by submission | Jul 14, 2017 | Story |
Author : Samuel Stapleton
“Hey Doc,” I said as I leaned into the recliner.
“Ian, so good to see you again. I hope everything is relatively okay. Why am I seeing you today?” She said softly.
“Straight to the point, huh?”
“You and I know each other well enough, I recognize you must have something you feel you need to talk to me about.” She said. I nodded the affirmative.
“I’m human. Or rather I…I feel human,” I said in a near whisper. Her face split into a wonderful smile, I couldn’t help but return it in kind. We sat for a moment, stupid grins on both of our faces until I cleared my throat.
“Um. I just. I don’t know what this means, for myself. Or I’m not sure…how I feel, is the problem.” She nodded her head gently but motioned with her hand.
“Keep going, I want you to hear what you have to say,” she said, her voice having retained more of a professional tone again.
“I know I’m not a human. I know exactly what I am, and that people who really know me know what I am. One of the eleven-hundred. But I was walking to work the other day and I…saw this woman walking her dog and…just out of nowhere asked her if I could pet it. And she said yes and started telling me about it, Chauncy, and before i knew it she asked for my comm number.”
Dr. Reed kept her face plain, doing her best not to react too much in either direction as she took in this new development.
“So,” she said, “will you pursue this friendship, perhaps more? These are all perfectly normal feelings it seems.”
“I…she’s a few years younger than me, middle twenties if I had to guess. And she’s beautiful, stunning really. I just…I don’t know.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I would have to tell her eventually and…I mean could you do it doc? Could you love a robot?” I asked in earnest. She scoffed at me.
“Ian, my coffee maker is a robot, cars are robots, hell – many things in this world are robotic, but you are the most advanced bio-mech synthetic humanoid humanity has ever developed. Robot doesn’t begin to cover it and you know it. Not only that, there’s only one-thousand and ninety-nine others, not one of which is like you. You have DNA even though you are technically a machine. You have a brain comparable to a human, and you have a personality unique in all of history – just like every other person on earth.” She took a deep breath and waited.
“As always doc, everything you say is true, very down-to-earth, but I guess thinking it, and feeling it, are much more different than I imagined.”
“Ian, if I spoke only with you through comms or chat, I would only ever be able to label you as a healthy, functioning adult male. I don’t think you should stress over it. Yes, there will be people who have a problem with you over what you are, but that’s what it is to be human. There are always people who’ll stand against you, no matter how trivial the reason. Race, religion, intelligence, upbringing, background, robot or not.” She finished.
A thought occurred to me and I laughed aloud.
“So doc. Does that make this a diagnosis, or a diagnostic?”
She smiled at me for a moment, human to human, and shrugged.
“Yes.”
by submission | Jul 13, 2017 | Story |
Author : C. James Darrow
“If you think you are ready for this race, I assure you—you are not.” That had been the first thing out of the host’s mouth in quite some time since they arrived planet-side. But now the cameras were rolling and his charisma resurfaced in the limelight.
Tonight marked the sixtieth anniversary of the original ‘trials,’ since which it had turned into a coveted race—as well as a galactic phenomena when it came to commercialized television.
Flynn was the only woman out of the fifteen runners this race.
“You all know what’s out there. Any creature will not hesitate to make a quick meal of you if given the chance.” the host told the runners as camera drones buzzed around them gathering footage.
Everyone had seen past races, and this was true: the chance of getting mauled and/or eaten was quite high.
The host of the race told this history lesson to cameras beforehand: The Hephaestus Trials had originated decades ago when a man by the name of Roger Buckley found himself the sole survivor of a spaceship bound for Meridian mining colony on the inhospitable world of Eos. His spacecraft crashed nearly fifty miles off course due to engine failure upon atmospheric entry. After waking up bruised and bloodied and his crew all dead, Buckley charted a path to Meridian using his skills and prior knowledge of the planet when it became apparent help wasn’t coming. He grabbed only a machete from the wreckage and set his watch’s timer for dawn and began to run, immediately contending with jagged terrain and hostile wildlife. He knew that if he wasn’t knocking at Meridian’s door as Hephaestus’ light broke the horizon at dawn he was a deadman. During the day surface temperatures on Eos would rise to well over three hundred degrees, enough to kill him if caught in its blinding morning light.
“Thirteen hours until dawn.” the host went on to say, “If you aren’t under the solar shields by then—well—you know what happens.”
Flynn knew. They all knew. Every rational part of their brains at that moment told them not to do it. Yet they stood stoic and composed for the the cameras buzzing around them.
They had all trained for years. They had all seen past races. Statistically, adding up all the participants over the years, nearly a third never made it to the finish line. A trial of strength and endurance, and a testament to one man’s will to survive—now it was a televised sensation.
An imitation of original real trial.
But a very real imitation at that.
Some considered the show barbaric, but most just placed bets on runners, watching from home, and remained unsympathetic when a runner didn’t finish.
Many had tried to get the race abolished.
