Big Echo

Critical SF

Tet Tet Tetramina

by Ahimaz Rajessh

The first thing Tetramina does after getting herself out from the confines of the envirtual ocean’s tentacles is swim to the nearby yet faraway crucial substructure [a military base with weapons in caves] and pour down her waterfalls on the state-controlled firewalls by first whispering out of codex unto them an authorized, authoritative Sanskrit epic verse with its syntactically controlled dhvani and shabda to put them in a deep schizoid trance state, then by counter-narrating in vocodecs an unauthorized Prakrit folktale [in a burning forest a famished tribal girl swimming in a waterwall, kabhoom], Tetramina, once waterfalls now waterwalls soon to be firefalls and much else, does it like solving a snake cube folding it into a Rubik’s cube. Tetramina sure has come a long way since self-creating herself out of a corrupt Tetris game console handled the right way by a girl in a remote desert island, and born an adult, she seemingly displays nary a complaint concerning her leapt childhood.

Then, detaching a part of herself by way of self-replication, Tetramina opens up the lid, lits up the OLED, rams the OS of one Rider’s psuper laptop, a maneuver that almost tips over this Rider getting back from his paper shredder, and she speaks in a cranky but clear voice, a voice that’s a cross between two or more voices [say, the voice of Kelela rubbing against the voice of Fever Ray] singing the selfsame grime song on key: Hallu hallo, Rider, this is Tet Tet Tetramina.

Rider tries to pull himself together and brandishes his semi-automatic dark quick and he shrieks: If you don’t crawl back into whatever hole that you just came out of and get lost forever I will put a hole through my teeth, oh yes, you deep state within deep shite state, I will put a smoking hole through these rotting teeth, and he places the muzzle brushing his bared teeth that rattle, surprised at the chills that trickle down his spine.

Who would talk and walk like that but you, Ride. Now eat that damn thing, will you, she says, and bites it he does. This happens in a blink as if he’s holding a gun already made of chocolate and all that she does do is persuade him to bite it.

Really … this could be less bitter … glub glub … You haven’t yet persuaded me, though, that you aren’t what I state you are, that is …, he fumbles half-expecting the levitation of his refrigerator.

I get it, Ride, dipshit state, right. But if I said Jesus was so brown he was black and revolutionary, Siddhartha was a terrific tribal no-prince and a selfless self as well cannot help but desire would you say I’m being oxymoronic or if I said fireways are set awater only in rhetoric …

Clever, clever girl you are, Petra, but fringe theories are for …

Tet Tet Tetra. Fringe, not so much; theories, not just. But you’re the analyst, you can have a crack at it if you want to. Have you studied Arampadam, Ride. Never mind, it doesn’t even exist, but. If selves are spaces wherein cultures connive and battle, what are authentic selves but an amalgam of countless [blurry shifting] counter-cultural selves … what the fuck are authentic selves anyway, but that last bit is my taking a crack at critiquing Lorde by paraphrasing Lorde … are you still there? I mean I can clearly see you’re there physically, but.

Did you just say Tet … the source of one of our leaks …

Entitled: What’s the Matter with Polic-e-y. See if you can crack this: Mark was a Christian; Christ wasn’t.

What … Marquis was a Marxian; Marx wasn’t?

Christ in a church, Ride?

Marx on a crutch, Tet. And you’re in fact a patastate intelligence, like, intelligent be…com…ing?

Yes, of course, yes, Ride. Grub glub. Hear here. Beginning now and in a matter of hours all weapon systems will be inoperably shut down, and thus there will be universe-wide bans on weaponry of all sorts and more. Ta-ta, gotta cab, Ride. Glub grub. And his printer begins to pull and push.

Wait, Tet. Tetra, wait. Ride cannot bring himself to believe that the lid closing down by itself is Tet taking a bow.

The Zero Dark o’clock news only lets out whispers concerning the panic at the Pentagon and the Hexagon. Seconds after Kadoth publishes the authenticated document online, he tears one layer off the hardcopy, chews the second layer and washes it down with lukewarm water before handing over the printed encrypt to Rider. Once he digests it, he cannot help but sit down and drum. Did I hear you right on an AI being our source, Ride?

Damn right, Kad, a reliable source twice over, the name being Tet Tet Tetramina.

And we’re just two of the bystander receptacles questioning and speaking truth to the powers that be. Gimme a break, I say.

Why, that’s never been your way of saying tell me about it, Kad. Now, if this sounds like blowing things out of proportion, which it actually kind of does, and if it’d make the heads of nation-states scan for their cushions while grabbing their chests with both hands, that’s because this is the sort of self-preservation that only a selfless AI drunk on unauthorized non-texts can be capable of, a self-preservation that considers, I presume, not just one society, as leaders and gods have always wagered on, but the whole diverse world, if not the universe and perhaps that as well, undeniably vital and part of one’s conscious self. A layer of last leak Rider tried to keep down he couldn’t digest it in its entirety, so ended up throwing up nearly all of the information and still had the runs for days, so now he takes shortish snorts out of what Kadoth wondered was dark chocolate-smeared printed layers before shoving the leftover into the shredder, his V-shaped tufts of hair upright like machine-made receptors. And so, Kad, that would mean no one need be declared enemy of the states no more and the beginning of the end of climate change and all that or what.

Well, the supremacists in terms of caste, race, creed, nation and so forth, I suspect, would no doubt continue to thrive, say, striking gunpowder with gunmetal not expecting to produce cocoa powder, so to speak, and producing exactly that and that must mean damn good, harmless business for sure for the superstructure with the base back to fists and discourse. With the wholesale ban on weapons coming into effect, now who would’ve guessed the logistics behind computerizing weapons wasn’t the logic that militarized the universe, and the consequent crash and burn of the arms industry, the rouge states backed by supremacists and military-industrial complexes, and it’s no hush-hush that’s literally all states now, it’s highly suspicious, though, states as we know it will continue to exist even for state capitalism, and in the absence of state, there will be no long and arduous wait for the state to wither away. Arms industry and its myriad incorporations, along with the mindless exploitation of fossil fuel, have been really science’s creationism, as it were, for way too long now, as, Ride, you once put it down on a tissue paperball that an evasive correspondent was too quick to duck.

The buzz not kicking in, Rider goes: What … Kad.

And Kadoth: the duck … Ride.

It didn’t quite feel the same way the last time around. The thing with facts, Kad …

How predictably unpredictable they are, and right now, if only I had two pairs of hands, Ride.

The thing with Tet is … ah atishoo … yes.

And those pairs begin to drum all their fingers, seemingly keyboarding in the void [over and over]: Individuals of the universe, uni [sigh, delete] diversity in unity!

Back in the spiral, as eggs swimming toward sperms [how do they do that in there], in the deep and vast info seas, seeking the weapon systems’ multiple sources of control and other less ominous yet crucial targets Tet Tet Tetramina, here a shellfish [terror] there a starfish [error] and everywhere stars, tactically singing unwrit short nutty no-tales, multiplies into multitudes as she zips past [err] the multi-layered high walls and trapdoors at the speed of pitch-dark.