God sat at the edge of the Universe, watching as the last little bits of existence swirled away into nothing and he was left alone with the Void.
Again.
He thought about all that had been, and all that never would be.
He sighed.
Then he smiled.
It had been a good Universe. He'd enjoyed watching it grow. So many of the potentials he'd set up at the Beginning had really delivered on their promise at the End. Well, the whole human thing turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, but still.
His brow creased in anger. Okay. Maybe a bit more than a bit of a disappointment. He really had such hopes for them. But then... what they went and did...
He shook his head. No, he'd beaten himself up over the human problem long enough. The Universe has died, let's not labor over its blemishes. Besides, the humans had only cost him a few hundred millennia.
"And?"
God turned, rolling his eyes. "Fine, Lucifer. And a planet."
A self-satisfied flutter shook Lucifer's wings and the redeemed angel smiled. "A planet?"
God smiled sheepishly. "Well, two. Okay, fine. If we're counting the sun, then three." He stopped and thought a moment. "Oooh, now that I think on it, it was actually the whole solar system."
"I warned you."
God seethed. He really missed having the Universe to toss around when he got angry. That always drove his point home. But now, just seething in the Void... he felt kind of foolish, really. Not so much wrathful, but peevish.
Fine. He'd be peevish, then. "You know, Lucifer," he said. "Smug is part of what got you sent to Hell in the first place."
Lucifer smirked. "And vindication is what got me out." He threw a friendly grin toward his old boss, changing the subject. "So, what's next?"
God thought a bit. "Well," he said carefully, "I'm going to create another Universe."
"Obviously."
"Right. Obviously." God paused. "Though, also, obviously, I won't be making the same mistakes with the new one."
Lucifer nodded. "No smart monkeys with freewill?"
God smiled. "Exactly. It's smart trees with freewill from the beginning this time." He looked over at Lucifer. "And, of course, I won't make the same mistake with you, either."
"So, you'll listen to me in this one?"
God shook his head, chuckling. "No. I mean you won't be in this one." He waved his hand. "Good bye, Lucifer."
Before he could even yelp out a complaint, the former Lord of Hell simply ceased to exist.
"Dad?"
God smiled warmly at his son. "Ah. Jesus. Good. You're here."
Jesus smiled back, spreading his hands to indicate the Void. "Where else would I be?"
"Right." God put an arm around Jesus' shoulder. "Son, I'm not as young as I used to be, and I'd like to make you a proposition."
"Aw," Jesus grumbled. "I'm going to end up doing work, aren't I."
God and his son walked on, beginning to fill the Void with their Presence. God kept talking as their aspects grew infinite. "It'll be nothing. Look, here it is: you help me create this new Universe, and I promise you'll get the pick of how we run it."
"Really?"
"Really."
The Fire of Creation blazed across the Void, as galaxies spun to life. "Okay," Jesus said. "But we really have to make sure they don't start killing each other over us this time. In fact, we really shouldn't have any killing at all." Gasses swirled, forming suns and planets. "Even the trees had their violent centuries."
"Okay, okay. No killing."
"Especially over us."
A black hole opened up near the center of one of the new galaxies. "Yes, fine. Okay. Especially over us." Life emerged in the microscopic soup of the vast ocean of the fourth planet from a binary star.
"I swear, kid," God said. "You get stuck on an idea, and you really don't let go of it, do you?"
Short stories, flash fictions, and other miscellaneous dispatches from an overactive imagination. Updates randomly.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Broken Cog
Batch Higgins Theta sat in his task booth, slotting datacards into the correct servertowers at the appropriate moments. He had been grown specifically for this function, along with twenty other clones of the Higgins Batch. They all sat in identical task booths near his, performing similar functions for the vast infomedia conglomerate that had grown them.
Most mundane tasks had long since been automated, but some jobs still required a living human to perform efficiently. Datacard slotting was one of them. The datacards had to be slotted according to customer requests in a unique combination every day, and no machine so far had been able to handle the process. Despite its many advances, modern science was still no closer to cracking the enigma of AI, so a living brain was needed for the job. Unfortunately, there were few humans willing to perform such tedious work these days, given the abundance of more exciting employment available throughout the recently colonized solar system.