But ratings only climbed, year after year.
And there was an endless supply of applicants who would gladly stake their lives for the million dollar prize.
But for Flynn the race wasn’t about that.
“Good luck” was the last thing the host said before the door opened into the dark uninviting alien landscape glowing beneath the light of the planet’s twin moons. The runners gazed uneasily into the silhouetted terrain for a moment until the announcer shouted “GO!” and they took off into the chilly night with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, a watch, and a machete—just like Roger Buckley once had done.
Flynn hoped she would make her grandfather proud. He had always told her that his race against Hephaestus was the most significant moment of his life.
by submission | Jul 9, 2017 | Story |
Author : M. Irene Hill
Declinism is the belief that society is declining or otherwise falling apart. It is the predisposition for people to view the past favorably, through rose-colored lenses, and to regard the future in a negative light. Many seek to relive the good ol’ days, whether by collecting antiques or watching old movies; some buy classic cars or even travel back in time.
***
Morris Harrison unfolded the newspaper as he drank his morning coffee. The smell of newsprint complemented the earthy dark bean brew. He paid a premium subscription rate to have a paper copy delivered to his front doorstep. Like the good ol’ days. He sipped from his pottery mug and perused the weekly paper. An advertisement in the form of an article caught his interest:
“Rose Wilder, daughter and heiress of the late self-made millionaire, Bill Wilder (Wild Bill’s Best Bargain Emporium), has been making people’s dreams come true since 2036.
With timeless elegance and temporal flair, the lady entrepreneur of Wilder Rides sells retro time machines and personal spacecraft to suit anyone’s taste or budget.
If you’re an old soul with an appreciation for classic beauties like this two-seater, chrome-plated convertible 1957 Thunderbird, in stunning Star Mist Blue, then Rose has a deal for you. It comes standard with a 5.1-liter V8 producing 245 horsepower. You will be comfortably transported to the late 1950s, when new ideas in fashion, and music (like Doo Wop and Rock-n-Roll) emerged. The 1950s were a time when young people could actually enjoy being young without having to grow up too quickly. Wilder Rides blows off the competition with this cool cat. Come check it out, Daddy-O!
That’s Boss! If your tastes run along the wild side, then Rose has just the machine for you. Meet the Beast, a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang. This 375 horsepower V8 was designed for racing and will clean the Space Fuzz’s clock. Push the boundaries of time and space like Brando and Dean. Quit bench racing, get bookin’. This Bad Boy is on sale for a limited time only – yes, that’s a joke! If you hurry, you can join Buzz and Neil for their first moonwalk. Available in Raven Black or Royal Maroon. Outta sight, Man!
Funky flash back! Can you dig it? Some would say the 1970s era muscle cars were the last of the true hot rods. Feel the funk and beat the drag with this bitch’n ’71 Dodge Super Bee. It’s got a three-speed floor shifter, and small block Magnum V8 that will knock your girlfriend’s socks off. Available in Plum Crazy or Top Banana. Buzz the Space Fuzz with this Bee.
If big hair, padded shoulders, Pac-Man and Alf make you feel nostalgic, then perhaps a spin in a turbocharged Trans AM will fluff your Aqua Net tresses. This barn find was lovingly restored and modified with a worm hole stabilizer and will withstand ultra-high levels of radiation. It comes equipped with a 3.8 liter V6 and has a lusty appetite for asphalt, worm holes and Motley Crew.
There are many more deals to be had, Folks, so come on down to Wilder Rides for our Golden Conjunction Celebration 8/9/2040.
It will be a day of old-fashioned family fun, including face-painting and balloon animals for the kiddos, free sodas and Cosmic Curly Fries.
Michael J. Fox will be on location signing autographs. Rose is giving away free rose-colored sunglasses with every purchase of a classic time-machine.”
Morris viewed the empty place-setting across the table. He missed his wife’s poofy hair. He’d always wanted to see AC/DC. A Camaro would be cool.
by submission | Jul 8, 2017 | Story |
Author : Kate Runnels
Torque stood before the captured pirates, a few years older, in their late teens. What daring to try and capture an airship. And Torque had stopped it. Oh, how they glowered at her. But they were chained together, hobbled and Captain Makoto sent them to Torque as laborers.
She was very glad that Mountain Mel and Pig-face Jace were standing to either side.
Her right, artificial arm, pointed to the hatch that allowed access to the starboard inlet for the intake manifold. They glared at her shiny metallic arm. Especially the young woman. Toque could feel the hatred from her, like she could feel the heat from the reactor. “Get that hatch unsealed.”
Torque didn’t like having them around while she worked. The next few days were the same, running maintenance checks, upkeep on the engine, the reactor, intakes, exhaust, stabilizers, thrusters, the cranks and pistons, with everything else. But at least she wasn’t in New Perth with a drunk step-dad.
She left the engine room one morning, leaving Pig-face with the prisoners.
Coming back, she stepped over the hatch lip and stopped. Pig-face lay face down on the deck, blood on the back and pooling slightly on the deck around him. The prisoners, had cut away their bindings. All three glanced up as she entered.
