Welcome esteemed colleagues. I know a lot of you have been looking forward to this lecture, and I hope not to disappoint. I assure you that everything you are about to hear is factual, and supported by primary sources.
So buckle up.
Ments. Common slang for the practice of embedding circuitry via tattoo or surgery into the skin, and sometimes even deeper.
Ments actually have quite the varied history. Starting as a fad for the upper class, turning into an effective means of data transfer on the black market, and then becoming the fashionable and commercial product it is today. As of two years ago about 60% of the UE population was sporting at least one Ment.
And then, one year ago, as you are all aware, a child was born.
*click*
This child. Abraham Jacobs. Seemingly normal but for...
*click*
A Ment. An almost spider-like tattoo at the base of the spine.
*click*
The "body" if you will, integrated into the spinal cord.
*click*
*click*
And perhaps most shocking of all...
*click*
Nearly identical to her mother's.
*click*
As you can see with them side-by-side there is distortion. A few more tendrils, thinner, lighter in color. A mutation.
Yes, I know, I know. Hear me out.
Now how could this be possible? Millions have been Mented, millions with Ments have had children. None have had this condition arise. After all why should they? Ments are superficial, not genetic. There is nothing to be coded into the DNA.
...But that's the key word isn't it? Coded. DNA is a code. A series of bits that the body as computer reads to run its processes. As we know from viruses, code can be added to DNA. It's often junk, unreadable, but the legacy of viruses long dead can be found with ease in the DNA of all people living.
So what would happen if that code were readable? What if those viruses could delicately select the genes they knew would be replicated if properly added to the genome?
*click*
Since their creation, Ments have been used to store data. Easily readable and accessible data for the user. Easily transferable to anyone with a Ment and the proper clearance code.
As I said, this started out as a fad for the rich. Glowing tattoos,
*click*
more ornamentation than information transfer, hence them receiving the "Ment" moniker. But as tech does it hit the black market. The upper class, with no reason to fear, used the Ments to store all sorts of information without the current level of security Ments have received. As such...
*click*
many were robbed, many had their identities stolen, and according to my sources Ment Cons soon became highly sought after amongst the criminal underworld.
But, pretend with me that you are a part of that criminal underworld. Say it costs two million to hire a Ment Con for a job that will earn you twice as much. Why do that, when you can instead get your hands on the tech for four million, but put it into your trusted people instead and start earning those millions and more?
*click*
Ments started to spread. Their use as minor surreptitious data transfer caught on. Money traded hands, the tech improved and dropped in price. Security caught up to demand and the heyday of the Ment Con was over. Instead,
*click*
fashion once again became the focus. More and more opted in.
*click*
The tech evolved. Security evolved with it.
*click*
Convenience, as it does, determined the rest.
*click*
So how did this come about? How does a spiderous Ment show up on a baby when no surgery has occurred? How is this the first instance after millions of births?
*click*
This picture of Dorian Asworth, age 4 here, was taken 30 years ago at the height of the first wave of Ments. A seemingly normal picture. Until you look closer.
*click*
There, just poking up towards the neck. Looks awfully familiar doesn't it? But that could be anything.
*click*
Except there it is again. One year later. Looks a little more defined now doesn't it?
*click*
Dorian seems to wear a preponderance of high-necked clothing and scarves for the majority of his childhood. It isn't until he's 15 years old that he's photographed at a party,
*click*
with a Ment on his chest. A rather simple almost lightning-bolt like design, that sticks up exactly where we saw in those previous photos. One that looks rather
*click*
like his mother's. Seen and advertised as a gesture of love, of family. Sure he seemed a little young for a Ment but, teenagers, right?
*click*
Look for them.
*click*
They appear.
*click*
No one was looking.
*click*
So no one noticed.
*click*
And those that were born,
*click*
were either rich enough to have the news silenced,
*click*
or seen as a secret weapon by the underworld,
*click*
or simply killed.
Until,
*click*
Abraham Jacobs. Colleagues, I pose to you the rather terrifying certainty that we are already entering the second generation of a new symbiosis. There have been those born with Ments before this. And they are now having children themselves.
*click*
This is Dorian Asworth with his son. Very clearly, no lightning bolt on the chest.
*click*
This is the child's mother, Audrey Asworth, with her pink-hued Ments on the back of her thighs.
*click*
I have not been able to identify a Ment on their child.
*click*
But they are quite literally never photographed without long pants.
But now,
*click*
Dorian. A seemingly normal child from normal parents with only one Ment each.
And the press,
*click*
is praising it as a miracle. A very big deal is being made of little Dorian. And public perception is very much being led towards it being a "good thing". Why now? That I can only speculate on. But I hope you all keep an open mind in the weeks to come. Because there is one thing about little Dorian that's being kept out of the press.
*click*
The Ment isn't empty.
*click*
There's code.
*click*
Code that can also be found in his genome.
*click*
And code...that can't be read.
*click*
No one yet knows what to make of this seemingly extra and irrelevant data. They have compared it to the makeup of data in the mother's and father's Ment before birth. They have run it through all sorts of tests and ciphers and translations...nothing.
Well, there is one thing.
When Dorian's Ment connects to his mother's, the irrelevant data changes. And his mother's does the same.
And the one thing that I have to tell you, without the primary sources, without knowing it for sure...is that it sure looks like...like they're talking. The code changes. Adapts. Evolves.
Ments were once for fashion. Then for utility. Then both. And now, colleagues, they seem to be serving an altogether different purpose.
A purpose of their own.
Thank you, and I look forward to your questions.
Friday, December 6, 2019
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Inktober #16: Wild
(see #12: Ash for previous story)
I was awoken by the sound of a single drop of dew falling from the tip of a blade of grass by my ear. I opened my eyes to see light filtered through the trees around me. Early morning.
A light wind ruffled through the ferns as I sat up, disturbing nothing around me. No grass bent beneath my weight. No dirt clung to my hand. Even the wind found no impediment passing through me.
I like it this way. Everything as it was. Wild.
I went back to the blade of grass, lying next to it with my eye practically on it. I could spend a day watching the dew evaporate, the blade following the sun, until night fell and the dew returned. It was magic. It was comfort. It was routine, but peaceful. That might be all this little blade knows in its life. No insects eating it or climbing over it. No storm to break it. Just sun, and water, and the fresh air.
That would be a good life, I think.
Maybe it was a mistake to fall asleep here. Too easy to drift.
I roused myself and thought briefly about leaving. But the sun. The glint off the water. The breeze and the rustling, and I swear I could almost smell it all despite the actual scent hitting my nose of dust and...was that mold? I really should leave.
I should leave.
...
Maybe after a quick stop at the pond.
I walked over and plunged my head straight into the water. No pressure. No diverted flow. No trouble breathing. Wild.
A strange creature just under the surface greeted me about a hand's width away. Bulging eyes and bowed legs. It stared right at me, unblinking. Just sitting. Until faster than I could comprehend its tongue shot out, longer than my tongue, up through the water, grabbed an insect flying above, and dragged it quickly back into its mouth. A grabbing, foot-long tongue! Delightful.
I ventured for a closer look, planning to detail every last color and odd bump on the skin, when it jumped straight towards my face, startling me and throwing me backwards.
Enough to shake the Lens off my face.
I was on the carpet. Its tiny fibers shooting upwards greeted my eyes. And the dust trapped in them.
How long has it been?
I sat up to the closed blinds and bare apartment. Hard to see with the little light that crept around the blinds, but the eerie color told of nighttime. Or maybe just clouds.
I felt the carpet crush beneath my hands and feet as I warily stood.
"Lights," I said, illuminating the off-white walls and corner kitchenette. Ah, the food I'd asked to be delivered. That was the mold. Unfortunate. Guess with a cheap Proof Hotel I couldn't expect them to notify me it was there.
They were running older software too. No actual interaction with the past. Just like floating through it. More expensive to get the smell and touch versions. But I prefer the cheaper anyways. Less distractions.
"Food menu," I said into the walls before it listed off my options.
"Wait," I remembered, "Date and time." It replied.
Oh.
Wow.
I rattled off an order for some chicken dish and the need for trash and cleaning services. I would have to go.
I should leave.
The Lens stared at me from the ground.
One more trip while I wait for the food. The cleaning should let me know when it's there.
I picked up the Lens.
"Lights out," I said, and pulled up the Proof program. 500 B.P. had been a nice trip. Might as well go back. Try to find that creature again.
I laid down on the carpet.
It was always nice to start out close to the ground.
"Run program."
I was awoken by the sound of a single drop of dew falling from the tip of a blade of grass by my ear. I opened my eyes to see light filtered through the trees around me. Early morning.
A light wind ruffled through the ferns as I sat up, disturbing nothing around me. No grass bent beneath my weight. No dirt clung to my hand. Even the wind found no impediment passing through me.
I like it this way. Everything as it was. Wild.
I went back to the blade of grass, lying next to it with my eye practically on it. I could spend a day watching the dew evaporate, the blade following the sun, until night fell and the dew returned. It was magic. It was comfort. It was routine, but peaceful. That might be all this little blade knows in its life. No insects eating it or climbing over it. No storm to break it. Just sun, and water, and the fresh air.
That would be a good life, I think.
Maybe it was a mistake to fall asleep here. Too easy to drift.
I roused myself and thought briefly about leaving. But the sun. The glint off the water. The breeze and the rustling, and I swear I could almost smell it all despite the actual scent hitting my nose of dust and...was that mold? I really should leave.
I should leave.
...
Maybe after a quick stop at the pond.
I walked over and plunged my head straight into the water. No pressure. No diverted flow. No trouble breathing. Wild.
A strange creature just under the surface greeted me about a hand's width away. Bulging eyes and bowed legs. It stared right at me, unblinking. Just sitting. Until faster than I could comprehend its tongue shot out, longer than my tongue, up through the water, grabbed an insect flying above, and dragged it quickly back into its mouth. A grabbing, foot-long tongue! Delightful.
I ventured for a closer look, planning to detail every last color and odd bump on the skin, when it jumped straight towards my face, startling me and throwing me backwards.
Enough to shake the Lens off my face.
I was on the carpet. Its tiny fibers shooting upwards greeted my eyes. And the dust trapped in them.
How long has it been?
I sat up to the closed blinds and bare apartment. Hard to see with the little light that crept around the blinds, but the eerie color told of nighttime. Or maybe just clouds.
I felt the carpet crush beneath my hands and feet as I warily stood.
"Lights," I said, illuminating the off-white walls and corner kitchenette. Ah, the food I'd asked to be delivered. That was the mold. Unfortunate. Guess with a cheap Proof Hotel I couldn't expect them to notify me it was there.
They were running older software too. No actual interaction with the past. Just like floating through it. More expensive to get the smell and touch versions. But I prefer the cheaper anyways. Less distractions.
"Food menu," I said into the walls before it listed off my options.
"Wait," I remembered, "Date and time." It replied.
Oh.
Wow.
I rattled off an order for some chicken dish and the need for trash and cleaning services. I would have to go.
I should leave.
The Lens stared at me from the ground.
One more trip while I wait for the food. The cleaning should let me know when it's there.
I picked up the Lens.
"Lights out," I said, and pulled up the Proof program. 500 B.P. had been a nice trip. Might as well go back. Try to find that creature again.
I laid down on the carpet.
It was always nice to start out close to the ground.
"Run program."
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Inktober #15: Legend
(see #12: Dragon for previous story)
As a child, I had grown up with stories of the Dragons of Thatchkey Castle. Saviors, defenders, patrons, legends...each of them. Ed and Morna, and their children David and Patricia. Cursed by an ancient spell that transformed them into terrifying beasts, they had been outcast from the town, defending themselves when our grandparents mistakenly and brazenly tried to kill them, simply for being different.
But the fighting stopped, and the understanding began. The Scruntch family were still people, and with their new forms came power. Power they could use to help the town.
The stories grew, and the Dragons came down from the Castle more and more often. They required nothing, no more than what jewels or trinkets we could scrounge up for their collection. It was said great wealth resided in the Castle, but the wealth they provided us in return more than made up for the loss of a ring here, a bracelet there.
Their new sense of smell made them perfect hunters. Their wings and eyes made them scouts. Their fire kept away any wayward raiders who hadn't yet heard the rumors. Their strange secretions made the crops grow no matter the season.
We wanted for nothing. Thatchkey grew. And we began to dig. After all, the Dragons needed their gold. And we were happy to.
Every so often we would see smoke in the distance. Towards Montree. Towards Brookswell. That couldn't be our Morna could it? Flying back from that direction? No. No, we thought. Maybe the Dragons were helping other towns like ours.
And then the refugees came. Or prisoners, more like.
Burned out of their cities, told to come here, help with the mines. Don't worry, said the Dragons, they will be provided for like we provide for all of you. We attacked in self-defense, you see, like with your grandparents.
August Avery had told us those stories. She died years ago now, but it was always curious that while Thatchkey grew, the Averys seemed to grow just a little bit faster. It was rumored when Paula married into the family, that first night on their honeymoon she screamed, for Liam Avery was part dragon himself.
She was right. I saw it, right before I stabbed him and he burned alive from within.
But that's for later. Where was I?
Right. The town became a city. The mines delved deep. The Dragons ruled, and the surrounding countryside fell in line with our benevolent leaders.
All was well.
But another story started to spread. Whispered. That perhaps our grandparents had the right idea.
Those that repeated the whisper...let's just say their ashes blow over the water now. But I heard that whisper. And I knew it to be true. So I prepared, in what ways I could. Took samples of their secretions when I could manage it. Tested them.
For some had noticed there was one metal we mined, after going so deep, that the Dragons hoarded above all else. And yet, it was a metal they never touched. Only human hands would touch it, and it would disappear into the Castle never to be seen again.
I hoarded every scrap I could.
Arnie, a blacksmith, helped with the rest. It was easy enough to hide the smelting and forging of a small blade among the insane supply of trinkets.
And Liam Avery burned from the inside.
We made more blades. Far too few, and no protection from the fire, but it was something.
One day, three of the Dragons were away. Rumors had flown and the smoke of campfires in the sky had told of an opposing force readying an assault. Well armed. But I knew it wouldn't be enough. Still, now was our chance.
The silent word spread. Six of us gathered at a cistern by the Castle, having seen many a Dragon fly from a hole nearby when they required secrecy. We readied our blades and climbed in.
What horrors we saw there...I will spare you. Nothing human could ever live amongst or even create what remained in that castle. The stench...
We explored for what seemed an eternity, always trying to keep ear and eye out for the remaining Dragon. There was no sign of him. Worrying, but no reason not to continue.
Finally, a door. Solidly reinforced. Close to the entrance, and no sign of the foulness found in the rest of the castle. Clean. Normal. This is where the trusted carried it to. And there was no way a mere human could open it.
"Friendssss," hissed a voice behind us. "You sssseem lost. There is no more metal being delivered today and all mussst be preparing for the oncoming assault. I shall show you back to the front door."
