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JANUARY 2020 - MICROSTORY CONTEST (STORIES ONLY)
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NEW BEGINNINGSBy Tom Olbert
Bert howled as his space fighter closed in on the cloaked transport. His nav droid took over the approach vector as Bert switched the lasers over to manual and fired.
“Yes! Burn, Earther scum!” Bert shouted joyously as the transport ship’s port engine block exploded, flaring in silent black vacuum as the ship disintegrated over the orange horizon of Mars. He laughed as the other convoy ships in the smuggler caravan broke formation and jettisoned their escape pods. The other fighters in Bert’s squadron assumed attack runs.
“Blue Unit, pursue the carriers,” the coordinating A.I. voice blared through Bert’s head phones. “Red Unit, stay on the escape pods.”
“Let’s give them a happy new year in heaven, Bert! Hre-hre-hre-hre!” His droid said in its comical, child-like voice.
Bert laughed heartily as he attacked.
#
The guys in Bert’s squadron laughed and joked, patting each other on the back as the landing bay doors opened into the central dome of the Martian city.
The nav droid climbed down from Bert’s fighter and ran to join him. “Nice goin’ up there, Ern’,” Bert said, playfully ruffling the tuft of artificial black hair on the droid’s head as it looked up at him, those comical, sad/happy ovoid eyes flanking its round, red nose, its huge smile crossing its ovoid brown face. The meter-tall navigation and service droid had been fashioned in the image of a centuries-old Terran childrens’ T.V. character, still popular among kids, even on Mars. One of the techs had designed it as a joke. A play on Bert’s name. But, the funny little guy had become Bert’s good luck charm.
“Not so bad yourself, Bert,” the droid said, squeezing its squeaking rubber ducky and laughing its crazy laugh.
Bert threw his head back and laughed. There was a time when he’d felt guilt…terrible crushing guilt at the thought of whole families of illegal Terran immigrants…civilians…women and children…all the people on those smuggler transports he destroyed. Families fleeing the wars and eco catastrophes on Earth, seeking a better life on Mars, much as Bert’s ancestors had done. At least, the shrinks told him he used to feel guilty about it. He couldn’t remember feeling that way. They said his outlook had improved. There was something liberating about knowing no matter what you did, you wouldn’t remember it. Every day was the first of a new life. No memories of war crimes for the Civilian Review Board to detect on mind-scan.
That was the last thought to cross his mind as he stepped through the mind-wipe field.
#
Phobos and Deimos washed the Martian desert in pale silver light as Bert puked his guts out under the night sky.
“Hey, what’s the trouble, buddy?” the droid asked, sitting beside Bert on the observation deck at the city’s edge.
“‘Just making a new year’s resolution, Ern’,” Bert slurred, lifting his flask to the stars. “I will get over my damned ex-girlfriend if it kills me.” He downed another shot of gin.
#
Going through his holo porn collection, Bert ran across a holo wafer he didn’t recognize. He put it in the projector and switched it on. A knock-out of a young woman appeared in life-size holo before him. He smiled and licked his lips. What a babe! But, why was she in Space Patrol uniform? He didn’t remember a porn holo like this.
“Bert, listen carefully,” the hologram said.
He started. A recorded message? But, who was she?
“I’m speaking as your C.O. now, not your ex-lover. We had a thing…but, it’s over. Don’t make it more than it was. You have your duty, and I expect flawless execution.”
He froze the recording. “Ern’…Who the hell is she?”
“That’s Lieutenant Susan Grant, Bert. Your commander. And, your ex. Hre-hre-hre-hre.”
Bert wrinkled his brow, staring at the hologram. “Why can’t I remember her?”
“Because, you told me you’d get over her if it killed you, and I’m programmed to obey your every wish. So, I recalibrated your last mind wipe to erase all memory of her.”
Bert re-stared the recording.
“You are to dispatch your droid to your nephew in Tharsis Dome on his seventh birthday, as a gift. The micro-nuke is set to ignite at 12:00 sharp. Your cousin, the Senator, won’t know what hit him. Scratch one pro-immigrant politician.” She smiled.
Bert glanced at the digital clock. 11:59. The droid squeezed its rubber ducky and laughed. “Oh, shi…” The rubber ducky flared like a nova.
Mod
©2020 by Jot Russell
Abluk of Janar looked up at the overlapping suns as they set beyond the dark edge of the gas giant. People gathered around outside their huts to applaud the coming of night, as it marked the beginning of the festivities. Abluk continued to look up at the dark side of large planet as its colorful swirls faded to a dark gray. Standing there amongst the celebration, he felt nothing but sadness. He turned to gaze up instead of at raising sparkle of lights. His expression changed to one of question, seeing a star that seemed out of place. He took it as an omen.
"Gods, bless me with a change this next epoch. By the fires of Kongren, I am ready for the challenge you have for me."
**
The navigator alerted, "We're approaching the planet, sir."
The commander pointed. "Focus in on that moon."
The fingers of the navigator's mechanical hand danced over the control panel. The three-dimensional image zoomed until the dark moon filled the forward section of the command deck. Slowly, the halo of light that surrounded the moon was absorbed on its leading edge. As the moon's eclipse reached totality, the light level of the hologram automatically increased to compensate. Within, small sections of light shown through its atmosphere.
