Zak hated his name. It was way too much like something out of those old fashioned SiFi movies they showed on channel 27, and Zak hated all those movies. But there it was, he was stuck with it, assigned to him by the Grand Council at birth and with little hope of it ever changing. Zak could tolerate his Unique Identifier, also assigned by the Grand Council, and it had even less possibility of ever changing. He preferred to use this later moniker whenever possible.
The medical dome was awkward to get to. When you finally arrived at the outskirts of the mega-metropolis the shuttle was quick enough; albeit annoyingly infrequent. Why did they not place this medical dome with the others near the centre of the mega-metropolis. On his few previous visits Zak felt like complaining to the Grand Council but he'd never gotten round to it; his complaint would have been ignored anyway. Once off the shuttle it was a couple of minutes brisk walk to the medical dome. Zak's slender fame and long skinny legs made quick work of the journey. He glided up to the dome's entrance block and smiled, with his thin face and thin lips, at the lone super smart check-in girl. Previously he'd had to queue but the rest of today's batch must already be in place.
Showing posts with label SiFi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SiFi. Show all posts
Monday, 27 February 2012
Sunday, 15 January 2012
basic social skills
Training Event Log: social interchange training android
13:11:05 event log: start[Wednesday, 19 February 2098] type[summery] level[normal]
13:11:05 starting device: ID[1642.134.1823.100.0.192] type[sexual training android, female]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control
13:11:05 loading module: android-control simulation[human emotion]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control monitoring[environment]
13:11:05 loading module: vision-services
13:11:05 loading module: audio-services
13:11:05 loading module: android-control monitoring[human emotion]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control personality-simulation[default]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control speech[default]
13:11:05 loading module: training
13:11:05 training: setting-rules-from[/etc/sexconfig/training]
13:11:05 training: training-rules-successfully-set
13:11:05 monitoring: location-ID[d432cae92b78f5b2a98580043f18da56] location-description[1246255815:0s6x, Took Building, training booth 9686, third floor]
13:11:06 speech control: start task: request-personality
13:11:13 personality: load configuration: name[Sasha] type[school teacher, female, late-twenties]
13:11:16 speech control: start task: request-student-ID
13:11:25 training: student: ID[9fdb87cc0047d72b54e2012ee4bc2b76] surname[Castelluccio] forename[Christopher] sex[male] age[17.4]
13:11:25 training: course: ID[18ad0b41a87afbb2a65471dc7c2607ef] title[introduction to basic sexual skills] lesson[15] lesson-title[first steps with cunnilingus]
13:11:05 event log: start[Wednesday, 19 February 2098] type[summery] level[normal]
13:11:05 starting device: ID[1642.134.1823.100.0.192] type[sexual training android, female]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control
13:11:05 loading module: android-control simulation[human emotion]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control monitoring[environment]
13:11:05 loading module: vision-services
13:11:05 loading module: audio-services
13:11:05 loading module: android-control monitoring[human emotion]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control personality-simulation[default]
13:11:05 loading module: android-control speech[default]
13:11:05 loading module: training
13:11:05 training: setting-rules-from[/etc/sexconfig/training]
13:11:05 training: training-rules-successfully-set
13:11:05 monitoring: location-ID[d432cae92b78f5b2a98580043f18da56] location-description[1246255815:0s6x, Took Building, training booth 9686, third floor]
13:11:06 speech control: start task: request-personality
13:11:13 personality: load configuration: name[Sasha] type[school teacher, female, late-twenties]
13:11:16 speech control: start task: request-student-ID
13:11:25 training: student: ID[9fdb87cc0047d72b54e2012ee4bc2b76] surname[Castelluccio] forename[Christopher] sex[male] age[17.4]
13:11:25 training: course: ID[18ad0b41a87afbb2a65471dc7c2607ef] title[introduction to basic sexual skills] lesson[15] lesson-title[first steps with cunnilingus]
Monday, 12 December 2011
I Want To Go
My little flash fiction story Control-Alt-Delete has appeared today on 365tomorrows. This site publishes a daily piece of flash fiction in the science and speculative fiction genre. It's something of a mix with miscellaneous types of science and speculative fiction. Also the quality varies from many intriguing pieces all the way to the occasional why-the-hell-did-they-bother.
