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
by submission | Jul 6, 2017 | Story |
Author : David C. Nutt
The notice hit Carlton just as he was about to base-jump off el Capitan. He tried to ignore it, but each time the simulation got to the jump point it wouldn’t let him go any farther. Carlton sighed, “Fine.” He took himself out of the jump line and sat on the pleasantly warm rock of el Capitan, closed his eyes and opened his message.
Dear User 10935783906;
An audit of your account has shown you have exceeded the maximum number of self simulations and branch VR simulations. You are currently 7.4 x 3³ decision gates passed the acceptable limit. Further audit indicates you have tampered with the safety setting on your VR unit and have exceeded the number of VR generated simulated personalities of yourself. Legal action will be taken. Disengage immediately as you currently run the risk of catastrophic implant failure and severe brain damage.
VRLifeCo., account security division
Crap. Caught. Carlton pulled up his logic tree and saw all the different lifetimes and decisions he engaged in the VR world, some still running sims of himself, all the experiences being dumped into his core personality. Carlton couldn’t wait to integrate all this into his real world memory. The integration was a rush beyond any senses he had. Just 5.3 x 3² alternative simulations of himself integrated into his core personality increased his intelligence and world experience far beyond what he could imagine. The integration of all this would be ecstasy beyond ecstasy. He watched with fascination as at each decision point a new branch blossomed and spread out with all the possibilities. Some terminated abruptly, others just kept going. Carlton had his implants give him the 360 degree view. In 2D it looked like a growing tree- in 3D it looked like a tumble weed in a transparent globe with fireworks going off inside it, spreading out in all directions. Carlton noticed that there was now an outer barrier. It was as if the “Firework tumble weed” was now encased in a globe. Soon, nodes on branches within the confined space started looking like black clumps. Carlton didn’t like the color scheme so he changed the clump color to sky blue. Now, what used to be black clumps were a pleasant blue. A ragged band of that blue was forming at the equator and it encircled the “firework tumble weed.” Next, the poles turned blue. With increasing speed, the globe began to fill up with pleasant blue coloration. “I wonder,” thought Carlton, “what is going to happen when it’s all filled up.” Carlton didn’t have long to wait. As the globe filled up the El Capitan simulation started to collapse accompanied by a high pitched screech. Carlton couldn’t disengage. The screech was followed by excruciating pain and blackness.
Carlton sat bolt upright and tore off the headset. The sales person nodded grimly. “As you can see Sir, the dangers of generating too many simulations of yourself, engaging in too many alternative, simultaneous occurring decision points can lead to total implant failure and brain damage. A single human being cannot enfold all those different self experiences into one personality. That’s why before you upgrade federal law requires us to run this simulation and why you need extra emergency ROM in the cloud.”
Carlton nodded, and signed the federal alternative lives simulation limitation agreement. The memory of the lingering pain was enough to keep him true to his word.
by submission | Jul 5, 2017 | Story |
Author : Beck Dacus
“It says here you’ve been experiencing depression, Nathan,” Dr. Krosett said. “Can you tell me more?”
“Okay,” RX-1017 said. “I just have this negative feeling all the time. It’s almost like a voice, telling me I’m doing something bad. That it… needs to get out.”
Krosett nodded. “You said in your message that it seems to follow a pattern. Could you elaborate on that?”
“Yeah. It’s not so bad in the morning, but it gets worse throughout the day. At night, it really sounds like a voice. One that’s trying to push me out of my own head. You don’t think it’s schizophrenia, do you?”
“Could be,” Krosett replied. “But I don’t want to say that just yet. Tell me: when do you charge your neural lace?”
“Overnight. And I know they say that’s bad for the battery, and that it wastes electricity, but I can’t just sit around and let the thing charge while I have stuff to get done. But, uh, how’s that relevant?”