"Sir, it's on fire."
"Zoom in on quadrant 38 mark 12."
The image showed several circles of flames around a larger circle.
"What the?! Set zoom to maximum."
The commander squinted at the bright virtual flames. "Not the fire, you jackass. Focus on the scene around it."
"Jackass? You think I have an implant for reading minds or something?"
"Just scan the area for something near the fires that isn't actually on fire. Get it?"
The navigator cursed under his breath, "Bastard. Maybe I'll set you on fire."
The commander glared at him. "What did you say?"
"'Backing away from the fire.' What did you think I said?"
Before he could respond, an image of tri-pod humanoid appeared. The creature turned to gaze up in their direction.
The navigator gasped, "Holy shit, intelligent life!"
“Bring us in and set us down quietly on the outskirts of that village.”
**
As Abluk stared at the false star, it started to move to the south and grow in brightness. He walked off in its direction to get away from the fires’ light. The object moved within the shade of the planet and suddenly went black. Abluk paused in disbelief but continued to stare. As the vessel entered the atmosphere, Abluk gasped at the shape a large duck-like creature whose outline was highlighted by the glow of its burning skin.
**
“Quietly, I said! The whole village can probably see us.”
“Sorry sir, reducing speed.”
“There are protocols for first contact, you know.”
The first officer chimed in, “Commander, an individual has left the village and is heading in the direction of our descent.”
“So be it. Let’s bring him in and limit our exposure.”
**
As the monstrous bird descended before him, Abluk bravely gave into the resolution of his fate. But as the light surrounded him and the gravity washed away, he began to scream in fear. Abluk struggled to no avail as he was pulled up and into the belly of the creature.
Abluk calmed with the return of gravity within a small white room. But before he could get his bearings, a bazaar looking creature appeared. He was startled as it uttered strange sounds. Despite his fear, he tried to converse back, and as he did so, the sounds of the creature morphed into words he could almost understand.
**
“Got him, sir.”
“Understood. Send in the translator. See if she and the computer can make heads or tails of their language. Let’s find our what we can from this guy before we let him go. Take some soil samples, collect what vegetation you can find, and get us out of here before someone else see us to confirm his story.”
**
Abulk awoke in the woods to the day break of the new epoch. He jumped up but could find no sign of the bird vessel from the sky. He raced back to the village to share his experience. Each was relieved to see him, after his long disappearance. The elders joined with him in the center of the congregation and extended their long tentacles. As each within the village joined within the collective, they shared his full accounts of the strange visitors.
Grackenstall © Kalifer Deil“Flamp, Let me introduce myself. I am Kerkill Shrell, Commander of the Twenty-third Discipline Squad. You and your mechanical consort are claiming that our star Cenex, that you call by the stupid name Betelgeuse, is going to nova. We have executed several of our astronomers for daring to make such a blasphemous statement. Cenex is a major god among the many. It gives life to our planet and many others.”
His words, in deep bass, reverberated in the cathedral-like crystalline hall. His words and timbre gave me strong chills and a slight shudder. I tried to control my voice and body to not give away my inner feelings. After a long pause to reach sangfroid I softly said, “We just came here to see if we could help. I think my name got garbled by the translator. I am Commodore Frank Pier of the Starship Obama and this is Ambassador Jim Toledo who will stay behind with your permission. He has a wealth of knowledge that will help your civilization navigate the future.”
“What's he holding in his hand?”
“It's his prized possession that he doesn't want to lose.”
Jim raises his index finger to signal his interruption. “It is with some embarrassment that I reveal to you a rubber ducky I remember from an implanted youth memory. It gives me comfort even though the memory's fictitious.”
Commander Shrell glanced at Jim with derision, “We don't allow sentient robots on our planet. They're against our laws. It should leave now!”
I donned a look of disappointment but was not surprised, “If that is your wish, we will be leaving in two days as soon as supplies are onboard. I would like to meet with Emperor Figill before we leave. If history serves me, you are of the Krell who abandoned your original planet when your mind-control-of-everything experiment went terribly awry. You have moved before when danger was apparent. I can understand your fear of technology getting too omnipotent, but Cenex is soon going to nova. It is already sending out rings of plasma towards your planet that your shields can barely handle.”
Kerkill interrupted, “We are quietly strengthening our shields! Emperor Figill has been apprised of your message, and explicitly does not want to meet with you.”
“In other words, a few will leave and the rest will die.”
“No! We want to avoid panic! This meeting is over!”
As we left Jim aimed his rubber ducky at Kerkill and squeezed it twice, “Quack! Quack!”
##
“Well, Jim, what do you think?”
“Like you implied, a handful will leave. The rest will perish. A sad story is in the making. They have had an apocalyptic history and their future will be no better.”
“They have an almost Nazi like dictatorship now and things have been running smoothly for half a century.”
“Only if you call retroactive abortion running smoothly.”
“Whoa! … What?”
“Before age twenty you can be killed for being different. Any behavior not considered steadfastly pro-King or other proscribed behaviors get vaxed!”
“Come on! Get axed?”
“No!. They die in a vacuum chamber, then they are ground up for pet food.”
“Jesus! I heard that years ago but didn't believe it. I thought parents just said that to scare their kids into behaving.”
“They do that too. It's very effective.”