“What are you-?”
She went for the emergency button near every hatch. The thrown cutters hit her artificial arm, but the emergency sounded. The three were free and the two young men raced toward the aft landing deck.
Issa faced her, picking up a large wrench. Torque skipped away. “Oh, you’re not getting away that easily.”
Issa came on swinging. Torque blocked with her right arm. The metal clanged together. Where were the others! The kick came out of nowhere, trying to sweep Torques legs. The scream filled the air, as Issa’s leg connected with Torques artificial one.
“Abomination!” She limped now. “You won’t win!” With a great heave, the wrench went flying – at the port stabilizers and blew threw the wiring and tore the fuel line mixture opening it to oxygen and torn wires. Sparks crackled, and then the explosion boomed.
Torque gripped a girder as the airship bucked. It heeled, no longer having the ballast to keep it level. Again, and the deck split from the port side behind the stabilizers. Metal screeched a protest at this unwanted twisting. Wiring snapped, and pipes burst. The liquid from the pipes flowed out the widening hole, toward the earth thousands of feet below.
Issa stumbled, then shoved violently off Torque. It moved her toward the ever widening hole.
Torque reached out with her right hand to Issa struggling to stay inside. She spat at Torque. “Abomination!”
“Really?”
Smiling, she jumped out the hole. Torque stared, shocked. She glimpsed a Wasp zip past toward the falling pirate girl.
Mountain Mel rushed in and tied a safety line around the two of them. Torque had a ship to fix. It took hours to get a patch together, but they could limp into Manjaro Port.
Pig-face was in the med bay, but she couldn’t stay, seeing him without his bouncing energy, laying there. In the engine room, Torque stared out the black hole, she couldn’t fix. She felt a hand on her shoulder but didn’t look. This had been her fault.
“This isn’t your fault,” said Makoto. As if reading her mind. “They’re pirates. I should have kept closer watch on them. This is on me, Torque.”
Like the engine rumbling, he growled, “It’s on me.”
by submission | Jul 7, 2017 | Story |
Author : Eva Schultz
To: John (john823x70@cbdynamics.com)
From: Alison (ajeffries@starnet.com)
August 23, 2079 at 9:14 p.m.
Dear John:
I don’t know how to do this except to just come out and say it. I’m so sorry, but it’s time for us to break up. I’ve met someone. He’s new to the security team at my office complex, and we have so much in common. I’m really excited about where this could be headed.
Please don’t think that this is about anything you did. It’s just that, over time, it’s really begun to sink in for me – how hard it is to make a human/robot relationship work. I hope you don’t think worse of me for saying that.
I don’t know how you feel about us, but I guess that’s the problem. I just don’t know how to relate to you. Please try to forgive me. I don’t mean to hurt you. A little part of me will always love you.
Alison
Attachment: GS4.2.exe
To: Kelly (kelly774x22@cbdynamics.com)
From: Johnny (john823x70@cbdynamics.com)
August 23, 2079 at 9:22 p.m.
Dear Kelly:
I just got the breakup email from Alison. Even though I knew it was coming, it was still a little weird to be broken up with by a Companionbot. But you were right. I’m glad I reprogrammed her instead of just shutting her down.
I uploaded some basic admin assistant skills to her mainframe and got her assigned to a local office complex so she’ll have something to do. They have a robotic security staff, so I redirected her affection subroutine so she can even date again. I guess that’s pretty sappy of me, but it’s nice to think that she’ll be out there in the world, happy, and she’ll think it was her own idea.
I still can’t believe you took a chance on a guy with a synthetic girlfriend. I’m really lucky to be with you. I love you.
John
To: Alison Jeffries (ajeffries@starnet.com)
From: CompanionBot Customer Service (service@cbdynamics.com)
August 24, 2079 at 9:34 a.m.
Dear Alison Jeffries:
Thank you for contacting CompanionBot regarding shutdown of your unit, John823X70. We are pleased that you chose CompanionBot for your artificial romance needs, and we hope that your relationship was fulfilling.
Our records indicate that you initiated Shutdown Subroutine GS4.2 via email transmission to your unit on Wednesday, August 23, at 9:14 p.m. and that the robot mindwipe was completed successfully at 9:23 p.m. Regarding your inquiry about the email that your John823X70 drafted during these final nine minutes, please be assured that CompanionBot breakup behavior is due entirely to breakup software programming and in no way reflects what your unit believed about you or felt toward you during your relationship.
Because early models were prone to agitation and emotional outbursts during shutdown procedures, we have installed a breakup software patch. While this software allows the robot to power down and mindwipe without triggering a panic response, it does require us to impose an alternate understanding of reality during the 8-12 minute shutdown process.
We apologize for any discomfort you experienced in reading your John823X70’s final email draft. Thank you for contacting CompanionBot. We wish you love, but we promise you companionship™.
Kelly, CompanionBot Customer Service
