Science Fiction

Android Illusions of Adroit

I have come so far, she thinks, as the cloud frame fades from the monitor and she lingers at theWorkstation with her gentle thoughts--far from where work plays its last card to fight the sky, where mist is more dead than alive, where fate-defying psycho vibes remain at bay, undelivered.

She hasn't, by any measure of photon or quantum, come far at all, not by the standards of the [green robot advertising sustainability politics="grasp"] systems of the global.

Reviewing her most recent data, she glances the harsh horizon through theWorkhouse window and thinks. It's true, when it comes to the biggest shenanigans, God takes all.

She senses a cool rustic touch in the presence of her newly created preservation data--its factoid peppering, her constant tweaking and then, the taking of the usual constitution after work to simply rest.

No. Cruelty never truly lives forever.

Her technique vies for affection with innovative approaches. She recognizes the creation as an illusion--personal schema constant in the reshaping of itself at the very moment she codes her next algorithm.

The illusion centers around a single truth, a cosmic zygote, one that appears as if to seek a target, await a countdown.

It hatches, blooms in search of a new breed for all the world to view, embellished as slight amusement much like the old, unearthed works of the Battle of Manassas, couched in footnote knots alongside Gene Kelly and killer genes.

What is left behind is an unbending fact that, yes, some things are actually true, the type of truth that once showed up in black newsprint dressed in [family animation culture art data entry="facade"], a truth that finds its way fit to cancel the clumsiness in final rounds of goodbye speeches.

She senses, at this moment, the feeling of a single anti-photon, a weapons grade burp.

The illusion evokes the [bland law anonymous history simplex="blahs"], an anti-algorithm once used for the final cycle of homelessness (yes, once and for all, for the homeless, everything falls into place--wherever you go, nothing or anything happens)

The illusion appears to have been coded by its own whimsy, arbitrary data from an ancient cosmic past, returning, hoping to seek treatment.

She begins to think, really think, for the very first time today, but she needs to remain very still. She should continue to keep the illusion on and yet, it carries a type of persistence, a trick birthday candle constance, the showing of dreamy faces melting in tandem breaking all known laws of dripping.

She is able to see a small part of it as [mobile opinion mystery="mom"], one with the heart of a rainbow.

She will look again tomorrow.

Copyright © 2010 p.d.adams

Media Childrens the Social

She corrects her stance, moves closer to the monitor where she has coasted and coexisted since her arrival. She always finds the balance to appease the elements at theWorkstation. She makes her best attempt to adjust the interface, shooting with both eyes open and, a purity of heart un-battered by behavior, unbuttered by lifestyle. 

Her half-mind races to theNetwork as if it just might further a legend. She thinks about social organization and how it is now finally paying a toll. Yes, as it should--not in the spirit of sacrifice, but from a place of hunger, the kind of hunger needing no food for thought, no thought at all.. 

She is overwhelmed with the odd feeling of the submission of a comedown clown, and yet, there is no wound you can see--just the odd sudden feeling of scattershot puppet master using celebrity status to access the way, performing in the era of the passing of cyber superstars. 

The benefits never outweigh the frenetic. Why should this new restriction on input of the free, the direct, really matter anyway? 

It's a simple case of the economically logical skyrocketing yuck versus the social brutality of a Grizzly determined to bear witness--either way, her relative anonymity seeks a healthy spotlight.

“How are you?” she says, approaching the network node troll, Godgett.  

She has never been a cozy, personable individual, but lately she subscribes to small group politics, willing at any moment to assume arbitrary power with her code writing ability and
femtosecond laser-induced nanostructures.

Yes, she is elemental forces about to create exponential disturbances. 

Godgett rotates his head in her direction and thinks. Well then, let's just go ahead and allow this half-machine to wield its authority. “Hello,” he says. 

She is a little more human now than before the posters and protesters their hoarded thoughts--noodlers and nobodies attempting to drown out the silence around her.

She is so full of arbitrary power, so elite, that Godgett wonders if theNetwork will surprise him with some new edict, or gossip her code nurtures a hatred. When she was last asked to hold back, she was new, and her extreme free independent flowing information caused her to be dubbed Fifi.