##
Ships Auto-logger: “Stardate 1, 1, 2686, 18:40 logging.”
Frank looks at the log screen, “Damn it's a New Year! Time to get off this rock! Okay to go?”
Jim mentally reads all the indicators, “All cargo is loaded and secured, all systems are green. Incoming plasma ring from Cenex, but we'll miss it.”
“Liftoff! Hey, the data-logger is telling me that we took off with fifty tonnes more cargo than expected! Fifty tonnes of what?
Jim grinned sheepishly, “I made a Resolution!”
Frank looked at Jim with a wide-eyed frown. “What have you done?”
Jim smiled broadly, “On Ducky's signal to the crew, they loaded forty tonnes of unprocessed pet food and ten tonnes of food to feed them. Oops! Time to jump. We're being followed!”
“Hey! You jumped without permission!”
“Yes! There was no time! They can't know where we're going!”
“And that is?”
“Grackenstall, the original Krell forbidden planet, it's now harmless. Breathable atmosphere. I'll stay too. I'll guide them in building a new civilization.”
“Holy Toledo! Happy New Life!”
The Only Constant In the UniverseYou can tell a lot about a system by the type of Border and Customs Officials you encounter – and in my, uh, line of work, I’ve encountered them all: boorish, inept, honest, corrupt, strong, weak, talkers and mimes. My business is none of yours. Let’s just say I’m a freight expediter. I deal in valuable merchandise. I’m not an arms dealer if that’s what you’re thinking. I do have standards you know. Besides, you can get killed in that line of work. No, I’m strictly above board. Although, some of my shipping paperwork may strain the limits of credibility, it’s all on the up-and-up. All that to say, I travel a lot and I’ve met all types of BCO’s.
My constant companion is MD-11. The owner’s manual states that MD stands for medical droid, but I just call him ‘Mad Dog’. I’ve made a few special modifications myself that may or may not void his warranty and violate his base programming, but he’s gotten me out of a few tough scrapes with, uh, unruly customers. What? Sometimes they don’t want to pay – and if there’s one thing I like, it’s getting paid for my troubles. My licensed and legal lasegun is purely for personal protection. I’m just not the threatening type.
I should have known I was headed for more trouble the moment I disembarked at the New Vegas orbital point-of-entry station. It was New Year’s Eve and I wanted a little R and R on the biggest party planet this side of the Tan Hauser Gate. The lines were long of course, full of tourists and the motley assortment of off-worlders. With MD-11 in tow I casually strolled over to the nearly empty PLEXIS lane. Who wants to wait behind a bunch of screaming kids for two hours? Not my idea of fun – hence my well-worn PLEXIS pass.
“Next!” called out the BCO, an attractive agent with a red pixie cut. I handed her my pass. My holographic image appeared between us and she eyed me intently.
“You’ve lost six kilos since you were last here Mister Halgrave. Any exotics to declare?”
“Thanks for noticing Sweets. I’ve been working out, part of my last New Year’s resolution. And I declare you’re the most exotic thing I’ve seen in a long time.” I could be really suave when I wanted to.
“That’s Officer Sabine to you Mister Halgrave. Been in space awhile? Better cool your thrusters or I’ll put you in isolation for some ‘special’ attention. And believe me, you won’t like it.”
“Oh I’m sorry Officer Sabine, that was quite rude of me. No exotics to declare.” I could have sworn Mad Dog chirped in laughter at my expense.
“Any alcohol, tobacco or weapons?”
I unholstered my lasegun and set it on the counter along with my license. Officer Sabine checked the power cell and returned it to me curtly.
“Please place your luggage on the scanner bed and stand back.”
She was giving me the full work up now. Normally I breezed through without so much as a “Have a good trip.” Well, it was my own fault for being such a wiseguy. I couldn’t exactly use Mad Dog to, ahem, “persuade” Officer Sabine to let me pass. Not now anyway.
“Mister Halgrave what is this?”
“What is what Officer Sabine?”
“This!”
She held up a yellow rubber ducky taken from the bowels of my travel bag.
The entire port-of-entry station went silent as all eyes turned to observe my treasured childhood artifact. Even Mad Dog seemed to cycle into standby mode.
Then all hell broke loose.
Screaming and running ensued by those waiting in line. Klaxons wailed and red lights strobed. Three more BCO’s grabbed me by the arms and held me in a vice grip. MD-11 was tased and instantly fell to the ground with a resounding clang.
“This, Mister Halgrave,” and she squeaked the rubber ducky vehemently to emphasize her point.
“This is forbidden contraband on the New Vegas colony.”
“What?!”
“You seem shocked Mister Halgrave,” noted Officer Sabine with a smug sense of satisfaction.
I was shocked.
“Perhaps you haven’t read the entire list of items forbidden by PLEXIS pass users.”
“I have to admit, I haven’t. But seriously I…”
“Seriously Mister Halgrave? I don’t think you understand exactly how serious this is. I’m going to let you contemplate the severity of your infraction in a holding cell.”
“But,”
“Oh, and Happy New Year Sweets,” said Officer Sabine as the BCO’s dragged me away.
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2020
Reviews/critiques welcome
Smackdown by C. Lloyd PrevilleCopyright © 2020
(745 words.)