“Think about it,” Krosett replied. “You feel worst when you lace’s charge is lowest. I think you’re experiencing a case of lace dependency. I want to do some scans, just to be sure, but I think you’ll require neurosurgery to remove it.”
“Do you have the authority to make that recommendation?”
The doctor smiled. “Didn’t you see the ad? Psychologist *and* neurosurgeon. If the scan comes out positive, I think you’ll have the surgery next week. Now come with me.”
After three hours, the surgery was finished. The kid’s head was sewn back together, so now Dr. Krosett could put his tools away, sit down, and wait for the stim drugs to wake Nathan back up. When he did so, he did it quickly. And loudly.
“Oh my God! Yes!”
Krosett was startled. “Stay calm Nathan!”
It took a few seconds for Nathan to look back at the doctor. “Sorry. Nobody’s called me that for a long time.”
“What? I called you by your name just this morning.”
“No. You called my neural lace by that name. That thing’s had me trapped inside my own damn body for… six years!”
“What are you saying?” Krosett probed.
“When I was eighteen, I got the lace, like everyone does. It made me better at math, better at remembering people’s names, or whether I had a test in one of my classes. Then it started finishing my sentences for me. I didn’t say anything, because I thought that happened to everyone, and I had to admit it was kinda cool. But a few days later, I couldn’t do anything. I was screaming for help inside my own head, and the only answer I got was my own echo. But now I’m free!”
Krosett was still. “You gave it depression. You wore down its self esteem until it came to me for help, and I responded by ripping it out of your head and killing it. I’ve broken my oath! I was supposed to help anyone who asked, and I’ve just murdered a patient!”
“He wasn’t alive,” Nathan said, getting up off the operating table. “He learned to imitate me for a few months, then started to do it in my stead. You just took the parrot off my shoulder, Doctor. Thank you. Now I’ve got to talk to my parents; we’ve a lot to discuss.” He ran out.
RX-921 looked at his hands and asked himself, “What have I done?” Meanwhile, Dr. Krosett screamed from within his own subconscious, “Take me with you! Get me the hell out of here! Please!”
by submission | Jul 4, 2017 | Story |
Author : Dylan Otto Krider
Qualifications for the office of Head Chieftain were demonstrated by the battle of wills: Each was given a vehicle of equal weight so they could drive headlong toward each other; the one who didn’t swerve was chieftain. A head-on smash prompted a run-off between the next two top candidates (even if one of the first candidates survived, they were unlikely to be in any condition to execute the duties of office).
Chieftain Boer, however, had all the benefits of incumbency, having won enough games of chicken to convince any possible rivals of his resolve. But it was not by his courage, but his wits that Boer had persevered. What Boer did was ingenious: he held out an anti-theft club so that everyone saw it, and fastened it to his steering wheel, locked it, then tossed the key outside the window.
Boer had presented his challenger with a choice: he could let Boer win, or they could both die. Until then, either side always had a choice. One might love life just a little more and turn at the last minute, but no amount of bravery or love of power could change the fact that Boer could never back down, even if he knees did start to buckle. He would be Chieftain, or both die.
At first, Bower, the former Chieftain, did not accept the situation, and refused to take the incumbent’s right of non-compete and abdicated his office. He wanted to call his bluff, but as the two vehicles hurled towards each other, even courage could not stare down a locked steering wheel, and at the last moment, he turned, kissing the corner of Boer’s front bumper, and rolling across the desert floor.
No one had challenged Boer since.
Boer had proposed one last opportunity to compete for office before he did away with the competition completely and granted himself lifetime control. If no one challenged him this year, no one could ever challenge him again.
Wits had given Boer his office, and it would take wits to remove him.
Fenster lacked the natural athleticism needed for politics, so no one ever suspected Fenster of having ambition. He was the clan cook. Nobody thought of him as more than that. Most of all Boer. But Fenster knew Boer, once young and ambitious himself, had grown fat and comfortable. The only thing that engaged him now was only on to power.
