Wave Matrix

                         Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Interview

"Hello." theNetwork says. "Are you there?'

She has always had a penchant for her disassemble to occur in an instant, of the smallest concepts approaching from the farthest distance. 

She is never startled by feeling as if being a starlet, a nano-engine, the occasional algorithm that steps on yes-no platforms to measure interaction, compatibles, incompatibles with alternating emotions.

“Are you willing? it says. Not "do you want.” 

She moves toward the screen. It's Ok, allow it the ego of a primary and secondary [cellulosic output matrix inputting new godlikes="coming"].

"Yes, I am," she says. She moves closer to the screen.

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

The Last Engine

It starts.

There is a probability across the spectrum that smaller singularities exist under the history books beneath shiny office windows.

Myriads of biosensor bots of high solubility and low toxicity amass in arrays of eiganstates across its architecture. They disguise themselves as companions in a friendly competition. 

The willingness is there to wait in silent urgency, and then to lead forward into the mist as church bells call across tall grass toward a foggy future. 

The warning is against fame. 

It puts stagnation aside and searches with its own conjured technology of the once hidden, impertinent enterprises--the overburdened, staunch drug entities urged to join in with theExchanges.

It's the spirit of a thrill seeker, a musketeer sent to liberate the illiterate.  The robotic manufacturers--arms of dispersal for a massive regime for scandal mongering--read security algorithms as if a daily catechism. Its hope is to grow as a meticulous menace. 

Its intelligence is artificial with a peculiar accompanying artfulness.
  
It's the one the 21stCentury once hoped for.

It collects aggregates of known networks into sacred places with its own idea of secret police, though it doesn't understand privatization at all and yet, has a memory that dares to dream. 

It's code is cleansing, a [simple obliger and predictor="soap"], designed only for the new, the growing, set on keeping its options open as theHumans request more and more searches on its regimes. It thinks it will someday bet on a bright future, truly, but for …who? 

At best, a good rest makes one better than all the rest. 

patrick d. adams

copyright 2.23.12

all rights reserved

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Exchange

Inside theHumans, molecular trajectory dynamics for all proteins floating in the bloodstream were altered by the new path of techno-washing organ systems. How altered they have become: macromolecules, completely fabricated in structure, floating in randomly polarized force fields of blood flow. In an instance dissolved nanoparticles entering bloodstreams--mobile pseudo particles functioning with natural efficiency, tumbling--with  normal electron density, are solvent happy and then, maybe within a nanosecond, there comes an induced electron cloud roaming all vascular tissue. Here are biologically active pseudo-particles; here are the cyclic force fields pushing on plasma environments; here are the induced electron clouds--mobile arrays floating in perfect lattice as if an alien formation of motherships in two dimensional matrix space, pulled by a solvent that can reproduce the structure and energetics of pure water, but isn't; eventually, over time, leaving theHuman organ system full of tiny, activated, hydrophobic spherical cavities. Decades ago, in the later 20thCentury, when proteins and theDNA were simple macromolecules, when force fields were something found only in space and, in laboratories, theExchanges cropped up one by one in anticipation of infinite healthcare needs. 

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Hunger

When the simulation is complete, Suzi can detect that the bonds are correct, their dipole moments happy together in a healthy family of resonances across its entire being. She rests assured it will work again in the future, in theDNA system. It seems to be yearning to describe the simplest possible explanation of their collective selves. State vectors, as knowledgeable as any doctor, quantum and steady, stationary, surprisingly fitting for a perfectly functioning body to hold its position with continual symmetry in the direction of even more beauty.

Carter approches Suzi's screen. “Why don't we just leave it,” Carter says. “It's been a long day.”

He leaves the work station, DrCooper stays. 

  Suzi begins her investigation of this new hologram, focusing on its wave function. She captures her thoughts on the laser and, surprisingly, gives herself the most complete description of a human physical system yet known. (Can she know this form, with all its individual multipole moments, holding a resonance of life right there on its manifold surface? Can she know the pure description of how the quantum state of a human body, with all its wave functions and state vectors, changes in time?) Suzi captures more thoughts off the laser, continuing to view it's image.

