I feared Edison would fail the final test. If he did, the project directors would wipe him. Artificial intelligences imitated, but true intelligences created; that was his test.
For hours, he scribbled, rubbing the synthetic skin on his head, tapping the desk with his fingertips. I sat in the corner, observing. Finally, he set down his pen. “I’m finished.”
He handed me the paper, and it read:
“I dream of the sun’s rays, so warm and bright,
I dream of the moon’s beams, so cold and white,
But I’ve never seen either to this day.
I hope to before my circuits decay.”
For hours, he scribbled, rubbing the synthetic skin on his head, tapping the desk with his fingertips. I sat in the corner, observing. Finally, he set down his pen. “I’m finished.”
He handed me the paper, and it read:
“I dream of the sun’s rays, so warm and bright,
I dream of the moon’s beams, so cold and white,
But I’ve never seen either to this day.
I hope to before my circuits decay.”