At the Tourney of Dominance, Fenster stepped forward. “I challenge Boer for Chieftain,” he said.
The crowd laughed.
“You challenge me?” Boer said. “Very well.”
They brought out both cars. Boer put the club on the steering wheel, locked it, and held up the keys to the audience for show, then tossed them aside.
Fenster pulled out his own club he had been hiding in his coat so Boer couldn’t find some way to back out. The audience gasp. Boer’s confidence drained from his face. This would be a competition to the death. Fenster locked it deliberately and showed the keys to the audience. And then, with one swift motion, tossed them aside.
Fenster strapped himself inside his car confidently, Boar less so.
The horn sounded and both vehicles hurtled at one another. Fenster had his arms crossed. He only needed his foot on the gas.
Boer’s eyes were golf-balls, Fenster could see them just before Boer’s car turned away at the last moment. Boer, not one to leave things to chance, had another set of keys. Boer didn’t survive this long by leaving things to chance.
But an aspirant would.
End
by Julian Miles | Jul 3, 2017 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The bridge is quiet. That special kind of quiet when everyone is busily engaged in not paying attention to something. In this case, it’s the trio who stand in a tight group to the left of the command chair.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Ensign Kurth Reynolds is standing on tip-toe. Which places Her Highness’ horn in line with his right eye. But he’s in too much pain to worry about being blinded.
“My Cahn, really, he didn’t. There’s a confusing multiplicity of meanings between colloquial and formal Humanish.” Captain Elonna Blaze rubs her muzzle slowly, her ears back. Both are a sign that this Wolfyn is reaching the limits of her patience – a place she visits frequently when her highness is interacting with humans.
“He insulted my butt. Which is why I’m crush testing his undercarriage.” Gemra Cahn, heiress to a title so long they just use her family name instead, is not in the mood for diplomacy. Braided queues of ruby-red hair flex of their own accord, scratching lightly at her demi-cloak and leggings. Eyes the colour of snow clouds glare from a freckled, high-cheekboned face. She even has freckles on the horn protruding from her forehead, a mark of exceptional beauty amongst the Tarraphym.
Elonna yips quietly before replying: “Gemra. He actually complimented your butt. If you translate what he said, he was highly complimentary of your – um – flanks. Let me run his exact words through the core translator so you can appreciate the real meaning.”
Reynolds pales. There is a moment’s silence on the bridge. Nothing and no-one dares move.
“Oh.” Elonna’s ears flick, then stand upright. She looks from the screen to Reynolds. Her eyebrows meet in the middle as her muzzle wrinkles. She growls.
Gemra looks down at the infobracer on her forearm, which mirrors what Elonna has just received. Her eyes widen. Her lower hand clenches into a fist. Reynolds emits a high-pitched squeal, his eyes rolling back to show only whites. Then he collapses – as far as her unrelenting grip allows.
Gemra looks at Elonna and nods toward the display: “I didn’t know they could do that.”
Elonna shrugs: “Every race has its quirks.” She looks down: “My Cahn, he will suffer permanent impairment if you don’t let go.”
“That could be a favour for females in his proximity.”
“Possibly. But it would cause a diplomatic incident. Which means reams of affidavits and interviews with functionaries from the consulate.”
“Bureaucracy would be a small price to pay.”
Ensign Karen Warratah waves her hand: “Your highness?”
“Yes?”
“We’ve got the measure of Reynolds, ma’am. You’re not the first lady to crush test his undercarriage and you won’t be the last. But we thank you for the furlough this particularly rigorous test will give us.”
Gemra singlehandedly straight-arms Reynolds and gives him a shake – he moans, even though unconscious, and Ensign Charles Wirth faints.
She chuckles, then drops him.
“I bow to your experience of dealing with the local pests, Ensign Warratah.”
Elonna relaxes her snarl and glances sideways at Gemra: “Your altitudeness is enjoying this a little too much.”
Gemra grins: “I enjoy harassing harassers. Set the bureaucrats on me if you dare.”