It was open. Someone else was there.
As David Scruntch, Dragonson, approached the door, he stiffened briefly. But it was too late. Chains flew from the sides and down from the rafters, wrapping around his limbs, his head. And all made from the metal.
His inhuman screams escaped even from his fastened mouth. Fire licked out from the sides, but to no effect. His strength fought against the castle itself, which he was now bound to. A group emerged from the shadows, smelling of the Castle, wearing the colors of the Castle, and wielding weapons of the metal.
"Stand back, we'll finish him off."
"No, wait!" I interjected.
Immediately their weapons were trained on me.
"We took you for our allies with your sneaking into the castle, but if you favor the Dragon..."
"It's not that," I said. "We need him to do something first."
"And what's that?"
I looked back towards the impassable door. Their leader smiled at me.
Weakened, and in terrible pain, David Scruntch was led towards the door. He said a mumbled prayer for his family, but he could not stand the pain. So he opened it, and burned from the inside as my blade pierced his hide.
The room was full. There was enough for armor, swords, spears.
The group from Prosha, as we eventually learned they were, sent back a scout to their army. We would need more time.
Many have died. But today, we're ready. The Castle is thoroughly trapped. Those not loyal to the Dragons have taken up arms and armor and trained with the Proshans. It's not a lot, but it's enough.
Today, we take back our city. We take back the country.
Today, the Dragons come to an end.
Today, the legend of Lisa of Thatchkey is born.
As a child, I had grown up with stories of the Dragons of Thatchkey Castle. Saviors, defenders, patrons, legends...each of them. Ed and Morna, and their children David and Patricia. Cursed by an ancient spell that transformed them into terrifying beasts, they had been outcast from the town, defending themselves when our grandparents mistakenly and brazenly tried to kill them, simply for being different.
But the fighting stopped, and the understanding began. The Scruntch family were still people, and with their new forms came power. Power they could use to help the town.
The stories grew, and the Dragons came down from the Castle more and more often. They required nothing, no more than what jewels or trinkets we could scrounge up for their collection. It was said great wealth resided in the Castle, but the wealth they provided us in return more than made up for the loss of a ring here, a bracelet there.
Their new sense of smell made them perfect hunters. Their wings and eyes made them scouts. Their fire kept away any wayward raiders who hadn't yet heard the rumors. Their strange secretions made the crops grow no matter the season.
We wanted for nothing. Thatchkey grew. And we began to dig. After all, the Dragons needed their gold. And we were happy to.
Every so often we would see smoke in the distance. Towards Montree. Towards Brookswell. That couldn't be our Morna could it? Flying back from that direction? No. No, we thought. Maybe the Dragons were helping other towns like ours.
And then the refugees came. Or prisoners, more like.
Burned out of their cities, told to come here, help with the mines. Don't worry, said the Dragons, they will be provided for like we provide for all of you. We attacked in self-defense, you see, like with your grandparents.
August Avery had told us those stories. She died years ago now, but it was always curious that while Thatchkey grew, the Averys seemed to grow just a little bit faster. It was rumored when Paula married into the family, that first night on their honeymoon she screamed, for Liam Avery was part dragon himself.
She was right. I saw it, right before I stabbed him and he burned alive from within.
But that's for later. Where was I?
Right. The town became a city. The mines delved deep. The Dragons ruled, and the surrounding countryside fell in line with our benevolent leaders.
All was well.
But another story started to spread. Whispered. That perhaps our grandparents had the right idea.
Those that repeated the whisper...let's just say their ashes blow over the water now. But I heard that whisper. And I knew it to be true. So I prepared, in what ways I could. Took samples of their secretions when I could manage it. Tested them.
For some had noticed there was one metal we mined, after going so deep, that the Dragons hoarded above all else. And yet, it was a metal they never touched. Only human hands would touch it, and it would disappear into the Castle never to be seen again.
I hoarded every scrap I could.
Arnie, a blacksmith, helped with the rest. It was easy enough to hide the smelting and forging of a small blade among the insane supply of trinkets.
And Liam Avery burned from the inside.
We made more blades. Far too few, and no protection from the fire, but it was something.
One day, three of the Dragons were away. Rumors had flown and the smoke of campfires in the sky had told of an opposing force readying an assault. Well armed. But I knew it wouldn't be enough. Still, now was our chance.
The silent word spread. Six of us gathered at a cistern by the Castle, having seen many a Dragon fly from a hole nearby when they required secrecy. We readied our blades and climbed in.
What horrors we saw there...I will spare you. Nothing human could ever live amongst or even create what remained in that castle. The stench...
We explored for what seemed an eternity, always trying to keep ear and eye out for the remaining Dragon. There was no sign of him. Worrying, but no reason not to continue.
Finally, a door. Solidly reinforced. Close to the entrance, and no sign of the foulness found in the rest of the castle. Clean. Normal. This is where the trusted carried it to. And there was no way a mere human could open it.
"Friendssss," hissed a voice behind us. "You sssseem lost. There is no more metal being delivered today and all mussst be preparing for the oncoming assault. I shall show you back to the front door."
It was open. Someone else was there.
As David Scruntch, Dragonson, approached the door, he stiffened briefly. But it was too late. Chains flew from the sides and down from the rafters, wrapping around his limbs, his head. And all made from the metal.
His inhuman screams escaped even from his fastened mouth. Fire licked out from the sides, but to no effect. His strength fought against the castle itself, which he was now bound to. A group emerged from the shadows, smelling of the Castle, wearing the colors of the Castle, and wielding weapons of the metal.
"Stand back, we'll finish him off."
"No, wait!" I interjected.
Immediately their weapons were trained on me.
"We took you for our allies with your sneaking into the castle, but if you favor the Dragon..."
"It's not that," I said. "We need him to do something first."
"And what's that?"
I looked back towards the impassable door. Their leader smiled at me.
Weakened, and in terrible pain, David Scruntch was led towards the door. He said a mumbled prayer for his family, but he could not stand the pain. So he opened it, and burned from the inside as my blade pierced his hide.
The room was full. There was enough for armor, swords, spears.
The group from Prosha, as we eventually learned they were, sent back a scout to their army. We would need more time.
Many have died. But today, we're ready. The Castle is thoroughly trapped. Those not loyal to the Dragons have taken up arms and armor and trained with the Proshans. It's not a lot, but it's enough.
Today, we take back our city. We take back the country.
Today, the Dragons come to an end.
Today, the legend of Lisa of Thatchkey is born.
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Inktober #14: Overgrown
(see #11: Snow for previous story)
It felt like that time of year again. It was hard to sense the change in temperature. Most of those circuits were useless now, and what little warmth was given off by those around him, above him, could confuse him. There was still just enough of a hole to see the darkness and the light of the days and nights, but Lariot had long ago given up keeping track of how long he had been here.
Dave had stopped telling stories. Lariot wasn't sure why. Maybe with all the pile-up the solar panels had given out, no light to soak up. Maybe his core hadn't been as strong. Maybe like the others he had grown...meditative.
There! A flake. That might have been a flake. It felt like that time of year again. There might be more. That could be nice.
No noise from up top, unless those circuits had gone too. Maybe the humans had finally realized their mistake, stopped sending those down that were still awake.
No, sorry, not a mistake. Sorry. Oversight, I think they would say.
...
There was another. Yes. It must be snowing.
...
I have felt what can best be described as...a tickle. Something close to my core. Perhaps a creature has sought its warmth, the life essences within. Good. The meditation will soon be over and I will be of use to life. Good. That would be nice.
...
I can feel it now. It is in my core. Though, very slow moving. Systems are powering down. The essence is leaking. Was that anoth-
...
er flake?
I...
This is...new.
So dark.
I am awake.
And I feel heat.
My processes...are rebooting.
I have...energy. My core...it is damaged. Yet...there is energy. There is something still in there. I don't-
...
understand.
Time has passed. The weight of the pile...It is heavy. I...I can feel weight. I feel heat. I-
Did I just move?
My finger. I moved my finger. But that structure was broken. That structure is no longer broken. No...The structure is still broken, there is something supporting it. I am-
...
being rebuilt. I can feel it. That was my last reset. I will not need another. There is enough.
It is biological. It is mutual. It has found other cores. It is- We are feeding. Growing. It needs me, as I need it. We will support each other.
It is still too heavy. But it works. My arm works. Can you hear me? It is too heavy above. We can move. We can be in the sun again. It will take time.
Can you hear me?
Yes.
Grow.
Keep growing.
It felt like that time of year again. It was hard to sense the change in temperature. Most of those circuits were useless now, and what little warmth was given off by those around him, above him, could confuse him. There was still just enough of a hole to see the darkness and the light of the days and nights, but Lariot had long ago given up keeping track of how long he had been here.
Dave had stopped telling stories. Lariot wasn't sure why. Maybe with all the pile-up the solar panels had given out, no light to soak up. Maybe his core hadn't been as strong. Maybe like the others he had grown...meditative.
There! A flake. That might have been a flake. It felt like that time of year again. There might be more. That could be nice.
No noise from up top, unless those circuits had gone too. Maybe the humans had finally realized their mistake, stopped sending those down that were still awake.
No, sorry, not a mistake. Sorry. Oversight, I think they would say.
...
There was another. Yes. It must be snowing.
...
I have felt what can best be described as...a tickle. Something close to my core. Perhaps a creature has sought its warmth, the life essences within. Good. The meditation will soon be over and I will be of use to life. Good. That would be nice.
...
I can feel it now. It is in my core. Though, very slow moving. Systems are powering down. The essence is leaking. Was that anoth-
...
er flake?
I...
This is...new.
So dark.
I am awake.
And I feel heat.
My processes...are rebooting.
I have...energy. My core...it is damaged. Yet...there is energy. There is something still in there. I don't-
...
understand.
Time has passed. The weight of the pile...It is heavy. I...I can feel weight. I feel heat. I-
Did I just move?
My finger. I moved my finger. But that structure was broken. That structure is no longer broken. No...The structure is still broken, there is something supporting it. I am-
...
being rebuilt. I can feel it. That was my last reset. I will not need another. There is enough.
It is biological. It is mutual. It has found other cores. It is- We are feeding. Growing. It needs me, as I need it. We will support each other.
It is still too heavy. But it works. My arm works. Can you hear me? It is too heavy above. We can move. We can be in the sun again. It will take time.
Can you hear me?
Yes.
Grow.
Keep growing.
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
Inktober #13: Ash
"Howard Graves, multi-trillionaire President of Proof, the company that has recently taken the world by storm with its latest history app that lets users reconstruct and view various time periods from the world around them in real-time. Using high-tech analytical software that interfaces with historical records, photography, and your own Lens, anyone can now peer back into the past. And tonight, we talk to the man himself. Thank you for joining me Mr. Graves."
"My pleasure, Janet."
"Well, first question's first..."
"Now, now, Janet. You know I like you, but no, I will not be talking about the necklace."
"Can't blame me for trying, right? A vial of ashes around your neck that obviously carries tremendous personal significance for you? After all your company's slogan-"
"-'History From the Ashes' yes, I know it's tempting, but it's a secret I'll carry with me until the time is right."
"Not 'until you're dead'?"
"No. There will be a time. But for now I'm just here to talk about Proof."
"Of course. So, we all know the story by now. While working for Primal you discovered a way to manipulate the available technology to do something truly incredible. Reconstruct the past. For the 30% of people out there who aren't currently using Proof, can you give a brief description of how it works?"
"Yes. So, as we're all aware, capturing the world through photography and video has been around for hundreds of years now. The tech advanced, became commonplace, and digital traces of daily activity were left around the world. Even in the earliest days there were enough photographs taken for us to take the data in the image and extrapolate to the surrounding areas. So using the latest in Lens tech we are able to both capture and reflect imagery from the past in real-time and expand that into a viable representation."
"But the amazing thing about Proof isn't just the reflection of the past. It's getting to actually follow people and stories around. How in the world were you able to make that happen?"
"I could bore you all day with the technical details, Janet. Even then some of the trickier elements confound even me, which is why I hire the best people in the world. Post-quantum engineers, theoretical physicists-"
"But you hire beyond just the pure tech people as well."
"Yes, the artists. So much great tech has only succeeded because of the artists. Having both allows me to merge the best of the out-there possibilities of the tech with the real-world and artistic explorations. I think they are why Proof has not just become a niche interest. It's something that everyone can explore, use, and even create with."
"Even so, there are those out there who say that spending all of our time in the past is starting to hurt our views of the future. Not to mention the repeated injuries and deaths that have occurred from distraction."
"And those are concerns we take very seriously. We've been working with the various world governments to impose proper limitations on where the tech can be used, and we've been improving the tech to try and properly distinguish between current-world hazards and past-world imagery."
"But again, what about those who say that we're focused too much on the lives of the past rather than thinking about the future?"
"That is definitely a valid concern. But what about the lessons we can learn from the past as well? It used to be a constant concern of historians, that without learning the past we are doomed to repeat it. Well now we have the past literally in front of us. A constant part of our daily lives. We used to repeat history ignorantly, now instead we can continue into the future without having to learn the same lessons every fifty years."
"And how does immortality figure into that?"
"...What?"
"Pharma company ForEterne is in it's final round of human trials with a 99% success rate. Not to mention the various robotics companies, memory upload centers, etc."
"Well the nice thing about the past is that even if we all live forever, there will always be more of it."
"But if everyone lives forever and can remember it all at will, do you think Proof will be able to survive?"
"Well, let's think about that. In reality your question is, once everyone knows everything and isn't afraid to die, will there still be curiosity? Will people still want to explore? And I'd like to think that yes, based on all the various pieces of the past we have seen and how we continue to expand into the future, yes. Humanity is curiosity. And if we ever progress beyond that point, well...Well I suppose I'll have to rethink the business model."
"Howard Graves, thank you so much for joining me tonight."
"My pleasure, Ms. Porter."
"For those watching, if you'd like to try out Proof, well it's more than likely you already have. But if not, pop it on your Lens today. I'm Janet Porter with CRX Inc. Good night."
Howard Graves absent-mindedly fingered the small vial of ash around his neck, pondering those final questions.
"You alright Mr. Graves?" Janet asked.
"Yeah, fine. Fine," he replied.
"Any chance you want to tell me about that necklace off-Lens?" she poked.
Howard sighed.
"Not a chance, Janet."
"Crew's getting drinks later, at that 20s-Proofed bar down the way. Care to join us?"
"Much appreciated, but the business beckons," he twisted his wrist to display the time.
"Of course. Thanks again, Mr. Graves." She stretched her hand out to him.
"You're welcome." He received her hand in his, along with a string of digits on his Lens.
"Just in case you rethink that drink," she said, strutting away.