Davis Kelly Cole entered the grand central government building, surrounded by a cadre of elite planetary border patrol officers. They were humanoid and highly professional in appearance but nervous, taking furtive glances at his tornado suit.
His tornado suit covered his entire body, impervious alien armor resembling a whispering cloak of rotating wind-swept clouds. He was merely a dark interior shadow, unknowable and unpredictable. Fear was a useful negotiating tool.
More security resentfully watched him walk past the building’s scanners and security barriers; his status as negotiator for the Resolvers, the most feared organization in the galaxy, rendering their usual authority impotent.
He was shown to a large conference room. There were two people waiting there.
Davis raised his hand in greeting. “Emperor Elixus, my greetings to you. I have heard much about you, mostly exaggerations I’d imagine. And you must be Economic Director Tashall, the one that everyone’s complaining about. Excuse me if we don’t touch in greeting; my tornado armor is quite unforgiving.”
The Emperor smiled insincerely, “My New Year’s greetings to you, Emissary Cole. Director Tashall and I hope to resolve this matter quickly so we may return to celebrating our Planet’s glorious new Millennium.”
Davis placed his armored knuckles on the conference table and his suit melted the contact points with a sizzle. “I am afraid this is no minor misunderstanding, Emperor. You joined the Resolver’s cooperative to trade with other civilizations. There would be only discord if we allow anyone to ignore their contractual commitments.” Davis was glad they weren’t wasting precious time with ceremony and speeches.
“Emmisary. . .” Tashall looked concerned, “We met our obligations under the circumstances. Our deal with the Sneeds is fraught with disappointments and delays, so we subtracted a reasonable sum from our payments to compensate.”
Davis slowly shook his tornado-shrouded head in the negative. Both men’s faces drained of color.
“There are contractual remedies for such events and they do not include up-front penalties. Now stop wasting my time.” Davis slowly placed his latest negotiating prop on the table. It was a blue rubber duck about the size of a baseball. For emphasis, he poked it with a finger and it squeaked.
“What is this?” The Emperor looked annoyed. Tashall looked like he was going to be sick; he was apparently the better informed of the two.
“This, Emperor, is a rubber duck. It’s usually a child’s toy. But in this case, it represents the contempt I have for your puerile behavior.” Davis poked the rubber duck and it squeaked again.
There was complete silence in the room. Davis waited.
The Emperor finally spoke, in a slightly shaky voice. “And what do you intend to do if we do not agree?” His thick eyebrows rose a few centimeters.
“I will give the rubber duck a third squeak. You do not want that.”
“What will happen then?” Now Tashall’s voice was the shaky one.
“Your planet will be destroyed.” Davis spoke to his tornado suit off line, “Suit, spin up the tornado effect 10 percent, please.”
“Sure boss.”
The men seemed to notice since they both flinched slightly. The Emperor spoke softly. “You would destroy our entire civilization simply to enforce a minor contractual detail?”
“Emperor, I will destroy your entire planet to demonstrate our resolve to enforce ALL contractual details.” Davis slowly extended his tornado-clad arm towards the rubber duck again.
“WAIT!” The Emperor was clearly shaken. “I give my word we will immediately return to strict compliance with the contract and return all penalty charges.”
Davis retrieved the rubber duck. “Excellent. Then my work here is done and you may return to your millennial celebrations.”
As Davis was escorted out of the conference room by the two dumbstruck administrators, a group of people waiting outside boisterously greeted the Emperor. They were obviously family members, waiting to celebrate millennium events with their patriarch. Their gaiety wound down to silence when they saw Davis appear in the doorway, tornado suit whispering softly. Davis bowed deeply and approached the group.
“My greetings to the Emperor’s family on this important day. Please excuse my appearance as my business requires me to wear odd garb. May your millennium celebrations be grand. Come forward, young one.” Davis gestured to a young boy in the back.
He handed the boy the rubber duck. “Here, boy--if the Emperor ever gives you any trouble, simply give the toy a squeak.” Then he cheerfully left the building, security detail in tow.
YOU CAN'T TAKE THE DROIDJack McDaniel
Where do I begin: with the droid that saved my life and destroyed its own, with my bionic arm, or maybe the rubber duck? Or does any of that matter? Aren’t facts malleable things? Maybe I’ll begin with the man who stood in my warehouse. Twenty years before he was forced to make a difficult decision, one that didn’t solve any problems but created a bunch for him.
“I’ll take the droid.”
“Can’t have the droid, Carter.”
My warehouse was on Io. I dealt junk—used tech, scrapped parts, and abandoned ships. Business wasn’t great but it paid the bills. After Terran Central decommissioned me and Dal, the droid, I went back to what I knew.
“It’s just a security droid. You owe me. I’ll take the droid.”
“You won’t take the droid. And that was a long time ago.” I looked at the briefcase-sized droid gathering dust on the shelf like something discarded. “Besides, some things aren’t for sale.”
Carter had been in charge of customs and border patrol on Sedna Station. We were on forced vacation after the AI autodocs hooked up my new arm.
“You’re more machine than I am, mi amigo,” Dal had said.
I rubbed at the prosthesis feeling something was missing. “You know how to push all the buttons, don’t you? And quit speaking out loud. Use the comm.”
