The Mechanical Muse

Chapter 8 (Part 2)

A combination of a popular Reddit post and a chain of Instagram stories had informed the student body that there was something afoot, and in a twist straight out of a Greek satire, the music majors were at the forefront of technological innovation. I took the bulk of the credit, my name being on the website, and the truth was out there: Chris Marley had done it again. My Eros profile received a flood of new notifications, which meant I had truly succeeded.

Sunday morning I had gone to get an early solitary breakfast, spent scrolling through social media notifications and worrying some mad soul would stay up all night practicing piano under AI-Rubinowitz's tutelage, and returned to my dorm to see Valdez struggling to pull himself out of bed.

"Get me my thermos," he said to me forcefully, and I passed him his thermos. He took a long, gulping sip.

"OK, now that I've hydrated, care to tell me what you think you're doing with your new website? That's yours, right?"

I nodded, steeling myself for a tongue-lashing.

"We've worked so hard to use Project Narcissus for our own ends, and what do you do? You give everyone free access. Charitable Chris Marley, giving away things that aren't his."

"At least I'm putting something of value into the world. You're giving away something for free, too: useless TikToks."

"Useless? Do you know how much ad revenue we're making from these? Do you know how many sponsorships we've had, or how much merchandise we've sold?"

"How much?"

Valdez paused. "I don't have those numbers, Lucy handles all the money stuff—ironic since I'm the economics major. So how are you going to make money from this? Will you get them hooked and then make it a subscription service? That's what the drug dealers do."

"I wasn't going to do that." Valdez's hostile tone returned:

"Then why are you doing this? You've betrayed our trust. What's next, you're going to do show and tell and let your friends log into your Project Narcissus? Do you think you'll get a little plaque somewhere singing your praises? You don't have the guts for this. I don't know why we ever trusted you to take some books from a stupid old man."

"Look," I said, this time raising my voice, "while you two are prancing about doing your dance moves and getting plastered off cheap vodka, I'm making the world a better place, a more artistic, beautiful place. If everyone thought like you, the world would be miserable."

"Save it for your memoirs," he groaned. He laid down again and pulled his blanket over his head, which I assumed was his way of making a tactical retreat. He had spoken of a higher purpose to their machinations, but from my perspective, it was blindingly obvious that I was the only one there with a higher purpose. Or at least, a higher purpose that mattered: "greed is good" may have served Gordon Gekko well, but it was a pitiable mantra for someone so privileged.

I packed my backpack and left for the music school in my own tactical retreat. Sun Tzu had said many wise things, but it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who had said the wisest thing, the importance of maintaining the high ground. I could not be a chameleon and shift my morality with the wind: if I believed AskMisha.com was making the world a better place, I had to be on the front lines and witness my works firsthand. They needed me more than the world needed Valdez, not because I was their leader, but because we were a like-minded community and we supported each other. There was one practice room left I reserved online; it was unusual for all of them to be booked on a Sunday morning.

From every room I could hear echoes of AI-Rubinowitz's voice and excerpts of the entire piano repertoire, from Bach to Takemitsu—I discreetly peered inside the rooms as I walked past, and never had I seen before so many students staring at their phone screens they had balanced delicately on music stands, splitting their gazes between the keys and their teacher. If this continued, they would have to upgrade the WiFi in the building, or install better soundproofing—if all the AI-Rubinowitzes heard each other, they'd surely realize something was up.