It was hard to find an un-Proofed view of the city these days. Thankfully he had enough to buy up an overlook and make sure no developments would occur there. No houses, no Lens stations, no Proof projectors. Just a view of the skyscrapers, the houses, the water. The pockets of that certain color of glow that only Proof produced.
He stood there now, looking at the moon above and city below, palming the vial around his neck.
Hours passed, and the Lens pings grew and grew, skyrocketing when the interview published.
Eventually the sun rose, and Howard Graves removed his hand from the vial.
"Not yet. Not quite yet," he said quietly to himself, turning from the view, and heading back to his daily business.
He didn't notice, and couldn't see, the crowd gathered around him, watching intently, surrounded by that curious glow. They watched him leave, then turned back to the view. Some took photos. Others took off their shoes and walked on the grass. And when they were ready, they disappeared with the glow.
"My pleasure, Janet."
"Well, first question's first..."
"Now, now, Janet. You know I like you, but no, I will not be talking about the necklace."
"Can't blame me for trying, right? A vial of ashes around your neck that obviously carries tremendous personal significance for you? After all your company's slogan-"
"-'History From the Ashes' yes, I know it's tempting, but it's a secret I'll carry with me until the time is right."
"Not 'until you're dead'?"
"No. There will be a time. But for now I'm just here to talk about Proof."
"Of course. So, we all know the story by now. While working for Primal you discovered a way to manipulate the available technology to do something truly incredible. Reconstruct the past. For the 30% of people out there who aren't currently using Proof, can you give a brief description of how it works?"
"Yes. So, as we're all aware, capturing the world through photography and video has been around for hundreds of years now. The tech advanced, became commonplace, and digital traces of daily activity were left around the world. Even in the earliest days there were enough photographs taken for us to take the data in the image and extrapolate to the surrounding areas. So using the latest in Lens tech we are able to both capture and reflect imagery from the past in real-time and expand that into a viable representation."
"But the amazing thing about Proof isn't just the reflection of the past. It's getting to actually follow people and stories around. How in the world were you able to make that happen?"
"I could bore you all day with the technical details, Janet. Even then some of the trickier elements confound even me, which is why I hire the best people in the world. Post-quantum engineers, theoretical physicists-"
"But you hire beyond just the pure tech people as well."
"Yes, the artists. So much great tech has only succeeded because of the artists. Having both allows me to merge the best of the out-there possibilities of the tech with the real-world and artistic explorations. I think they are why Proof has not just become a niche interest. It's something that everyone can explore, use, and even create with."
"Even so, there are those out there who say that spending all of our time in the past is starting to hurt our views of the future. Not to mention the repeated injuries and deaths that have occurred from distraction."
"And those are concerns we take very seriously. We've been working with the various world governments to impose proper limitations on where the tech can be used, and we've been improving the tech to try and properly distinguish between current-world hazards and past-world imagery."
"But again, what about those who say that we're focused too much on the lives of the past rather than thinking about the future?"
"That is definitely a valid concern. But what about the lessons we can learn from the past as well? It used to be a constant concern of historians, that without learning the past we are doomed to repeat it. Well now we have the past literally in front of us. A constant part of our daily lives. We used to repeat history ignorantly, now instead we can continue into the future without having to learn the same lessons every fifty years."
"And how does immortality figure into that?"
"...What?"
"Pharma company ForEterne is in it's final round of human trials with a 99% success rate. Not to mention the various robotics companies, memory upload centers, etc."
"Well the nice thing about the past is that even if we all live forever, there will always be more of it."
"But if everyone lives forever and can remember it all at will, do you think Proof will be able to survive?"
"Well, let's think about that. In reality your question is, once everyone knows everything and isn't afraid to die, will there still be curiosity? Will people still want to explore? And I'd like to think that yes, based on all the various pieces of the past we have seen and how we continue to expand into the future, yes. Humanity is curiosity. And if we ever progress beyond that point, well...Well I suppose I'll have to rethink the business model."
"Howard Graves, thank you so much for joining me tonight."
"My pleasure, Ms. Porter."
"For those watching, if you'd like to try out Proof, well it's more than likely you already have. But if not, pop it on your Lens today. I'm Janet Porter with CRX Inc. Good night."
Howard Graves absent-mindedly fingered the small vial of ash around his neck, pondering those final questions.
"You alright Mr. Graves?" Janet asked.
"Yeah, fine. Fine," he replied.
"Any chance you want to tell me about that necklace off-Lens?" she poked.
Howard sighed.
"Not a chance, Janet."
"Crew's getting drinks later, at that 20s-Proofed bar down the way. Care to join us?"
"Much appreciated, but the business beckons," he twisted his wrist to display the time.
"Of course. Thanks again, Mr. Graves." She stretched her hand out to him.
"You're welcome." He received her hand in his, along with a string of digits on his Lens.
"Just in case you rethink that drink," she said, strutting away.
It was hard to find an un-Proofed view of the city these days. Thankfully he had enough to buy up an overlook and make sure no developments would occur there. No houses, no Lens stations, no Proof projectors. Just a view of the skyscrapers, the houses, the water. The pockets of that certain color of glow that only Proof produced.
He stood there now, looking at the moon above and city below, palming the vial around his neck.
Hours passed, and the Lens pings grew and grew, skyrocketing when the interview published.
Eventually the sun rose, and Howard Graves removed his hand from the vial.
"Not yet. Not quite yet," he said quietly to himself, turning from the view, and heading back to his daily business.
He didn't notice, and couldn't see, the crowd gathered around him, watching intently, surrounded by that curious glow. They watched him leave, then turned back to the view. Some took photos. Others took off their shoes and walked on the grass. And when they were ready, they disappeared with the glow.
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
Inktober #12: Dragon
"Alright, alright, gather round now. Lisa, you can sit there. Johnny, right here. Good. Good. Everyone situated? Excellent. I'll know you're ready for a story when I see eyes on me and lips closed.
"Excellent. Once upon a time, there lived a wise old man in a castle on a hill. His name was Mr. Edward Scruntch. Yes, the very same Mr. Scruntch that lives in the castle on the hill above our little village. But don't be scared, children. For while Mr. Scruntch may seem frightening (that's another word for scary), and looks unlike anyone else, he is still a person. And he's who we'll be learning about today.
"So, once upon a time Mr. Scruntch was living in his castle on the hill. He had a wife, and two children, and was just about as happy as anyone could be. He was kind to his neighbors, and greeted them every morning, 'Hello Mr. Wilson! Lovely day! Hello Ms. Abott, what fine fish for sale! Hello Mrs. Pink, what a hat!' and so on. And yes, you may have noticed that all those people were and are your grandparents.
"But life was hard back in those days, and a great famine came down upon the land. Nobody had any food. Mr. Scruntch did what he could to help, traveling from Brookswell to Montree and back again gathering what food could be spared and sharing it amongst his neighbors; your grandparents, and even some of your parents though they would've been very young. Even younger than you all now.
"So Mr. Scruntch gave and gave, and was out of his castle more often than in. But poor Mr. Scruntch you see, well times were hard. And while he was away his whole family came down with a disease. It was a mystery like no one had ever seen. They started to...change. And poor Mr. Scruntch, well he tried to help, and get the best doctors, but no one had seen the like. Some say it was because of a strange root he had gathered amongst the hills and fed them. Some say it was the castle itself, that staying long enough in that place has its effects. Some say he had wronged a witch in a nearby town and perhaps tried to steal from her, bringing down a curse upon his family, and eventually himself.
"Whatever the true case may be, soon enough people began to see less and less of Mr. Scruntch, and even less of his family. And whenever they did come around, they came hooded and cloaked, so none could see what was underneath. And something odd started to happen. They never asked for food. Jewelry, trinkets, trading old fabrics for what gold we had, that was all they wanted.
"Now, some well-intentioned people in town thought the Scruntches might be hoarding food for themselves. And what with everyone starving they decided to intrude upon the peace of poor Mr. Scruntch and his family and see if they had anything to spare. My dear Robert was one of them.
"Your parents have probably told you about this day in history. But they've likely told it to you wrong, for so many were either so young or not even born yet, and even those who went through it have conflicting stories. But I know what happened. I know because I went and talked to Mr. Scruntch about it so many years later.
"Some of the group came back with burns, as if they'd been too close to a fire. Some of them told rambling tales of monsters in the castle, covered in scales and breathing smoke. And the myth of the Dragons in Thatchkey Castle was born. And that myth grew and grew until none dare approach the castle anymore, and the last we saw of a Scruntch in town was far before you were born.
"Eventually the crops came back. Business went on. And none dared disturb the Dragons, except for those with ill intent, looking to steal some of the treasure it was known they'd stockpiled. But when they came back burned and treasureless, well...
"Well I had had just enough of this so I decided to go talk to the Scruntches. It had been years since Richard passed and anyone had tried to visit and well we had been good friends before so why not now?
"And I tell you, friends, it did us all a world of good that I did. They welcomed me in warmly and told the story from their perspective. Of a horrible skin-changing disease, of a change in mind and body, yet all were still who they were in their soul. Of a frightened family, hounded by a misunderstanding mob. Of no more treasure than the treasure of each other's company, which was a treasure when no one else might see them.
"So you see, children, the Scruntches are worth no more fear. They may not look like you and I, but are people just the same. They have no treasure, and are not Dragons, and want only to see this town prosper in friendship as it once did.
Right, that's about all the time we have, head on home before it gets dark! I'll see you all next week. Bye! Bye. Bye Lisa. Bye."
August Avery picked up her cane and stood carefully, watching as the children ran from her door down the streets to their homes. She took a couple steps out, and seemingly minding her own business went to the side of her house, mostly wrapped in shadow.
Around the opposite corner, a figure cloaked and hooded approached.
"Well?" it asked.
"Went about as well as can be expected I think," August said. "They haven't had long to grow up with their parents' stories, and none my age tell the stories like they used to. I imagine you'll be welcomed with open arms in a couple years."
"Sssuperb," the figure nearly hissed. "What comes to us from them, a portion shall be yours and your family's. Here. Your payment."
A gloved hand offered a golden coin, worth enough to pay expenses for a month. August took it, tucked it away, and nonchalantly went back to her house and shut the door.
A shadow flitted up the hillside, towards the castle. From downwind a shiver crossed the spine of those who heard the faint, joyous noises, and smelled smoke on the air.
"Excellent. Once upon a time, there lived a wise old man in a castle on a hill. His name was Mr. Edward Scruntch. Yes, the very same Mr. Scruntch that lives in the castle on the hill above our little village. But don't be scared, children. For while Mr. Scruntch may seem frightening (that's another word for scary), and looks unlike anyone else, he is still a person. And he's who we'll be learning about today.
"So, once upon a time Mr. Scruntch was living in his castle on the hill. He had a wife, and two children, and was just about as happy as anyone could be. He was kind to his neighbors, and greeted them every morning, 'Hello Mr. Wilson! Lovely day! Hello Ms. Abott, what fine fish for sale! Hello Mrs. Pink, what a hat!' and so on. And yes, you may have noticed that all those people were and are your grandparents.
"But life was hard back in those days, and a great famine came down upon the land. Nobody had any food. Mr. Scruntch did what he could to help, traveling from Brookswell to Montree and back again gathering what food could be spared and sharing it amongst his neighbors; your grandparents, and even some of your parents though they would've been very young. Even younger than you all now.
"So Mr. Scruntch gave and gave, and was out of his castle more often than in. But poor Mr. Scruntch you see, well times were hard. And while he was away his whole family came down with a disease. It was a mystery like no one had ever seen. They started to...change. And poor Mr. Scruntch, well he tried to help, and get the best doctors, but no one had seen the like. Some say it was because of a strange root he had gathered amongst the hills and fed them. Some say it was the castle itself, that staying long enough in that place has its effects. Some say he had wronged a witch in a nearby town and perhaps tried to steal from her, bringing down a curse upon his family, and eventually himself.
"Whatever the true case may be, soon enough people began to see less and less of Mr. Scruntch, and even less of his family. And whenever they did come around, they came hooded and cloaked, so none could see what was underneath. And something odd started to happen. They never asked for food. Jewelry, trinkets, trading old fabrics for what gold we had, that was all they wanted.
"Now, some well-intentioned people in town thought the Scruntches might be hoarding food for themselves. And what with everyone starving they decided to intrude upon the peace of poor Mr. Scruntch and his family and see if they had anything to spare. My dear Robert was one of them.
"Your parents have probably told you about this day in history. But they've likely told it to you wrong, for so many were either so young or not even born yet, and even those who went through it have conflicting stories. But I know what happened. I know because I went and talked to Mr. Scruntch about it so many years later.
"Some of the group came back with burns, as if they'd been too close to a fire. Some of them told rambling tales of monsters in the castle, covered in scales and breathing smoke. And the myth of the Dragons in Thatchkey Castle was born. And that myth grew and grew until none dare approach the castle anymore, and the last we saw of a Scruntch in town was far before you were born.
"Eventually the crops came back. Business went on. And none dared disturb the Dragons, except for those with ill intent, looking to steal some of the treasure it was known they'd stockpiled. But when they came back burned and treasureless, well...
"Well I had had just enough of this so I decided to go talk to the Scruntches. It had been years since Richard passed and anyone had tried to visit and well we had been good friends before so why not now?
"And I tell you, friends, it did us all a world of good that I did. They welcomed me in warmly and told the story from their perspective. Of a horrible skin-changing disease, of a change in mind and body, yet all were still who they were in their soul. Of a frightened family, hounded by a misunderstanding mob. Of no more treasure than the treasure of each other's company, which was a treasure when no one else might see them.
"So you see, children, the Scruntches are worth no more fear. They may not look like you and I, but are people just the same. They have no treasure, and are not Dragons, and want only to see this town prosper in friendship as it once did.
Right, that's about all the time we have, head on home before it gets dark! I'll see you all next week. Bye! Bye. Bye Lisa. Bye."
August Avery picked up her cane and stood carefully, watching as the children ran from her door down the streets to their homes. She took a couple steps out, and seemingly minding her own business went to the side of her house, mostly wrapped in shadow.
Around the opposite corner, a figure cloaked and hooded approached.
"Well?" it asked.
"Went about as well as can be expected I think," August said. "They haven't had long to grow up with their parents' stories, and none my age tell the stories like they used to. I imagine you'll be welcomed with open arms in a couple years."
"Sssuperb," the figure nearly hissed. "What comes to us from them, a portion shall be yours and your family's. Here. Your payment."
A gloved hand offered a golden coin, worth enough to pay expenses for a month. August took it, tucked it away, and nonchalantly went back to her house and shut the door.
A shadow flitted up the hillside, towards the castle. From downwind a shiver crossed the spine of those who heard the faint, joyous noises, and smelled smoke on the air.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
Inktober #11: Snow
This was always the part he enjoyed most.
The snow falling.