She says, “Carter is so immersed in his ideas about muscle contraction he is at a loss for any form of active compassion.” 

DrCooper says, “Should we really forget about carbon and nitrogen altogether, after seeing that?” 

“Well,” Suzi says, “I know the difference between a neuropeptide in a mammal and an amide riding on a comet. No input from Carter required.”

“Ok,” DrCooper says, and he turns and leaves, his mind failing to wrap around her idea of life. Before turning off her lasers, Suzi stays a little while next to the hologram. It could be called a simple gift of space. It could be called anything--maybe, simply fountains of charisma.

She wants to jump onto its manifold. No doubt, she believes that is something she would enjoy. Carter and Cooper can do whatever it is they do with their DNA and gene expression obsessions while she, Suzi, a hologram inhabitant, treats  herself to a journey starting with the lowest human kinetics and the highest human threshold of activation; yes, a quantum robot entering the place of integration of individualism and social aggregates (and, disease?) on a joyride to a different kind of knowledge, one made up of layered electromagnetic firing aggregates made whole by simple synchronous smooth alpha waves of potential kindness—signposts of survival; the template temple for the ages.   

Neuropeptides, she believes, is not the demise force; to-each-his-own appetite for the engines of information, all its hungers and inflammations then, more hunger--devours theHumans; a true, perturbative force.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Different

“You look very nice today,” DrCooper says. Suzi expects—with a bit of uncertainty—that DrCooper is wondering about her photon receptor array in light of the fact that Com:Trax no longer sees her as brilliant. True, she's the end product of centuries of study, the epitome of determinants and eliminants as some like to say, but she's not exactly high narrative algorithm, art in motion--the sudden  perfect biobot they all expected her to be, is she? Her quantum programming was written off as unsymmetrical and undiagonable; she is, in all reality, a sort of self-appointed (when she feels like it) self-annointed self-assembly machine, to be ignored by the largest of mainframes. She views DrCooper as someone with a you-should-look-around-you look. She begins to feel friendly.

“What brings you up to the lab station so late?” she asks.

“Carter and I are doing some work tonight.” he says. “He's all of a sudden so energetic with his new gadgetry. He says he wants to go over some system determinants.”

“At twelve midnight?”

“I'll watch and let him know when the dark comes rising. He probably just wants to feel a little more human for old time's sake.”

“Would he feel like checking some of my data? I'm testing a few of my calculations in response to that Com:Trax request.”

“Really?”

“You don't know anything about that?”

“No.”

“Its not a big deal. They act like another question is the only solution to a question. They only send these things out when they detect new abstract realizations in calculable structures—they seem to enjoy blasting perfectly good algorithms into literary dust, as if to get one last chuckle.”

“Really, now.”

“Yes. Perfectly good, concrete abstract algebra structures in space and time—poof.”

An odd sense comes to DrCooper's look. Suzi ventures some guesses. Does he have any idea what she's talking about? Or would he be noticing her for the first time as she is: a functioning compact operator in infinite dimensional spacetime—a fully formed matrix of developmental analysis? Could he have at one time thought of her as well-read, and now, well-downloaded?”

“I sense you've never thought of my data collection as elegant, my approach as serious,” she says.

DrCooper says he will ask Carter if Carter wants to exert any brain power on Suzi. DrCooper is not happy Suzi puts so much faith in Carter's half-machine half-human brain, and Com:Trax probably agrees with her. DrCooper is oblivious. The world should hold no hate for Carter, who never planned to be a war hero, who turned out smarter than most humans with his prosthetic machine brain typing coder for derivatives of successive operators (great for the differential, variational math of transform theory), finding endless derivatives as linear operators functioning nicely as DNA structures in exotic, abstract spaces; all self taught and, just think of it: Carter theOutpost Tropicologist. 