And so, the clone workers were created. Datacard slotting, mass consumption food preparation and climate repair monitoring, among others, were all jobs best suited to human clones grown to precise specifications. The process usually took a couple of weeks, and each Batch of clones were given certain enhancements to make them extremely proficient at their assigned tasks, while also indoctrinating them to like the task they'd been grown for. They were usually grown from the DNA of a regular human with a predilection for similar tasks, and altered as needed from there. Batch Higgins had been grown from the DNA of one Archibald Higgins, a data entry clerk that had lived over 100 years prior.
The clones, though living, sentient beings, were considered the property of the companies that grew them, and as such had very few rights. They would work at their task booths for 12 hours, sleep 10 hours in their domicile berths, take two hours for nourishment and basic exercise, then return to their task booths for another 12 hour shift. It was a very dull life, but the clones didn't mind. They were conditioned not to.
Of course, there were those who had a problem with this. A group of bored middle class college undergraduates calling themselves Pollux Liberatio took it upon themselves to end what they called, "the unacceptable enslavement of a helpless segment of human society". That the clones were all perfectly happy with their lives was irrelevant to them, as was the fact that most clones died very quickly outside the routines of their jobs, given that they did not posses many skills beyond those needed to perform their functions. Pollux Liberatio's methods generally involved abducting clones from their domicile berths and releasing them onto the streets of the city without much concern for what happened next.
All that changed with Batch Higgins Theta.
He was abducted from his domicile berth as the others had been, but instead of abandoning him, Pollux Liberatio took him home. They attempted to teach him new things, but his specialized brain could not accept the new information. He also kept trying to return to his domicile berth to begin his sleep cycle, becoming highly agitated when they prevented him from doing so.
And that's when one of the students got the idea of giving him drugs. They fed him hashish to calm him down, then LSD to "open his mind". They hoped the drugs would rewire his brain to a state more receptive to learning and independent thought, thinking this "treatment" could become a model for future clone liberations.
When the police arrived days later, after the students' classmates reported them missing, they found Batch Higgins Theta in one of the closets. The corpses of Pollux Liberatio were propped against the wall, and he was repeatedly slotting knives in and out of the multiple stab wounds in their torsos.
Most mundane tasks had long since been automated, but some jobs still required a living human to perform efficiently. Datacard slotting was one of them. The datacards had to be slotted according to customer requests in a unique combination every day, and no machine so far had been able to handle the process. Despite its many advances, modern science was still no closer to cracking the enigma of AI, so a living brain was needed for the job. Unfortunately, there were few humans willing to perform such tedious work these days, given the abundance of more exciting employment available throughout the recently colonized solar system.
And so, the clone workers were created. Datacard slotting, mass consumption food preparation and climate repair monitoring, among others, were all jobs best suited to human clones grown to precise specifications. The process usually took a couple of weeks, and each Batch of clones were given certain enhancements to make them extremely proficient at their assigned tasks, while also indoctrinating them to like the task they'd been grown for. They were usually grown from the DNA of a regular human with a predilection for similar tasks, and altered as needed from there. Batch Higgins had been grown from the DNA of one Archibald Higgins, a data entry clerk that had lived over 100 years prior.
The clones, though living, sentient beings, were considered the property of the companies that grew them, and as such had very few rights. They would work at their task booths for 12 hours, sleep 10 hours in their domicile berths, take two hours for nourishment and basic exercise, then return to their task booths for another 12 hour shift. It was a very dull life, but the clones didn't mind. They were conditioned not to.
Of course, there were those who had a problem with this. A group of bored middle class college undergraduates calling themselves Pollux Liberatio took it upon themselves to end what they called, "the unacceptable enslavement of a helpless segment of human society". That the clones were all perfectly happy with their lives was irrelevant to them, as was the fact that most clones died very quickly outside the routines of their jobs, given that they did not posses many skills beyond those needed to perform their functions. Pollux Liberatio's methods generally involved abducting clones from their domicile berths and releasing them onto the streets of the city without much concern for what happened next.