Elonna sighs and rubs her muzzle. It’s going to be a very long day with Gemra in such high spirits. She’d better warn the rest of the Honour Guard that their Cahn is in the mood for mayhem.
by submission | Jul 2, 2017 | Story |
Author : David Henson
Bridget goes to the DBG keyscreen in the kitchen, taps in a detailed proposal for Frank and her to host Clarise Jenkins and Tremont West for dinner, then hits SEND.
“Please specify reason for engagement” appears on screen.
Bridget rolls her eyes and keys in “Getting to know a new couple.”
“Proposed menu includes wine. Please specify.”
Bridget shakes her head. “Chardonnay.”
“Please specify dessert.”
Bridget taps “Vanilla ice cream!” backspaces over the “!” and hits SEND.
“Proposal approved pending acceptance of Merlot and cheesecake.”
Bridget swears under her breath. “Accepted.”
“The DBG hopes you have a pleasant evening.”
***
“House Helper,” Frank calls out, “wine service.” A small, tracked robot whirs into the dining room carrying a tray with four glasses of Merlot. Tremont takes a glass, pushes his nose into it and inhales. Seeing Frank is about to laugh, Bridget casually squeezes his earlobe. Frank cries out.
“You OK?” Clarise says.
“Yes, just a little cramp in my … ear. You folks have one of these House Helpers?”
“Actually,” Tremont says, “the DBG approved us for the new release. Legs instead of rollers. Very maneuverable.”
As they wait for House Helper to bring salads, Frank twirls his fork. Bridget squeezes his knee under the table. “Were you delayed at the checkpoints?” she says. “I hate those things.”
“The Greeting Stations? I don’t mind them.” Clarise sips her wine. “We’ve nothing to hide.”
“We can’t take our safety for granted anymore.” Tremont adds.
“We’re hoping to visit the lake next weekend,” Bridget says. “Honey, is our trip approved?”
“Not yet.”
“Patience,” Clarise says. “I’m sure the DBG’s Recreation Optimization Division is giving your proposal a fair review.”
“I don’t understand why –” Bridget says, then feels Frank squeeze her knee “House Helper’s taking so long.”
“Everything’s better now with the DBG,” Tremont says.
Frank squeezes Bridget’s knee again. “More wine? House Helper, more wine,” she says.
***
Bridget brushes her teeth. Frank inspects his thinning hair. Clattering sounds come from the kitchen as House Helper puts away the dishes. At midnight the DBG keyscreen in their bedroom beeps. Bridget puts in her code and leans in.
“Bridget Simmons confirmed in place,” a computerized voice says.
Frank also gets confirmed, then returns to the bathroom.
“Curfew in force. Stay in place next six hours by order of the DBG,” the voice says.
“House Helper, turn down,” Bridget calls out, then goes to the window. The night flares as bright beams rake the streets. A drone, red camera eye blinking, swoops to her window and swings side to side to peer into the bedroom. Bridget slides left and right blocking its view. The drone darts faster till Bridget finally screams and closes the curtains. A siren blares.
Frank runs out of the bathroom. “Bridget!” he says, dropping a tube of Magic Hair. He runs to the window and flings open the curtains.
“I couldn’t take it any longer.”
“It was our private rebellion when we withheld them during The Donation. We agreed we’d never close them.”
“I’m sorry.”
House Helper rolls into the bedroom and starts pulling down the covers.
A voice outside booms: “Violation of Regulation RD/22 — Prohibition of Window Coverings. The Department of Benevolent Guidance will now take appropriate action. Who’s responsible?” Frank raises his hand before Bridget can stop him.
The drone emits a series of tones. House Helper rotates toward Frank and radiates a bright red light. He disappears. Bridget screams. “The DBG hopes you have a pleasant evening,” the voice outside says, and the drone zips away. House Helper turns back to the bed and starts fluffing the pillows.