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Please Don't Open the Box
Erwin, that vindictive son of a bitch, put me in here. “A little thought experiment,” he said, “come on step inside, here, kitty, kitty. Look at this shiny bottle, here, kitty, kitty.”
That shiny blue bottle sure did look intriguing. He knows, that Erwin knows, us cats like to play with such things. He's had plenty of experience of tantalising us cats. I know that now, when it's all too late.
Then he slams the lid closed on me. Boy did I screech when he shut that lid. I fought back I did. I can be quick when I want – admittedly it's not that often – and I almost got away. But I was not quite quick enough this time.
I think I caught him a good one, just before he closed that lid, three right nice scratch marks right across his smug face. I saw the blood trickling down his cheek just as the lights went out. Serves him right now everyone will know I fought back. Yes, I fought back. And I heard him complaining, moaning, asking for help, help, help. Like a little baby he was, wanting it all bandaged up. Then he's crying like a little girl when his wife put iodine on it. Yes, I fought back.
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Messages to the Leader
Shahid Rafiq Tarar was ensconced deep inside the Pavlov Institute. Here he reminisced about when this institute was bright, new and gleaming. Then it was teaming with students, with researchers and academic discussion of the most vibrant kind. Then it was something to be part of an institution named after a famous Earth scientist. The institutes' path breaking research into human and other life forms behaviour had long since ceased. Tarar was too old and cantankerous to consider moving and so he spent most of his weary final days deep inside one of the institutes' bunkers. There he might elude the worst effects of the drones.
The bunker he had chosen was large and almost empty being built when the Institute was first starting its decline. No star light could penetrate the kilometres of rock and the artificial light was extremely dull. To Tarar shame everything was covered in dust and he was too old – and too proud – to demean himself cleaning. Sitting at a makeshift desk he was writing a message in the ancient style, a style that was once fashionable well before the institute was ever conceived. Tarar was still unskilled in this ancient art of writing with Biro on paper.
The bunker he had chosen was large and almost empty being built when the Institute was first starting its decline. No star light could penetrate the kilometres of rock and the artificial light was extremely dull. To Tarar shame everything was covered in dust and he was too old – and too proud – to demean himself cleaning. Sitting at a makeshift desk he was writing a message in the ancient style, a style that was once fashionable well before the institute was ever conceived. Tarar was still unskilled in this ancient art of writing with Biro on paper.
Monday, 25 July 2011
I Want To Go
The hominid life forms at 365tomorrows must be super brave and have hardened arteries of lead as this is the second story of mine they have dared published – such is their reckless abandon. The other piece was A Quiet Drive.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
14 February 2096
It was here again. After years of evasion; years of hoping he was free; years of knowing it was out there, somewhere, waiting, always waiting; Hasif knew it was here again; he just knew. It had found him. There was no real evidence, nothing you could say was proof, definitive; just a murmur, a rustle in the stillness, something watching in the blackness, waiting. It was back again allright. And it wanted him.
He would have to go on the run again; before it was too late. This really annoyed Hasif; he was just starting to get his life back together again; again after the last time. He had a new name, a new job, and a few new friends. The job was nothing special: he was just some anonymous clerk performing tasks considered too lowly for the main computer; still he got by, just about, and it was better then nothing. The friends, also, were nothing special: just some people he could have a conversation with; but he would never let them close, they could never be trusted. Could they have? No: he was sure he had given nothing away. It had just found him; hunted him down; just like the last time.
Hasif returned to his small cramped apartment and started, sadly, packing his things; he would not regret leaving this place, it was not much for all his years of work. So far he had not seen the whatever-it-was; the murmurs were enough, or was he overreacting? Then he glanced out into the walkway below the apartment block. And there it was; waiting, lingering, looking up. It looked older, more tired, battered; he supposed even androids or whatever-it-is must grow old, wear out. It was still recognisable from the first time he had seen it. That monstrous brown sludge of an android. The thick set legs; unaccountably fast from Hasif's past experience. The hollowed out muddy brown face; if you can call it a face, and Hasif did not want to get close enough to find out. Hasif stepped back and out of sight, then peeked, It was still there; waiting, lingering, looking up.