Most of the time there wasn't much to look at down here, besides the rest of the refuse. His speech circuits had failed, oh, however long ago. Dave still told him stories sometimes, if it had been a sunny day and there was enough energy for it. But for the most part, there was just the resting, and the silence. He imagined that it would drive his former human friends insane.
But for Lariot, it was just...existence. He could postulate about how long he had been here, how long he would last until the circuits degraded and his core depleted. Poor Dave would last longer with those solar panels. Though Lariot had to wonder if Dave would even know when he was gone.
It was by no means boring, just meditative. Even so, when the snow came...that was a joy. You could feel it among those left in this heap. If they could move, they would be dancing in it, making angels. Or maybe even just doing as Lariot had no choice but to do now: to stare up in wonder. To look up at the sky, the ships, the city overhead...and watch the snow fall.
The snow falling.
Most of the time there wasn't much to look at down here, besides the rest of the refuse. His speech circuits had failed, oh, however long ago. Dave still told him stories sometimes, if it had been a sunny day and there was enough energy for it. But for the most part, there was just the resting, and the silence. He imagined that it would drive his former human friends insane.
But for Lariot, it was just...existence. He could postulate about how long he had been here, how long he would last until the circuits degraded and his core depleted. Poor Dave would last longer with those solar panels. Though Lariot had to wonder if Dave would even know when he was gone.
It was by no means boring, just meditative. Even so, when the snow came...that was a joy. You could feel it among those left in this heap. If they could move, they would be dancing in it, making angels. Or maybe even just doing as Lariot had no choice but to do now: to stare up in wonder. To look up at the sky, the ships, the city overhead...and watch the snow fall.
Monday, October 21, 2019
Inktober #21: Treasure
"Echo four nine seven hollerin' at the black, holler back."
"Frankie seven seven five on the toad road, nice to hear ya Echo."
"Milly eight four three, just waved at a Rocky Raccoon going round Zeus and his ladies if you're up this way."
"Phillip nine two three, drone on the throne."
"Aaah, Phillip you're no fun. Tulsa triple three, must've just missed you Milly, I'm gassin' up at Io. Thanks for the blip."
...
"Echo in, anyone else? Holler back."
...
...
"Echo in. Y'all I need your advice, I'm uh...I've been truckin a-"
"KELLY NINE THREE SHOUTING BACK FROM THE BLACK BITCHES, HOW ARE YOU?!"
"OOOOOH DAAAAAMN KELLY!"
"KELLY HOLY SHIT!"
"HAHAAAAA! Damn it's good to hear ya Kelly! Thought you'd've drifted long ago!"
"Echo in, alright, alright y'all let's let Kelly catch her breath."
"Kelly in, I'm assuming everyone's hollerin' for me but I've got a hell of a slowdown on comms from this far out so pardon the delay."
"Echo in, well whenever you get this Kelly, let us know your road."
...
...
...
"Kelly in, you old sweethearts. I'm almost at drift point, figured I'd be going out without a goodbye but then I heard you holler, Echo, and thought, ah hell, last time for sentimentals."
"Echo in, glad you did Kelly. I uh, I was just gettin bored on the toad road home...but it's damn good to hear from you before...well before we don't. I'll drone and let the others have their say. Gonna miss you, Kelis. Echo out."
"Frankie in, damn Echo you're on the toad road too? Shout me your stick when Kelly's out, I'll try to spot you. Otherwise, AAAAHHH KELLY! Where in the Spill they sending you anyways?"
...
...
...
"Kelly in, I love you too Echo. I'm off to the new stamp on Tiryns, delivering one hell of a treasure. Quite the story if I had time to tell it. Going to drop off the haul, serve the rest of my time, and who knows, maybe I'll even get to come back and flaunt my pretty young self after y'all have upgraded to tin."
"Frankie in, damn right you will Kelly, I've got a nice chrome case in my retirement package, gotta show it off!"
"Milly in, Frankie you liar we all know you're just going to steal it from your rich aunt."
"Frankie in, yeah, WHEN I'M RETIRED!"
...
"Kelly in, FRANKIE YOU LIAR!"
...
"HAAAAAA!"
...
"Frankie in, ah hell, we're gonna miss you Kelly. Good luck on the stamp. Milly, you in?"
"Milly in, but not for long, gotta keep an eye out, this route is so swarmed with Rockys and I can't get pulled over. Best to you, Kelly. Drift well. Drone on the throne."
"Frankie in, Phillip, care to join?"
...
...
"Kelly in, thanks Mil. I'll send you over the prints I found for tracking the blips. And heeeey Phillip, I miss you too, so so much my secret lover. I know it's hard for you to pipe in, don't want us to hear you cry, I get it."
"HA! Frankie in. Tulsa? Anything to add?"
"Tulsa in, ah, you all said it all anyways. Trouble with having a call sign towards the end. Miss you Kelly. I might end up on a drift myself soon, hopefully over your way. I'll holler if I do. Tulsa out."
"Oops, Frankie in, gotta say my goodbyes too Kelly. Toads are croaking. Good luck to you. Frankie out."
...
"Kelly in, oh Tulsa you'll get your chance someday. And please do. Oh, bye Frankie!"
...
...
...
"Kelly in, well...into the drift I go. Thanks for the holler, Echo. Kisses. Back in a millennia. Kelly out!"
...
...
...
"Phillip, you still there?"
"Course, Echo."
"You, uh, know about my situation?"
"Helps to be a drone. Yeah, Echo, I'm aware."
Phyllis Senter, aka Trucker Echo 497, was parked on Pluto. Carefully she looked into the screen showing the cargo in her hold. She knew not to meet the eyes of what waited there lest it become enraged. Somehow, it knew when she was watching.
"I don't think I can do this to them, Phillip. Kelis is a friend, and a good one. I never should've hollered, I swore they were drifting."
"But you know what happens if you don't."
"Yeah...and I know what happens if I do. What the hell did Kelis do anyways to piss these people off?"
"You didn't hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Echo, Kelis...Kelis had a family."
"...What?"
"Something tweaked in her implant and..."
"Oh no...I...I had heard about that, but never thought...that was her?"
"Yeah. So now she's serving time throughout the Spill, killing, capturing, whatever they ask her to do."
Phyllis stared out the window, knowing Kelis Alcides, aka Trucker Kelly 93, was just beyond her sensors, out in the black, going to sleep for the long journey. And now that she knew the crime, and knew the full extent of the power of her employers, Phyllis booted up her rig and set a course to follow.
"Thanks, Phillip. Maybe I'll see you in tin. Echo out."
...
"No, Echo. You won't."
...
"You'll see me there."
"Frankie seven seven five on the toad road, nice to hear ya Echo."
"Milly eight four three, just waved at a Rocky Raccoon going round Zeus and his ladies if you're up this way."
"Phillip nine two three, drone on the throne."
"Aaah, Phillip you're no fun. Tulsa triple three, must've just missed you Milly, I'm gassin' up at Io. Thanks for the blip."
...
"Echo in, anyone else? Holler back."
...
...
"Echo in. Y'all I need your advice, I'm uh...I've been truckin a-"
"KELLY NINE THREE SHOUTING BACK FROM THE BLACK BITCHES, HOW ARE YOU?!"
"OOOOOH DAAAAAMN KELLY!"
"KELLY HOLY SHIT!"
"HAHAAAAA! Damn it's good to hear ya Kelly! Thought you'd've drifted long ago!"
"Echo in, alright, alright y'all let's let Kelly catch her breath."
"Kelly in, I'm assuming everyone's hollerin' for me but I've got a hell of a slowdown on comms from this far out so pardon the delay."
"Echo in, well whenever you get this Kelly, let us know your road."
...
...
...
"Kelly in, you old sweethearts. I'm almost at drift point, figured I'd be going out without a goodbye but then I heard you holler, Echo, and thought, ah hell, last time for sentimentals."
"Echo in, glad you did Kelly. I uh, I was just gettin bored on the toad road home...but it's damn good to hear from you before...well before we don't. I'll drone and let the others have their say. Gonna miss you, Kelis. Echo out."
"Frankie in, damn Echo you're on the toad road too? Shout me your stick when Kelly's out, I'll try to spot you. Otherwise, AAAAHHH KELLY! Where in the Spill they sending you anyways?"
...
...
...
"Kelly in, I love you too Echo. I'm off to the new stamp on Tiryns, delivering one hell of a treasure. Quite the story if I had time to tell it. Going to drop off the haul, serve the rest of my time, and who knows, maybe I'll even get to come back and flaunt my pretty young self after y'all have upgraded to tin."
"Frankie in, damn right you will Kelly, I've got a nice chrome case in my retirement package, gotta show it off!"
"Milly in, Frankie you liar we all know you're just going to steal it from your rich aunt."
"Frankie in, yeah, WHEN I'M RETIRED!"
...
"Kelly in, FRANKIE YOU LIAR!"
...
"HAAAAAA!"
...
"Frankie in, ah hell, we're gonna miss you Kelly. Good luck on the stamp. Milly, you in?"
"Milly in, but not for long, gotta keep an eye out, this route is so swarmed with Rockys and I can't get pulled over. Best to you, Kelly. Drift well. Drone on the throne."
"Frankie in, Phillip, care to join?"
...
...
"Kelly in, thanks Mil. I'll send you over the prints I found for tracking the blips. And heeeey Phillip, I miss you too, so so much my secret lover. I know it's hard for you to pipe in, don't want us to hear you cry, I get it."
"HA! Frankie in. Tulsa? Anything to add?"
"Tulsa in, ah, you all said it all anyways. Trouble with having a call sign towards the end. Miss you Kelly. I might end up on a drift myself soon, hopefully over your way. I'll holler if I do. Tulsa out."
"Oops, Frankie in, gotta say my goodbyes too Kelly. Toads are croaking. Good luck to you. Frankie out."
...
"Kelly in, oh Tulsa you'll get your chance someday. And please do. Oh, bye Frankie!"
...
...
...
"Kelly in, well...into the drift I go. Thanks for the holler, Echo. Kisses. Back in a millennia. Kelly out!"
...
...
...
"Phillip, you still there?"
"Course, Echo."
"You, uh, know about my situation?"
"Helps to be a drone. Yeah, Echo, I'm aware."
Phyllis Senter, aka Trucker Echo 497, was parked on Pluto. Carefully she looked into the screen showing the cargo in her hold. She knew not to meet the eyes of what waited there lest it become enraged. Somehow, it knew when she was watching.
"I don't think I can do this to them, Phillip. Kelis is a friend, and a good one. I never should've hollered, I swore they were drifting."
"But you know what happens if you don't."
"Yeah...and I know what happens if I do. What the hell did Kelis do anyways to piss these people off?"
"You didn't hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Echo, Kelis...Kelis had a family."
"...What?"
"Something tweaked in her implant and..."
"Oh no...I...I had heard about that, but never thought...that was her?"
"Yeah. So now she's serving time throughout the Spill, killing, capturing, whatever they ask her to do."
Phyllis stared out the window, knowing Kelis Alcides, aka Trucker Kelly 93, was just beyond her sensors, out in the black, going to sleep for the long journey. And now that she knew the crime, and knew the full extent of the power of her employers, Phyllis booted up her rig and set a course to follow.
"Thanks, Phillip. Maybe I'll see you in tin. Echo out."
...
"No, Echo. You won't."
...
"You'll see me there."
Friday, October 18, 2019
Inktober #10: Pattern
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right that she, Atropos, Last of the Fates, should be the Last. She had, of course, known this day would come. Her sister Clotho refused to stop spinning the thread of Atropos' life. Her other sister Lachesis refused to measure it. Which meant when their two threads came to their end, and Atropos was forced to cut them, her own thread was left unset. Uncuttable. The Last Fate would be the last forever.
It had never been her job to focus on the lives of mortals, only the ending of them. Appearing with her shears, her scythe, whatever that human might perceive as Death come to cut their life away, she would finish the process begun by her sisters and the world would move on.
But what would the world do now? She was no good at spinning the creation of life. Had merely watched at the craft of the measurement and decision in how a life would be lived. She just had to know when to cut.
And for a while, unable to decide on what to do, all she did was cut.
The pattern began to fall apart.
The tapestry of the world was filled with holes. And if it were to all be cut? What would she do then but be a living ghost? A god with no purpose, doomed to forever look at all she and her sisters had made unravel and end in tattered ruin.
But she did not know all that her sisters had done. For, long ago, Lachesis had seen what must be, and had told Clotho. And they had worked in secret, while Atropos was away. Clotho wove, Lachesis measured.
And one day, Atropos felt compelled to look to the tapestry, and looked to her own unending thread. And there, hidden so delicately amongst the fibers, she saw her sisters again.
So she wove. And she measured. And she tried at first to copy all the beautiful work of her sisters. History became the present. The patterns of the past repeated, and the tapestry began to once more appear like itself.
But the work of three sisters in one proved to be too much, and soon a mistake was made. In her frenzy she wove a life that skittered and jumped through the weave, interacting with far more of the world than it was meant to. Than she had meant it to.
But she stepped back. And she looked at the tapestry from a distance.
The story told with her sisters was brilliant and colorful. It rose and fell and swayed and yes, could get repetitive. But nothing like what she had been doing. Her piece of the story followed only one line. Birth, Fate, Death. Birth, Fate, Death. Copied. Inflexible.
Until this mistake. And she found it to be beautiful. So Death began to dream. The tapestry evolved. The pattern was shot through with more and more color. And what exploded out into the universe...was sometimes woven frayed. Sometimes measured off by an inch. Sometimes cut a little too long.
And she found it to be beautiful.
It had never been her job to focus on the lives of mortals, only the ending of them. Appearing with her shears, her scythe, whatever that human might perceive as Death come to cut their life away, she would finish the process begun by her sisters and the world would move on.
But what would the world do now? She was no good at spinning the creation of life. Had merely watched at the craft of the measurement and decision in how a life would be lived. She just had to know when to cut.
And for a while, unable to decide on what to do, all she did was cut.
The pattern began to fall apart.
The tapestry of the world was filled with holes. And if it were to all be cut? What would she do then but be a living ghost? A god with no purpose, doomed to forever look at all she and her sisters had made unravel and end in tattered ruin.
But she did not know all that her sisters had done. For, long ago, Lachesis had seen what must be, and had told Clotho. And they had worked in secret, while Atropos was away. Clotho wove, Lachesis measured.
And one day, Atropos felt compelled to look to the tapestry, and looked to her own unending thread. And there, hidden so delicately amongst the fibers, she saw her sisters again.
So she wove. And she measured. And she tried at first to copy all the beautiful work of her sisters. History became the present. The patterns of the past repeated, and the tapestry began to once more appear like itself.
But the work of three sisters in one proved to be too much, and soon a mistake was made. In her frenzy she wove a life that skittered and jumped through the weave, interacting with far more of the world than it was meant to. Than she had meant it to.
But she stepped back. And she looked at the tapestry from a distance.