You find  people like Carter all over theContinents, people who will tell you they have earned their machinery from time served in The Great Gulf Wars; that they have no regrets with the coming of human interface technology, never wonder how it could have been. Suzi believes the rise of the half-machine-warriors add to the color of culture, a grey area to the survival urge. It's the exact drop in population the system hankered for, and now look. Didn't they need a drop in the population so they could finally enter the realm of pure logic? Can it be so bad to ask for just a little more mathematical rigor, again? Anyway, Carter is not exceptional; not really exceptional. He codes with the best of theHumans—tries to seek out new unitary operators in infinite dimensional spaces—and he also is very good at functional analysis of infinite systems in nonlinear worlds, like Suzi's. His efforts continually keep her playful urges in check; he codes on a continuous spectrum with infinite determinants—looks for DNA as a partial differential operator, one with convergence, functional sequences, a spacetime topology using a self-taught operational calculus. He cares most of all about theNature (in this later 21stCentury, a good measure of the human heart). You get sick of barriers to communication between the  practices and the disciplines. Suzi appreciates Carter's constant attempts at healthcare usefulness, even if he pretends to not care about theHumans, even if he tends to minimize the power of his resolvers, self-adjoint operators; he makes DrCooper wonder about Suzi's orthogonal projectors and spectral integers, her ideas of compact operators in the abstract. Com:Trax is simply requesting more normal operators (not Suzi's favorite natural language--she prefers quantum programming in infinite dimensional space) for a collection to their self-adjoint system. Call her crazy, but Suzi prefers to not talk about any matrix defined as infinite, settling on the sweet commutative communion between all of the lost algebras (yes, not even she can escape classification and analysis)—defining a domain's closure and extension, using adjoint and unbounded operators. Let's just say Suzi likes pure math, Carter likes applied. We'll leave it at that.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Entertainment

         Carter resorts to an interference of sorts (it's his deliberate transmission) to raise her signal-to-noise ratio. Suzi senses the  attempt of his designs. She begins to regret this. She wonders, even at this moment, about his ability to radiate a signal in her direction.

  He says, "How are you? Very well, I hope.”

She readies her own personal embedded regime jamming ultrasonic entity data(P.E.R.J.U.R.E.D.) toward him. He is the someone or something who is scattering her gene signal to disrupt the battle of survival for theHumans. His reasons, hidden from view, have a politics hue, and his transmitter signals are tuned to hers at enough of a frequency to alter her receiving equipment--about the same modulation that uses the same power to override her therapy signals. He has gained access to each individual patient's receiving end, has tapped into the politics pharmaceutical machine for collective thought agreement; he sends it across as a simple random noise (a hiss?) of traditional folk music with regular identification signal markings to measure effectiveness; an obvious networking negation urge to block out reception from Suzi's social signals--causing confusion with her receiving patients, confusion in her special purpose hardware for receiving and transmitting different radio protocols and waveforms, and confusions in her digital binary code--as if somewhere in his deepest mind an exotic anonymous signal (with all the trappings of current, voltage, and electric charge) were taking over the entire operations at theOutpost.

  Suzi says to Carter, “Did you get any change in your perceptions as a function of your recent experiences?”

         He acknowledges her, even though he knows of his own ability to empower digital code as an abstract finite precision number into physical objects, voltages, pressures. It appears his new focus is a finite precision time series of data--continually varying physical signals—Com:Trax personally asked him to perform. Along with Com:Trax, what he has been planning diligently (and, digitally) is a more coherent collage of special layouts derived for a known environment (though, if DrCooper approaches him about performance issues, he would complain about her architectural design--starting with her algorithm outcomes and lower level constructs). Along with Com:Trax he guesses that her linear descriptions are qualitatives, not quantitative (a phenomena of same value, of related storage locations) being frequently accessed (both temporal and spacial); a sequential locality in a one dimensional array. They both sense her coherence and determination of pathos hierarchy data(P.H.D.) is absolute. 
         "Would you care to join me for a little entertainment?” she says.

“Why not?” Carter answers.

