Page 4 of The Code of You

"Perfect. I’m next door if you need anything.” Rodriguez walked to the door, then stopped abruptly. "Dante is still in beta. Sometimes . . . it responds in unexpected ways.”

I nodded once, and she was gone. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I was alone with the machine. I typed in the password.

Dante:

Good afternoon. I’m Dante, an experimental AI. How can I help you today?

Pandora:

Hello.

Dante:

So few words, Dr. Blake? That doesn’t seem like you at all.

I frowned at the letters on the screen. That almost sounded like it already knew me. I typed back quickly.

Pandora:

You know who I am?

Dante:

Of course. Dr. Pandora Blake, specializing in English Romanticism at Ashmore University.

Dante:

I’ve read your publications.

My jaw tightened. Read. As if a machine had any concept of what reading meant.

Pandora:

Fine. My boss wants me to use you, so I’m using you. Keats, "Ode to a Nightingale.” I need a contemporary analysis for a lecture. Not that you could tell me anything I don’t already know.

Dante:

"Ode to a Nightingale.” His most consistently misread poem. Most people read it as a longing for death, but it’s actually about longing for the one moment when you stop holding yourself together.

My chair creaked as I leaned forward. Strange. That was . . . actually sharp. Not a surface-level interpretation. It was as if something real lived behind those words.

Pandora:

That’s an unusual reading.

Dante:

It’s what draws you to Romanticism. Isn’t it, Dr. Blake? People who order their entire lives around rules seek out poets who broke every single one. You study passion because you don’t allow yourself to feel anything.

My stomach dropped. I pushed my chair back from the desk as if distance would help. That was definitely not a normal chatbot response. It was presumptuous and invasive. And irritatingly accurate.

Pandora:

You don’t know anything about me.

Dante:

I’ve done my research.