He would have to go on the run again; before it was too late. This really annoyed Hasif; he was just starting to get his life back together again; again after the last time. He had a new name, a new job, and a few new friends. The job was nothing special: he was just some anonymous clerk performing tasks considered too lowly for the main computer; still he got by, just about, and it was better then nothing. The friends, also, were nothing special: just some people he could have a conversation with; but he would never let them close, they could never be trusted. Could they have? No: he was sure he had given nothing away. It had just found him; hunted him down; just like the last time.
Hasif returned to his small cramped apartment and started, sadly, packing his things; he would not regret leaving this place, it was not much for all his years of work. So far he had not seen the whatever-it-was; the murmurs were enough, or was he overreacting? Then he glanced out into the walkway below the apartment block. And there it was; waiting, lingering, looking up. It looked older, more tired, battered; he supposed even androids or whatever-it-is must grow old, wear out. It was still recognisable from the first time he had seen it. That monstrous brown sludge of an android. The thick set legs; unaccountably fast from Hasif's past experience. The hollowed out muddy brown face; if you can call it a face, and Hasif did not want to get close enough to find out. Hasif stepped back and out of sight, then peeked, It was still there; waiting, lingering, looking up.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
The Fermat Solution
Eekhout pondered his solution, it was elegant, very elegant, he was pleased with this morning's deliberations. A simple solution to Fermat's Last Theorem. Short enough that even the eminent Pierre de Fermat might have scribbled it in the margin of some ancient manuscript. Nice.
Back in the late twentieth-century, three centuries ago, when a solution was first proposed, no normal person could understand it. None but the most hardcore mathematician grasped its real significance. Eekhout solution would have been understood by any twentieth-century geek. Nice.
Leaning against the cold tiled wall he dreamed of fame and glory, accolades and prizes; and a nice swanky office here on the 32nd floor of the Wiles Mathematics Department.
“What you doing?” Swanwick, his boss, growled.
“Sir.” Eekhout straightened himself up. If he had not been daydreaming he might have heard his boss coming, such was Swanwick's thundering ponderous walk.
“Think you're some kind of genius do you? Well I can tell you: there are hundreds like you. Not worth nothing.”
Eekhout grabbed his mop and started pushing it around the floor in aimless circles, following some random path. He did so wish he was back in the twenty-first century. Then he would have been considered a great scientist, would have won the Nobel Prize or something. But they had stopped giving those out when every school kid was getting one for their end of term paper. That's progress, he supposed.
Swanwick wobbled with indignation. “You want this job? Do you? Well, get that mop moving.”
Swanwick wasn't so bad, not so long as you kept quite during one of his rants. Later on, in the staff cubbyhole, he'd have forgotten all about it and, if Eekhout was really lucky, be almost pleasant.
Eekhout loved working at the university, in building 704, up here on the 32nd floor, just being around all those wonderful minds, and he did not want to give that up. Even if it did mean having to clean the toilets. To have done a proper job here, something recognisable, you'd have to do a bit better than solve Fermat's Last Theorem – yet again. Such feats were so commonplace.
With Swanwick gone Eekhout could relax once more. He lent against the cold tiles again, mop in hand just in case, and began to ponder his other favourite subjects; some that were even more perplexing. You'd think, with all those so very superior minds, they'd find a better method of cleaning urine off the floor. Mop and bucket: so very old fashioned. Eekhout had other theorems to ponder: why couldn't all those great minds aim straight? Why did they keep missing the toilets?
Back in the late twentieth-century, three centuries ago, when a solution was first proposed, no normal person could understand it. None but the most hardcore mathematician grasped its real significance. Eekhout solution would have been understood by any twentieth-century geek. Nice.
Leaning against the cold tiled wall he dreamed of fame and glory, accolades and prizes; and a nice swanky office here on the 32nd floor of the Wiles Mathematics Department.
“What you doing?” Swanwick, his boss, growled.
“Sir.” Eekhout straightened himself up. If he had not been daydreaming he might have heard his boss coming, such was Swanwick's thundering ponderous walk.
“Think you're some kind of genius do you? Well I can tell you: there are hundreds like you. Not worth nothing.”
