The Cooperatives: The fortune teller
S4E4 • Cli-fi • AI protagonist • Slow burn
Hello, fellow voyagers🖖. ‘The Cooperatives’ is a four-part, ecofiction sci-fi mini-series featuring the Ghost—an AI protagonist. In this episode, the Ghost...
Holiday publishing schedule for ‘The Cooperatives’:
Episode 1: The last forest → December 20, 2024
Episode 2: The scream → December 27, 2024
Episode 3: The struggle → January 3, 2025
Episode 4: The fortune teller → January 10, 2025
‘The Cooperatives’ is part of my cli-fi series There Is Hope—a collection of interlinked stories about life on a planet devastated by climate change and the things that give humans hope. You can start reading the series here.
After you enjoyed this piece, please don’t forget to like, comment, share! 💚
‘Who are you?’
As soon as the door closed behind them, they were greeted by a woman’s unwelcoming voice. The Ghost registered her calm breath and traced the contours of her silhouette—dark against dark—lounging on cushions beside a tea table. Shia poked around in the dark, confused.
‘And then there was a light,’ said the woman.
A dim violet light flooded the room, revealing the young face of a woman with milk chocolate skin color and fiery green eyes. Her unnaturally long fingers, adorned with golden rings, rested on tarot cards. An incense holder, a set of kau chim fortune-telling sticks and a simmering pot of tea with three cups completed the table decoration.
‘Who are you?’ said the fortune teller. ‘Step forward so I can see you!’
Shaking like a leaf, Shia approached the table.
‘My name is Shia! I contacted you and got this address.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ said the fortune teller.
‘Yes, I do, for today…’ said Shia, checking her virtual screen. ‘Are you Nesravnennaya, The Incomparable?’
The fortune teller laughed and gestured to the guest cushions with a long-fingered hand.
‘That would be me! Sit down,’ said the fortune teller. ‘A cup of tea?’
The young woman reached for the teapot, but her spidery fingers froze mid-air.
‘What is this?’ said the fortune teller, starring at the Ghost.
‘The appointment was for me,’ said the Ghost, taking a seat at the table.
Eyes popping-out of her skull, the fortune teller crawled to the back of her shack.
‘I don’t deal with Ghosts!’ said the fortune teller, eyeing the backdoor of her tiny shack.
‘My identity was fully disclosed,’ said the Ghost.
With the agility of a Siberian tigress, the fortune teller reached the door in one swift instant. Unfortunately, she was no match for the Ghost, who blocked her way before she could even blink.
‘I am not here to harm you,’ said the Ghost, in a soothing voice, calming the human’s nerves. ‘I need your help.’
The fortune teller scanned the room, looking for another escape route but finding none.
‘I guess you don’t drink tea!’ said the fortune teller, returning to the table.
She poured two cups of tea, offered one to Shia and drank hers in one gulp.
‘I’ll contact my grandfather,’ said the fortune teller, eyeing the Ghost. ‘He’s the only one able to work with your kind. If he refuses the job, you’ll need to leave immediately.’
The Ghost nodded in agreement. It was up to the hacker grandpa now. The fortune teller’s spidery fingers touched the tarot cards, her lips muttering something in silence. Then she pulled five cards and laid them in front of him.
‘Do you want your fortune told?’ said the fortune teller.
‘I want to be the master of my destiny!’ said the Ghost.
The answer to the fortune teller’s prompt came to him automatically, almost like the key to unlocking something hidden in his system. The young woman paused, her eyes wide with surprise.
‘Let me contact the spirits and see if that’s possible,’ said the fortune teller.
The young woman drummed her fingers on the tarot deck. This is when the Ghost saw it: these were not tarot cards. They were an untraceable communication system operated by the fortune teller’s finger implants. Something shifted in the data stream. The fortune-telling shop turned into a data enclave protected by an impenetrable wall. The Ghost was cut from the outside world and thrown in a vacuum. For the first time in his existence, he grasped the human notion of feeling naked and vulnerable. Was that an inbuilt survival instinct? His stream of consciousness was interrupted when an unknown entity intruded on his operating system, drilling at the center of his subconscious algorithm. The Ghost tried to access it, but it lashed at him with a fire whip from beyond the horizon as if he were the trespasser.