The story told with her sisters was brilliant and colorful. It rose and fell and swayed and yes, could get repetitive. But nothing like what she had been doing. Her piece of the story followed only one line. Birth, Fate, Death. Birth, Fate, Death. Copied. Inflexible.
Until this mistake. And she found it to be beautiful. So Death began to dream. The tapestry evolved. The pattern was shot through with more and more color. And what exploded out into the universe...was sometimes woven frayed. Sometimes measured off by an inch. Sometimes cut a little too long.
And she found it to be beautiful.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Inktober #9: Swing
"WEEELLLCOOOOOME Florks, Buzaks, Pitoos, and everyone between or outside of the trinary!"
Clap clap clap
"Hi everyone, my name is Liza..."
Oh! murmur murmur
"Yes, that's an old Earth name, we might even run into a couple humans on the way..."
OOOoooo murmur murmur
"...and I will be your tour guide today for Moon Station #3, otherwise known as The Swing!"
Clap clap clap
"Thank you. If you'll just follow me this way we'll get started. Great! Now, as you all know, The Swing was the last outpost of humanity before their extinction 300 years ago. But what you might not know is that this station was also a hub of human culture and activity that was rather different from anything you might've seen visiting Earth. After all, the Moon was a LONG ways away from Earth!"
Chuckle chuckle
"In fact, you all have already been to one of the attractions, as the lot you transmatted into used to be where the humans would park their space ships!"
Oooo have to get a snap when we go back
"If you'll all gather around here, this is our first stop...thank you. Good. Now, as you can see in our representative model, human used to fly up here in a line in all their little space ships, stop in, and then exit in a line on the way back to Earth. As more and more bases were made on the Moon, eventually 'Moon Station #3' became a hard to remember name, so they renamed it 'The Swing' as it resembled the shape of an archaic mechanical recreational device of the same name, which you can see hanging from that Snorlog there. Would any of our little ones like to try it?"
OH YAY do be careful Liral wait we push them? Oh alright WOOOAAAAAHHHH
"Well, 'folks', I just heard that we have a very special guest waiting for us, so let's head over to his office, alright? And then after that you'll get to see the rest of the Station! This way!"
I bet it's a human! What a great place Oh Liza's so nice
"Here we are! This is an exact reconstruction of Mr. Mannetti's 'mansion', which he used to conduct business, entertain other humans, and even sleep!"
Ooooo
"Let's see if he's here. We have to pound on the door three times."
Knock knock knock
"Now who is that knocking at my door?"
"It's Liza, Mr. Mannetti, and I've brought some friends to see you!"
"Well let me just look through this piece of glass in the door to make sure you are who you say you are!"
Whaaaat? Ooooo that's funny!
"Ah, yes it is you! I'll slide this bit of metal out of the door so I can come out and greet you!"
"Everyone, please welcome Mr. Mannetti!"
Clap clap clap
"Thank you everyone for coming to visit my home, and my station, The Swing!"
Clap clap clap
"As you can all see, I am a human who has dark brown hair, various blue pigmentations in my eyes, and I like to wear what we call a 'suit'."
Ooooo snap snap
"I started this Station after realizing that I could make lots of paper money just like this..."
OOOOOOO SNAP SNAP SNAP
"By being a place where everyone could come and try out things you couldn't try on Earth. I also made several activities based around the word 'Swing' because you see it actually meant more than an archaic mechanical recreational device. It was also a type of dance, as you'll learn about in the 'Barn', a type of eating establishment as you'll see at the "Swing Diner", and even a special type of procreation involving multiple humans as you can learn about at the "Hotel". Use your best discretion for your little ones with that one. Well, I think it's about time you go and see the rest of The Swing don't you?!"
Clap clap clap
"Alright, you got it from here Liza?"
"You bet, Mr. Mannetti!"
"Great, thanks for coming everyone, and enjoy The Swing!"
Clap clap clap So entertaining So lifelike Did you see the hair?
"Okay, let's keep it moving! We're almost to the main base. After that, you will have two cyclons to wander around. All attractions can be found on your paper maps, which are collectible souvenirs!"
OOOO clap clap clap
"And here we are! I'll meet you back here in two cyclons and we'll finish up with our memorial to all who fought so bravely in the war, and a stop by our collectibles shop. Enjoy!"
Clap clap clap clap clap So nice I see a human! Maybe when you're older Liral
Clap clap clap
"Hi everyone, my name is Liza..."
Oh! murmur murmur
"Yes, that's an old Earth name, we might even run into a couple humans on the way..."
OOOoooo murmur murmur
"...and I will be your tour guide today for Moon Station #3, otherwise known as The Swing!"
Clap clap clap
"Thank you. If you'll just follow me this way we'll get started. Great! Now, as you all know, The Swing was the last outpost of humanity before their extinction 300 years ago. But what you might not know is that this station was also a hub of human culture and activity that was rather different from anything you might've seen visiting Earth. After all, the Moon was a LONG ways away from Earth!"
Chuckle chuckle
"In fact, you all have already been to one of the attractions, as the lot you transmatted into used to be where the humans would park their space ships!"
Oooo have to get a snap when we go back
"If you'll all gather around here, this is our first stop...thank you. Good. Now, as you can see in our representative model, human used to fly up here in a line in all their little space ships, stop in, and then exit in a line on the way back to Earth. As more and more bases were made on the Moon, eventually 'Moon Station #3' became a hard to remember name, so they renamed it 'The Swing' as it resembled the shape of an archaic mechanical recreational device of the same name, which you can see hanging from that Snorlog there. Would any of our little ones like to try it?"
OH YAY do be careful Liral wait we push them? Oh alright WOOOAAAAAHHHH
"Well, 'folks', I just heard that we have a very special guest waiting for us, so let's head over to his office, alright? And then after that you'll get to see the rest of the Station! This way!"
I bet it's a human! What a great place Oh Liza's so nice
"Here we are! This is an exact reconstruction of Mr. Mannetti's 'mansion', which he used to conduct business, entertain other humans, and even sleep!"
Ooooo
"Let's see if he's here. We have to pound on the door three times."
Knock knock knock
"Now who is that knocking at my door?"
"It's Liza, Mr. Mannetti, and I've brought some friends to see you!"
"Well let me just look through this piece of glass in the door to make sure you are who you say you are!"
Whaaaat? Ooooo that's funny!
"Ah, yes it is you! I'll slide this bit of metal out of the door so I can come out and greet you!"
"Everyone, please welcome Mr. Mannetti!"
Clap clap clap
"Thank you everyone for coming to visit my home, and my station, The Swing!"
Clap clap clap
"As you can all see, I am a human who has dark brown hair, various blue pigmentations in my eyes, and I like to wear what we call a 'suit'."
Ooooo snap snap
"I started this Station after realizing that I could make lots of paper money just like this..."
OOOOOOO SNAP SNAP SNAP
"By being a place where everyone could come and try out things you couldn't try on Earth. I also made several activities based around the word 'Swing' because you see it actually meant more than an archaic mechanical recreational device. It was also a type of dance, as you'll learn about in the 'Barn', a type of eating establishment as you'll see at the "Swing Diner", and even a special type of procreation involving multiple humans as you can learn about at the "Hotel". Use your best discretion for your little ones with that one. Well, I think it's about time you go and see the rest of The Swing don't you?!"
Clap clap clap
"Alright, you got it from here Liza?"
"You bet, Mr. Mannetti!"
"Great, thanks for coming everyone, and enjoy The Swing!"
Clap clap clap So entertaining So lifelike Did you see the hair?
"Okay, let's keep it moving! We're almost to the main base. After that, you will have two cyclons to wander around. All attractions can be found on your paper maps, which are collectible souvenirs!"
OOOO clap clap clap
"And here we are! I'll meet you back here in two cyclons and we'll finish up with our memorial to all who fought so bravely in the war, and a stop by our collectibles shop. Enjoy!"
Clap clap clap clap clap So nice I see a human! Maybe when you're older Liral
Inktober #8: Frail
It was unusual, these days, and seen as more than a little wasteful, to have a funeral for a robot. Emma knew this, and knew it was also the right thing to do for Albert.
Friends and family who had all been served by and gotten to know Albert sat in their seats staring at the open casket. Some shifting uncomfortably, some chatting with friends, some looking after children who didn't quite know what to do. A little less than half were robots. That was nice. A good turnout.
Her friend Jessie was playing the cello. Holding it back, keeping it professional. Albert had loved listening in the final weeks. When he finally passed, Jessie had been hit harder than most. They had shared a connection with that music that no one could really put into words.
The music faded out as Father James walked up to the podium.
"Friends and family, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of Albert. To acknowledge his passing into the electric current of the universe, and to say our goodbyes one last time. Like many of you, I considered Albert a friend. Whenever Emma and her family would come to church, there was Albert, looking after them. For a long time I, wrongly, assumed Albert was like any other serving robot. After all one doesn't get much robotic interest in a human deity. But one day, after a service, as the family was leaving...Emma must have been, what, four? Five? Anyways, after the service and making sure the family was taken care of Albert approached me. And he asked me if he could attend confession. Well, naturally, this just about blew my socks off. I stumbled my way through saying yes, of course, and we retired into the adjoining chamber and I heard his confession. Now I can't tell you what he said, but I can tell you that it changed my life. Albert and I continued our questions and correspondence for years and years...and he never stopped changing my life."
Father James took a brief pause to look back at the casket, and composed himself again.
"I'm sure many of you have similar stories, and there will be time to tell them. But for now I'd like to turn over the podium to the woman who grew up with Alfred, who arguably knew him better than anyone, to tell her story. Emma?"
Emma took a deep breath. She stood from her chair, readied her speech, took a quick look over at Alfred, and stepped up to the podium.
"Hi, everyone. It's really lovely seeing you all here, I know Albert would've appreciated seeing each and every one of you. Um, I'm Emma Fernwood, and like Father James said, I've known Albert my entire life. He first came into our family's service to look after my great-grandparents when they got old. Obviously I wasn't around at the time but I think even back then, there was something that clicked in Albert. Something that made him special. I think it was his relationship with them that settled him on this service, in fact. He always talked about them fondly. Then when they passed on he started taking care of my grandmother and her family, then my mother, and then me."
Deep breath. Deep breath.
"Even when I was young it was clear that Albert was aging. We had offered to get him an upgraded chassis, but he always refused. Said it was important to live the life he'd been given, and make room for another when it was time. 'I have always served your family as best I could,' he said. 'But if I were to try to serve them forever, I would be doing great disservice to whichever robot will come after me, and get to know you.'"
She knew that part would break her, and it did. Father James brought tissues up to her, as she saw many other flurries of white among the crowd. She said a quick thank you to the Father. Took a couple shaky deep breaths, as others did too, and continued.
"Hooooo okay. Okay. Um...Albert was such a joyful part of my life. He would play with me when I was young, gave me dating advice when I was a teen, helped me move, even though it strained his joints, when I went to college. Ran me through current real estate trends when I bought my house. Held me when mom died. And then...And then as he got more and more frail, it became my pleasure, and his ultimate indignity he would swear up and down though I could tell he loved it, to care for him. And when it was time, he let me know, and once again thank you to all of you who stopped by to say your goodbyes, I know he loved each and every interaction. And then he turned off."
She turned back to the casket.
"Thank you, Albert. For every imaginary adventure in Monster Land, for turning me off of Brad Dilbert in the 7th grade...for being there in both body and soul for my whole life. Whoever comes next has a whole lot to live up to. I love you."
Emma descended to immediate hugs. Jessie started up the cello again. People lined up to say their final goodbyes, and the service winded down.
And over in a corner, one robot stood, contemplating. They had been contemplating what to say for the entire service. Longer. When most had said their goodbyes, the robot crossed over to Emma. The conversation they had was much like confession, and private between the two. But at the end the two hugged, and walked out together, and as Emma got to her car, they opened the door for her. She gave them one last meaningful look with tears in her eyes and a smile, and drove away.
Friends and family who had all been served by and gotten to know Albert sat in their seats staring at the open casket. Some shifting uncomfortably, some chatting with friends, some looking after children who didn't quite know what to do. A little less than half were robots. That was nice. A good turnout.
Her friend Jessie was playing the cello. Holding it back, keeping it professional. Albert had loved listening in the final weeks. When he finally passed, Jessie had been hit harder than most. They had shared a connection with that music that no one could really put into words.
The music faded out as Father James walked up to the podium.
"Friends and family, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of Albert. To acknowledge his passing into the electric current of the universe, and to say our goodbyes one last time. Like many of you, I considered Albert a friend. Whenever Emma and her family would come to church, there was Albert, looking after them. For a long time I, wrongly, assumed Albert was like any other serving robot. After all one doesn't get much robotic interest in a human deity. But one day, after a service, as the family was leaving...Emma must have been, what, four? Five? Anyways, after the service and making sure the family was taken care of Albert approached me. And he asked me if he could attend confession. Well, naturally, this just about blew my socks off. I stumbled my way through saying yes, of course, and we retired into the adjoining chamber and I heard his confession. Now I can't tell you what he said, but I can tell you that it changed my life. Albert and I continued our questions and correspondence for years and years...and he never stopped changing my life."
Father James took a brief pause to look back at the casket, and composed himself again.
"I'm sure many of you have similar stories, and there will be time to tell them. But for now I'd like to turn over the podium to the woman who grew up with Alfred, who arguably knew him better than anyone, to tell her story. Emma?"
Emma took a deep breath. She stood from her chair, readied her speech, took a quick look over at Alfred, and stepped up to the podium.
"Hi, everyone. It's really lovely seeing you all here, I know Albert would've appreciated seeing each and every one of you. Um, I'm Emma Fernwood, and like Father James said, I've known Albert my entire life. He first came into our family's service to look after my great-grandparents when they got old. Obviously I wasn't around at the time but I think even back then, there was something that clicked in Albert. Something that made him special. I think it was his relationship with them that settled him on this service, in fact. He always talked about them fondly. Then when they passed on he started taking care of my grandmother and her family, then my mother, and then me."
Deep breath. Deep breath.
"Even when I was young it was clear that Albert was aging. We had offered to get him an upgraded chassis, but he always refused. Said it was important to live the life he'd been given, and make room for another when it was time. 'I have always served your family as best I could,' he said. 'But if I were to try to serve them forever, I would be doing great disservice to whichever robot will come after me, and get to know you.'"
She knew that part would break her, and it did. Father James brought tissues up to her, as she saw many other flurries of white among the crowd. She said a quick thank you to the Father. Took a couple shaky deep breaths, as others did too, and continued.
"Hooooo okay. Okay. Um...Albert was such a joyful part of my life. He would play with me when I was young, gave me dating advice when I was a teen, helped me move, even though it strained his joints, when I went to college. Ran me through current real estate trends when I bought my house. Held me when mom died. And then...And then as he got more and more frail, it became my pleasure, and his ultimate indignity he would swear up and down though I could tell he loved it, to care for him. And when it was time, he let me know, and once again thank you to all of you who stopped by to say your goodbyes, I know he loved each and every interaction. And then he turned off."
