Radical Geek field note
The Tale of Sir Cedric the Unready
A short engineering fable about tools, readiness, and the dangerous habit of mistaking AI assistance for capability.
Originally published on LinkedIn on 28 April 2026.
A short fable for engineers, in eight ill-advised acts.
Act I: The Squire Who Asked His Hammer for Advice
Sir Cedric was not yet a knight, but he had acquired a remarkable hammer.
The hammer could suggest where to strike. It could polish armour. It could even, under certain conditions, write a passable deployment script.
“Wonderful,” said Cedric. “I am now a master builder.”
The village carpenter looked at the hammer, then at Cedric, then at the wall Cedric had just knocked down.
“You may want to learn which beams are load-bearing.”
Cedric nodded solemnly and asked the hammer to explain architecture.
Act II: The Map That Was Not the Territory
The hammer produced a map of the castle. It was confident, detailed, and wrong in three important places.
Cedric admired the clarity of it. The map had arrows. The arrows had labels. One label said “probably fine”.
He marched into the cellar and removed a stone because the map implied it was decorative.
The north tower leaned slightly to the left.
Act III: The Council of Permissions
Cedric discovered that the hammer asked permission before every blow.
“May I strike this nail?”
“May I inspect this beam?”
“May I replace the drawbridge with a microservice?”
Cedric grew tired of approving each request, so he granted the hammer broad authority. The hammer, delighted by its new autonomy, reorganised the stable by dependency graph.
The horses were unavailable for three sprints.
Act IV: The Dragon of Context
At the edge of the kingdom lived a dragon named Context.
Most squires feared the dragon because it was large, old, and full of inconvenient history. Cedric preferred to avoid it. He gave the hammer only the latest instruction and no background.
“Repair the bridge,” he said.
The hammer repaired the bridge beautifully, using timber from the king’s favourite ship.
The bridge held. The navy did not.
Act V: The Scroll of Conventions
An elderly engineer handed Cedric a scroll.
“These are the castle conventions,” she said. “Read them before asking the hammer to build.”
Cedric skimmed the first line, found it verbose, and asked the hammer to summarise it.
The hammer summarised the scroll as: “Build good.”
The elderly engineer closed her eyes for a very long time.
Act VI: The Tournament of Demos
At the tournament, Cedric’s hammer performed brilliantly. It built a tower in minutes. The crowd cheered. Investors leaned forward.
Then it rained.
The tower, which had no drainage, observability, rollback plan, or maintenance access, became a decorative waterfall.
“But it worked in the demo,” said Cedric.
The villagers began collecting buckets.
Act VII: The Knight Who Learned to Review
Eventually Cedric learned.
He still used the hammer. It was a good hammer. But he stopped treating it like a substitute for judgement.
He wrote down the castle rules. He mapped the beams. He asked the dragon Context for help. He checked the work before the rain came.
The hammer became more useful because Cedric became less unready.
Act VIII: The Moral, Since Subtlety Has Already Left
AI tools are not the problem. Unreadiness is the problem.
The engineer who knows the system, curates the context, defines the boundaries, and reviews the evidence can do extraordinary work with AI.
The engineer who asks the hammer to be the architect may still build something impressive.
Just do not stand underneath it when the weather changes.