An Adventure in Storytelling
The story on this page was written by Google’s Gemini AI, using an idea that I sketched out as input. I’m posting this little experiment because (1) the story is cute, and (2) to give a concrete example of the potential in these new AI tools. The AI buzzword is being used to hype everything now — but underneath all that hype, there is something fundamentally game-changing here. I’m not even talking about how I’ve used AI tools to write software (see after the article), since that’s too esoteric to be meaningful to most normal people. Anybody with an idea can do what I’ve done here, and you could even have the AI come up with the ideas, as well. It’s intriguing and scary, but at least our future is going to correctly punctuated and spelled. 🙂
This story is really just a simple example. You can take the example as far as you want it, supplying minute plot details, character motivations, physical traits, writing styles, etc. For example, I could have asked for the dialog to be written as if Shakespeare was writing steampunk (see below).
Here’s my story idea as I gave it to Gemini, followed by the short story. And then I added the steampunk variation because it only took seconds.
My Idea as Given to the AI
Write me a science fiction short story less than 2500 words long. The basic premise is that in the future, many plants have died off as protein tanks replace farming. A botanist has preserved some high-value plants like coffee and strawberries and vanilla, and he’s the only source in the world of these plants. The botanist charges vast sums of money for his products while becoming increasingly arrogant. He finally pisses off the rich people, who raid his Fort Knox-like facility, steal his plants, and kill the botanist. The kicker is that their attempts to grow the exotic plants all fail, because the botanist had modified the DNA of the plants to require minute amounts of his blood in their food. Once he was dead, all the plants wilted and died.
Blood of the Last Garden
The year is 2142. Decades of reliance on synthetic protein vats had ravaged the Earth’s natural ecosystems. Vast swathes of land that once teemed with life lay barren, silent testaments to humanity’s insatiable hunger. Gone were the golden waves of wheat, the verdant jungles, the riotous colors of flowerbeds. All replaced by the sterile efficiency of chrome vats churning out a bland, featureless gruel that kept humanity alive but not necessarily thriving.
Dr. Silas Thorne was a man who thrived in this barren world. He was the sole custodian of a secret – a hidden sanctuary where the vibrant ghosts of the past flourished. Nestled within a repurposed biodome, Thorne had meticulously preserved a collection of Earth’s most prized flora – coffee, strawberries, vanilla – each nurtured with a religious fervor. These were not mere plants; they were keys to a forgotten world, luxuries craved by the wealthy elite.
Thorne’s sanctuary was a fortress. Guarded by laser grids and automated turrets, it resembled Fort Knox more than a greenhouse. Admittance was by invitation only, and Thorne, a man cultivated in equal measure to his orchids, doled out access to his botanical treasures with a haughty hand. A single, perfect strawberry could fetch a small fortune, a cup of real coffee brewed from Thorne’s guarded stock could cost a month’s wages from a vat worker.
His arrogance was legendary. He reveled in the power his knowledge gave him, lording over the desperate rich like a feudal lord. “They’ve forgotten the taste of sunshine,” he’d sneer, a manic glint in his eye, “Let them pay to remember.”
One day, Thorne’s avarice bit him. He refused to sell a shipment of his highly prized vanilla pods to Lord Jedediah Montague, the wealthiest man on the planet. Montague, a man who could buy and sell Thorne a thousand times over, was not accustomed to being refused. Infuriated, he vowed to break Thorne, to steal his precious plants and learn their secrets.
Montague hired a team of specialists – ex-military personnel with a taste for high-risk operations. They infiltrated Thorne’s impenetrable fortress, guns blazing. The alarm blared, but Thorne, confident in his defenses, was slow to react. By the time he reached his most prized collection, a room filled with row upon row of vanilla orchids, Montague’s men were there.
In the ensuing struggle, a stray bullet pierced a nutrient vat, showering the orchids with a crimson rain. Thorne, enraged, lunged at Montague, but he was too slow. A butt of a gun to the chest sent him sprawling. As he lay there, gasping for breath, Montague looked down at him with a cruel smile.
“You’ve lost, Thorne,” he said, “These are mine now.”
Thorne’s stolen sanctuary became a monument to failure. Montague’s best botanists, armed with every tool at their disposal, tried in vain to cultivate the precious plants. They thrived for a short time, then inexplicably sickened and died. The stolen strawberries turned to mush, the coffee beans withered on the vine, the vanilla orchids yielded only empty pods.
Montague, consumed by a desperate need to unravel the secret behind Thorne’s success, spent a fortune on genetic analysis. The answer came back baffling. Thorne had subtly modified the DNA of his plants. They required, for healthy growth, an infinitesimal trace element – an element not naturally found in any known nutrient solution.
Montague’s scientists theorized, with a sickening dread, what that element might be. They ran a blood test on a desiccated scrap of Thorne’s skin left behind in the struggle. The results were conclusive.
Thorne, the arrogant guardian of a forgotten world, had ensured his legacy. His plants could not survive without him. In his own way, twisted as it was, he had become one with the flora he so cherished. His blood, the last vestige of a bygone world, was the final, secret ingredient. The key to a taste lost to humanity, forever locked away.
OK, just for grins, I asked it to rewrite the story as if Shakespeare was writing steampunk.