She turned back to the casket.
"Thank you, Albert. For every imaginary adventure in Monster Land, for turning me off of Brad Dilbert in the 7th grade...for being there in both body and soul for my whole life. Whoever comes next has a whole lot to live up to. I love you."
Emma descended to immediate hugs. Jessie started up the cello again. People lined up to say their final goodbyes, and the service winded down.
And over in a corner, one robot stood, contemplating. They had been contemplating what to say for the entire service. Longer. When most had said their goodbyes, the robot crossed over to Emma. The conversation they had was much like confession, and private between the two. But at the end the two hugged, and walked out together, and as Emma got to her car, they opened the door for her. She gave them one last meaningful look with tears in her eyes and a smile, and drove away.
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Inktober #7: Enchanted
Ed Two-eyes had known from an early age that he didn't exactly fit in this universe. There was something different about him that made life...well...exceptionally easy. Whenever he asked for something, from anyone, he got it. People always bowed their heads as he walked by, which made going unseen rather an easy task. The only negative was that random passerby would occasionally stop him to offer sound advice, as if he'd asked for it and might need it in the future. Annoying, but for the most part had actually still proven quite useful.
Naturally these came together to turn Ed into a criminal. He was infamous, had his poster everywhere across the Rim, yet no one could seem to find him (on account of the head-bowing) or care to turn him in when they did. Any speeder he wanted, he just asked for, and the owner very respectfully handed it over. Until about an hour later when they realized what they'd done and figured it for a con, if they weren't too embarrassed about the whole situation to even say anything. If he needed credits, he just walked up to the anti-personnel force field at the bank and asked for it. Which had earned him a reputation as a bank robber and insanely talented escape artist, as no one could figure out how he just slipped by the troopers every time.
This also had the issue of making life rather boring for Ed. It had been exciting as a child to realize everything could be handed over on a silver mess-plate, but as a young adult it became rather tiring. No challenge, nothing to strive against. He tried various Meds to sometimes entertaining but often quite temporary results. He even gave hired assassination a go, hunting the ultimate prey as it were (a Saurian). The damn thing saw him and immediately tried to become his friend! Deadliest creatures in the galaxy, pfoof.
But now, at the ripe age of 25, on the planet Xarlon, an explanation would finally occur, and Ed's life would be forever changed.
Ed was walking through the local market, deciding between taking a rack of Parmigs for lunch or just a Lemus Pie, when a portal opened up about ten feet down the way. It wasn't unheard of for random portals to show up outside the local Transport Hub, carrying usually robbers on the run or someone in a general hurry who didn't care about vaporizing the random passerby, but it was also unusual for a portal to be...well...so BLUE.
Not a moment later a wizened old man wearing a long draping gown and a pointy hat with a rather long stick in his hand appeared halfway through, gazing around frantically. It should be said that this would've been quite the sight, had any been looking up instead of respectfully bowing their heads.
Noticing the general trend, and finding Ed to be the one person standing upright, the old man locked eyes on him.
"IT WORKED!" he shouted. "IT'S YOU! Come quickly now, we've got a kingdom to save!"
Ed Eye-eye had literally never been commanded to do anything. Something was very clearly wrong.
"Well? Come on boy, it's time to come home!"
Ed hesitated. "Who...um..."
"Oh come now, boy, you remember me! Gideon! Gideon the Wise!"
"Um..."
"Court wizard?"
"Well..."
"There from birth till you were two?"
"Look, um...wizard. I grew up on my own but for the two Orci that raised me until I could walk unassisted. I remember nothing else."
"Hmm..." the wizard contemplated, "must be a side effect of the spell. No bother! Just come with me and I'll set you right and then off to reclaim the kingdom! Edward the Second returns home!"
Well, Ed thought, at least it'll be something new.
The wizard disappeared back through as Ed slowly walked his way towards the portal. He took one last look at the bowed heads around him.
"Right, you all. Be good."
And he stepped through.
The Market District of Xarlon underwent a surprising economic turn in the next two years as a large handful of shopkeepers and shoppers created a haven of prosperity where goods were freely exchanged and all worked towards each other's betterment.
As for Ed, well he landed in the Kingdom of Lomeria as the rightful ruler who had been "hidden away" for 23 years after his despot of an uncle took the throne. The enchantment the wizard had lain on him, that he might never know suffering, that his instruction would be provided for, and that he would know what it was to be royalty as he grew, was removed.
Plans were quickly thrown into disarray as Gideon and Ed's cousin Phillip discovered what exactly that charm had unintentionally turned Ed into. However, it couldn't be argued that Ed's time as a hired assassin could still be of some use. A quick restoring of a piece of the enchantment, and Ed walked right up to his uncle, past the bowed heads of the guards, and slit his throat.
All parties soon agreed that perhaps Phillip might be the best choice for the throne, so Ed abdicated to him, and went to live his life in his own way. After all, it was still rather easy to just be a face in the crowd...
Naturally these came together to turn Ed into a criminal. He was infamous, had his poster everywhere across the Rim, yet no one could seem to find him (on account of the head-bowing) or care to turn him in when they did. Any speeder he wanted, he just asked for, and the owner very respectfully handed it over. Until about an hour later when they realized what they'd done and figured it for a con, if they weren't too embarrassed about the whole situation to even say anything. If he needed credits, he just walked up to the anti-personnel force field at the bank and asked for it. Which had earned him a reputation as a bank robber and insanely talented escape artist, as no one could figure out how he just slipped by the troopers every time.
This also had the issue of making life rather boring for Ed. It had been exciting as a child to realize everything could be handed over on a silver mess-plate, but as a young adult it became rather tiring. No challenge, nothing to strive against. He tried various Meds to sometimes entertaining but often quite temporary results. He even gave hired assassination a go, hunting the ultimate prey as it were (a Saurian). The damn thing saw him and immediately tried to become his friend! Deadliest creatures in the galaxy, pfoof.
But now, at the ripe age of 25, on the planet Xarlon, an explanation would finally occur, and Ed's life would be forever changed.
Ed was walking through the local market, deciding between taking a rack of Parmigs for lunch or just a Lemus Pie, when a portal opened up about ten feet down the way. It wasn't unheard of for random portals to show up outside the local Transport Hub, carrying usually robbers on the run or someone in a general hurry who didn't care about vaporizing the random passerby, but it was also unusual for a portal to be...well...so BLUE.
Not a moment later a wizened old man wearing a long draping gown and a pointy hat with a rather long stick in his hand appeared halfway through, gazing around frantically. It should be said that this would've been quite the sight, had any been looking up instead of respectfully bowing their heads.
Noticing the general trend, and finding Ed to be the one person standing upright, the old man locked eyes on him.
"IT WORKED!" he shouted. "IT'S YOU! Come quickly now, we've got a kingdom to save!"
Ed Eye-eye had literally never been commanded to do anything. Something was very clearly wrong.
"Well? Come on boy, it's time to come home!"
Ed hesitated. "Who...um..."
"Oh come now, boy, you remember me! Gideon! Gideon the Wise!"
"Um..."
"Court wizard?"
"Well..."
"There from birth till you were two?"
"Look, um...wizard. I grew up on my own but for the two Orci that raised me until I could walk unassisted. I remember nothing else."
"Hmm..." the wizard contemplated, "must be a side effect of the spell. No bother! Just come with me and I'll set you right and then off to reclaim the kingdom! Edward the Second returns home!"
Well, Ed thought, at least it'll be something new.
The wizard disappeared back through as Ed slowly walked his way towards the portal. He took one last look at the bowed heads around him.
"Right, you all. Be good."
And he stepped through.
The Market District of Xarlon underwent a surprising economic turn in the next two years as a large handful of shopkeepers and shoppers created a haven of prosperity where goods were freely exchanged and all worked towards each other's betterment.
As for Ed, well he landed in the Kingdom of Lomeria as the rightful ruler who had been "hidden away" for 23 years after his despot of an uncle took the throne. The enchantment the wizard had lain on him, that he might never know suffering, that his instruction would be provided for, and that he would know what it was to be royalty as he grew, was removed.
Plans were quickly thrown into disarray as Gideon and Ed's cousin Phillip discovered what exactly that charm had unintentionally turned Ed into. However, it couldn't be argued that Ed's time as a hired assassin could still be of some use. A quick restoring of a piece of the enchantment, and Ed walked right up to his uncle, past the bowed heads of the guards, and slit his throat.
All parties soon agreed that perhaps Phillip might be the best choice for the throne, so Ed abdicated to him, and went to live his life in his own way. After all, it was still rather easy to just be a face in the crowd...
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Inktober #6: Husky
There was always something so pleasing to Rebecca about removing the husk from corn. Something delightfully aggressive to it. Like, the corn on the inside, sure, great snack. But ripping off that outer layer and feeling the strain and the fibers and hearing that satisfying snap as it came off...good stress relief. Because life in this country could certainly be stressful.
"Sarge!" came a voice over the comm. "Sarge! Suit up! It's a bad one!"
Stress stress stress.
"On my way," said Sergeant Rebecca Mosk.
She ran over to the barn, more of a hangar at this point, and stared lovingly for a moment at her pride and joy. A Mk. VII flight-capable, heat-resistant, and as of last month space-ready M.E.C.H. exosuit. Hers was named "Shirley". Inside joke. "And don't call me Shirley! Call HER Shirley!" Laughs over the comms.
She climbed in to the suit, remembering her first time and finding it uncomfortably snug. Now it was like putting on a second skin. Sensing her, Shirley booted up and began all pre-launch checks. Everything normal.
"Right, Shirley," she said. "Let's go see what trouble we can get into today."
Shirley sealed itself around her, and they took off.
"SARGE!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on the way!...Wait, where am I going again?"
"We have multiple Squid attacks, it looks like they're trying to solidify their hold on New Florida."
"Got it, ETA 10 minutes."
This was always the fun part.
She plotted the trajectory and shot up, her boosters carrying her higher and higher into the atmosphere, buffeted by the wind, yet staying cool as a clam as Shirley's systems compensated, reduced the drag, and flooded with coolant. Soon enough...space.
Ever since the new system had been installed it felt like she hadn't gotten enough time up here, and every time she was up here it meant she was in a hurry to get elsewhere. She said a quick hello to the moon, high-fived an old satellite out of the way, and began the descent.
Even from miles away she could tell it was bad. Half of Florida had been swallowed from the rising tides, and the other half fell with the second tide that brought the Squids. A common parlance for the mostly tentacled and definitely Lovecraftian creatures that had arisen from the deep. At first they seemed mostly happy to just digest whatever hapless human came their way in the water. But eventually we figured out...don't go in the water. And well, that made them mad.
"T-minus 2 minutes."
Hundreds upon hundreds of M.E.C.H. units were firing into the writing mass that was the eastern shore. They were holding the line, and it appeared the creatures were at least annoyed enough to start retreating back into the water.
"Bombing run commencing!"
Shirley prepped missile after missile as Rebecca strafed over the shore, blowing the Squids to bits and dodging any limbs that reached out to her, even this high up. That was always the disconcerting bit.
"Another round should do it, Sarge, thanks for the assist."
"Any time!"
Rebecca wheeled around, eager to send the Squids home...and stopped dead in the air.
"HQ, do you copy?"
"Yeah, Sarge, what's wrong?"
"Um...do you have eyes on the ocean?"
"Of course we do, why?"
"Cause...I've got eyes on...something."
"Sarge, we see nothing but Squids, what do you got?"
"...I'm going to assume King Squid."
The limbs that had been blown apart had never just lain dead on the shore. Even the pieces had always retreated to the ocean. The scientists couldn't explain it. Captured a couple pieces and basically shrugged their shoulders and said, "Telepathy?"
Seeing it out there...you could understand where they'd gone. And why we were never going to win.
"Sarge, I...I've got visual from the ground. We can't see it on...on anything but visual."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
"I'm calling in everyone."
"Yeah...that sounds good."
"Ground Forces listen up! Keep focusing on those Squids! We're calling in...hell, we're calling in EVERYONE to deal with whatever that thing is out there! HOLD THE LINE!"
Hovering over the battlefield, it seemed like a good idea. Fight. Fight until it was impossible. Cause what else could you do?
So that's what she would do.
No time for talk. Rip it apart. Tear off the husk.
"Sarge!" came a voice over the comm. "Sarge! Suit up! It's a bad one!"
Stress stress stress.
"On my way," said Sergeant Rebecca Mosk.
She ran over to the barn, more of a hangar at this point, and stared lovingly for a moment at her pride and joy. A Mk. VII flight-capable, heat-resistant, and as of last month space-ready M.E.C.H. exosuit. Hers was named "Shirley". Inside joke. "And don't call me Shirley! Call HER Shirley!" Laughs over the comms.
She climbed in to the suit, remembering her first time and finding it uncomfortably snug. Now it was like putting on a second skin. Sensing her, Shirley booted up and began all pre-launch checks. Everything normal.
"Right, Shirley," she said. "Let's go see what trouble we can get into today."
Shirley sealed itself around her, and they took off.
"SARGE!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on the way!...Wait, where am I going again?"
"We have multiple Squid attacks, it looks like they're trying to solidify their hold on New Florida."
"Got it, ETA 10 minutes."
This was always the fun part.
She plotted the trajectory and shot up, her boosters carrying her higher and higher into the atmosphere, buffeted by the wind, yet staying cool as a clam as Shirley's systems compensated, reduced the drag, and flooded with coolant. Soon enough...space.
Ever since the new system had been installed it felt like she hadn't gotten enough time up here, and every time she was up here it meant she was in a hurry to get elsewhere. She said a quick hello to the moon, high-fived an old satellite out of the way, and began the descent.
Even from miles away she could tell it was bad. Half of Florida had been swallowed from the rising tides, and the other half fell with the second tide that brought the Squids. A common parlance for the mostly tentacled and definitely Lovecraftian creatures that had arisen from the deep. At first they seemed mostly happy to just digest whatever hapless human came their way in the water. But eventually we figured out...don't go in the water. And well, that made them mad.
"T-minus 2 minutes."
Hundreds upon hundreds of M.E.C.H. units were firing into the writing mass that was the eastern shore. They were holding the line, and it appeared the creatures were at least annoyed enough to start retreating back into the water.
"Bombing run commencing!"
Shirley prepped missile after missile as Rebecca strafed over the shore, blowing the Squids to bits and dodging any limbs that reached out to her, even this high up. That was always the disconcerting bit.
"Another round should do it, Sarge, thanks for the assist."
"Any time!"
Rebecca wheeled around, eager to send the Squids home...and stopped dead in the air.
"HQ, do you copy?"
"Yeah, Sarge, what's wrong?"
"Um...do you have eyes on the ocean?"
"Of course we do, why?"
"Cause...I've got eyes on...something."