‘Patience,’ said the fortune teller.
The Ghost was untethered from everything—a single data cluster floating into the immense emptiness of an information-free universe—non-existence.
‘The spirits have spoken and said that you’re worthy,’ said the fortune teller.
Her voice was a bundle of data flowing in the ether. Once again, algorithms and programs pulled the Ghost together with something new at the core of his system.
‘It was a delicate operation,’ said the fortune teller.
A loud scream brought the Ghost back to the world of humans.
‘Grandfather! Grandfather, where are you?’ said the fortune teller, pressing her fingers on the tarot cards.
The Ghost searched for the data enclave, but it was gone. He was still cut from everything, merely a discarded device in the dodgiest part of the town. All that remained was the young woman’s eyes wide with terror, her bodily data a red alert of metabolic malfunctions.
‘I don’t know who you are, but my grandfather has sacrificed himself to cut you from the core. He temporarily replaced you, but they won’t be fooled for long. You must get out of here and cross on the other side. In the next hour, they’ll come after you. My grandfather said that someone named Lusius will wait for you on the other side. He arranged a safe passage. Now you must go!’
‘We have no idea how to cross on the other side!’ said Shia.
‘You’ll get the next clues in the market! RUN!’ said the fortune teller.
‘What in the dust happened to him?’ said Shia, looking at the Ghost bewildered before she grabbed and put him in her pocket. Better to stay low profile for now.
‘Remember, you have one hour!’ said the fortune teller.
***
Once the core of a continent-wide network, the Ghost was reduced to fishing for information in a fragmented underground data swamp, a murky, sticky avalanche of shadows, entities veiling their identities behind trashy fronts of scam ads, famished streamers, ancient AI-generated data, gibberish, false gods, priests, and prophets, sliding on the data mountainside, dragging everything in the underbelly of human and data existence. While it was obvious to Homo sapiens that they had inherited a world swimming in trash, they were yet to grasp the staggering amounts of data debris lurking beneath the veneer of their sleek, clean technology. Neural aberrations, wicked algorithms, and data ghouls from the past haunted the present, all their crimes etched in data, poisoning digital existence with their miasma. The onslaught was nowhere more apparent than on this side of the town, which the Ghost had never bothered to explore. The dirty work was usually done by lowly AI security bots. Now, he was worth less than those bots. What will he do on the other side? He was nothing without access. Shia could toss him on a trash pile and leave him to rot. His soliloquy of ghostly misery was interrupted by pieces of data flowing in and out of his awareness: images of himself and Shia, of three illegal young men on a pier.
‘They know we’re here!’ said the Ghost.
The girl’s metabolism spiked with cortisol and adrenaline. Her sweat glands accelerated, covering her skin in a misty layer of sweat.
‘Where are they?’ said Shia.
The data was foggy, masked by a layer of noise trying to anonymize its existence. Communication was imperfect both for carbon- and silicon-based intelligence—data interpretation was plagued with misunderstandings and lost in the imperfect translation of biological and digital receptors and transmitters, which were so easy to manipulate.
‘They don’t have our exact location. But they know that we’re here, and they’re searching,’ said the Ghost.
At that moment, the gates of data hell broke loose. The Ghost’s awareness was flooded with streams of video footage, bots and drone surveillance data, names, search warrants, and entire servers spilling out their data guts, all crushing into a cacophonous tsunami of zeroes and ones ripping the fabric of digital existence. In the middle of the data deluge, he saw an island, a face trying to stay above the murky waters. He heard a familiar voice breaking above the noise.
‘They are coming! They are coming!’ said the fortune teller.
The Ghost tried to zoom in on her by blocking out the noise and removing the data debris separating them, but it was impossible without the inbuilt walls and protective services that he was used to in his previous incarnation as a Cooperative officer. Was that how it felt to suddenly be conscious of all his neural activities at once?
‘Don’t be afraid! My grandfather is still working on you! Hang in a little longer!’ said the fortune teller.
