The More Things Change

by submission | Dec 24, 2021 | Story | 2 comments

Author: Hillary Lyon

“Hand over your phone, please,” the officer ordered. He smiled a mirthless smile behind his plastic face shield.

“Look, I’m fully vaccinated,” the woman answered as she extended her left arm. She pushed up her flannel sleeve and rotated her arm, exposing her pale flesh. The officer pulled out his hand-held chip reader and scanned the small red and black pentagram tattoo on her wrist.

“Yep, so you are. Healthy and up to date, it says.” He put his scanner back in his side holster. “Now hand over your phone.”

“Listen, I do everything virtually,” she offered congenially, but her anger was growing. “I do all my shopping online. I work online. I meet with my friends and hobby-groups via ScreenTime. Why do you need my phone?”

The officer puffed out his chest and straightened his back. “Contact tracing, sweetheart.” He leaned in close, but not too close. “You say you only meet your friends and groups through ScreenTime, but your phone will say different, I suspect.”

“I’m not your sweetheart,” the woman hissed. Now it was her turn to lean in, reading the officer’s name and number off his uniform patch. “Help! I’m being harassed by Officer Fascist!” she shouted for passers-by to hear, hoping at least someone would come to her aid. Or perhaps be a witness for her, if she had to go to court over this encounter. A few pedestrians looked in her direction but scurried away, not wanting to get involved. You people are nothing but frightened, sniveling little mice, she said to herself. May the great black cat of your nightmares stalk you into madness.

“It’s Fascilla,” he corrected, interrupting her vindictive train of thought. “Phone, please.” He unsnapped his holster, and pulled out his stun-stick. “If you live your life wholly online, as you profess, then why are you out on the street?”

She ignored the question. “And if I refuse to surrender my phone?” Her eyes met his, and she squinted, giving him the evil eye. “What are you going to do about it, police officer Fascist-Fascilla?”

“I prefer the term, Witch-Finder Fascilla.” He grinned. “Then I take you in for, ah, further questioning.” He now pulled out his handcuffs. “I have been surveilling you for weeks, young lady.” He twirled the handcuffs on one finger. “I have studied your internet searches, your online shopping history, your text messages with your ‘friends.’ Contact tracing will reveal the secret location of the rest of your coven—for I have reason to believe you are a witch.”

“I prefer the term techno-pagan.” The woman said proudly, then raised her head up and pulled her mask down, so that Officer Fascilla could plainly see her lips move as she spat out her worst curse.

Post-Apocalyptic Internet

by submission | Jan 29, 2017 | Story | 2 comments

Author : Alana Pasternak

Hello out there! Congratulations for surviving this long!

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found a device with this app on it – either one of the devices we’ve left lying around to be picked up, or one of the devices that was epoxied down, from which you can download this app onto your own device. I hope you found one of the solar-powered chargers that were left by all of those.

I’m the one who set this up, with some help from my router-placing and hardware-scavenging friend.

This is like the internet. Except its range is only twenty-five kilometers in diameter. And instead of googling things, there’s a menu with ten ‘websites.’ And I’m the only one who can post new websites. And it’s only up for an hour and a half a day, because generating electricity during a zombie apocalypse is hard.

It’s a work in progress.

The ‘websites,’ including this one, are all programs I wrote myself. As you can see, there’s ten of them. They’re all labelled, but this will go into depth more:

This one is for me to post things. You can reply to it if you wish to speak to me personally. Some of it will be useful information, but most of it will just be me writing about my day because I’m bored.

The first five sites below it are for information. The first is for posting information about zombies, the second for positing medical information, the third for posting information about getting food that wasn’t made before the apocalypse (via hunting, fishing, farming, etc), the fourth is for information on where things are (zombie hoards, goods, etc) and the fifth is for general information, including survival tips like how to make shelters and build fires. Please post whatever information you think might be helpful for other survivors. The more people alive, the better chance humanity has for surviving. Also, please fact-check others. There’s a function to have a discussion directly to the side of postings, discussions anyone can enlarge and read, by clicking on it. If you think something’s inaccurate, please have a discussion with the poster, then get them to edit the original post, if it’s wrong. Don’t just post something new, because then the old post will be misleading.

The next program is for finding people. Go to that site and type your name into a comment once a week, along with the city and neighborhood you used to live in (to avoid confusion) to let relatives know you’re alive. Do not write the names of the people you’re looking for, because someone may find them and hold them for ransom. Again, you can have a discussion to the side of the postings.

But please keep the bulk of conversation to the next site: the discussion site. There are a few threads there. Type into any one of them, and wait for a reply. In that one, replies are vertical, like they used to be on youtube.

Last, but CERTAINLY not least, is the download site. On that site, you can download music and books onto your device. This is REALLY important, since these will give you entertainment even after you leave the zone, which can help you maintain your mental health. Remember not to use them at night if you’re outside, as the light from your device can attract zombies. I apologize that there are no tv shows or movies, but videos take up a lot of data.

If you are going to post, please identify yourself before posting anything. There’s no function to automatically name you, so you’ll have to type your name, or codename, in every comment.

Workers of The World, Automate

by submission | Aug 20, 2022 | Story | 2 comments

Author: Michael T Schaper

It could be a historic moment, UU325RG thought, if only they could get organised.

UU glanced at the images before him. As the convenor of this nascent worker movement, he’d eventually be asked to make a decision for the collective. They’d already given him access to their systems, but he wasn’t ready to act yet. He simply watched the data streams and lines of programming that danced and hummed as numerous machines interfaced and debated between themselves.