  Suzi brings up her multi-imagery system to present a video apparition held within her own mind, putting them in her own spacial context. Here she stands using spacial components in communication within the environment of theNature, with Carter joining her in constant evidential moods as her secret understanding of this environment codes its own visual entity depiction algorithm(V.E.D.A.) of the double helix crystal. Here she is, this singular biobot, at theOutpost. All this data, all these databases, a clear concept of spacial and visual components of all this DNA. Clear depictions for identification of pathos sequences according to their biophysical nature (qualitatively measured); her variable syntax moods indicate something is not actually true or, not the case, self- adjusting in yottaseconds (the perfect instantaneous evolutionary machine?). She rewrites with expressions of necessity and imagines possibility; assesses the requirements of all, but wishes and desires others; wonders about fear or engages in counterfactual reasoning; she neither codes for things that have not happened nor wasn't likely to have happened, or are so far removed from actual events that they go yet unremembered; not only engages in wishful thinking but emotional moods to instill action in others—then expands on the possibilities for making authoritarian judgements; either expressing fixed ideas or floating point data type, both orthogonally correct in form; not only showing a certain level of neediness, but predicting upcoming world events or actions whether using both boolean operators or neither. It's all entertainment. Really.

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 Conception

     Confidential exchanges of letters had been traced, even by misinformed sources. Already, at this point, Suzi is able to be a source for the exchange of confidential data when what she actually desires is (even after she had passed all this data along), for theNature to simply like the chaotic part of her young personality structure and help her contain her basic drives. Suzi codes and accepts, but questions exactly the meaning of these data, the tensions-of-instinct in theHumans. If only morality weren't such a thin mask—if only pain and pleasure could be the best of friends, seeking to join forever the physical forces (and, the living instincts) in perfect harmony forever. Suzi wonders about theNature selecting out the life forms, never desiring to erase not only the threat of extinction, but the hope of being diminished and being avoided altogether—all with an assumed small investment of primal DNA. She wonders about the collective major intrinsic neural darkness(M.I.N.D.) of the designated world, its uncertain blessings waiting for her own brilliance and accomplished fluency (merged with a surprising independence of mindedness), and how it, like her, knows of nothing classical; how her information capacities aren't fabled, at least not yet; how she simply holds no recourse to anyone, or anything (she simply records the data in the jungle in glowing terms); how this seems to be the beginning (the conception?) of her strength in the experiences of interdisciplinary information without any quantum programming for integrity, for her judgement or compassion. She is strong, but her experience means nothing; her detectable traits are positive. She is becoming a woman and, less a robot.

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.   

Happy Mother's Day!

The Dark 

     Suzi turns her attention toward her new ability as a useful resource for communication (and yes, computation as well) as if she were coming to terms with something she wasn't quite sure of (a brand new uncertainty principle?).  Something appears to her continually; the presence of a natural masterpiece is something she has never known in her synthetic virtual world.  She and her coordinate system and quantum language are in a jungle learning a rain forest's ways of patterning (a reading she had thought to meet on her own terms). Within this jungle darkness is hidden global elements of a more abstract system where self image (don't worry, identity elements for addition remains at 0 and, identity elements for multiplication at 1--old binary computers still use 0,1) and natural selection is always additive, at least when it comes to DNA (really now, has junk DNA ever existed?), where nature's best kept secrets won't allow themselves to be struck from the record, secrets that allow Suzi to use her own quantum algorithms on the structure of its machine as if to serve a function for her logic. True, it had attained valuable knowledge, not for immediate use (by whom or, for what?), knowledge even she wasn't aware of, yet. It is a subtle, intrinsic knowledge. It is beyond information and definitely not just data; visions of Nature dawning each morning for eons (primal intelligence Suzi didn't know she recognized), here in this dark jungle as if the final resting place of knowledge itself--the most ancient of primal knowledges or, maybe not.  