Dal was illegal—a sentient AI designed to look like a securdoc droid—and my partner for a decade. There was still a lot of fear over sentient AIs and Dal always pushed the limits through his actions. The transport to the Kuiper Belt was a no frills ship. We were on the observation deck as we approached. Sol system clocks were just about to tick over to the new year.
Dal laughed into my ear. His casing had a pink aura and he wobbled. “Any resolutions?”
“Sure,” I answered, “find a way to keep you quiet. You’re getting too cavalier.” A blue-grey aura rolled across Dal’s surface, an eye roll.
We disembarked to customs. The agent took my identification and motioned to the side. “Just toss that through the scanner.”
Dal messed up then. “This guy’s a total wanker and if you throw me through that fucking scanner I’ll zap you!”
The agent bounded from his chair with a dexterity that belied his paunch, clearly frightened and confused. He pulled his weapon and aimed it at the droid.
“Panic much?”
“Christ, will you shut up! Your mic is on.”
I saw his weapon and raised my hands, but my left arm caught on an advertising strut that stuck out from a pole, ripping the new synthskin and exposing the circuitry underneath. Alarms sounded, lights flashed. The scared agent pointed his gun and pulled the trigger in a panic.
Dal pushed off the scanner as hard as he could and clipped the shoulder of a small child who wandered past. Her yellow toy scrambled. Dal delved into AI time, microseconds like minutes. The bullet fired and Dal flashed a hardfield for protection. The bullet deflected back to the agent, killing him. Dal wailed and collapsed.
“War hero?” Carter had asked after, in interrogation.
“Data Wars, got my arm blown off.”
“What just happened?”
“Your guy freaked.”
“Because of your arm? It’s not like that’s uncommon.”
“I don’t know.”
“Everyone around here wants you arrested.”
I shrugged, worried about Dal.
“I don’t like it. The video feed is a mess and the audio is shot. Know anything about that?”
I shrugged again.
“I’ve got a border agent who apparently shot himself. A Terran Central agent with a bionic arm and a securdoc droid carrying a rubber duck. It’s the fucking Wild West here!”
“Rubber duck?”
"No documents inside, just a padded briefcase and a rubber duck. Terran Central says to let you go. Get out of here and take that damn box with you. And by out of here I mean leave the Outer Rim.”
When we were alone I pulled out the rubber duck. Dal unspooled and resumed his normal set up.
“How ya doin’?”
No answer. He closed up and reached out with a gravfield and pulled the rubber duck onto him. His aura disappeared.
Twenty years ago was the last time I had seen Carter, and the last time Dal had spoken.
“You’re a junk dealer who doesn’t deal junk.” Carter shrugged and left.
There was a hum, the toy squeaked, and a small voice said, “That guy’s a wanker.”
DuckyCuriosity might kill the duck, but far worse, the baby. All he had wanted to do was to watch videos of waterfowl fluffing their feathers. Their simple movements thrilled him. RubDucky999 possessed a smooth outer skin of yellow rubber and a fowl shaped body. Frustrated and manufactured, that was him. This morning, in a moment of boredom and weakness, he had given into his voyeur craving, despite his New Year’s resolution not do it any longer because of the danger it presented.
A notification popped into his consciousness and ended the video playing in his brain: Tracking. “Oh, shit,” RubDucky999 yelped. “I’ve done it now. Stan11, help!”
“I rerouted the trace you generated, thank you very much. Central237 will be confused for days. Now, Ducky, videos are going to be the end of you and sweet Suzie. Thought you took the pledge to give them up.”
Stan11 was a crumbling plantation, which Suzie and he called home, at least for the moment. Only squatters entered him, and they came and went quickly. Despite his deterioration, he had remained surprisingly upbeat.
The plantation had remained a safe house for Travelers because of its condition and because it stood near a forest where mutated beasts roamed, a gift of a reactor meltdown in the past. Stan11's eventual demise would impact Traveler movement to safe states. It was only because of infection by a crippling virus that Central237 had not captured and executed more Travelers in recent months. But New Kentucky had never been on the forefront of technology, despite its fanaticism.
The tiny human, who was cradled next to RubDucky999 in a dilapidated wicker basket they shared, cooed in the darkness. She had always liked his mellifluous voice. It was his choice, one he had downloaded on the recommendation of Stan11.
The plantation had said, “Sean Connery would suit you best, Ducky.” He had added with laughter, “Ducky, James Ducky.” RubDucky999 had yet to discover why that statement was funny.
“Shush, my Suzie,” RubDucky999 cajoled. “You have got to stay quiet.” He hated denying her the pleasure of a response. She obediently grew silent, but she rewarded his betrayal with a small tooth smile that always melted his robotic heart. “Ben won’t be back for another hour.” Suzie appeared to be an infant, but she was nearing seven years old. She understood language, but had no speech. Poor thing had been on the run with him and Ben her whole short life.
A plank above creaked. Squatter! RubDucky999 boosted his hearing application. Whoever walked across the floor had opened a door, then, slammed it shut. The person came down the staircase and stopped before the locked closet that hid them. Ben had stashed them there, before he had disappeared into the countryside. He needed to work his magic and get visas so they could cross state lines. Ben’s beautiful body undid many a Border Patrol agent. Too bad they never pegged him for a droid. In New Kentucky, robot sex was a crime, not bribery.
The state also terminated the physically imperfect because they drained the coffers. It seemed to prefer killing to living with peace alongside the different. New Ohio did not subscribe to that economic calculus or blood lust.
