There's now, for the first time, a huge gulf between the

Host: The office was dim, its walls humming with the low light of a thousand quiet machines. Rows of monitors glowed like captive moons. Outside the glass windows, the city pulsed — an endless grid of light and motion, blinking as if it had its own pulse, its own secret consciousness.

It was after midnight. The world outside had gone to sleep, but in this corner of the skyline — the tech lab on the 18th floor — two people remained awake.

Jack stood near a wall covered in circuit boards and half-assembled drones, a faint blue light painting the angles of his face. Jeeny sat on a workbench nearby, her long black hair falling like ink over the glow of a small tablet. She was tracing the image of a microchip — slowly, reverently, as though it were a relic.

In the hum of electricity, the night felt alive — as if the machines themselves were listening.

Jeeny: “Martin Rees once said, ‘There’s now, for the first time, a huge gulf between the artefacts of our everyday life and what even a single expert, let alone the average child, can comprehend. The gadgets that now pervade young people’s lives, iPhones and suchlike, are baffling “black boxes” — pure magic to most people.’”

Jack: “Yeah. And he’s right. We’re surrounded by miracles we can’t explain — and we don’t even care anymore. That’s the part that scares me.”

Host: The server rack behind them blinked rhythmically, like a mechanical heartbeat. The air smelled faintly of ozone and plastic, and the faint vibration underfoot came from a cooling fan somewhere beneath the floor — a mechanical whisper that never slept.

Jeeny: “But isn’t that what progress always does? We don’t have to understand fire to feel its warmth. We don’t have to know electricity’s secrets to light our homes. Maybe it’s okay that these things are magic to us — it makes life easier.”

Jack: “Easier, sure. But not wiser. You know what happens when people stop understanding the tools they use? They become slaves to them. We used to build machines. Now we just believe in them.”

Host: He paced slowly, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. Through the window, a drone flew past — silent, red lights blinking like a wandering thought.

Jeeny: “Maybe belief isn’t so bad. Humanity’s always believed in something — gods, stars, destiny. Now it believes in circuits and algorithms. It’s the same faith, just wearing different clothes.”

Jack: “Don’t romanticize ignorance, Jeeny. There’s a difference between mystery and blindness. We used to stand in awe of the cosmos — that was wonder. Now we stare at our screens like worshippers who forgot the language of prayer.”

Host: The neon light from the street below painted their faces in shifting color — cold blue, then warm red, then back again, like the slow rotation of an unseen signal.

Jeeny: “But look at what these black boxes have given us. Medicine, art, connection. A girl in Cairo can talk to a boy in Tokyo, and neither has to know what code runs between them. That’s beautiful.”

Jack: “It’s efficient, not beautiful. The moment we stopped questioning how things work, we lost something essential. We traded curiosity for convenience.”

Jeeny: “You make it sound like curiosity is dying. It’s not — it’s just moving. People aren’t curious about how their phones work; they’re curious about what’s on them — each other’s lives, thoughts, feelings. Isn’t that a form of discovery too?”

Host: Jack paused, his reflection in the glass merging with the skyline — a silhouette within a network of other glowing forms. He looked like one of the machines himself, made of logic and shadow.

Jack: “Curiosity without understanding is gossip. It keeps us busy but teaches us nothing. When I was a kid, I built my first radio with my father. We sat on the floor, connecting wires, soldering circuits. When it finally worked, when the static turned to music, it felt like magic — but it wasn’t. It was knowledge made visible.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now magic’s replaced knowledge. Everyone wants the music. No one wants to build the radio.”

Host: The light flickered again — a subtle tremor through the building. The distant sound of thunder rolled outside, a low growl echoing between the towers.

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the point of progress, Jack? To free people from having to know the machinery? You don’t expect everyone to understand how a heart beats — but they still live. Isn’t it enough that someone knows?”

Jack: “It used to be. But what happens when even the experts don’t fully understand? When the code starts writing itself, when the algorithms evolve beyond our grasp? You think the machines will stop to explain themselves politely?”

Jeeny: “You think they’ll rise against us?”

Jack: “No. I think they’ll simply stop needing us. That’s worse.”

Host: The thunder came closer now, rattling the window. The hum of the machines filled the silence between them — almost sentient, almost breathing.

Jeeny: “You’re afraid of losing control.”
Jack: “I’m afraid of losing meaning. We built all this — and now we don’t even understand what we built. It’s like worshipping a god we made ourselves and then forgetting we’re the creators.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what gods always were — reflections of our own creation. The difference is, this time, the gods can update their firmware.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly — but it wasn’t joy. It was weariness, the smile of a man realizing the joke was too close to truth.

Jack: “Tell me, Jeeny. When was the last time you actually felt awe — not from a screen, not from a post, but from something you understood?”

Jeeny: “Awe doesn’t need understanding. Sometimes mystery is the only thing keeping us human. If we understood everything, there’d be no wonder left.”

Jack: “And if we understand nothing, there’ll be no humanity left.”

Host: A flash of lightning lit the room, turning their faces white for an instant. The light passed, leaving them half in shadow. The air smelled faintly of rain through the vents — metallic, electric.

Jeeny: “You think technology is stealing our souls.”
Jack: “No. I think it’s dulling them — making us mistake connection for comprehension, touchscreens for touch.”
Jeeny: “But maybe it’s not dulling us. Maybe it’s forcing us to redefine what a soul even means.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes glowed in the soft light of her tablet, as if the device itself had lit something within her.

Jack: “And if the next generation never learns what’s behind the glow? If they grow up believing that magic is real — not as a metaphor, but as an excuse?”
Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s our fault, not theirs. We built the magic and never taught them the spell.”

Host: The rain began in earnest, tapping against the glass like a thousand fingers asking to be let in. The servers hummed louder now, almost rhythmically, as though echoing the storm outside.

Jack: “You know what scares me the most, Jeeny? One day, I’ll ask a question about how something works — and the answer won’t exist. Not because it’s hidden, but because no one ever thought to ask it again.”

Jeeny: “And yet, here we are — still asking.”

Host: Her voice softened the space between the machines, turning the sterile hum into something almost human.

Jack looked at her, then at the glowing circuits on the bench beside them — a web of copper and glass veins, alive with invisible current.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re the last generation that remembers wonder and understanding. The bridge between the magicians and the believers.”
Jeeny: “Then our job isn’t to stop the magic, Jack. It’s to remind people that it used to be science.”

Host: The thunder receded, replaced by the soft percussion of rain. The city lights blurred through the glass, like constellations in motion.

Jeeny set down her tablet. Jack unplugged the flickering lamp. For a moment, the room was lit only by the glow of the servers — quiet, constant, almost holy.

They stood side by side, listening to the hum — the sound of the world they built but could no longer fully comprehend.

Jeeny: “Maybe we’ll never bridge the gulf completely.”
Jack: “Maybe not.”
Jeeny: “But if we can still feel awe… maybe that’s enough to keep us human.”

Host: The rain slowed, the clouds parting just enough for the faint light of the moon to touch their faces. The reflection of that light mingled with the soft mechanical glow, human and machine — indistinguishable, intertwined.

And in that fragile, electric quiet, the two of them stood — caught between creation and understanding, between mystery and meaning — guardians of the last light of wonder in a world that had begun to forget what it meant to ask how.