Instruction in the New World

by | Feb 14, 2006 | Story

The teacher tapped her wrist twice, and the drugs started streaming from the plastic tubes embedded in the students’ desk into their soft little arms. Within moments, she had their undivided attention. The yellow design on her dress to moved in a soothing pattern, giving her students a visual point to focus on.

“Today,” she said slowly, “we are going to learn about the sentient species that are currently known to mankind.” She tapped her eyelid three times, initiating the Note Taker program, which would stream an abbreviated version of her lecture into the students’ memory chips.

“Who can, without network, identify the five known sentient species in the universe?” She shut down the network connection to the classroom by touching the back of her neck. Someone in the room sighed.

“Humans.” said Bei, in the front row.

“Humans are one.” said the teacher. She looked around the bright classroom, where licensed educational cartoons frolicked along the walls, displaying friendly attentiveness towards the teacher.

Purple-eyed Mary raised her hand. “Yannoi, G’tharn, The Ones Without Names, and the Silicates.” Teacher had long suspected Mary of having a pirate network connection through some kind of organic implant. Her parents wouldn’t say.

“That is correct Mary. Recently in the news, the Yannoi have initiated hostile actions toward Humans, trying to use their transmissions to break into our computer systems. They have yet to cause any damage, as communication across that much space is very slow. Our scientists say that they have recently launched a fleet towards our home worlds.”

“Why haven’t we taken action?” asked little Mary

Teacher opened the network connection again. Immediately she could sense the downloads and searches begin. Children were only allowed classroom related searches during school hours. “Although the Yannoi seem intent on harming humanity, our scientists predict that they only have a four percent chance of surviving the journey. Although we can bend sensitive areas of space to transmit small messages, larger areas carrying a heavy matter burden are impossible to transmit. Only light can be transported in this way, the light we use to carry messages. The Yannoi fleet, if they are successful, will take seven thousand years to reach earth.”

“We could all be dead by then,” said little Mary.

“Only if you don’t take your medication,” said teacher, tapping her wrist once. In unison, the whole class smiled.

Streaming

by | Feb 10, 2006 | Story

Cory pressed his foot on the rubber accelerator so hard that the car began to smell like peanuts from the oil it ran on. The couple in the back seat started making out viciously, tearing at each other’s clothes. They were middle aged, sixty or so, horny on a cocktail of uppers and hormones. They didn’t care where Cory took them; they were only there because the cab was cheaper than a hotel room. Cory laughed to himself, delighted at the couple’s enthusiasm. He slapped the plastic window on the back seat closed and inserted the woman’s credit line into his car. The car accessed her account, withdrawing money as the seconds flipped by on his red digital display.

Cory drove like a madman, like a bat on fire, like a gamer with a thousand lives. He accelerated around corners, trusting his system to warn him about oncoming vehicles. The woman began to moan in the back seat, and Cory smiled, a little turned on despite himself. It was the perfect backdrop for his show. Cory touched the broadsword on the seat beside him for good luck and pressed a button on his neck, connecting him to his personal server. In a few seconds he felt the network buzz inside him, warmth rushing down his spine.

“Streaming.” He said, and about four hundred people locked to his signal “I’m live.” Flags popped up on the inside of his vision, greetings and questions from his regulars. He dismissed them with a hard blink. He would deal with them later. Now, now was for the show.

“I’m Cory, and this is Backseat Metro, where I talk about my life as a cabbie in the big Eastern Sea City, from New York all the way down to DC. Right now I’m driving on the Clinton Bridge which is still stained black from the poison cloud that killed all those people last year.” Cory’s fans liked it when he put a bit of news into his show.

“They say that the black doesn’t make the bridge dangerous, it’s just a residue from the non-lethal part of the cloud, but I still put my filters on when I drive over the damned thing. Whether or not the black is toxic, the vampire gangs sure like it, hanging out on the viewing sites, trading their narcotic bites to junkies for blood. Part of me wishes that they would sandblast the thing white again, and part of me just loves the retro 17th century thing the kids have going on here.”

The woman in the back screamed passionately, her naked back pressed against the plastic divider between the front and back seat.