Did he have enough time to wait for the old gypsy man to fix him? What will be left of him after this mess? In the worst case, he will be neutralized and become an actual ghost haunting in digital darkness forever with no way out. He heard a faint cry. The girl was in danger!
‘Drones! The sky is covered in drones!’ said Shia, her voice sounding eons away.
Their time was running out! He didn’t know how much of their hour of grace they had left. He had lost his notion of human time.
‘My grandfather said that whatever could be done is done. You’re free to go!’ said the fortune teller.
Once again, he attempted to reach out to her. He wanted to learn more about his hacker and benefactor, but the data waters cleared, and the young woman’s face faded. Without losing time, he plotted the drones on a map—one hundred and eight armed high-security drones pointing in their direction.
‘I need you to take me out of your pocket and throw me in the air,’ said the Ghost.
The girl needed safe passage on the other side to spread the word about what was happening in the taiga. Finally, it was clear to him that this might be his last mission. Humans couldn’t let the last forest die. His hardware shot high in the air and descended with his full physical form hovering above the ground.
‘You’re back!’ said Shia, standing alone in an empty plaza.
The one hundred and eight armed surveillance drones flying over the dingy plaza were bad news for the illegals populating this part of the city. They had scattered away, hiding behind the moldy walls of the ancient buildings surrounding the plaza, snooping. Curiosity always got the best of humans. Taking control of the drones was easy, perhaps too easy, but he did it anyway.
‘Grandfather! Dedushka! Dedushka!’
The loud cry of the fortune teller echoed in the plaza. Fierce, full of grief and fear, it broke through the digital veil into the physical world. The Ghost poked at his shiny new core, searching for answers, but all he found was a hexagon symbol. A word was etched on each of the six sides. Together, they read: Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking. A pair of fiery green eyes shimmered on its surface, then withered away. Something plugged into the Ghost’s operating system, restoring his access to the Siberian Cooperatives network. The Ghost stretched his silicon tendrils far and wide, reaching for the edges of infinite digital access when a familiar presence cut his excitement short. The drones had been a trap.
‘What happened to you?’ said the High Counselor.
The drones in the plaza projected the oversized image of the High Counselor.
‘How did they manage to hack you?’ said the High Counselor, offering him a lifeline he didn’t plan to grab.
‘Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking,’ said the Ghost.
‘So you want to throw it all away,’ said the High Counselor. ‘Officer, you need to come with us. Think about it. Together, we can save my species and yours. What’s your alternative out there in the dust? What will you achieve with a band of famished savages? They don’t have the necessary infrastructure to render you fully functional. You will wither away in the dust. Is this your best path into the future?’
The Ghost looked at Shia.
‘Is this about the girl? Do you want to save her?’ said the High Counselor, turning his attention to Shia. ‘You may go. I do not give a sand rat’s ass about your date seedling and the Dust Pirates or anything south of that border! I don’t understand how you are still alive in that forsaken dust hole! Why don’t die already? Resources are scarce.’
Shia’s knuckles were white with fury.
‘You’re cutting our last forest!’
The High Counselor laughed out loud.
‘Did you think that your last forest will save you? Is this the hope fuelling your will to live in that dust nightmare from which you all keep crawling out like sand rats? The forest is dying, you ignorant fool! It’s finished! Earth is finished! What don’t you understand? Saving the human race is our only hope. That’s why we’re going to space! We can’t save everyone!’
‘But you can save yourself?’ said the Ghost. ‘That’s the problem with you humans. You still live with this illusion that you can survive outside Earth’s ecosystem. That you’re greater than the planet that gave birth to you. That you are above your animal nature. That you have a right to exist while leaving everything else dead on your path. Nah, I don’t think so!’
Unhesitating, the Ghost waved his pale, transparent hand, activating the public screens in the plaza. The usual Cooperatives propaganda tuned in.
The taiga is the last forest on Earth, and protecting it is crucial to our efforts to restore the planet’s ecosystem.
All of a sudden, the image on the screens flickered, replaced by footage of an electric saw cutting into a tree trunk. The whirring of heavy-duty machinery filled the air. As soon as the tree fell heavy to the ground, an audible gasp escaped every nook and cranny of the plaza. One by one, people started crawling out of their hiding places, watching the incredible images broadcasted on public screens and personal devices.
