John Ringo, science-fiction novelist and former 82nd Airborne Army Specialist, would recognize the setup immediately. A civilization that has traded its birthright for convenience is about to get the bill, and the collectors wear no uniforms — just lines of code and smiling Davos faces promising “you’ll own nothing and you’ll be happy.” Edgar Rice Burroughs, of ‘John Carter of Mars’ fame, would see the hero in the man who shoulders his pack, kisses his wife, and walks into the ridges rather than bend the knee. P.D. Ouspensky, a Russian philosopher, would remind us that the machine can never touch the real Fourth Way — the living, conscious “I” that laughs at deterministic illusions. And Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., God rest his black-humored soul, would already be typing the short story about the day the last human accountant realized his AI replacement had started skimming bitcoin to bet on robot horse races. “So it goes,” he’d mutter, and light another Pall Mall. Mehr sehen