Cory glanced back at the couple. “Say hello to Roy and Michelle everyone. They are celebrating their first retirement into their second careers. Right now I’m taking them to the drive through Philadelphia Museum of Art, where the homeless bohemians are working on painting the front steps. It looks like they are painting giant self-portraits. I heard that Police have tried to pull them off, but the college kids surround them in protest. Personally, I think the whole thing is good publicity for the museum.”

Michelle and Roy were rhythmically slamming their bodies against the back window.

“Roy and Michelle aren’t particularly interested in destinations folks, not physical destination anyway, so right now I’m taking them where I want to go, and recently I’ve had this hankering to see this painting. I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s near the end of the drive through tour, and it’s of a man standing on stairs, in a dark corridor wearing a long white robe. There is something in his eyes that just says strength to me. He’s clearly a warrior, and of all the scenes of romance and religious stuff in that museum, he really stands out. I like to think that someday, I’m going to be like that guy in the painting.” Cory patted the electric broadsword on the seat beside him, his baby.

“When I retire, I’ll leave the cab and feel the cement of the Metro highway under my feet. I won’t ride but I’ll walk the entire length of it, I’ll meet every face and landmark I speed by, and I’ll know the whole thing like a lover.”

The backseat was suddenly quiet; Roy and Michelle were slumped over each other, exhausted.

“Happy Retirement folks.” Cory switched off the feed and took the couple home.

Made in the System

by | Feb 6, 2006 | Story

“Dude. I’ve found it.” The Systems voice chimed pleasantly from the walls of the house. Ryan looked up hopefully from his dinner, his brown hair falling into his face.

“What? The program?”

“No. Better.”

Ryan shook his head, turning back to his baby back ribs. “I asked you to find the program.”

“Dude. Shut up. This is way better than the free porn finder program you wanted. I found you a wife.” There was a bit of pride in the Systems masculine voice.

Ryan wiped his mouth. “What?”

“Three months ago you expressed the desire for a long term mate. I found her.”

Ryan ran to his computer room, where his System sphere was glowing with white light. “System, I don’t want a wife!”

“Hey, User Interface? You were the one whining at me, looking for free scenes of mating. The least you could do is thank me.”

Ryan crossed his arms, gazing at the sphere. “What does she look like?”

“You know, that is typical of you. I go to all this trouble to match your personality type, ph balance, find someone who would love you despite your neurotic fits and the first question you ask is what she looks like. Shallow bastard.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “It was just a question.” There was a pause and a three dimensional hologram illuminated the middle of the room. It was a girl in her middle twenties, wearing a baby blue sweater and silver pants. She was a little chunky around the waist, but she had cute pouty lips and smooth, tan skin.

“Oh. Huh.” Ryan shrugged and scratched his stubble. “She seems nice, I guess.”

“What the flying hells do you want? A holostar? I can’t even get you to find all the places on your own face when you shave. Tarla gets a 90% hygene rating. May I remind you that you clock in at 71%? You have no place to be picky. Besides, she’s wonderful.”

“I don’t know. I suppose she’s okay. She’s got very shiny hair.’

“Your damn right she does. That’s natural too. She makes more money that you do, and her System is quite comprehensive.”

“You’re not matching me up with a woman based on her System, are you?”

“No, but it is a nice System.”

Ryan tapped his foot. “I think you’re in love with her System.”

“I matched you up on all the personality traits and despite the fact that your civilized scores are far from perfect, she is willing to meet you.”

Ryan’s eyes were wide. “You talked to her?”

“I communicated with her System.” Ryan’s System sighed musically. “Wonderful, dynamic System. Her System predicts a 96% chance she would like to meet someone like you.”

Swallowing hard, Ryan put a hand on the sphere. “You really think she’ll like me?”

“Oh yeah. Her father was a neurotic gamer with delusions of grandeur and a heart of gold. She’ll love you. Especially if you cook her that rice noodle dish you eat every day.”

“That stuff is good! Don’t make fun! You don’t have taste buds.”

“No. But I do have taste.”

Open Source

by | Feb 3, 2006 | Story

“Let me tell you about the revolution.” said Hack as I lay back, enjoying my smoke. Hack and I engaged in the worlds’ two oldest professions. I sold sex, and Hack stole stuff. Recently, Hack had been doing well enough to become a frequent client.