All that changed with Batch Higgins Theta.
He was abducted from his domicile berth as the others had been, but instead of abandoning him, Pollux Liberatio took him home. They attempted to teach him new things, but his specialized brain could not accept the new information. He also kept trying to return to his domicile berth to begin his sleep cycle, becoming highly agitated when they prevented him from doing so.
And that's when one of the students got the idea of giving him drugs. They fed him hashish to calm him down, then LSD to "open his mind". They hoped the drugs would rewire his brain to a state more receptive to learning and independent thought, thinking this "treatment" could become a model for future clone liberations.
When the police arrived days later, after the students' classmates reported them missing, they found Batch Higgins Theta in one of the closets. The corpses of Pollux Liberatio were propped against the wall, and he was repeatedly slotting knives in and out of the multiple stab wounds in their torsos.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Happy Anniversary
She loaded the shotgun with shaking hands, keeping the box of shells close, and sticking a few in her pocket just in case. She looked down at the bed, where her young daughter slept, then at the ring on her left hand. It was 10 years today, and she took a moment to reflect on the previous decade.
She thought of those early days in their old apartment, learning to live together, struggling to pay the bills and make their rent. They'd been so young then, barely out of college, but they'd just been so in love.
She remembered her husband's first "real" job, the one that allowed them to save for the down payment on their house, and all they went through before finally finding the right one.
She reflected on the bad year, when their marriage had almost come apart, and of the year that followed, when they worked so hard to put it back together.
She smiled down at her sleeping daughter, who would turn 5 in a couple of weeks, and thought of the joy she had brought to their marriage, and the sense of completion she gave them as a family.
Images floated through her mind; memories of family vacations, barbecues, parties, holidays... all the wonderful times spent with the love of her life.
A sound brought her out of her reverie with a start. It was a loud banging from outside, and it sounded like the front door.
She swore, gripping the gun tighter. They'd been so careful not to show any signs that the house was occupied. No lights, little movement, hardly any sound... She'd hoped they could last the night, and that none of those poor souls would notice they were there.
But then her husband had left the house. He was determined to get them to safety, no matter what. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. If only he'd stayed, instead of trying to get to the car. He didn't think he'd be noticed going around to the garage, as most of them had moved away toward the center of town, where the mayor had foolishly gathered everyone. It should have only taken a few moments, then they all could have piled in and driven away, presumably to safety. But he'd been gone 20 minutes now, and she knew he wouldn't be coming back with the car. She desperately prayed he wouldn't come back at all.
She grit her teeth. He should have stayed. They would have been safe if he had stayed. But no, he just had to play the hero. And now...
There was a crash, and she knew the front door had been broken in. Her daughter woke up then and clutched at her mother as heavy shuffling footsteps made their way up the stairs. She raised the gun to her shoulder, sighting down the barrel as the knob on the bedroom door turned.
The door flung open, and her husband lurched into the room, a guttural moan escaping his swollen blue lips as he lurched toward his family, seeking nourishment.
The gun kicked against her shoulder, bruising it, as her husband's head exploded in a shower of putrefied flesh and bone. Her daughter screamed and began to cry, but she kept her head, reloading the gun and stuffing the box of shells into her backpack. She grabbed her bag and the one they'd packed for their daughter. They'd have to run, but if they were lucky, they might make it to the car before the others heard the shot and came around. She knew there was at least one other out there, perhaps already in the house, so she cocked the gun and kept it ready, her daughter clutching at her skirts as they walked toward the door. It occurred to her then that if her husband had taken the gun, his plan might have worked, but he'd insisted she keep it. Just in case.
She spared a final teary-eyed glance for the headless, twitching corpse of the man who'd shared the last 10 years of her life, trying to keep her daughter from seeing too much of him, speaking her last farewell as they left the room.
"Happy Anniversary, sweetheart."