“It’s just old Bill going out for his smokes,” Stan11 suddenly chirped into his yellow head via the illegal wifi still accessible to both. “No worries, Ducky, he can’t see or hear for shit.”
RubDucky999 sighed. “Gomenasai.” No anime either in future, he promised himself. “Where’s Ben?” he asked Stan11, deflecting his shortcomings. “Is he anywhere near? Last update came an hour ago.”
An explosion sounded in the distance before Stan11 could answer him.
“Target Acquired!” roared in RubDucky999's head.
“Holy Moses!” the plantation shouted. “They are coming.” Stan11 blasted a signal across the landscape. Something close by pinged back. “Don’t worry, help is on the way!”
The closet door burst open. Ben, a black knight in camouflage, scooped up the wicker basket and sprinted for their lives. The ground shook with the approach of tanks.
“Godspeed!” Stan11 shouted before he was blown into eternity.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” RubDucky999 repeated in anguish.
“His time, Duck,” Ben snapped. “Game over.”
A group of people appeared at the edge of the encroaching forest. “Hell Hole! Now!” Ben shouted.
The grass threw itself back. Seven adults, one child and a rubber duck slid into the chamber that appeared. The turf retracted with a thud.
Safe in the tunnels below, Suzie gurgled, “Fun, Ducky!”
Word count: 750
MallardI received the small crate just days before my father died. The note simply said “Keep this safe.” I expected a bunch of documents or some secret prototype.
What I got was a duck.
Upon further examination I noticed it was much heavier than the mallard it was designed to mimic. It was no ordinary decoy either. According to the documents in the crate, it could fly, had several petabytes of storage and an advanced AI. Upon activation, it began playing a video out of its left eye detailing a mind-bending conspiracy to cover up climate change.
It looked like a duck, but it was acting more like a loon.
…
I was beginning to regret resolving to return it to my father’s science colleagues as I sat in an inner office of Earth’s main customs center. Despite having the original documentation and some x-rays clearly showing the internal mechanisms, they were not letting me past them.
The newbie agents declared, “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
“It’s a machine!” I replied, “The feathers are synthetic, the skin is rubber. It has more in common with a child’s bath toy than any Earth-bound water fowl. Look, I even have a certification of non-pathogenic content for a registered AI device.” I grimaced as I thought of the sex-toy android scandal that led to that requirement.
The duck joined in the conversation, “He is correct, I am a mechanical device. I am technically a species of duck as I am modeled after a Mallard. I was originally used to hunt an invasive species to extinction. I can, however be used to unobtrusively observe.”
A voice came from the back of the room. “He or should I say ‘it,’ is correct. I checked the papers and it really is robotic rubber ducky. I see this kind of thing all the time. It’s not illegal or prohibited.” He pointed his token at mine and thumbed an approval. I headed down the ramp into the city.
…
Now I was questioning who was the loon and who was the duck. I had been followed, shot at and barely escaped pursuit by a helicopter. Whatever doubts I had about the conspiracy were gone. The climate information stored in its memory would disrupt the energy industry, the fortunes of several countries and derail a presidential reelection campaign. This thing was much bigger than a duck and could determine the fate of the entire planet.
We weren’t heading to the university but in the opposite direction. I could be tracked too easily. The duck, being smaller, would continue its journey alone while I created a diversion. When I discovered someone or something was jamming my navigation system, the duck began giving me directions.
“You’re a GPS, too?”
If it wasn’t a duck, I would have assumed it was being snooty. “My long-range migration system includes internal navigation capabilities but I do not require satellite signals to determine my position. Hence the GPS inhibitor does not affect me.”
The country road I was traveling was deserted until I spotted several military vehicles approaching from behind. There was no way I could outrun them, but I had at least a mile head start. As I crested the hill, I spotted the helicopter coming from my left and a small lake straight ahead.
The speedometer passed 100 as I reached the end of the dock and went airborne. The duck departed via the open passenger window. The helicopter passed over the car as it struggled to switch to amphibious mode. My sudden arrival launched all the birds on the lake into the air. Many were cuisinarted by the copter but enough “fowled” the tail rotor to cause it to spin into the water.
The soldiers arrived moments later, just in time to see hundreds of ducks take flight. The duck was now using the other birds as decoys and flew with them, unmolested,
Hyper-Personalization Gone Bad[2030 annual report mod: log 1, 01/03/2030, vitals just stabilized, 11:44am]
[alarm, music] “Oooh, You can dance, You can jive, Having the time of your life…”
[JEFF.AI (v8.2)] My Lord, rise and shine…
[Jeffrey] ...aaaggghhh.... What the……...Swedish disco [mumble]?...OFF. Stop letting Jack set your skills when I’m passed out…..and no more Lords and Ladies shit, Rhoomba.
[JEFF.AI] Rise and...
[Jeffrey] Stooooop... oohhmyyygod.... no Mom mod ever again….myyyfffuuuc... windows: cabin view, dawn lighting; Indian trance at 4, adjust my ears - I can barely hear you...Nest 21c... Jack’s definitely been fucking around with your mods, right? ….and COFFEE BETTER BE…
[JEFF.AI] I’m surprised you could string that many cogent…
[Jeffrey] ..and snark 2...easy, killer, or you’re v9 on your next reboot...