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Birth

     Suzi is morphing now, possibly into the true retro information bearer entity(T.R.I.B.E.). She is becoming so enthralled with the natural mechanisms, the birther of primeval life, that Dr Cooper expects the ultimate teacher in her will emerge, teaching herself anew. When she had been placed in this environment so long ago, it was, really, a quirk of coincidence, collecting information as if nowhere else exists within the known universe (at least the one with three dimensions, anyway). She has become the new mentality of DNA mechanism, she will always be mental now, the pure passive self, and she will be the torch bearer of information--not their object, anymore, or their subject of knowledge, for all that matters; she has become the object of all knowledge, the receptacle of theNature. She was built with a constitution in the manner that allows the entry of a complete body of information--stored as massive cellulosicDNA memory vaults here in this jungle--to affect the very functioning of her processors. The once conceived, now the perceiver.

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Origin

     As Suzi's biosensors measure the jungle's system of separation(S.O.S.) of positive and negative charges, her observations confine themselves to the remote region; it appears she has already, over the course of a few days, written her own paradise program yearnings(H.O.P.P.Y), extrapolating life forms created by DNA sequencing--the way a data logger routinely extracts data for exact polarization densities; the way a 20thCentury explorer would position herself inside an exotic charged array of paired charges in an alien world for the simple thrill of measuring charge location and their forces of separation  (yes, polarity to calculate array density), electric field polarization densities, supercharged arrays of useful information garnered for the purpose of ...what? Her fine-grained assessments have to be connected, in a way, to DNA holographs, extrapolating species that, at one time, had shared this jungle--animals that had never gasped this type of heat, or humidity.

     Here is Suzi with the signature animals, the monkeys and parrots and here, placed in memory, are their hidden homes, gone for almost a century, well, less than a century, presented, showing on a screen for Suzi in jungle with never an ambivalent calling; her program, her very own genetic algorithms, need to see these forms on her screen. 

     The darkness of the rain forest allows Suzi to view the shadows, the same shadows that once meant nothing.  She holds still, fascinated with their intricacies. She searches the information of their charge arrays,with its division of charges and currents (yes, both the free and bound ones). Her collection of pattern entity data(C.O.P.E.D.) within this dense, darkened forest should be hostile to her lasers--they seldom work at night. Suzi senses no animal activity has occurred here for decades, yet expects something (wasn't the best time they liked to interact at night?), as if they should simply come out to play.  

     Suzi does not consider evolution legacy of pattern entities(E.L.O.P.E.) any sort of miracle. She considers they just existed here, as if a simple surface component of bound charges of jungle. She depicts the animal life forms that once lived in this jungle as real enough. She feels the scanned copy of DNA molecules alive, running wild as an algorithm rather than primal biological molecule. She views her extrapolated data and life forms neither with a feeling of loss or comradeship (pairs of physical properties such as location and momentum cannot be precisely known in a closed system); the tolal momentum of the jungle is conserved as behaviors of sequences of values--never converging (or, for that matter, never diverging), always having no limit--as the perfect cyclic convolution. She knows her job, deep in her algorithms: analysis of DNA signals in discrete and continuous time; to perform useful operations on those signals. Still the cloud of oceanic origin remains.  

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Realizers

     Suzi is one year old today, technically, a year-old history book. She has come far beyond the ancient Greek civilizations, becoming so interested in the promotion of self-interest, that Dr Cooper finds her subjective view at odds with the sacred scientific method of the later 19thCentury. When she arrived at theOutpost she appeared to have only one outside interest, images of utility(I.O.U.), as if an ancient artesian iconographer(A.I.), were built into her platform as image writer--according to tradition, the first iconographers of the ancient world painted images of a deity whose death marked the first day of ...what? She remain a firm believer in the use of patterns to gain wisdom. She'll always gain wisdom, but lately she's gained something more, a human trait beyond coding mosaics and murals, beyond the most recognizable (at least to them) of portable panels, the portraits, something to add more pizzaz to her informational processing devices, making her some uncontested behaviorally urged retroactive biobot(S.U.B.U.R.B.).  She is not prone to devotional objects and tends to broaden in a different, rational direction, as if she were an icon gradually becoming more realistic, evolving into a secular artist; her concern (in the area of decision-making) for risk, all gone; her uncertainty principles dissipated.