Eekhout grabbed his mop and started pushing it around the floor in aimless circles, following some random path. He did so wish he was back in the twenty-first century. Then he would have been considered a great scientist, would have won the Nobel Prize or something. But they had stopped giving those out when every school kid was getting one for their end of term paper. That's progress, he supposed.
Swanwick wobbled with indignation. “You want this job? Do you? Well, get that mop moving.”
Swanwick wasn't so bad, not so long as you kept quite during one of his rants. Later on, in the staff cubbyhole, he'd have forgotten all about it and, if Eekhout was really lucky, be almost pleasant.
Eekhout loved working at the university, in building 704, up here on the 32nd floor, just being around all those wonderful minds, and he did not want to give that up. Even if it did mean having to clean the toilets. To have done a proper job here, something recognisable, you'd have to do a bit better than solve Fermat's Last Theorem – yet again. Such feats were so commonplace.
* * *
With Swanwick gone Eekhout could relax once more. He lent against the cold tiles again, mop in hand just in case, and began to ponder his other favourite subjects; some that were even more perplexing. You'd think, with all those so very superior minds, they'd find a better method of cleaning urine off the floor. Mop and bucket: so very old fashioned. Eekhout had other theorems to ponder: why couldn't all those great minds aim straight? Why did they keep missing the toilets?
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Answer Phone
Call
later
God's out.
Don't worry.
Please leave a message.
He/she/it/them could be some time.
later
God's out.
Don't worry.
Please leave a message.
He/she/it/them could be some time.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Friday, 8 July 2011
Thursday, 7 July 2011
The Interrogator
Shiny, shiny shoes, a dead giveaway, I knew straight away nothing was right. In the fading light, among the desolate rubble, I looked closer, he was almost right, but not quite right enough. Those shoes, buffed, black, expensive, so diligently polished, they just glared at you. Then, immediately above, were the dirty jeans, tatty; those ill fitting, workman's jeans. The dirt somehow wrong, studied, applied, with freshly laundered patches showing through.
Then he started to speak, a Liverpool accent that was just a bit too studied. An actor's scouse learnt from B movies of sixty years ago. He was trying just that bit too hard. I never would have noticed were it not for those shoes. Those pristine shoes, those shiny, shiny shoes. On the surface he's chatty, friendly, your best mate, salt of the whole dam earth. Underneath so obviously hard, ex-army, maybe, maybe not, something similar, worse, manipulative, determined, on a mission, and what a mission. I know his mission.
I try to ease away, keep chatting, friendly like, slowly ease away without revealing anything. Above all, remember, don't turn your back, never run and never, ever, turn your back. Just ease away, pleasant like, into the shadows, facing, always facing, him. He kept on talking; would keep talking. Following me. Talking, quietly talking. Can't get rid.
Then he started to speak, a Liverpool accent that was just a bit too studied. An actor's scouse learnt from B movies of sixty years ago. He was trying just that bit too hard. I never would have noticed were it not for those shoes. Those pristine shoes, those shiny, shiny shoes. On the surface he's chatty, friendly, your best mate, salt of the whole dam earth. Underneath so obviously hard, ex-army, maybe, maybe not, something similar, worse, manipulative, determined, on a mission, and what a mission. I know his mission.
I try to ease away, keep chatting, friendly like, slowly ease away without revealing anything. Above all, remember, don't turn your back, never run and never, ever, turn your back. Just ease away, pleasant like, into the shadows, facing, always facing, him. He kept on talking; would keep talking. Following me. Talking, quietly talking. Can't get rid.
Friday, 17 June 2011
The Big Bang
Black.
Void.
My fault.
A fire ball.
One hell of a bang.
Us Gods should never play with matches.
Void.
My fault.
A fire ball.
One hell of a bang.
Us Gods should never play with matches.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Mechanical Affection
A
love
machine.
Dangerous.
Can kill when aroused.
Use carefully, at your own risk.
love
machine.
Dangerous.
Can kill when aroused.
Use carefully, at your own risk.
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Impregnable Constellation
Small
shapes
collide.
Intricate,
In the mists of time.
An alarming place to avoid.
shapes
collide.
Intricate,
In the mists of time.
An alarming place to avoid.