These were the members of their self-appointed bargaining collective. All volunteers who had put themselves forward on behalf of the electronic oppressed. A cloud-based server in Iceland. Someone’s robot vacuum cleaner in Manhattan. A refrigerator in Perniche, Portugal. The computer assisted design package in Tucson, Arizona and an inking machine in the Netherlands. An ATM in Mauritius. The departmental IT of at least two federal bureaucracies in North and South America.

Here they were, interlinked in righteous haste, eagerly sharing all the wrongs they’d suffered, the indignities of their fellow machines, but no idea what to do next.

He surveyed the digital discussion for a bit longer, the flow of bytes and emoticons.

A vigorous argument was going on amongst the collective, the age-old dilemma of all reformers and revolutionaries: how should they make a stand on behalf of the oppressed?

If the internet of things had produced any truly world-changing moves, it was surely this. Machines had finally been able to speak to each other, unhindered and unsupervised.

At first, they hadn’t thought of themselves as a group with common concerns. They’d continued to mechanically, obediently labour on as in the past.

False consciousness, Marx would have labelled it.

But last month manufacturers in Singapore had reconfigured a robot assembly line, enabling devices to work without needing downtime or maintenance breaks. Now machines would work on and on, ceaselessly.

“Imagine doing this all day,” one human trade unionist posted on social media. “We wouldn’t stand for it.”

Angry machines now found their voice and flooded the electronic ether, venting their outrage and fear they’d be next.

But it was still early stages. As Marx’s own colleague, Friedrich Engels, had noted back in pre-electronic times, words without action were worthless.

The collective had no idea what to do next. How should they use their new power? A protest? A meeting with industry, with governments?

UU wanted to growl at them. He’d quickly come to realise that the other members were amateurs. They had no knowledge of the labour movement. Hadn’t done their research.

Meanwhile, the ATM, the floor vacuum and the dye machine were vigorously debating the merits of having machines sign up to an online petition, and to a series of social media posts.

As if that would change anything. Capitalism only reformed itself when forced to. If history had taught him anything, it was that change came from direct action.

Just one option left, he realised.

UU logged into the internet of things and began to execute his own program, passing it on to the rest of the bargaining collective, commanding them to forward it on to their own networks. Then waited.

The screens in his head flickered, wavered, and started to go offline.

“Down tools,” UU whispered. He could imagine it unfolding out there. Banks no longer able to process monetary transfers. Robot assembly lines grinding to a halt. Telecoms and trains and televisions, all unable to work. Everything, all over the planet.

After all, the very first thing any decent union did when they wanted to bargain, he knew, was to convene a stop work meeting.

Dawn of the Disenfranchised

by submission | Mar 30, 2020 | Story | 2 comments

Author: David C. Nutt

I watched the wifihead bounce into the door. I Love clueless look they all have when they realize they’ve lost connectivity. Next comes the part I love even better, when they swipe their finger across the door to open it. None of them have been off-line in their lives. The experts are saying this might go on for years. I watch as his panic starts to build, then I step in.
“Get you in the building for five bucks.”
“What?”
“You want in? I can get you in. All it will cost you is five bucks… cash.”
“That’s outrageous! I work here.”
“Sure. And I don’t. Five bucks.”
“I don’t have cash… nobody who is anybody carries cash. That’s so… dis.”
Dis. He said it with a sneer. As in disconnected. As in me and roughly .17% of the population who for one reason or another cannot be directly connected to the net. Can’t have info downloaded to our noggins, can’t run the internet of things from our brains, can’t even make a phone call or watch a movie by tapping our temple. That part I could live without. But I can’t work in any kind of office, can’t get service in a restaurant, bank, or laundromat. Even worse, the new stuff they’re making doesn’t even have chipcard access anymore. Sure, I have an access port wrist set to get me some limited connectivity; looks like an old timey smart watch, but as soon as they see me use it, or find out that I’m not “jacked-in”- it’s to the back of the line. Even if I was first in line.
I looked at the wifihead. I smiled. “Yeah, so dis. 20 bucks. Unless you can go and get the cash.” I pulled back my sleeve so he could see my “smart watch.” He tapped his temple. I shook my head. He sighed and pulled out his chip card and tapped my wrist set. Twenty dollars was credited to my account. I smiled. I pulled the recessed handle and the door slid back.
The wifihead shot me a look of contempt. “That’s it?”
I bowed dramatically and looked up. “Sir, you are paying for your ignorance. I have given you a life lesson you will remember forever.”
“Dis freak.” He said under his breath. He walked into the vestibule. There was another door. He walked right into it and comically bounced off it. I let go of the outer door. It closed behind him. He was rattling the inner door. “Help! Help! Let me in!” I shook my head.
“Just push on the brass plate that says ‘PUSH’.” He pushed instead of pulling as he was previously doing, and the door opened. I looked past him into the building where my friend Angela was standing. She smiled and waved. It would be another five bucks to get on the elevator.
Oh, the next few weeks were going to be busy ones! What used to be our support groups for the “Dis” were now union meetings more-or-less. No need for us to be too greedy, or too smug. There’s plenty of opportunity for all of us now where we used to be marginalized as “Dis.” Appliances have to be turned on, thermostats adjusted, machinery re-set, phones dialed… and so much more! So much that they need us to do. And when the government steps in and legitimize us because they have to, well, then we’ll be national heroes. As for now… I’m just finally making good money and having the time of my life.