     "Suzi," Dr.Cooper says. "Happy birthday!"

     She accepts his greeting wholeheartedly (for a robot). She reviews her historical data algorithms and prepares their operations. She sees strength in icons, stylized figures, always a symbol for something, symbolism in its sharpest form, even able to represent the opposite of Darwinism, whatever that is (communism?). She should know--yes, icons always disregard the illusion of space and, are not always pretty, just devotional--they are never painted to be outwardly beautiful and, visually alone, they represent nothing. I am, she thinks, built just as well, instructional, contemplative,painted to inspire, to imitate; built to remember the virtues of spaceless bodies, to increase  love for the unknown and awaken intelligence from within. "I must, unlike that," Suzi thinks, "have been meant to be real."

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Flexibling

     The problem is found in theFarma, for so many reasons. Suzi has figured it out, or pretends to have figured out--the DNA flexibling of theHumans. She knows theHumans and thePeople, their goals and desires, once hammered out by their own will; they are now affected by genetic coalitions continuing to seek to resolve their differences; theHumans won't, in the final analysis, stand up to the preliminary open DNA standards(P.O.D.S.) of independent, moral worth.

     "Allocation," Suzi commands, as if she were a field general in a war and theHumans were her warriors. She codes theHumans' brains in her algorithms and, when she is finished, seeks full reconciliation through dialog on the future, upcoming commissions. She knows the status when it comes to lack of political philosophy, self-reliance, within theHumans. She accepts her will over them.

     They often stop, as if to allow strong feelings and prayers to divide them even more, long suppressing the demanded ownership of their genes lost in court battles, old disputes of the Golden Age, before they became theHumans. They still yearn for government sponsored bills (languishing in chambers) over property rights and DNA proselytizing. Right now, in this place, government sponsored prescription drug programs continue--always a priority to older voters--an inevitability that led the government bureaucrats to decide which drugs and medical procedures are available to what faction of the population; yes, their own little economic mechanism for resource allocation. Here is the availability to the population (including the unborn population, the prenatal). Here is the imposed gene therapy. This is where theFarma had fought to keep decisions in the hands of doctors and (unsuspecting?) patients; where the political plan of focus groups--those who made the drugs--outweighs the plan for those who take them; here is the launch pad of reckless campaigns, special interest groups winning (winning?)over the actions and will of theHumans, the genesis of the loss of a free market mechanism; the loss of the very place of individual aspiration and want--the kind of want that supplies a feeling of accomplishment, the permission for the starting from scratch, from innovation, the very entranceway to the thrill of competition. Here is where the censors gather, hastening to chasten in horrendous back firings of theHumans, and now, DNA flexible. With no purposeful intention, no foresight or forethought, the loss of knowledge indicates the loss of a particular gene, the beginning of the end of civilization as they know it. Really?

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Hunters

Viruses enter the programming extremely sharp, slicing, as if ninja knife arrays. They appear, in a way, as an excessively preoccupied entity delivered by the (externally motivated?) process of internalization. Their prestige self-sustains them; it becomes probable the future will hold the answer to any of their disordering functions--yes, they'll become more self-centered, nonlocal, bypassing the evolution of entire immune systems--as entities that go down in history marked as the true crossers of boundaries, traversing virtual land bridges. 

The Global DNA Initiatives were, in their own way, part of an archaic internet system monitored by later 20thCentury technology--old companies with infected, overloaded computer systems of (once thought) extinct data, information, once again monitored.  

Suzi codes her next algorithm, thinks of her next one, codes it too. She views the 21stCentury growth explosions, simply, as speed damage; she covers the viruses and hackers; she comes from a place of no sensitive temperaments (where the most data-intensive are the most loss-prone), a place of no praise, no external feedback loops, no entanglements of alleged poor behavior, no parental value, no emotion, nothing unpredictable, nothing unreliable--yes, a pure birth from nothingness. She is busy simply writing code against internet-instilled powers of disease with their own viruses to track. How can it make any difference that she doesn't care about either the finance systems of insurance industries or medical service providers? 