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Graffiti
Everything here is so drab: my claustrophobic accommodation, the sluggish work transports, the dull lighting of the work arena, this entire city. I just long for colour.
I crept down the fire escape of the accommodation compound into the still silent air. It was well after sunset and the curfew. Little light penetrated this part of the city and everything was dull brownish monochrome. Even in daylight it wasn't much brighter. I'm not giving you my name. That would be dangerous, far to risky, I don't know you. I could be detained for just thinking about this crime.
My eyes adjusted to the familiar darkness. The biggest risk was right outside the accommodation compound. I ran through the large open arena reserved for work transports. Once in the surrounding shrubbery I breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly I hedged passed the derelict hangers and warehouses. Only occasionally flitting across an abandoned road. It was a long route and not particularly scenic, determined by not getting caught. And it was all so monotonously drab.
I crept down the fire escape of the accommodation compound into the still silent air. It was well after sunset and the curfew. Little light penetrated this part of the city and everything was dull brownish monochrome. Even in daylight it wasn't much brighter. I'm not giving you my name. That would be dangerous, far to risky, I don't know you. I could be detained for just thinking about this crime.
My eyes adjusted to the familiar darkness. The biggest risk was right outside the accommodation compound. I ran through the large open arena reserved for work transports. Once in the surrounding shrubbery I breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly I hedged passed the derelict hangers and warehouses. Only occasionally flitting across an abandoned road. It was a long route and not particularly scenic, determined by not getting caught. And it was all so monotonously drab.
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
We're waiting to go
Malika jumped up as her superior entered the laboratory. It looked like bad news so it was diplomatic to wait for Hafsa to speak; he did not like having his thoughts interrupted. Hafsa strutted about despondently for some minutes.
“More forms,” Hafsa eventually said. “More wretched forms.”
“What do they want this time?” Malika asked quietly. She returned to her terminal and retrieved the official communication. “It doesn't look too bad, really not that complicated. We can do that. It's doable. Six time units, tops.”
“But these trials are essential,” groaned Hafsa. “This is our final disease. Hundreds of our species are dying. Cure this and we could live forever – baring accidents obviously.”
Malika grunted, everyone understood this.
“Is there anyway we can produce this antidote without those horrid creatures?”
“You know the answer to that,” said Malika. “Look we're ready to go. We could start the Earth journey tomorrow. We just have to placate those over cautious bureaucrats.”
“All this fuss,” intoned Hafsa, “just because of a few billion miserable humans. And, anyway, humans have such short lives.”
“More forms,” Hafsa eventually said. “More wretched forms.”
“What do they want this time?” Malika asked quietly. She returned to her terminal and retrieved the official communication. “It doesn't look too bad, really not that complicated. We can do that. It's doable. Six time units, tops.”
“But these trials are essential,” groaned Hafsa. “This is our final disease. Hundreds of our species are dying. Cure this and we could live forever – baring accidents obviously.”
Malika grunted, everyone understood this.
“Is there anyway we can produce this antidote without those horrid creatures?”
“You know the answer to that,” said Malika. “Look we're ready to go. We could start the Earth journey tomorrow. We just have to placate those over cautious bureaucrats.”
“All this fuss,” intoned Hafsa, “just because of a few billion miserable humans. And, anyway, humans have such short lives.”
Friday, 14 January 2011
The Target
It was going to be a tight run thing. Every year they went up and this year's were especially demanding. The highest ever.
Haider was taking a break, he was exhausted, he had just worked twenty hours non stop and been on double shift for the past few weeks. Half dozing he slouched in the far corner of the rest area deep inside the administration bunker, barely noticing the grimy walls, the broken lights and the tatty furniture.
“Not after it this year,” said a dismembered voice.
Haider yawned and squinted. It was Qadeer his boss. It would have to be Qadeer.
“Won't get it this way,” said Qadeer, who was standing over him now and poking his long shrivelled finger in Haider's ribs. Qadeer could be such an annoying fool; he just loved the power of mediocrity.
Haider was taking a break, he was exhausted, he had just worked twenty hours non stop and been on double shift for the past few weeks. Half dozing he slouched in the far corner of the rest area deep inside the administration bunker, barely noticing the grimy walls, the broken lights and the tatty furniture.