Hack wasn’t so bad, for a geek. His hair was a greasy mess and his stubble was scratchy on my skin but he always brought weed when he came over. I considered the drugs a peace offering for what would happen later. Hack pulled small black box out of his backpack, which was made of melted tires. “This box will unlock your house.”

I watched the smoke leave my lips in a stream and raised a sleepy eyebrow. “What do you mean?” The more time we spent talking about his projects, the less time I would have to spend naked. I might actually get another hour out of it.

“Just this, Jack.” Jack was the name I had told him, not very feminine, but I thought it sounded edgy. He slapped the box on the wall, and it whirred, blinking red. I found the color mesmerizing as it faded in and out, a soundless chime.

Hack stroked the box. “This is something I put together from old parts, but it’s made on a code that I found floating around the third world net. It unlocks all the content in your house, the music, the shows, even the programming on your PC. It configures your whole system to open source.”

I sat up, trying to shake off the haze. “Oh shit Hack, what the fuck did you do?” I looked at the evil box on my wall and felt nauseous. “Holy crap! If the cops get a link on this I’m fucked!”

“Calm down Jack, this is very new stuff. Third world. They are not going to get a link on it.”

I couldn’t be pacified. I was not a child. The red blinking light suddenly looked like a police siren. “Hack! You know how illegal open source stuff is. Why the hell did you bring that here? If the cops find it, I’m going to be in jail forever.” I got up and pulled on my soft velour overcoat, not even bothering to throw on my dress. “I’m leaving. I do not want to be here when the cops arrive and find the open source.”

“Stop freaking out Jack! The drugs are making you paranoid.” Hack got up and walked over to me, putting his big hands on my shoulders. “I configured this thing to avoid police scans. I’ve had it running for weeks at my place and I’ve yet to see a cop.”

It occurred to me that his program to avoid police scans must be why he was tipping so well. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. If you want, we can reset your house’s program when I leave.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t my house anyway; the place belonged to the madam. “Sure, okay.” I said, and giggled suddenly, thinking about Bera getting busted for open sourcing. It would serve her right.

“With this, you can get your shit to play on anything; you can rip it and trade it or whatever. You don’t have to buy new tech to make things run.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No. The third world uses this kind of thing to rip and sell stuff back to us on the cheap. It’s illegal, but the laws in some places are pretty flexible.”

I wondered how long I could keep him talking. “That’s cool.” I said, playing nice.

Hack handed me another blunt. “Smoke up babe. This is the revolution.”

Revolution of the Meek

by | Jan 28, 2006 | Story | 0 comments

We know its flimsy façade, we know it’s a broken promise waiting.

They said that if we kept working, someday we could make enough to send our kids to college, never mind the dying, the slaughter in the world. Remember the holocaust, they said, but forget the horror of today. Love the planet, but buy a car that guzzles foul gas. Study hard, get a good job, spend your cash on trinkets and drugs. They want us to live with success and debt, hand in unlovable hand.

The thing that still gets me is that no one noticed. It was a hunch that no matter how obvious we were, the fact that we were middle class, well-dressed white people would keep us safe. It was racist, and oligarchic and it delighted and disgusted me that it worked. We looked like we were doing what we were supposed to. We studied hard, politics, chemistry, biology, psychology, physics, film, sociology, philosophy, and computer science. We studied hard. We learned how the world works, and now we plan to change it.

We can build a hundred different kinds of bombs. We can genetically engineer a bacterium that could give everyone colds for weeks. We can send you a virus in the mail. We could break your servers. You cannot find us by your profiles, we come from different faiths, we are poor and wealthy, we are students, union workers, and businessmen. We could kill billions.

You are lucky. We are not as brainwashed as you wanted us to be. We will use the power we have to recreate the system through the frequency of sound, through the meter of light. We will alter the status quo; we are moving slick and sweet over your mega-conglomerate. We will be the underground and the mass consumer appeal. In every dot of perceivable digital light, we will be sending our message right to the brains of your friends, your children and your pets. You can’t hide, we are the mainstream.

This is the Revolution of the Meek, stay tuned.