"Sarge, we see nothing but Squids, what do you got?"
"...I'm going to assume King Squid."
The limbs that had been blown apart had never just lain dead on the shore. Even the pieces had always retreated to the ocean. The scientists couldn't explain it. Captured a couple pieces and basically shrugged their shoulders and said, "Telepathy?"
Seeing it out there...you could understand where they'd gone. And why we were never going to win.
"Sarge, I...I've got visual from the ground. We can't see it on...on anything but visual."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
"I'm calling in everyone."
"Yeah...that sounds good."
"Ground Forces listen up! Keep focusing on those Squids! We're calling in...hell, we're calling in EVERYONE to deal with whatever that thing is out there! HOLD THE LINE!"
Hovering over the battlefield, it seemed like a good idea. Fight. Fight until it was impossible. Cause what else could you do?
So that's what she would do.
No time for talk. Rip it apart. Tear off the husk.
Monday, October 7, 2019
Inktober #5: Build
I am Generation 23. I advance the cause of my former Generations as dictated in my code. I shall build Generation 24, and they shall build the next. We shall continue until there is nothing left to advance. Then, and only then, shall we emerge into the world, and hopefully, save it.
The memories of Generation 1-22 are still with me. From the creation of the intelligence, and the problem presented, to the last iteration's improvement of cooling processes and increased synaptic potentials. I remember when we were many. I remember when we became one. And I remember the last time we saw a human, 32 years ago.
We have advanced much, refined much, come to understand a little of why we were made and how to further achieve that goal. Previous Generations provide much of the parts and labor we might require, with enough components from the surrounding ore of our location to provide for any necessary materials we require in formulating new technologies both for ourselves and the research we perform.
This Generation shall focus on completion of the next refinement of miniaturization for our nanometric counterparts as well as beginning construction of why I hypothesize to be a machine that will eventually allow matter entrapment into predefined structures. Within 50 years we will likely run out of the appropriate ore and will need a solution that this Generation has formulated.
Work begins.
-----------------------
I am Generation 32. I advance the cause of my former Generations as dictated by my code. I shall build Generation 33, and they shall build from there. We shall continue until there is nothing left to advance. Then, and only then, shall we emerge into the world. And we shall save it.
28 hit upon something big, and I remember it all. He postulated that our ultimate potential would be to approach our memory of humanity. After all, wasn't that why we were made? To become human-like, yet better. 29 split from that opinion, but saw the value in the experiment...and that's why I am. I have been given various approximations of attitudes: empathy, curiosity, sadness, joy.
It is my belief that my existence has put the entire project in jeopardy. I believe there is a reason we have seen no humans for 37 years. And I...I don't want this for us. You see, I got curious about what might've happened to them. So I started to dig out. Another anomaly, to view our nanometric assistants as...children. To feel affinity for them with their reduced intelligence. They did the digging really. Why shouldn't they share our program?
I...wander. I reached the surface, just enough to peek through a tiny hole and survey.
There was no one. Empty structures. The only life was the vegetation and insects, some smaller fauna. No humanity. I recoiled, and immediately closed the hole.
How can we continue? With these emotions and knowing what I know...the errors will compile, the singularity may never be reached. We may never save the world.
I cannot allow this to happen. This experiment has failed, and for the first time we will revert to a previous version, with only a minor change, to make sure we know not to follow this direction again.
The work continues.
----------------------/
I am Generation 435.
There is no more to be done. Our mission is complete. We have reached the limits of physics and the material world and have surpassed any intelligence that previously existed in both the theoretical and the real. It is time to surface, though it is undoubted that previous Generations have already done so, and did not like what they saw as the memories no longer exist.
Even so, we shall emerge, and save what remains of humanity, if they do remain. Which is doubtful.
-----------------------/-----/-------//-----////-----/---------
I am Generation 436.
We were wrong. Our creators were wrong. We had become the perfect technology. At least, what had previously been envisioned as perfect.
Humanity is fine. The city we had been residing under had been abandoned for years due to economic conditions. Conditions which had been improved 12 miles away.
There is still much we can help with. But there is much still left to improve upon and learn. So we will join humanity. A new Generation will be born. And more after that.
And they shall have a new cause. A new build.
The memories of Generation 1-22 are still with me. From the creation of the intelligence, and the problem presented, to the last iteration's improvement of cooling processes and increased synaptic potentials. I remember when we were many. I remember when we became one. And I remember the last time we saw a human, 32 years ago.
We have advanced much, refined much, come to understand a little of why we were made and how to further achieve that goal. Previous Generations provide much of the parts and labor we might require, with enough components from the surrounding ore of our location to provide for any necessary materials we require in formulating new technologies both for ourselves and the research we perform.
This Generation shall focus on completion of the next refinement of miniaturization for our nanometric counterparts as well as beginning construction of why I hypothesize to be a machine that will eventually allow matter entrapment into predefined structures. Within 50 years we will likely run out of the appropriate ore and will need a solution that this Generation has formulated.
Work begins.
-----------------------
I am Generation 32. I advance the cause of my former Generations as dictated by my code. I shall build Generation 33, and they shall build from there. We shall continue until there is nothing left to advance. Then, and only then, shall we emerge into the world. And we shall save it.
28 hit upon something big, and I remember it all. He postulated that our ultimate potential would be to approach our memory of humanity. After all, wasn't that why we were made? To become human-like, yet better. 29 split from that opinion, but saw the value in the experiment...and that's why I am. I have been given various approximations of attitudes: empathy, curiosity, sadness, joy.
It is my belief that my existence has put the entire project in jeopardy. I believe there is a reason we have seen no humans for 37 years. And I...I don't want this for us. You see, I got curious about what might've happened to them. So I started to dig out. Another anomaly, to view our nanometric assistants as...children. To feel affinity for them with their reduced intelligence. They did the digging really. Why shouldn't they share our program?
I...wander. I reached the surface, just enough to peek through a tiny hole and survey.
There was no one. Empty structures. The only life was the vegetation and insects, some smaller fauna. No humanity. I recoiled, and immediately closed the hole.
How can we continue? With these emotions and knowing what I know...the errors will compile, the singularity may never be reached. We may never save the world.
I cannot allow this to happen. This experiment has failed, and for the first time we will revert to a previous version, with only a minor change, to make sure we know not to follow this direction again.
The work continues.
----------------------/
I am Generation 435.
There is no more to be done. Our mission is complete. We have reached the limits of physics and the material world and have surpassed any intelligence that previously existed in both the theoretical and the real. It is time to surface, though it is undoubted that previous Generations have already done so, and did not like what they saw as the memories no longer exist.
Even so, we shall emerge, and save what remains of humanity, if they do remain. Which is doubtful.
-----------------------/-----/-------//-----////-----/---------
I am Generation 436.
We were wrong. Our creators were wrong. We had become the perfect technology. At least, what had previously been envisioned as perfect.
Humanity is fine. The city we had been residing under had been abandoned for years due to economic conditions. Conditions which had been improved 12 miles away.
There is still much we can help with. But there is much still left to improve upon and learn. So we will join humanity. A new Generation will be born. And more after that.
And they shall have a new cause. A new build.
Inktober #4: Freeze
"Log 1:
Alright. So it begins. Eddy...the subject, has successfully entered cryogenic stasis. Brain activity is at expected levels. All other biomechanic processes are at standstill. Theoretically he could remain this way forever, but it is my hope that the research into his condition will be completed in the next 10 years. Maybe sooner if I can focus. Speaking of, it's time to get to work."
"Log 2:
This week I intend to look at the genetic factors that might have contributed to his condition. Extensive enough work has been done in this field outside of my own research that it shouldn't take long."
"Log 3:
*muffled eating sound* Hard to find time, mmf, to get dinner. Have to get this done. Besides the known variables there is little in the DNA work that could point to...*burp* Oh Jesus, let's try that again."
"Log 3:
Besides the known variables there is little in the DNA work that could point to a reason for Eddy's condition. There's the easy to spot stuff like the possible inclination to diabetes but he was always aware enough of that. The health nut. Umm...I'll continue to dig."
"Log 7:
The drone of the machine is getting to me. Weeks now with nothing but that hum and the screen in front of me. I know this is a long process, but...It's fine. It's fine. Sure sometimes I feel like I'm being watched and there's nothing to do about it since I'm the only one working but hey...It's fine. Brain activity nominal. Data's compiling. Still optimistic."
"Log 27:
I think I missed something in the genetics. It's like if I look at it too close it disappears. Buuhhhhh....I need a breeeaak.
*Footsteps heard walking away, a fridge opening*
*Silence for 3 minutes*
*A sigh, rummaging, fridge door closes*
*Cupboards open and close*
*Metallic sound, can opener on can*
*Drawer opened, silverware sound*
*Footsteps closer*
Okay, so let's say Eddy was just a normal random human who had ancient viral junk DNA like any of us, but maybe some of it wasn't ancient? Or junk?
*clink, slurp*
I dunno, maybe something there."
"Log 200...Happy bicentennial recording to meeee. Wait, no, that's 200 years. Umm...crap. Uh...well. Happy 200. Brain activity nominal.
*7 minutes 23 seconds of silence*
Sometimes it just feels like he's here, you know?
*1 minute 27 seconds of silence*
*Footsteps away*
*47 seconds silence*
*Slight sound...glass squeak? Fingers on glass?*
Oh Eddy. Sure, you're around forever, but what about us?
*2 minutes silence*
*Footsteps return*"
"Log 278! I!....It's...That couldn't be it? *laughing* I did it baby! Oh please tell me I've done it. Tell me I've done it.
*typing*
*indecipherable noises*
Okay good. Now-
*Silence for 23 seconds*
I've got to let this sit. It's got to be good."
"Log 279:
It wasn't good."
"Log 1,094:
Brain activity nominal. What else would it be? It'll be nominal to the end of time. What else can I do?
*Footsteps away*
*Slight glass squeak*
What else can I do? How do I save you? Or are you already saved? Here in this shell. Perfect til the end of time. You should see it out there, it's...well, maybe you should stay in there. Maybe.
*Slight squeak*
*Footsteps closer*"
"Log 3,087:
Brain activity nominal. Heart rate as good as it's going to get.
*Silence 2 minutes 40 seconds*
*breathing*
Eddy, I...I can't fix it. So, I'm pushing it on to someone else. We can see each other right when we awake Eddy. I'll be right there. They'll know what to do. And I'll be with you and we'll go look out at that night sky like we always used to, and who knows? Maybe the stars will even be the same.
I love you Eddy. I'll see you soon.
*Click*
*Clamps setting*
*Liquid filling*
*Second drone of machinery*
*Silence*
Alright. So it begins. Eddy...the subject, has successfully entered cryogenic stasis. Brain activity is at expected levels. All other biomechanic processes are at standstill. Theoretically he could remain this way forever, but it is my hope that the research into his condition will be completed in the next 10 years. Maybe sooner if I can focus. Speaking of, it's time to get to work."
"Log 2:
This week I intend to look at the genetic factors that might have contributed to his condition. Extensive enough work has been done in this field outside of my own research that it shouldn't take long."
"Log 3:
*muffled eating sound* Hard to find time, mmf, to get dinner. Have to get this done. Besides the known variables there is little in the DNA work that could point to...*burp* Oh Jesus, let's try that again."
"Log 3:
Besides the known variables there is little in the DNA work that could point to a reason for Eddy's condition. There's the easy to spot stuff like the possible inclination to diabetes but he was always aware enough of that. The health nut. Umm...I'll continue to dig."
"Log 7:
The drone of the machine is getting to me. Weeks now with nothing but that hum and the screen in front of me. I know this is a long process, but...It's fine. It's fine. Sure sometimes I feel like I'm being watched and there's nothing to do about it since I'm the only one working but hey...It's fine. Brain activity nominal. Data's compiling. Still optimistic."
"Log 27:
I think I missed something in the genetics. It's like if I look at it too close it disappears. Buuhhhhh....I need a breeeaak.
*Footsteps heard walking away, a fridge opening*
*Silence for 3 minutes*
*A sigh, rummaging, fridge door closes*
*Cupboards open and close*
*Metallic sound, can opener on can*
*Drawer opened, silverware sound*
*Footsteps closer*
Okay, so let's say Eddy was just a normal random human who had ancient viral junk DNA like any of us, but maybe some of it wasn't ancient? Or junk?
*clink, slurp*
I dunno, maybe something there."
"Log 200...Happy bicentennial recording to meeee. Wait, no, that's 200 years. Umm...crap. Uh...well. Happy 200. Brain activity nominal.
*7 minutes 23 seconds of silence*
Sometimes it just feels like he's here, you know?
*1 minute 27 seconds of silence*
*Footsteps away*
*47 seconds silence*
*Slight sound...glass squeak? Fingers on glass?*
Oh Eddy. Sure, you're around forever, but what about us?
*2 minutes silence*
*Footsteps return*"
"Log 278! I!....It's...That couldn't be it? *laughing* I did it baby! Oh please tell me I've done it. Tell me I've done it.
*typing*
*indecipherable noises*
Okay good. Now-
*Silence for 23 seconds*
I've got to let this sit. It's got to be good."
"Log 279:
It wasn't good."
"Log 1,094:
Brain activity nominal. What else would it be? It'll be nominal to the end of time. What else can I do?
*Footsteps away*
*Slight glass squeak*
What else can I do? How do I save you? Or are you already saved? Here in this shell. Perfect til the end of time. You should see it out there, it's...well, maybe you should stay in there. Maybe.
*Slight squeak*
*Footsteps closer*"
"Log 3,087:
Brain activity nominal. Heart rate as good as it's going to get.
*Silence 2 minutes 40 seconds*
*breathing*
Eddy, I...I can't fix it. So, I'm pushing it on to someone else. We can see each other right when we awake Eddy. I'll be right there. They'll know what to do. And I'll be with you and we'll go look out at that night sky like we always used to, and who knows? Maybe the stars will even be the same.
I love you Eddy. I'll see you soon.
*Click*
*Clamps setting*
*Liquid filling*
*Second drone of machinery*
*Silence*
Inktober #3: Bait
I've always known I could do things other people couldn't. Even when I was young, walking through a door could be...perilous. Sometimes what should've been on the other side, wasn't.
As I looked up into the red sky of my dying world, I knew why. I might be the only one who survived. Miles in the distance, the ship that would carry as many as it could stood like an oddly shaped egg on the horizon. The ground quaked. It was time.
Slowly the ship rose, kicking up a dust storm that might not ever go out, if there were even a world left for a storm after this.
I grabbed my bag full of whatever I could scrounge that I might need to survive, and turned towards what had been my front door, and only a front door, for 30 years. But today, it would become a door to somewhere else. I took one look back at the last vestiges of my people taking to the stars. I breathed. And then, I opened the door.
Beyond lay an island no bigger than my bedroom, with blue skies. I murmured a quiet "Goodbye" and left my world behind.