“Not after it this year,” said a dismembered voice.
Haider yawned and squinted. It was Qadeer his boss. It would have to be Qadeer.
“Won't get it this way,” said Qadeer, who was standing over him now and poking his long shrivelled finger in Haider's ribs. Qadeer could be such an annoying fool; he just loved the power of mediocrity.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Feeding Time
I feel like a snack. Yes, just a little snack, that would go down fine. I'm feeling a little peckish at the moment. I've just enough room for something light, something to keep me going until my big monthly dinner.
What about fat lady? What about that one there, that fat one, waddling across the street? No, I don't think so. She looks all grumpy. She looks so grumpy, so indigestible. And that thick coat in weather like this. It does make them so bad tempered. It just wouldn't go down well. And I had one of those last week, so grisly. I want something a bit different. I want something that's nice, tasty.
There's such a wide choice. It's just so hard to decide. What about that businessman? I've not had one of those recently. When was the last time I had businessman? You know, I can't remember. Oh no, look at him yapping away into that little box. That's just so off putting. Thinks he's so important – when all he's going to be is someone's next meal. You'd never get him to shut up, no, not him, horrible, just horrible. I'll let someone else digest that load of food poisoning.
But I am so peckish. I'm even hungrier now. You know, just thinking about food makes you feel so hungry. I want more than just a snack now. I want a full blown meal. It's just so hard to decide. Watching all these pedestrians makes you realise there's such a tantalising choice.
I have it, I have it. I've made my choice. Of course, it has to be geek, a nice geek. That would go down really well. I know where I can find one of those. Yes, I've been preparing one of those for weeks. I've had it on what you might call slow burn. I'm going to have geek. I'm going to have a geek. It'll make a nice juicy change.
Here we are, up these stairs, there's a nice juicy geek waiting for me up here. He'll be up here with in front of his computer, you'll see. Thirteen hours into some silly game that's wasting his life. Still, that's good for me. He'll have a right fright when he sees me. All that angst building up is great. He'll really feel the pain, all that lovely, lovely pain.
Didn't I tell you, I must have told you, no, you're sure, then I suppose I'd better: I feed on pain. That's what keeps me going, lovely, lovely pain. That's what us superior life forms live on. It's so much more nutritious than that rubbish you eat. No need for those silly diets, no risk of obesity. All I need is a steady supply of lovely, delicious pain.
What about fat lady? What about that one there, that fat one, waddling across the street? No, I don't think so. She looks all grumpy. She looks so grumpy, so indigestible. And that thick coat in weather like this. It does make them so bad tempered. It just wouldn't go down well. And I had one of those last week, so grisly. I want something a bit different. I want something that's nice, tasty.
There's such a wide choice. It's just so hard to decide. What about that businessman? I've not had one of those recently. When was the last time I had businessman? You know, I can't remember. Oh no, look at him yapping away into that little box. That's just so off putting. Thinks he's so important – when all he's going to be is someone's next meal. You'd never get him to shut up, no, not him, horrible, just horrible. I'll let someone else digest that load of food poisoning.
But I am so peckish. I'm even hungrier now. You know, just thinking about food makes you feel so hungry. I want more than just a snack now. I want a full blown meal. It's just so hard to decide. Watching all these pedestrians makes you realise there's such a tantalising choice.
I have it, I have it. I've made my choice. Of course, it has to be geek, a nice geek. That would go down really well. I know where I can find one of those. Yes, I've been preparing one of those for weeks. I've had it on what you might call slow burn. I'm going to have geek. I'm going to have a geek. It'll make a nice juicy change.
Here we are, up these stairs, there's a nice juicy geek waiting for me up here. He'll be up here with in front of his computer, you'll see. Thirteen hours into some silly game that's wasting his life. Still, that's good for me. He'll have a right fright when he sees me. All that angst building up is great. He'll really feel the pain, all that lovely, lovely pain.
Didn't I tell you, I must have told you, no, you're sure, then I suppose I'd better: I feed on pain. That's what keeps me going, lovely, lovely pain. That's what us superior life forms live on. It's so much more nutritious than that rubbish you eat. No need for those silly diets, no risk of obesity. All I need is a steady supply of lovely, delicious pain.
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