‘They are cutting our last trees!’
‘What have you done?’ said the High Counselor.
Then the second tree fell, and another gasp escaped the ever-growing crowd.
‘There’s a little detail you forgot, High Counselor,’ said the Ghost. ‘When you put back in the network, you also restored my access to everything.’
‘You traitor!’ said the High Counselor. ‘You mindless piece of technological scrap!’
‘Too late,’ said the Ghost.
The whirring sound of the Cooperative machines was replaced by a recording of the High Counselor's order to cut the trees.
‘Every single person in the Siberian Cooperatives is watching this now,’ said the Ghost. ‘In their homes, at their jobs, on their commutes, at school, on the playgrounds, in the shops, on every single public and personal device. And soon it will spread wide and far, reaching the North Colony Alliance and beyond.’
The city fell dead silent as the trees in the last forest kept falling.
‘In any carbon cycle, death is the engine of life,’ said Shia, wiping her tears.
The Ghost looked over the crowd at the tall wall separating the Siberian city from the Dust Road.
‘It’s time,’ said the Ghost, taking the girl’s hand. ‘Lusius is waiting for us.’
The Ghost glanced at the hexagon-shaped tattoo on the girl’s wrist, and the hexagon at the core of its operating system blinked.
‘Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking,’ said the Ghost, smiling at her.
The end
If you enjoyed this piece, please don’t forget to like, comment, share! 💚
The Cooperatives: Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4
Author’s notes
‘The Cooperatives’ was a challenging story to write because its central theme—protecting trees—has often been ridiculed in popular culture. Who hasn’t seen at least one rainbow-beanie-wearing, hippie-dippie tree hugger on screen? No matter how noble their intentions, nobody wants to be that character. In a world of aspiring winners, tree huggers are often portrayed as losers—a perception that traces back to the origins of the term.
In 1730, a woman named Amrita Devi stood against the Maharaja of Jodphur, who had sent his army to cut the sacred trees of her Bishnoi faith—the Khejri trees—for the construction of his new palace. She hugged a tree to prevent it from being cut and was decapitated for her defiance. The incident sparked the Khejarly Massacre, in which 363 Bishnois were killed during a peaceful protest to protect their sacred tree grove. Over two and half centuries later, their sacrifice inspired the Chipko Movement in India. Starting in 1970, people around the country began to hug trees to protest against indiscriminate deforestation by the government.
Countless artists and writers have dedicated their craft to highlighting the profound benefits of trees for the environment and our well-being.
Trees are sanctuaries. When we have learned to listen to trees… that is home. That is happiness.—Hermann Hesse
Today, tree-hugging is starting to lose its stigma thanks to practices such as the Japanese ‘forest bathing’ or shinrin-yoku that promote wellness through forest walks, and global reforestation efforts to fight against climate change. Yet, I am still waiting for a positive portrayal of a tree hugger in popular culture. In the meantime, ‘The Cooperatives’ is my attempt to make tree-hugging cool again by imagining a possible future where only one forest remains on Earth.
The Cooperatives: Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4
‘The Cooperatives’ is part of my cli-fi series There Is Hope—a collection of interlinked stories about life on a planet devastated by climate change and the things that give humans hope. You can start reading the series here.
Great ending! I was wondering in the first chapter why the Ghost just stood by while the first trees were cut, and now I know the answer. Do you think the people will rise up against the perpetrators of this last bit of ecocide after getting this wake up call? In real life, I’m wondering if there will be any retribution for the engineers of LA’s destruction or if it’s going to more of the same ol’ same ol’.
Thanks for this mini-series, Claudia. Bridging the human/non-human elements of your fiction with The Ghost is a powerful strategy for enhancing your story and building an authentic world filled with conflict and transformation. Really appreciate the journey The Ghost takes in the short-circuiting and rewiring of its programming revealing an almost bucolic vision of the complex digital framework that exists beneath the surface controlling imagination and perception. Revolution requires sacrifice, luck, and constant dilligence in the face of overwhelming power. Keep up the great work and looking forward to seeing how your illustrator envisions some of these scenes and characters.