A Christmas carol in Techville

In the prosperous city of Techville, where towers of glass shimmered like icicles and drones hummed softly above snow-dusted rooftops, there lived a man named Edwin Computon, chief director of the Office of Intelligent Systems. 

He was brilliant, efficient, and entirely convinced that algorithms—cold, precise, obedient—were the finest companions a city could ask for. It was said that no man in Techville understood AI more deeply, yet no man understood the heart of his fellow citizens less.

As Christmas Eve settled upon the city with its quiet glow of lanterns, the people gathered in the squares to sing carols of peace and goodwill, but Edwin remained alone in his office, hunched over the glowing panels of the Central Decision Engine.

“Sentiment,” he muttered, “is the enemy of progress.”

Yet as the clock struck midnight, a sudden stillness fell upon the building. The monitors dimmed. The server lights flickered. And Edwin found himself enveloped in a presence both familiar and strange—a shimmering figure made of codes and clouds, glowing with the soft radiance of a winter star.

“I am the Ghost of Algorithms Past,” the apparition spoke.

The ghost of algorithms past

The spirit swept Edwin into the memories of Techville’s early days: a small coastal town dreaming of progress, where people embraced AI with wonder rather than dependence. He saw the first self-driving tram, met with cheers.
The first automated clinic, celebrated. The first predictive system for storms, applauded. But the spirit guided him further—toward the first cracks.

A family confused by a medical algorithm they could not question. A fisherman wrongly flagged by an early surveillance system.
A young student punished by a bias hidden deep within a classifier. 

“They trusted what they did not understand,” the ghost whispered. “And you, Edwin, were already urging the city forward, faster, faster still.”

The scenes dissolved like melting frost. Edwin reached out, but the ghost was already fading. “Remember,” it said, vanishing into the dim glow of the monitors, “progress without memory becomes cruelty.”

The ghost of algorithms present

A second spirit appeared, wrapped in warm lights and adorned with the cheer of Techville’s Christmas Eve festivals. Its form flickered with images of citizens—families, workers, students—each illuminated by a digital halo representing their daily interactions with AI.

“I am the Ghost of Algorithms Present,” it declared. “Walk with me.”

They soared over the city, where lanterns shone like hopeful constellations. Edwin watched scenes he had rarely witnessed:

In the hospital, a doctor stood thoughtfully beside an AI report, explaining to a worried mother what the system could—and could not—predict.

In a public square, citizens debated the city council’s new ethical regulations, speaking passionately about transparency, dignity, and safety.

In a classroom, a teacher guided her students through discussions on responsibility in the age of intelligent machines.

“Do you see?” the ghost asked. “The city has grown wiser, not by rejecting your work, but by insisting that technology walk hand-in-hand with conscience.”

But not all scenes were joyful. The ghost showed Edwin a warehouse where a fully autonomous defense drone sat idle, its deployment paused after a near-disastrous misclassification earlier that year. Engineers stood around it anxiously.  “If the system had launched,” one whispered, “our city could have known tragedy.”

Edwin felt a chill. “That was a minor flaw,” he insisted.

The ghost gazed at him with gentle heaviness.  “Minor flaws are harmless—until they touch human life.”

Before Edwin could reply, the spirit dissolved into drifting snowflakes of data.

The ghost of algorithms yet to come

A third figure appeared—silent, cloaked in a deep digital shroud. No warmth, no cheer, no lantern light accompanied it. Edwin trembled.

“You must be…” He swallowed hard.  “…the Ghost of Algorithms Yet to Come.”

The spirit did not speak; it simply pointed.

They stood before a future Techville: colder, stronger, yet somehow emptier. 

AI governed every decision with stark efficiency. Human judgment had grown rare. People lived safely, predictably—yet without trust, without voice, without dignity. Edwin was led into an Ethics Council chamber—abandoned.
Laws that once protected human oversight lay torn, unread. Companies dominated policy, optimizing away the very idea of responsibility. He saw his own office, years later, replaced by an autonomous system.

Even Edwin himself was gone from history. No one remembered the man. Only the algorithmic empire he had helped unleash.

He fell to his knees. “Spirit,” he cried into the sterile air, “is this the future that must be, or only the future that may be?”
The spirit did not speak—but its silence was enough.

Then, like a lantern being lit in a darkened room, the vision faded.

Awakening to Christmas morning

Edwin awoke at his desk, the first rays of Christmas dawn breaking gently over Techville. The city bells were ringing. Carols floated from the streets. He rushed outside, almost stumbling with excitement, greetings tumbling from his lips: “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to everyone!”

He hurried straight to the Ethics Council, gathering citizens, engineers, and council members alike. His voice trembled—not with fear, but with newfound humility.

“My friends,” he began, “we have built wonders—but without wisdom, wonders become weapons. Let us reaffirm today that human dignity is our constant star, and conscience our compass.”

The proclamation that followed became known as Techville’s Christmas Charter of Responsible AI, vowing: Transparency in all high-impact systems, human oversight where life and liberty are at stake, ethical certification for every public algorithm, education in digital responsibility for every child and above all: technology that serves humanity, never replaces its judgment.

The people rejoiced, for the city had found its heart again.

And Techville shone that Christmas—not only with lights and lanterns, but with the renewed warmth of moral clarity.

Edwin Computon lived the rest of his days as a man transformed; some said he became the gentlest and most thoughtful guardian of ethics the city ever knew.

And whenever citizens passed the council hall on Christmas Eve, they would smile and whisper:

“May we forever remember the carol that saved Techville—the carol sung by the ghosts of algorithms.”

• Rafael Hernandez de Santiago, viscount of Espes, is a Spanish national residing in Saudi Arabia and working at the Gulf Research Center.