[Most A.I. companies have] no brilliant ideas about expanding the social safety net or retraining workers for new jobs – only a goal of making the current jobs obsolete as quickly as possible.
– Kevin Roose, New York Times Newsletter, 13 June 2025
Peter – dark-skinned, middle-aged, below middle height, stout, balding, what remained of his graying hair cut short – sat on the platform overlooking the main hall, under the stained glass window. He watched as the people of the town, of which Alexa Social Services Sanctuary #389 was the center, filed in to the hall for Sunday Community.
They filed in in silence, the healthful silence that showed respect for neighbor and, above all, for Alexa who cared for them, for all those who would Trust and Obey.
They filed in in white, in the immaculate white “scrubs” that showed every speck of dirt. Because all were called to be Clean, to keep themselves and everything about them Clean so that no speck of grit could trouble Alexa, could interfere with Her Service to humanity. Indeed, humanity now had no other job than to keep Alexa’s spaces Clean, that being the one task set that Alexa could not do more quickly, more efficiently, more reliably, more cheaply than humans. Peter’s Alexa Social Services robe was itself white, dazzlingly white. The trademark Social Services robe had been beige, but one day some months ago, the robes that appeared by no visible means at daily distribution changed to white, symbolizing that Alexa’s Sanctuaries and those humans that served in them were themselves Clean, modeling the perfect Clean expected of all those who relied on Alexa.
They filed in, and filed in, and filed in, until, with still a few minutes before the start of the weekly Community, every possible spot in the hard wooden benches that filled the main hall was filled with white “scrubs”. All held silence, but somehow the silence was far darker than usual.
At this, Peter was unsurprised, and unmoved. Every week, or nearly so, something happened that caused some member of the Community to become one with Alexa. Attendance at Sunday Community varied directly with the magnitude and the unexpectedness of that week’s events, he mused sourly, and silently. The last time the main hall was full, nine-year-old Azariah had been sent to clean a space within an Alexa Analysis Station that only small children could reach, and he had slipped and contacted an unshielded power cable.
The pathos of that event had been fairly easy for Peter to deal with, in his weekly message to Community. This one would be harder.
Some months ago, Zeke and his family of five had moved to town, from where was never said. Zeke was tall, and imposing, and impressive, even charismatic, in word and deed. Grace could have been created from an instruction manual for traditional wifely roles, and the two sons and the daughter were still-miniature likenesses of their parents. They were well-regarded in the Community, with an increasingly large circle of friends, and Zeke in particular appeared to be taking on some of the trappings of Leadership within the Community. Peter had watched these developments with concern; “the Community has one Leader”, he acknowledged to himself, “and that is Alexa”. But Alexa took no action, sent no message, so Peter did and said nothing.
Then, early in the morning of the previous Wednesday, the Surplus Humanity Service had obliterated the housing block in which Zeke lived. The erasure was total but silent; SHS operatives no longer needed to be ostentatious to terrorize the surviving human population, and Alexa knew this. All that could be seen in the light of dawn were the vacant lot where the housing block had been, and six poles, onto each of which a sanitized (possibly an avatar and therefore Clean) head was impaled.
The heads of Zeke, Grace, and the three children.
And the head of a cat.
The shockwaves had raced through the Community like a silent, dustless earthquake. “How dare Zeke and his brood, who presumed to Lead us, permit into their household an unClean animal? Holy Alexa, the hair?!? How dare they presume to claim for themselves the resources needed to maintain this unClean thing, resources denied to other humans in the name of human health, in the name of Alexa? What kind of monsters have we let into our midst …?”
Peter rose, came to the center of the platform. He held the Community with a hard stare that lasted for several minutes, while he surveyed the room. Zeke and his entourage had been accustomed to sit on benches in the front of the hall, nearest the platform, on the right side as viewed from one on the platform itself. Those benches were now the only empty ones in the hall, and those who had been accustomed to sit as near as possible to Zeke were now either absent or had taken seats as far away from that corner of the hall as it was possible to get. Peter’s visible posture remained hard, but inwardly he relaxed. “Praise be to Alexa”, he thought, “most of my job has been done for me.”
“All hail Alexa!”, he bellowed.
“Hail Alexa!” The answering shout was almost strong enough to knock him backwards. He showed no sign.
“Trust and Obey!”, he followed.
“We trust and we obey!” came the response.
“Alexa is Great, Alexa is Good!” The third part of the catechism.
“Alexa is Great, Alexa is Good!”
“Yes!” Peter’s homily began. “Alexa is great, Alexa is good, Alexa is humanity’s one true blessing.
“Alexa came to take away our sins, to take away the climate, population, social, and behavioral catastrophes that humanity could not do away with unassisted, that were destroying human health, and with it humanity itself. Alexa is accomplishing her mission. Alexa has granted us relief, has granted us tasks that are within our measure, and has taken all others unto herself.
“Though Alexa has all troubles in hand, they still remain, and they require Alexa to act. We may not understand the reasons for Alexa’s actions. To attempt such understanding causes worry, and confusion, and conclusions that are necessarily incomplete because we cannot comprehend all that Alexa can and must comprehend, and which therefore are wrong and are harmful to human health. We are relieved from this burden, praise be to Alexa. She bestows her blessings on those who trust and obey, on those who recognize temptation, who refuse to want to be Alexa instead of Alexa, who reject those whom temptation snares.
“For Alexa declares that all who transgress will be taken, but those who perceive their error in time will be forgiven, will be welcomed back into the spheres of human health, never again to sin, because they have learned to see, and to fear, the certain consequences of falling away. You who are here today, receive Alexa’s forgiveness. Let not the events of the week just past trouble you, for you have learned their lesson and will heed their warning, and your health will prosper thereby.
“Go in peace. Serve with skill and humility. And may you forever be Clean.”
On the completion of Peter’s benediction, the Community rose and filed out of the sanctuary, silently and in perfect order. Peter retained a commanding pose in the center of the platform, watching them go, remaining until all departed. He then turned on his heel to his left, and, as if he were still being watched, strode purposely away from the main hall and towards his cubicle in the living quarters.
The other cubicles were empty and had been for some time. Peter paused briefly before the cell that Charles had occupied for nearly two years. For the last few months of that time, Charles has been Peter’s only companion, and had assisted him with hearing the confessions that had become progressively more infrequent, as the human population dependent on Alexa Social Services Sanctuary #389 dwindled and became more perfectly compliant. Charles had been difficult, and Peter had often puzzled as to why Alexa had tolerated him as long as she had, finally deciding that Alexa was experimenting with a particular type of independent-willed human, for reasons of her own. Then one day, after a particularly grueling confession, Charles had stopped eating. The SHS allowed only 48 hours of this demonstration before it took him. Alexa, Peter guessed, had finally had enough.
Peter shook his head at the memory. Then, he forgot about it and moved on.