She thought of those early days in their old apartment, learning to live together, struggling to pay the bills and make their rent. They'd been so young then, barely out of college, but they'd just been so in love.
She remembered her husband's first "real" job, the one that allowed them to save for the down payment on their house, and all they went through before finally finding the right one.
She reflected on the bad year, when their marriage had almost come apart, and of the year that followed, when they worked so hard to put it back together.
She smiled down at her sleeping daughter, who would turn 5 in a couple of weeks, and thought of the joy she had brought to their marriage, and the sense of completion she gave them as a family.
Images floated through her mind; memories of family vacations, barbecues, parties, holidays... all the wonderful times spent with the love of her life.
A sound brought her out of her reverie with a start. It was a loud banging from outside, and it sounded like the front door.
She swore, gripping the gun tighter. They'd been so careful not to show any signs that the house was occupied. No lights, little movement, hardly any sound... She'd hoped they could last the night, and that none of those poor souls would notice they were there.
But then her husband had left the house. He was determined to get them to safety, no matter what. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. If only he'd stayed, instead of trying to get to the car. He didn't think he'd be noticed going around to the garage, as most of them had moved away toward the center of town, where the mayor had foolishly gathered everyone. It should have only taken a few moments, then they all could have piled in and driven away, presumably to safety. But he'd been gone 20 minutes now, and she knew he wouldn't be coming back with the car. She desperately prayed he wouldn't come back at all.
She grit her teeth. He should have stayed. They would have been safe if he had stayed. But no, he just had to play the hero. And now...
There was a crash, and she knew the front door had been broken in. Her daughter woke up then and clutched at her mother as heavy shuffling footsteps made their way up the stairs. She raised the gun to her shoulder, sighting down the barrel as the knob on the bedroom door turned.
The door flung open, and her husband lurched into the room, a guttural moan escaping his swollen blue lips as he lurched toward his family, seeking nourishment.
The gun kicked against her shoulder, bruising it, as her husband's head exploded in a shower of putrefied flesh and bone. Her daughter screamed and began to cry, but she kept her head, reloading the gun and stuffing the box of shells into her backpack. She grabbed her bag and the one they'd packed for their daughter. They'd have to run, but if they were lucky, they might make it to the car before the others heard the shot and came around. She knew there was at least one other out there, perhaps already in the house, so she cocked the gun and kept it ready, her daughter clutching at her skirts as they walked toward the door. It occurred to her then that if her husband had taken the gun, his plan might have worked, but he'd insisted she keep it. Just in case.
She spared a final teary-eyed glance for the headless, twitching corpse of the man who'd shared the last 10 years of her life, trying to keep her daughter from seeing too much of him, speaking her last farewell as they left the room.
"Happy Anniversary, sweetheart."
Sunday, October 16, 2005
A Day in the Life
He stood, panting, covered head-to-toe in the blood of a thousand prostitutes. The bomb strapped to his chest counted down the seconds as he began ranting furiously in an obscure dialect of a language that sounded vaguely Welsh, except when it sounded like a cross between Farsi and Navaho.
Special Agent Sarah Venture blew an errant lock of hair away from her forehead, sliding her gun from her holster with practiced ease. She understood exactly what he was saying, being fluent in every known language as well as having created one or two for her own personal use. Sometimes, it helps if no one can understand you.
But she understood him. He was screaming about his mission. He was supposed to blow up the Estonian Embassy along with himself, in service of a highly secretive Judeo-Christo-Islamic-Scientology sect based out of Akron, Ohio. However, he'd spent the night slaughtering hookers, and had decided he had something to live for after all. But the bomb was programmed to begin counting down on its own, and he couldn't figure out how to remove it. He was stoned out of his mind on hashish, percoset and 50-year-old cooking sherry, and was well beyond any sort of manual dexterity.
