Chapter 22 #2
‘Wow.’ Brian’s face is a picture of shock. ‘AI? Is it really that sophisticated these days?’
In some ways, life on the island feels truly stuck in time. ‘It really is.’
‘And there are books? Published books written by a machine being sold as the real thing?’ His voice is incredulous, as if I’m spinning a yarn that just cannot be true.
‘Yes, there are publishing start-ups promoting the use of AI to write and market books for their “authors”. Some of these new publishing platforms claim they intend on releasing upwards of eight thousand AI-written books per year. Per year. How any reader can sift through so many options and figure out what’s real and what’s not is beyond me.
These books will flood the market. It’s already happening on eBook sites.
It’s getting harder to tell what’s AI and what’s not as the technology gets more sophisticated, and they do that by stealing real authors’ books and using them to train their algorithms. I despair for the industry.
For the writers, whose entire bodies of work have been copied without their knowledge or consent.
For the readers paying good money for books under the assumption they’re written by an author, not a machine. ’
‘Golly. It’s shocking. And you’ve been ostracised over standing up to that? It makes no sense.’
I grimace. ‘Well, there are some who think I didn’t end the live on purpose, so I could take down an author – but I’d never do that.
There are moments I worry I might have called out an innocent person, and that would be unforgiveable.
I never meant for our private conversation to be heard and when things got out of hand and I got doxxed I felt it was best to get out of London for a bit. ’
I go on to explain to a rather flummoxed Brian what doxxing is. ‘But what if this person Tia isn’t real? What if your suspicions are correct?’
‘How can I prove it? It’s not like she’s going to say, “OK, you got me!” People using AI prompts to compile a book are supposed to disclose it on third-party sites like , but I don’t see that also being advertised for readers that they’re buying AI-generated “books”.
No, Tia’s going to keep pumping out books and raking the money in while she, he, droid, can.
Who knows if there are hundreds of techy types also trying their hand at this already?
And it’s not illegal! I believe that AI “authors” and the platforms that sell these books need to be transparent so readers can make an informed choice, but so far, there’s no sign of that happening. ’
Brian shakes his head. ‘I’m so glad the Wi-Fi here only works when it wants to. What on earth is the world coming to?’
‘Right?’ I laugh. ‘Well, the sketchy Wi-Fi takes some getting used to.’ It’s a hard habit to break, the pull of my old life. I find myself reaching for my phone to check my Bookstagram page and remembering there’s no Harper’s Book Haven any more.
There’s my secondary backup account that I haven’t had the heart to deactivate.
Only my very close book buddies know that account exists, which I only started when my main account got temporarily disabled for violating community guidelines because I said ‘smut’ too many times on a post about a spicy book that was a little risqué for my tastes.
‘I bet. Well, you’re in the right place now, Harper.
This island, I swear it’s got magical powers.
Maybe it’s the cocktails, and the people, but everything seems to work out for the best and soon all those worries float away with the tide.
I’m going to read my book under the shade of a palm tree and forget all about how the world is progressing at a rapid rate of knots outside these islands.
’ Brian shakes the book and struts away, singing ‘Hotel California’ under his breath.
‘Oh, one other thing.’ He turns back to me.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve got a few friends on the island who pick up stuff from me, and I’ve got a few other mates who drop off packages.’
I narrow my eyes, Mariola’s warning about these scheming expats ringing in my ear. ‘And how do I fit?’
‘Well, I’m not always around. Some days I’m fishing, other days I’m… out, like. So I thought, gosh, darn, wouldn’t it be easier to tell them to pick up or deliver the packages here?’
I regard him suspiciously. Packages, eh? ‘And what’s in these… packages?’
Is his gaze suddenly shifty or am I imagining that?
‘Herbal supplements.’
‘Herbal supplements?’ Is he having a laugh?
I scan his face for clues but his expression remains affable.
Is this some kind of drug-trafficking ring?
Makes sense, a quiet tropical island with no police force.
Perhaps Michel is in on it? The hapless helicopter pilot thing is probably all a ruse, and he can hide in plain sight doing drop-offs.
Maybe even Doris is in on it. She is adorned with a lot of expensive gold jewellery – and where did a little old lady get the funds for such an ostentatious display of wealth? Drugs, where else!
Brian continues on, seemingly unaware of my concerns. ‘Yeah, herbal supplements. Gingko biloba for memory and cognitive function, turmeric for its anti-inflammatory properties and joint pain – trust me, Harper, when you sail over the high seas past seventy-plus, these things become a necessity.’
I frown, not quite sure whether to take this at face value or not. He seems genuinely into herbal medicines, but who would know around here? ‘Did Gus agree to this little pick-up, drop-off deal?’
‘Hadn’t thought of it then, had I?’
I eye him cautiously. He’s doesn’t exactly look like a drug trafficker, but looks can be deceiving. ‘No, I’ll pass thanks.’
‘What if I sweeten the deal?’
I arch a brow. ‘With?’
‘Herbal supplements, of course! How about some ashwagandha for its stress relieving power?’
‘Thanks for the offer but I use pina colada for that.’
‘So do I. Hits the spot too, it does. I’ll let you think on it.’
‘No, I don’t need to think—’ I start, but he lopes away, waving his book as he goes.
The Last Chance Resort has such an inclusive vibe… I guess. Whether I’m being cajoled into illegal activities is another thing, but at least they’re including me. I’d expected the expats to be more circumspect, not warm and wacky and possibly criminal.
The Gus mystery is still a head scratcher and one I’m determined to get answers to.
I’m happy to bide my time and wait in the hopes people will feel more comfortable to open up.
Brian’s wish that Gus might just return gives me hope that he will.
Who knows, maybe he’s just having some time out, or maybe he is retired and the grapevine, like always, has variations on the truth until it becomes a conspiracy.
I open the notebook bearing my name.