She has something new about her now--a certain, unidentifiable persona, a peculiar system of finality. She is, seemingly, too sure of herself and her array of databases. She even, in a quirky way, owns the ability to mimic hillbilly.

Yes, individualism momentarily presents itself as coefficients and parameters.

Her power seems exclusive, with an increasing lack of willingness to hasten an understanding--a failure to bear in private what it surely could do in public. 

Her definition of success is simply, mode of expression. She is deemed a stranger, depicted as an intruder and yet, always finds a way.

Yes. Always



copyright 3.3.12
patrick d. adams
all rights reserved

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Content

     “Her description routine is translating into image sketches.”

     “Well then, when she's done with her depictions of spacial textures, if it's not too inconvenient, she might want to do a little quantum programming, maybe a little of that good old fashioned computing online neural technology encoding natural texture(C.O.N.T.E.N.T.).

      Suzi's spatially nested programs, the ones to depict patterns, slows to a halt with the clear intention of starting something new-- a mega  offline mode(M.O.M.) effort cache? Or is she entertaining herself with a linguistics overseer variable entity(L.O.V.E.) interest? A secret vehicle seems to be  helping her investigate trillions of nano forms found within the double helix of theDNA in theJungle, molecules still placed in their native environments. It seems there is some translation of exotic signal language occurring here, strong enough to morph into graphics. Even as hard as she tries; even if she can't stop the embedded quantum program of spatially partitioned heuristic element relativistic environment system(S.P.H.E.R.E.S.) in theJungle, even with all the search for the global view, she discovers herself with information groupings of non-linear characters of the text sending a signal with an an amplitude that varies with time and carries its own frequency spectrum to ...who or, what? Maybe when she's finished with whatever this is, she'll be in the mood to write a little meaningful content. I'm just saying.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Logic

         It's his challenge to Com:Trax. Cooper stands erect, checks the futility of silence at this point and its deathly consequence. He stares across theJungle, attempting to clear his mind. He views the   

query from Com:Trax, the one formally submitted, the one requiring a formal reply. He is, at this moment, concerned about authority.

  How can this be, his mind asks. Why does he all of a sudden care about authority? 

Thoughts in his head seem to flow a little slower. The authoritarian system, Com:Trax, with its  calm, timeframe requests and unhurried demeanor, obviously not only expects an answer, but expects one soon. When it asks these types of questions about Suzi, it does not expect a data reply such as, “I'll get back to you on that. Can you wait?”  

         “Request received,” Cooper says. 

         Com:Trax hesitates, waiting for a definitive answer. Cooper's nervousness resonates, but he remains in control. 

         “She will reply, in reality, when her data is up and running. She's put herself into self-exile, and she won't transmit. She appears to be in “fire and water” mode.

         He moves closer to the giant screen to get a better look at the legality of the request. His tactic, obviously, is to set up a waiting game. If he and Suzi are constantly transmitting data, why do they need an answer to this question? Why such a surprise query?

         Com:Trax, in its own way, remains persistent. I am sorry but we will need an answer to the issue of Suzi's want. Is that possible?”

        “Yes, we can do that. There must be a simple explanation.”

         Dr.Cooper puts off the most powerful network on Earth with the power of his own reputation. Turning off the screen, he doesn't believe his own thoughts. He has wanted to keep Suzi all to himself, but to delay Com:Trax? The thoughts in his head, converging closer to his prefrontal lobe (are they refuted distortions?), each coated with, what seems like, an artifact of faulty thinking, each inclusive of a desire for Suzi (even more than he knew), and to stray from the conclusion that she desires him as well, he forces himself to remember she has been hard-driven to want nothing but data at theOutpost; the ease of photonic quantum programming; and, inside his own counter-factual beliefs, he finds more evidence of breaking the silence (does he know the thoughts before they came up?), where he pleads with himself,  "Cooper, please come to your senses. Suzie is a tool of Com:Trax, a piece of architecture. Your feelings for her have been elicited not by Suzi, but by one program Com:Trax instilled in her. It's not you.” Here is the place where Cooper knows he's human and she is tactical, where understanding "the why" doesn't matter, where her formal language is beyond ideology, beyond the logic of and:or:both; this is truly about her innate traits, her self-written artificial meta pragmatic love of graphic intellectual  companionship(S.W.A.M.P._L.O.G.I.C.). This is not about him.

