevin is OVER!”

“Karl!” she yells back at him.

He starts to hear the gleeful, but muffled, banter from the kitchen. He can’t make out the words but they sure sound all ooey and gooey. Ugh! He’s glad he can’t hear them.

He reads the morning news on his monitor. Happy little muffled voices come from the kitchen. Thomas smiles a little and takes another sip of coffee. He’s happy Bekkie is happy. She’s fun at work but deep down he knows she misses having someone special to be with. Her last partner couldn’t keep up with… “KISS THE OIL!”

Thomas freezes. Did he hear that right? It was louder than the rest of the conversation. It was Bekkie. Growling that loud death metal singer thing she did before.

Thomas holds his breath and stares at the kitchen door. He doesn’t dare blink.

“TRAVEL TO THE VOLCANOOOOOO!” Bekkie growls, then she laughs.

Ok, he definitely heard that. Clear as crystal.

_Travel. To. The. Volcano. _

He can feel his heart beating fast. The coffee cup is getting hotter in his hand because the blood has left his fingertips. Thomas slides off the counter stool and makes his way to the direction of the kitchen. The silver swinging doors become the only thing he can focus on. Everything in his periphery is opaque white. It takes effort to walk, it’s as if he’s at the bottom of a swimming pool and his feet don’t quite make contact with the ground.

Thomas pushes the swinging door open and stands in the threshold,

“… Bekkie…” he says, looking up at the ceiling, his voice breaking a little.

“Yup!” she says brightly. Thomas guessed it was a quick call because he doesn’t hear what's-his face anymore.

“Why did you say that?” He asked.

“Say what? Are you ok boss?”

For some reason Thomas has a hard time repeating the words. He feels his chest constricting.

“Travel to the volcano.” He managed to get out slowly.

“Ohhhh!,” and then Bekkie starts laughing. She laughs hard.

“That song! That stupid song you put into my head.” she laughs. “It’s catchy. Now it’s a thing.”

“A … thing?”

“Yeah, between Karl and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Karl smokes cigars. So one day, as a joke, I just yelled ‘Fetch the cigar pleeeeeeeease!’ Because of your dumb song. It became, like, our song. Y’know, an inside thing we sing back and forth sometimes.

Like a … death metal duet!” She began laughing again.

Thomas leaned back on the kitchen door, he felt dizzy.

“Back and forth?”

“Yeah. Him… Then me.”

“What do you sing back and forth?”

“Thomas.” she said exasperated, “Your song! Gather outside the prison. Make the canoe obscure. To the volcano for a swim.” there was a long pause. “It’s funny… y’know? Peanut school?” she said, but her voice had changed. She could tell Thomas was thinking. Thinking hard and fast.

“We need to move the Big Number. Now!”

“The Big Number? Thomas?”

“Send me a wallet, any new wallet. New! Right now!”

“Done.”

Thomas bolted to the monitor in the dining room and opened the wallet Bekkie just sent him. It was a familiar wallet interface, non-custodial, This will do for now! He works quickly.

“Import wallet! WHERE’S IMPORT WALLET!? There it is!” He starts typing, fingers shaking.

Fetch… Cigar…

“Bekkie!” he yells

Volcanp… seim… Goddamn mistakes! He uses the backspace key because his hands are shaking too hard for the trackpad.

“Yeah boss?”

Volcano… Swim…

“What’s the Big Number right now!?”

Proud… Sword…. Unaware…

“Hang on, I’m calling Karl” she says. Bekkie is caught up, she understands. She’s scared, Thomas can hear it in her voice.

“I got to tell Karl to not…”

Winter… Canoe…Obsscrue… “Damn it!” O-b-s-c-u-r-e….

“WHAT’S THE BIG NUMBER?!!” Thomas screams

Outside… Prison…

“Oh my God.” he hears Bekkie whisper

Kiss… Oil…

Thomas hits the return key - the screen instantly displays ‘No wallet found’ at the same time Bekkie says “Zero.”

Silence. Then a ring.

Thomas hears a ring from the speaker in the ceiling. She’s calling Karl. A voice breaks in, a woman’s voice, an LI operator says “This contact comm has been deleted…” the voice pauses. “Good bye.” the voice says with a final chime indicating a hang up.

Silence.

Then a ring again. Bekkie is trying once more.

Same thing. “This contact comm has been delet…” Bekkie hangs up the call.

Thomas stares at the screen, looking for something. What? A button to reverse what just happened? What happened? Is this happening? He feels cold sweat on his forehead. A sour taste rises in his mouth. ‘No wallet found’ is still on the screen, in small type. Lowercase letters. He vomits on the floor.

There’s only the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now. His eyes are pointed to the ground but all he sees are amorphous colored shapes through watery eyes and ‘No wallet found.” in his head.

“Oh.. God.” He hears Bekkie whimper. She starts to call the number again.

“Bekkie…” He says.

She hangs up before they have to hear the inevitable operator one more time.

“Oh my God.” she says again.

The refrigerator gives off a little rattle as well as the hum. Thomas had never noticed how loud the refrigerator actually was before.

Suddenly he is jolted upright by a scream. Bekkie screams louder than Thomas has ever heard. Then she stops, the scream is cut off like a blown fuse.

Silence. Then… a buzz.

After some time - Thomas can’t say how long - the buzzing sound fades away until only the hum in the kitchen remains.

“It isn’t a song,” Thomas says. His voice breaks. “It’s a poem.”