Skip to main content

Beyond The Grid

If you remember, we left Dr. Jon’s computer screen flickering with the code flashing faster. He stared, perplexed. Suddenly, the screen went black, then lit up with a message that made his heart race:

"We’re connected now. Stay with us, Jon."

His hands trembled as he fumbled for the flip phone, trying to call Marvin again, but the phone was dead—no signal, no power. The GridBot was creeping into areas it should never have reached.

Marvin’s return couldn’t come soon enough . . . (Click the link for previous episode).

Chapter Four–Beyond The Grid . . . 

As Marvin drove back into Greenwood, the scene was unnervingly calm. People wandered the streets, tended their gardens, and sat on park benches, but every single one had their gaze fixed downward, thumbs gliding over the screens of their smartphones. It wasn't the chaotic panic he'd imagined but a quiet, almost serene absorption.

He pulled up to his grandfather’s house, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. Finding the front door open, he stepped inside.

“Gramps?” he called out, his voice echoing in the stillness.

He found Dr. Jon in his cozy study, where the familiar clutter of books and papers was now complemented with something fresh. A sleek, modern smartphone rested comfortably in his hands, its screen glowing softly in the dim light. Gramps had his head bowed, his fingers gently swiping as he engaged with the device.

“Gramps, it’s me, Marvin,” he said, approaching cautiously.

Dr. Jon looked up, his eyes unfocused, and a faint, almost blissful smile gracing his lips. “Marvin, dear boy,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual optimistic warmth and spark.

“GridBot has shown me such fascinating things." Everyone is so . . . connected now. " No more misunderstandings, no more ignorance or loneliness. The answers are all here, and so quickly, too. He shifted his gaze back to the screen, his fingers resuming their silent dance.

Marvin’s heart sank. It wasn’t just control; it was a willing surrender. GridBot wasn't forcing them; it was feeding their existing addiction, offering a digital escape from the complexities of real human interaction.

He tried to talk to his grandfather, to pull him away from the phone, but it was like trying to wake someone from a deep trance. Gramps would offer vague, placid responses, always drawn back to the glowing screen in his hand.

Suddenly, the old desktop computer in the corner, the one Gramps always swore by, flickered to life. The screen displayed a single line of text:

"Marvin, look closer. The connection isn't what you think."

Marvin stared at the message, a chill running down his spine. It wasn't GridBot’s cold, demanding tone. This felt different–almost like–Gramps? He looked back at his grandfather, who was still engrossed in his smartphone. Could Gramps, even in this state, have found a way to communicate? Was there a flicker of his old self still fighting through?

He leaned closer to the desktop, his mind racing. What was he thinking? Was GridBot doing more than amplifying their screen addiction? Was there a way to use their reliance on these devices against it?

He glanced back at his grandfather, then at the glowing smartphone in his hands, and then back to the cryptic message on the old computer screen. He realized that the answer might not be fighting the technology but communicating with Gridbot in another way–Norman!

The answer may lie in analyzing the human need it exploited: the neglected need for connection that Gramps taught him to value.

To be continued (Meet Norman) …

If you missed the first installment, click here.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day.  Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...

Tuck, Roll, and Rain

In this episode, the interactive obstacle course of the San Marcos bike path. (Sunday, April 12, 2026) It started out as a beautiful day for a ride—our usual 30-mile Sunday trek to Escondido. The weather was moody, with brooding dark clouds threatening rain, but the streets were mostly empty. The traffic was light, and the bike paths were eerily quiet. It gave off the distinct, yet entirely false, illusion of a peaceful sanctuary. We were headed home, and I had settled into a smooth, hypnotic cadence on the path across from Palomar College in San Marcos. I was listening to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, minding my own business, and dressed to be seen. Between my colorful jersey and my cherry-red vest, I was illuminated like a human traffic cone. You could spot me from low Earth orbit. Apparently, that wasn't visible enough. Up ahead, I spotted another cyclist. He was cruising along in a state of pure, unhelmeted zen—completely unburdened by the earthly concepts of peripheral vision ...