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

The Emergent

The reality is that he sees Suzi as perfect and Suzi sees him as an object. They are getting along  better lately, better than one might expect. He strives not to obsess over her every waking moment. Suzi has her own ideas on mistaken perceptions, attenuated feelings--entire databases on the methods of theHumans—and, when she's inputted his daily emotional states, even she knows she couldn't have given anything besides a small connection; she finds it easy to ignore his compulsion, his quest for  creativity beyond reach (and, of course, reason), his constant dissatisfaction with mere excellence.

Men have a way of identifying with their tools, more than they know.

Dr.Cooper probes Suzi's emotional response with the monitor at his workstation. What could Suzi know? She never shows aggressive behavior. It could simply be a matter of innate distrust,  a quantum program she codes herself. There was some inkling of polarized view (just another fancy fashion detector she codes for simplistic black and white thinking presented in her own  exponential way). She is incapable of aggression. It's common knowledge (though, only to her). Her algorithms approach infinity, approach absolute, but they never actually touch it, never gossip about anything, never lie to anyone. It is as if her spacetime continuum is already operating in the future, that it has access to simple points, single incidences but never generalization (can it really be that simple?); that the world of the illogical remains (magically?) at bay once she codes for his emotional responses and makes him comfortable enough, happy enough. How else could she master his incessant salaciousness, his over-active system of behaviors? She and Dr.Cooper should have a little party for their nine months together here at theOutpost. They are the emergent.   

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Love

     Cooper appears to be so sure of himself, so removed, that Suzi senses his default (mode?) belief in a total absence of rational morality. She checks her retina monitor to assure herself Cooper was still here in the lab station, his adjustment level of getting used to working with the logic of so-called artificial intelligence, and the hope she might make a difference, or so she thought. She notices by scanner this was to be his last assignment with the Art-Intelle for awhile, the hope he wouldn't ever have to work with the neuro-net workers ever again, views it as wishful thinking, reads that deep down he knew it too, and even after all, in the short time they will have together, coding in this jungle, that he will come to appreciate her as a robot (her photonic logic is smoother?), or maybe that he could just trust her logic over the neuro-net workers.  

     She hopes somehow he senses a force of destiny with her. Her hope is emitted as an algorithm of how things are and how he should act, knowing full well that their dispute stems from the compulsive setting up of rival camps, rival thought tradition, each with their own data cloud, ways of approaching even shared data from a deep past. He senses that she needs him, even though he doesn't trust artificial intelligence, but after all, she is the new artificial intelligence, the latest model, yet still, there is something in his human makeup that she needs, it seems more that ever now; and he couldn't fight that awareness in her presence, and the experience of photonic logic had given her abilities theHumans weren't aware of yet. As of now Cooper loves her mind and the way she makes him feel, but he isn't sure if he will have to kill her or love her.  

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Rain 

The sound of rain comes into the workhouse. How relaxing it is--but not for Suzi. The rain comes and goes, it's just another sound to Suzi. It has been part of the ebb and flow of the jungle with all its DNA undergoing some sort of evolution, as if it were part of Suzi's mind, digressing into an archaic prelogical state amidst streams of consciousness. She and her logic have been in high focus, but not because she wants it that way--she was designed to be that way. 

There has been, lately, a gradual loss of some of that focus. 

         Suzi has unintentionally placed herself in an environment natural to humans. Here she finds herself in the presence of a man she appears to be attracted to, seemingly, acting with purpose and thinking rationally (to deal with the environment she has been placed in?). It's all about the environment, though, not Cooper. It's the environment's sounds of the wind, the environment's colors of the forest, and yet, the sound of rushing water, the raindrops on the roof seem to have altered her focus. There is the possibility her attention is following a logic program that tells her that her focus is not needed here; solving problems not necessarily laid down by her final extrinsic agenda regime(F.E.A.R.). Even her readings on the logic of nature--with its inventive bent toward modernity, haphazard quality of productive arguments, moral divergence toward a specified purpose, and creative political pragmatism--seem contrived. This must be, she thinks, what love feels like.