Sarah raised the gun and took careful aim. If she could put a bullet through the timing mechanism of the bomb just before it hit zero, it would render the experimental semi-liquid explosive inert, thereby preventing certain catastrophe. She had invented the explosive herself, and had built that particular fail-safe into it, knowing that only she would be able to disarm it if necessary. Of course, she'd invented it merely as an intellectual exercise, never intending it to be used, or even known of outside her secret underground laboratory.
She was still trying to figure out how it had been stolen. She suspected someone at the agency, and she had a pretty good idea who. She made a mental note to finish her robot assassin as soon as she was done here. Some jobs were worth handling personally, others were better handled by a machine.
But that was later. Right now, she had 135 lbs of Midwestern psychopath to deal with first.
She pulled the trigger, and a bullet flew straight and true toward its target, shattering the timing mechanism at exactly zero seconds. The bullet continued on its path through the back of the explosive, piercing the madman's chest cavity and exploding his heart in his chest. He fell to the ground, the bomb falling off him as he hit. A special forces team trained in exotic weaponry took possession of the explosive and the body. She'd steal both back from them later, and wipe their records and their minds as she did.
She holstered her gun, walking back toward her car with the easy strut of someone who knows exactly how important she is to the world, and the horrifying state it would be in without her. Her cellphone rang and she answered.
"Special Agent Venture ."
She smiled. It was a rare smile, and one most people didn't get to see and live. One of the few who did was on the other end of the phone. "Hi, sweetie!" She said happily. "How was school?" Her smile widened. "You did? That's fantastic!"
She got into her car, started the engine and pulled out into traffic. "Yes, I'm going to pick up your sister now." She laughed happily. "Of course we can have ice cream tonight. I'll pick some up on the way home."
Special Agent Sarah Venture blew an errant lock of hair away from her forehead, sliding her gun from her holster with practiced ease. She understood exactly what he was saying, being fluent in every known language as well as having created one or two for her own personal use. Sometimes, it helps if no one can understand you.
But she understood him. He was screaming about his mission. He was supposed to blow up the Estonian Embassy along with himself, in service of a highly secretive Judeo-Christo-Islamic-Scientology sect based out of Akron, Ohio. However, he'd spent the night slaughtering hookers, and had decided he had something to live for after all. But the bomb was programmed to begin counting down on its own, and he couldn't figure out how to remove it. He was stoned out of his mind on hashish, percoset and 50-year-old cooking sherry, and was well beyond any sort of manual dexterity.
Sarah raised the gun and took careful aim. If she could put a bullet through the timing mechanism of the bomb just before it hit zero, it would render the experimental semi-liquid explosive inert, thereby preventing certain catastrophe. She had invented the explosive herself, and had built that particular fail-safe into it, knowing that only she would be able to disarm it if necessary. Of course, she'd invented it merely as an intellectual exercise, never intending it to be used, or even known of outside her secret underground laboratory.
She was still trying to figure out how it had been stolen. She suspected someone at the agency, and she had a pretty good idea who. She made a mental note to finish her robot assassin as soon as she was done here. Some jobs were worth handling personally, others were better handled by a machine.
But that was later. Right now, she had 135 lbs of Midwestern psychopath to deal with first.
She pulled the trigger, and a bullet flew straight and true toward its target, shattering the timing mechanism at exactly zero seconds. The bullet continued on its path through the back of the explosive, piercing the madman's chest cavity and exploding his heart in his chest. He fell to the ground, the bomb falling off him as he hit. A special forces team trained in exotic weaponry took possession of the explosive and the body. She'd steal both back from them later, and wipe their records and their minds as she did.
She holstered her gun, walking back toward her car with the easy strut of someone who knows exactly how important she is to the world, and the horrifying state it would be in without her. Her cellphone rang and she answered.
"Special Agent Venture ."
She smiled. It was a rare smile, and one most people didn't get to see and live. One of the few who did was on the other end of the phone. "Hi, sweetie!" She said happily. "How was school?" Her smile widened. "You did? That's fantastic!"
She got into her car, started the engine and pulled out into traffic. "Yes, I'm going to pick up your sister now." She laughed happily. "Of course we can have ice cream tonight. I'll pick some up on the way home."
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