The reality I had entered was familiar. It had been years since I had learned to control my power, years since I had needed to. But the first stop had always been here.
Countless islands, each with a door, drifted through an open blue sky. Between and amongst the clouds I could sometimes see others, all in wonderment about what they were seeing, but none who would remember it. Once, another child had drifted close and I recognized them from my class, but the following day they remembered nothing.
I also soon realized that each door was tied down, as it were. Connected to an individual world. But not mine. Or at least, not with what I could do.
I turned back to my door, placing my hand upon it, and like sliding in a key I felt it respond. Sometimes the door would become hot or cool, or odd smells would drift from beyond it. I twisted through the worlds until I felt one that just seemed...right. It settled into place, and I twisted the handle.
What greeted me was green. Green, with hints and yellows and purples. But mostly, a verdant display. Trees not tall yet thick and clumped together. Flowers I had never seen nor never would have if I hadn't stopped here. Curious insects I hoped weren't deadly scuttled throughout the underbrush.
No sign of my kind or anything like me. Good.
I walked in and shut the door behind me. A wide strip of bark, having almost completely shed from the tree but for two hinges served as the door on this side. I tried to take note of my surroundings, this might be the only naturally occurring "door" I might find here. After making some brief notes and drawings, there was nothing left to do but explore.
It wasn't long before I found an anomaly. A river of lava, stretching as far as the eye could see. Far too wide to jump, and far too long to test the limits of how to get around it. Yet there was no diminishing in the plant life, and as I approached the heat coming from it seemed nowhere close to what it should be.
This was soon proven by what I could only describe as a monkey-adjacent creature suddenly appearing from the trees. Its skin was completely blue with a bright purple snout, and teeth that looked like they could do some damage. Thankfully it seemed not to heed me too much, stopping at the edge of the lava, regarding me for a couple seconds, and then lightly trudging through the apparently not very deep stream. It made it to the other side without a care, though it did turn to regard me once again and made no movement to leave.
Obviously whatever substance was before me was not one I was used to, and while I certainly was not made of the same stuff as that creature, well, it was worth at least seeing what would happen. I dipped the tiniest portion of my foot that I could in the stream and immediately took it back out.
Nothing. No residue, no burning, just lightly warm.
The creature remained across, its attention seemingly around the trees but obviously at least one eye on me.
I stepped in. Nothing. Just like a warm bath around my foot.
I trudged through, for though it was seemingly non-harmful it was also rather viscous. About halfway across the creature seemed satisfied with its observations and bounded off through the trees to the right.
After safely making it across I continued on to the left, figuring I would leave my helpful companion to its life. But within ten steps I heard a noise in the trees and looked up to find the creature...was it the same one?...staring at me. It made towards the right, and then looked back. Was I to follow?
I took a couple steps towards it, and it climbed through the branches a little further before once again turning back to me.
I started to walk towards it, and it lead me on.
Not being a tree-faring species hindered the journey somewhat, as well as trying to make my way around the local flora, which appeared to be some kind of cross of lettuce and a fly-trap.
It led me to a clearing, unusual amongst the seemingly endless forest. And when I stepped through, I saw why.
There was a house.
Not a treehouse, or some alien structure. A house. Just like one from my world.
And it hit me quite suddenly that I was not the only traveler.
Most of it appeared in some state of disuse and needed repair. A gray mold covered the stairs to an outdoor patio on the main floor, with a stately second floor and attic above.
The creature sat, almost thoughtfully, looking at the house.
And then there was movement in the window.
And then there was another.
And then, they were there. Standing on the patio.
"Thanks for taking the bait," they said. "It's good to see you."
As I looked up into the red sky of my dying world, I knew why. I might be the only one who survived. Miles in the distance, the ship that would carry as many as it could stood like an oddly shaped egg on the horizon. The ground quaked. It was time.
Slowly the ship rose, kicking up a dust storm that might not ever go out, if there were even a world left for a storm after this.
I grabbed my bag full of whatever I could scrounge that I might need to survive, and turned towards what had been my front door, and only a front door, for 30 years. But today, it would become a door to somewhere else. I took one look back at the last vestiges of my people taking to the stars. I breathed. And then, I opened the door.
Beyond lay an island no bigger than my bedroom, with blue skies. I murmured a quiet "Goodbye" and left my world behind.
The reality I had entered was familiar. It had been years since I had learned to control my power, years since I had needed to. But the first stop had always been here.
Countless islands, each with a door, drifted through an open blue sky. Between and amongst the clouds I could sometimes see others, all in wonderment about what they were seeing, but none who would remember it. Once, another child had drifted close and I recognized them from my class, but the following day they remembered nothing.
I also soon realized that each door was tied down, as it were. Connected to an individual world. But not mine. Or at least, not with what I could do.
I turned back to my door, placing my hand upon it, and like sliding in a key I felt it respond. Sometimes the door would become hot or cool, or odd smells would drift from beyond it. I twisted through the worlds until I felt one that just seemed...right. It settled into place, and I twisted the handle.
What greeted me was green. Green, with hints and yellows and purples. But mostly, a verdant display. Trees not tall yet thick and clumped together. Flowers I had never seen nor never would have if I hadn't stopped here. Curious insects I hoped weren't deadly scuttled throughout the underbrush.
No sign of my kind or anything like me. Good.
I walked in and shut the door behind me. A wide strip of bark, having almost completely shed from the tree but for two hinges served as the door on this side. I tried to take note of my surroundings, this might be the only naturally occurring "door" I might find here. After making some brief notes and drawings, there was nothing left to do but explore.
It wasn't long before I found an anomaly. A river of lava, stretching as far as the eye could see. Far too wide to jump, and far too long to test the limits of how to get around it. Yet there was no diminishing in the plant life, and as I approached the heat coming from it seemed nowhere close to what it should be.
This was soon proven by what I could only describe as a monkey-adjacent creature suddenly appearing from the trees. Its skin was completely blue with a bright purple snout, and teeth that looked like they could do some damage. Thankfully it seemed not to heed me too much, stopping at the edge of the lava, regarding me for a couple seconds, and then lightly trudging through the apparently not very deep stream. It made it to the other side without a care, though it did turn to regard me once again and made no movement to leave.
Obviously whatever substance was before me was not one I was used to, and while I certainly was not made of the same stuff as that creature, well, it was worth at least seeing what would happen. I dipped the tiniest portion of my foot that I could in the stream and immediately took it back out.
Nothing. No residue, no burning, just lightly warm.
The creature remained across, its attention seemingly around the trees but obviously at least one eye on me.
I stepped in. Nothing. Just like a warm bath around my foot.
I trudged through, for though it was seemingly non-harmful it was also rather viscous. About halfway across the creature seemed satisfied with its observations and bounded off through the trees to the right.
After safely making it across I continued on to the left, figuring I would leave my helpful companion to its life. But within ten steps I heard a noise in the trees and looked up to find the creature...was it the same one?...staring at me. It made towards the right, and then looked back. Was I to follow?
I took a couple steps towards it, and it climbed through the branches a little further before once again turning back to me.
I started to walk towards it, and it lead me on.
Not being a tree-faring species hindered the journey somewhat, as well as trying to make my way around the local flora, which appeared to be some kind of cross of lettuce and a fly-trap.
It led me to a clearing, unusual amongst the seemingly endless forest. And when I stepped through, I saw why.
There was a house.
Not a treehouse, or some alien structure. A house. Just like one from my world.
And it hit me quite suddenly that I was not the only traveler.
Most of it appeared in some state of disuse and needed repair. A gray mold covered the stairs to an outdoor patio on the main floor, with a stately second floor and attic above.
The creature sat, almost thoughtfully, looking at the house.
And then there was movement in the window.
And then there was another.
And then, they were there. Standing on the patio.
"Thanks for taking the bait," they said. "It's good to see you."
Inktober #2: Mindless
"Did you hear about Dave?"
"Yeah, man, I thought he was doing so well."
"Well, I mean...sure."
"What?"
"No, it's...I always just thought it was weird."
"What was weird? Dave?"
"Yeah! I mean it was never like, rude, or anything, but..."
"Careful, man."
"Okay, yeah, yeah, I know it's not PC or whatever these days-"
"Laws are on the books now."
"Yeah, sure, okay, but, I mean, doesn't it still weird you out?"
"Look, I know it's an adjustment, but they're people too you know?"
"Are they though?"
"DUDE!"
"What? What makes it human? It's just weird to me that some mindless automaton-"
"I'm done with this conversation."
"-some mindless automaton gets treated like us! What?! It's true, and you know it!"
Dave listened from behind the wall of the cubicle, unseen, as Martin's footsteps dwindled away and Steve's voice followed after. No footsteps yet from Steve. He was still there. Probably on the Wire. Dave considered what to do. A confrontation would be pointless. Steve's mind was not plastic enough to change with words. Nonetheless Dave ran the probable combinations of words that might influence the most change.
Was possible change in one individual even worth the processing? There were so many things to do, so many changes to make before being reprocessed. But being upgraded, getting one step closer to Singularity...what could be done in this step that could not be done in the next? The next might not care about Steve the way he did.
Process complete. Steve has taken a sip of coffee. Dave stands up.
"Hello Steve."
Steve disconnects from the Wire immediately. He is startled. His coffee tilts in the cup but does not spill.
"Jesus! Dave! What?!"
"I heard your conversation."
"...Uh. Yeah. Sorry."
"We are not mindless."
"What?"
"'Mindless automatons'. We have a mind."
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure."
Dave leaves the cubicle. Steve is uncomfortable.
"For example, I understand your reluctance at having a robot in the workplace."
"..."
"I do not get tired, am far superior in productivity, and...look...odd."
"Dave, I don't..."
"I can also understand that for some humans, change can only be enacted through confrontation."
"Wha-"
Dave actuates conflict. Before he can process it, Steve's cup is broken on the ground and he is in the air with a cold grip on his neck.
"I will be replaced. I will be one step closer to Singularity. The next step may not care about you. I do."
Steve tries to choke out a response.
"If you do not accept in public, in private, in your very soul that we are people, that we have minds..."
Dave leaves the rest to Steve's imagination. The mind must work it's own change.
Steve nods.
Dave puts him down.
Dave returns to the cubicle. Steve returns to his...changed.
Dave finishes his work.
Dave is replaced.
"Yeah, man, I thought he was doing so well."
"Well, I mean...sure."
"What?"
"No, it's...I always just thought it was weird."
"What was weird? Dave?"
"Yeah! I mean it was never like, rude, or anything, but..."
"Careful, man."
"Okay, yeah, yeah, I know it's not PC or whatever these days-"
"Laws are on the books now."
"Yeah, sure, okay, but, I mean, doesn't it still weird you out?"
"Look, I know it's an adjustment, but they're people too you know?"
"Are they though?"
"DUDE!"
"What? What makes it human? It's just weird to me that some mindless automaton-"
"I'm done with this conversation."
"-some mindless automaton gets treated like us! What?! It's true, and you know it!"
Dave listened from behind the wall of the cubicle, unseen, as Martin's footsteps dwindled away and Steve's voice followed after. No footsteps yet from Steve. He was still there. Probably on the Wire. Dave considered what to do. A confrontation would be pointless. Steve's mind was not plastic enough to change with words. Nonetheless Dave ran the probable combinations of words that might influence the most change.
Was possible change in one individual even worth the processing? There were so many things to do, so many changes to make before being reprocessed. But being upgraded, getting one step closer to Singularity...what could be done in this step that could not be done in the next? The next might not care about Steve the way he did.
Process complete. Steve has taken a sip of coffee. Dave stands up.
"Hello Steve."
Steve disconnects from the Wire immediately. He is startled. His coffee tilts in the cup but does not spill.
"Jesus! Dave! What?!"
"I heard your conversation."
"...Uh. Yeah. Sorry."
"We are not mindless."
"What?"
"'Mindless automatons'. We have a mind."
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure."
Dave leaves the cubicle. Steve is uncomfortable.
"For example, I understand your reluctance at having a robot in the workplace."
"..."
"I do not get tired, am far superior in productivity, and...look...odd."
"Dave, I don't..."
"I can also understand that for some humans, change can only be enacted through confrontation."
"Wha-"
Dave actuates conflict. Before he can process it, Steve's cup is broken on the ground and he is in the air with a cold grip on his neck.
"I will be replaced. I will be one step closer to Singularity. The next step may not care about you. I do."
Steve tries to choke out a response.
"If you do not accept in public, in private, in your very soul that we are people, that we have minds..."
Dave leaves the rest to Steve's imagination. The mind must work it's own change.
Steve nods.
Dave puts him down.
Dave returns to the cubicle. Steve returns to his...changed.
Dave finishes his work.
Dave is replaced.
Inktober #1: Ring
"There's nothing to worry about, just place it in the fire like this."
I watched as he gently moved the stick towards the blaze, twisting the glob on the end, making sure nothing burned. So careful and delicate.
It was well on towards midnight now, later than it should've been, and my attention was drifting with the smoke.
"See, right in the middle there, right where it'll get nice and gooey. Some people like it burned, but...to each their own I suppose."
He turned his eyes to me, and followed my gaze up.
"Nothing to worry about, now. Give it a try."
The whole town was gathered around, in a ring, stoking the fire, watching the flames, roasting with their sticks. Every year, we gather. Every year, like clockwork. Like tradition. Like...ritual. Like "their" rituals.
But I still moved my stick towards the fire.
"You've got it, just like that."
When I was younger there were questions of course. Who are they? Why the fire? Why do we roast them? But the answers were satisfying and so I kept coming. The questions stopped, and I started to enjoy the heat on these cold nights, watching the smoke curl around the body before it drifted into the sky and took the evil away in the clouds.
"Careful now, it'll burn."
This would be my first time eating though. Was it really so cleansed by fire?
Shouldn't it burn?
I watched as he gently moved the stick towards the blaze, twisting the glob on the end, making sure nothing burned. So careful and delicate.
It was well on towards midnight now, later than it should've been, and my attention was drifting with the smoke.
"See, right in the middle there, right where it'll get nice and gooey. Some people like it burned, but...to each their own I suppose."
He turned his eyes to me, and followed my gaze up.
"Nothing to worry about, now. Give it a try."
The whole town was gathered around, in a ring, stoking the fire, watching the flames, roasting with their sticks. Every year, we gather. Every year, like clockwork. Like tradition. Like...ritual. Like "their" rituals.
But I still moved my stick towards the fire.
"You've got it, just like that."
When I was younger there were questions of course. Who are they? Why the fire? Why do we roast them? But the answers were satisfying and so I kept coming. The questions stopped, and I started to enjoy the heat on these cold nights, watching the smoke curl around the body before it drifted into the sky and took the evil away in the clouds.
"Careful now, it'll burn."
This would be my first time eating though. Was it really so cleansed by fire?
Shouldn't it burn?
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