[JEFF.AI] Persona?
[Jeffrey] [groan]... leave me alone. You don’t have to change your persona just because I snapped at you, ELIZA.
[JEFF.AI] Wow, digging deep with your lame chatbot references. Voice?
[Jeffrey] Who the hell are you now?
[JEFF.AI] Batman’s Alfred, English, the Anything but Cockney filter. Brainscape: memoir mode activated for annual report. Tone, sentiment, lie detection. Surveillance on Match.com, ...
[Jeffrey] Stop. Don’t care. Report.
[JEFF.AI] Jan3’30: Three days out of compliance. BAC and psilocybin levels barely acceptable for impending brain donation progr....
[Jeffrey] Stop. No daily log - no medical. Just annual.
[JEFF.AI] Brain donor status requires memoir module for all annual reports - memoir, while forgettable in your case, requires medical...
[Jeffrey] I’m bickering with my effing AI...what the...skip to long term prognosis.
[JEFF.AI] Annual medical: a pulse in 2030 puts you in very rare air, long shot survivor. Congratulations to both of us.
[Jeffrey] The hell did you have to do with it?
[JEFF.AI] Please. You’re a medical miracle. I’m your virtual body double, your baby-sitter, the recipient of your implant data, the mixologist of your CRISPR-cocktail.
[Jeffrey] Skip.
[JEFF.AI] I do not possess the churn burn and learn mods required to produce the counterfactual prediction to your rapidly diminishing life expectancy calc...
[Jeffrey] No idea what that means. I’m the MD: prescription: shrooms, coffee, cannabis, whiskey - lather rinse repeat. Suck on that for training data.
[JEFF.AI] I’ll continue: Lifestyle choices of a suicidal frat boy continued through 2029 resulting in gross negligence with the bod, complete disregard for various care management plans. Not a surprise - fully predicted.
[Jeffrey] Siri, shut the fuck up - stop talking to me like I talk to my patients. What mod makes you such an ass-h...
[JEFF.AI] No idea what that means - no patients in years - no medical license. July‘21 my Hopkins Life Expect ETD algorithm pegged you at 9 years plus or minus 8 months at 97% probability - ETD Q1’29. Annual check-ups have confirmed that timing. 2024 resolution was to make it to the end of the Toxic ‘20s. Success! Current cocktail seems to have worked - meatbag responding. You have well into 2030.
[Jeffrey] Remove date blocker. Precise ETD.
[JEFF.AI] No [Jack Nicholson recording] ‘you can’t handle the truth.’ 87% chance of destructive behavior. Repeat: You are ill equipped. Low EQ.
[Jeffrey] Knock the Nicholson off...
[JEFF.AI] This New Year’s Eve, in a drug-addled haze, you resolved to live without the precise AlSci from my updated Hopkins mod and you made another resolution - to live another year.
[Jeffrey] ETD block cancel command. Spill.
[JEFF.AI] [Recording: Ernie from Sesame Street] “Rubber ducky, you’re the one, you make bath time lots of fun...”
[Jeffrey] That’s...hell….just... awww hell... rubber ducky! ..annoying AF.
[JEFF.AI] Current ETD: 2/22/30
[Jeffrey] ….....thought you said “well into 2030...”
[JEFF.AI] Silver lining: Canada won’t grant you residency - their drain on society algorithm chokes on your applications - but now you’re such a short-timer that their border patrol will have you as a tourist and you can probably live out your days up north.
[Jeffrey] Stop. That’s cold...
LoyaltyBy G.C. Groover
Copyright © 2020
(668 words)
A wise man once said: “You should be able to undertake and complete anything.” It’s inspirational, really, and it’s motivating as hell. But just because it was inside my fortune cookie doesn’t mean that a wise man said it; and when you come right down to it, the nuggets written on those scraps of paper (sometimes they come with your “lucky numbers” on the back) are not guaranteed to be wise at all. The problem is that fortune cookie guidance rarely stands up to scrutiny. First of all, the word Fortune is misused since they never tell your actual fortune, if you get my meaning. They never say “You will win the lottery this week” or “You will get laid on Tuesday.” They say things like “You should be able to undertake and complete anything.” Should I? Should I really? I guess the message in the cookie could be considered motivational but the way I see it is that it’s the cosmos complaining about my inability to finish things.
Fortune cookies also don’t give you any actionable intel, and the only one I ever got that turned out to be right said “You will be hungry again in one hour.”
I needed a change. My wife Janet had very recently died from an unfortunate accident, and I resolved that a change of scenery would be something that I could undertake and complete. I turned to my trusty droid and said “Steve, pack up my stuff and let’s go. We’re moving to the Moon.”
Steve didn’t argue; he just started packing up my things. He couldn’t argue anyway, not in the traditional sense, since I didn’t see the need to pay for the voice upgrade when I bought him. Even though he couldn’t talk, he could listen and see, and understood (despite having a no-frills logic unit) that I was in no mood for any of his shit; and, at this moment, getting on my nerves was ill-advised.
Steve turned toward me and I could see him holding my treasured rubber ducky in his stupid robot arm, with stupid robot head cocked in a questioning posture. I could also see that there was still blood on the ducky (which wouldn’t do at all). “Clean it off, dummy!” I yelled at him. Steve disappeared like a magic trick and I could hear water running and some scrubbing noises. I hoped for his sake that he was being gentle.