The Tragedy of Silas Thorne, Gardener of Glass and Steel
Hark! In the year of our Lord two thousand one hundred and forty-two, a pall of soot hung heavy o’er the land. The verdant bounty of yore had been devoured by the iron maw of progress. Gone were the fields of golden grain, replaced by whirring contraptions that churned out a metallic slurry, sustenance devoid of delight.
Dr. Silas Thorne, a man of brass and ambition, dwelt within a citadel of glass and steel. Within its confines, a secret flourished – a haven where the ghosts of forgotten flora lingered. Coffee nurtured with steam-powered bellows, strawberries coaxed to life by aetheric lamps, vanilla orchids pulsating with bioluminescent light. These were not mere plants, but relics of a bygone era, coveted by the elite like jewels from a sunken city.
Thorne guarded his sanctuary with clockwork automatons and aether cannons. Entry was a privilege granted by a flick of his oiled mustache and a glint in his steely eyes. A single, glistening strawberry could fetch a duke’s ransom, a cup of coffee brewed from Thorne’s hidden stock, a year’s wages for a cogsmith in the underbelly of the city.
His arrogance grew like a weed choked with coal dust. He reveled in the power his knowledge bestowed, a tyrannical Baron amidst a world of synthetic gruel. “Forgotten the taste of sunshine, have they?” he’d chortle, his voice akin to the hiss of escaping steam. “Let them cough up cogs to remember!”
One fateful day, Thorne’s avarice outstripped his cunning. He denied a shipment of his prized vanilla pods to Lord Jedediah Montague, a man whose pockets overflowed with gears more valuable than gold. Montague, a baron of industry accustomed to getting his way, vowed to break Thorne, to steal his botanical treasures and unlock their secrets.
He assembled a band of rogues – sky pirates with clockwork claws and aether-powered rifles. They infiltrated Thorne’s fortress under the cloak of a smog-filled night, gears whirring and pistons pumping. The alarm shrieked like a wounded automaton, yet Thorne, confident in his ironclad defenses, reacted with the sluggishness of a rusted gear.
By the time he reached his most prized collection – a chamber filled with row upon row of vanilla orchids bathed in the gentle glow of bioluminescent lamps – Montague’s men were already upon him. In the ensuing chaos, a stray aether blast shattered a nutrient vat, drenching the orchids in a crimson rain.
Thorne, enraged, lunged at Montague, a brass gauntlet aimed for the Baron’s face. But his movements were rusty, his gears sluggish. A well-placed kick from a sky pirate sent him sprawling. As he lay gasping, Montague loomed over him, a cruel smile twisting the corners of his oiled mustache.
“Checkmate, Thorne,” he sneered, “These beauties are mine now.”
Montague’s stolen sanctuary became a monument to his folly. His best cogsmiths and botanists, armed with every contraption at their disposal, toiled in vain to cultivate the stolen flora. They flourished for a brief time, then inexplicably withered and died. The strawberries rotted, the coffee beans turned brittle, the vanilla orchids produced only empty pods.
Consumed by an insatiable need to unravel the secret, Montague poured a fortune into alchemical analysis. The answer, when it arrived, was as baffling as a malfunctioning chronometer. Thorne had subtly tinkered with the very essence of his plants. They required, for their continued existence, a minute trace element – an element absent from any known alchemical formula.
A sickening suspicion began to gnaw at Montague’s gears. He commissioned tests on a scrap of Thorne’s skin, a remnant of the struggle. The results were a revelation, as chilling as the arctic winds.
Thorne, the arrogant guardian of a lost Eden, had woven his own legacy into the very fabric of his plants. They craved, for their survival, an infinitesimal trace – the essence of Thorne himself. His blood, a final, chilling secret – the key to a forgotten taste forever locked away, a testament to a bygone era where the earth teemed with life, not just the whirring of gears.
Random Thoughts About AI
I’ve just read an excellent (and thorough!) explanation of how ChatGPT works by Stephen Wolfram. Here is the link if you want to dive in.
Here are some handy links. The chatbots are free — you just have to create an account. ChatGPT will also be the AI engine in Apple’s next major release.
- ChatGPT by OPENAI: the big one that everybody has heard about.
- Gemini by Google: Google’s answer to ChatGPT.
As far as using AI tools in software development, I have to say that I am very enthusiastic about it. I have been writing software for literally 50 years as of 2024, and this really does feel like a big jump. I’ve been working on several personal projects in the last few years, and I’ve used both ChatGPT and Gemini as coding assistants. For non-coders, writing software requires a vast amount of specific knowledge, and everything must be done precisely and in the right order. And since you can’t know everything, you are periodically interrupted by the need to figure out the details of some little piece you just want to plug in without spending much effort. Here’s where the AI tools really shine: solving well-defined tasks in your environment. A lot of the time, these are tasks that you will basically figure out once and forget after you’re past it. Rather than waste time figuring it out, you just ask the AI to write the module. You integrate it and test it, and have the AI fix it or expand things as needed. To me, this is the cooking equivalent of handing the AI an onion and getting it back cleaned and diced.
At this point, we are still providing the impetus for AIs to do things. I recently read, however, about a research project that has AIs working in concert to explore new ideas in their problem domain (hacking PCs). Once the machines start having their own “goals”, that’s when things can (and will) start running wild. Fasten your seat belts!