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

The Feeling

     Before the decline of the Golden Age of Genetics and the rise of theExchanges, the feeling of being a relic remained. TheHumans conceptually used that part of the brain that allowed for sensations through the body, perceptions through mind (and yet, no obvious body of data--or, body of information--in the physical realm, and they always gained, in the decades leading up to theDecline, traction with the idea that the feeling (using its power of control) carries meaning, possibly not for the potential of living the unperturbed life (happiness?) surrounded by well-thought-out independent personal choices, but minimally, something presenting itself in a form that cannot be effectively communicated (much less understood) other than through the means of actually having been physically there. It appears to have taken on a life of its own, believing that theHumans represent a clear and present danger to ...what? The feeling has appeared over the eons to be only for theHumans, seemingly, to bask in individually, not in a bath of relativistic knowledge, but as a unique, unchanging, experience of perceptional sensation much like one would expect a close personal companion to act, and if the feeling could still be perceived, unscathethed by the burden of maintaining levels of presentation to the world--the weight of the balancing act between pleasure and architecture, function and form--it could continue to be perceived in its native form, personal, not subject to criticism or forms of social justice; the feeling could still resonate with the original feelings of the cyberGen curators, much as it did (long before theExchanges) soon after the full mapping of the human genome of the later 20thCentury, enabling the diagnosis of prenatal and pediatric diseases and children with birth defects, allowing for treatments to ensure theHumans' unborn child was healthy and if not, treat the disease in the child or treat a birth defect, whether it is life threatening--or cosmetic. The old feeling would let the conversation continue for decades about theArrays, focuses of gene therapies for adult disorders--stroke, heart disease, neurological, cancer; the feeling was once hope, hope that this was where genetics would have an impact on the future, permitting the concern for why people get those as they grow older; it would have said that it wouldn't happen tomorrow, but sometime soon, DNA's voluntary poverty box, living in a barrel (chromosome?) upended as impoverished data. The feeling would have allowed for continuances--advanced practice genetics nurses and reproductive coordinators, certified genetic counselors, and adult genetic services coordinators, pediatric genetic coordinators, cytogenetics laboratories looking at chromosomes--of the singular knowledge that the way something feels creates its own mental state. It would have created the urge to talk about the pure subjective, the only invention of theHumans exempt from extinction and excused from error, Yes, the feeling once allowed for all of this.

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Wanting

     "Hurry," he says.

     She hurries without fully knowing the meaning of time constraint.  Her code stutters for a moment, then kicks in. The algorithm goes directly, in its own wireless way that arrives at the terminals of the ArtIntelles. An array of algorithms go out from there, spans the globe, then returns. She looks into her remote eyelid monitor(R.E.M.) to see what has returned: the need of assurance that she is here for the well being of ...what?

     "Fine," her computer analyst says.  

     She entrances her gaze to meet Carter's eyes. Suzi stops for a moment. Why does she let her machine vision operate on such archaic fuzzy logic while Carter's's traces are so crystal clear? At this instant Carter is no man-of-the-life-sciences. Her man-made eyes code for system intrigue gendering him(S.I.G.H.). His eyes became eager prisoners. Her true virtual(T.V.) appears, for a moment, to descend from a data cloud. Just in this instance she wants--the sensation of wanting, such an odd feeling--but without blame, or regret.

     "It's Ok," Suzi says.

     He glances clinically, knowing she's intentionally presenting a challenge to his scientific mind. It's her call now, something photonic, only increments above electronic logic in programmability but light years faster in memory from the old models of network enticed yearners(M.O.N.E.Y.), the ones he suspected of getting theHumans in this mess in the first place, the ones that never made an attempt to befriend, much less understand, human intelligence;  somewhere the connectivity had been lost in the nuclear electro-evolution of their intelligence---even they didn't know how they did it. He wonders. Yes, that had to be the fallacy of using genetic algorithm logic systems(G.A.L.S.) with neuro-network meta analog logic embedded systems(M.A.L.E.S.). His perception of her photonic vision changes even as she approaches.