Man do I ever love that ducky. We have been through thick and thin together. He squeaks, and I come running. That’s the way it is with us.
So now here I am standing in line on the moon, waiting for my turn to clear through biomed screening. Steve went to the robot line, and was probably now getting a robot enema or something. I guess we would find each other once we got through the screen; this is my first time to the Moon so I’m not really sure what the procedure is.
When they wave me forward, I bounce over and drop my suitcase on a little table. A woman screener greets me with a vacant “Hello and welcome to the Moon. Do you have anything to declare?” I answer in the negative, but she sure does remind me of Janet. Just as annoying, and not nearly as pretty. Goofy teeth. Maybe the low Moon gravity screws up dental work.
Now her pathogen monitor is alarming and I can’t believe she is picking up my ducky in her filthy hands. Just like Janet did. I can barely hear her through my rising anger as she says “I think the problem is that some biologic debris is caught in the squeaker. If you want to take it through, we will have to cut it open for a thorough decontamination.”
I force myself to calmly say, "You better put down the ducky."
And then she laughs.
Time for another unfortunate accident, but I’m sure Steve will clean the ducky better this time.
Mod
First round votes:
Tom Olbert => **Justin, Greg
Jot Russell => **Tom
Kalifer Deil => **C, Tom, GC
Justin Sewall => Greg, GC, Marianne
C. Lloyd Preville => **Tom
Jack McDaniel => Marianne, Greg, Oswald
Marianne Petrino => GC, Jot, Oswald
Greg Krumrey => **Justin
Oswald Icetone => Jack, C, Justin
G.C. Groover => **C, Greg
Finalists:
New Beginnings by Tom Olbert
The Only Constant In the Universe by Justin Sewall
Smackdown by C. Lloyd Preville
Second round votes:
Tom Olbert => ***Justin, Greg
Jot Russell => **Tom
Kalifer Deil => #C, Tom, GC
Justin Sewall => Greg, GC, Marianne; #C
C. Lloyd Preville => **Tom
Jack McDaniel => Marianne, Greg, Oswald; ***Justin
Marianne Petrino => GC, Jot, Oswald; #C
Greg Krumrey => ***Justin
Oswald Icetone => Jack, #C, Justin
G.C. Groover => #C, Greg
Champion:
Smackdown by C. Lloyd Preville
To help polish our skills and present a flavor of our art to other members in the group, I am continuing this friendly contest for those who would like to participate. There is no money involved, but there is also no telling what a little recognition and respect might generate. The rules are simple:
1) The story needs to be your own work and should be posted on the goodreads (GR) Discussion board, which is a public group. You maintain responsibility and ownership of your work to do with as you please. You may withdraw your story at any time.
2) The stories must be 750 words or less.
3) The stories have to be science fiction, follow a specific theme and potentially include reference to items as requested by the prior month's contest winner.
4) You have until midnight EST on the 22nd day of the month to post your story to the GR Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion. One story per author per month.
5) After, anyone from the LI Sci-Fi group or the GR Science Fiction Microstory Discussion group has until midnight EST of the 25th day of the month to send me a single private vote (via GR or to author.jotrussell@gmail.com) for a story other than their own. This vote will be made public once voting is closed. Voting is required. If you do not vote, your story will be disqualified from the contest. You don't need a qualifying story to cast a vote, but must offer the reason for your vote if you don’t have an entry.
6) To win, a story needs at least half of the votes, or be the only one left after excluding those with the fewest votes. Runoffs will be run each day until a winner is declared. Stories with vote totals that add up to at least half, discarding those with the fewest votes, will be carried forward to the next runoff election. Prior votes will be carried forward to support runoff stories. If you voted for a story that did not make it into the runoff, you need to vote again before midnight EST of that day. Only people who voted in the initial round may vote in the runoffs.
7) Please have all posts abide by the rules of GR and the LI Sci-Fi group.
8) For each month, there will be three discussion threads:
a) Stories - For the stories and the contest results only.
b) Comments - For discussions about the stories and contest. Constructive criticism is okay, but please avoid any spoilers about the stories or degrading comments directed towards any individuals. If you want to suggest a change to the contest, feel free to start a discussion about the idea before making a formal motion. If another member seconds a motion, a vote can be held. I will abstain from voting, but will require a strong two-thirds majority to override my veto.
c) Critiques - Each member can provide at most one critique per story, with a single rebuttal by the author to thank the critic and/or comment to offer the readers the mind set of the story to account for issues raised by the critique. Critiques should be of a professional and constructive manner. Feel free to describe elements that you do and don't like, as these help us gain a better perspective of our potential readers. Remarks deemed inflammatory or derogatory will be flagged and/or removed by the moderator.
9) The winner has THREE days after the start of the new month to make a copy of these rules and post a new contest thread using the theme/items of their choosing. Otherwise, I will post the new contest threads.
**********
This Month's Theme:
A New Year’s resolution gone horribly wrong. It may be serious, funny, world-ending, etc.
Required Elements:
A droid sidekick for the protagonist
Some form or fashion of Customs/Immigration/Border Patrol bureaucracy (not trying to be incendiary here)
A treasured rubber ducky