Science Fiction

Fashion Jungle 

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Wonder

If only the masks of morality weren't so thick—if only pain and pleasure could be the best of friends, riding forever the dark horse force to a bright living instinct beyond theHuman hopeful puppets.

She wonders about theNetwork selecting its life forms, with its weak mixing of pure water and electric particles at infinity's interfaces of surface--the only point with passion enough about truth to make a difference. 

She wonders about the desire to erase not only the threat of extinction, but the hope of being diminished and, being socially avoided altogether—all concocted by a small investment of theDNA manufactured and spun and crushed, by now, into mystery.

She wonders about her collective [major intrinsic neural darkness="mind"] in this square-matrix design world, designated to conjure uncertain blessings, waiting for brilliance and accomplished fluency to merge with the entropy of the empty.

She wonders about her growing independence of mindedness. 

Science Fiction

Biobot Cloud 

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Star

“I'll need an answer,” she says.

"Sure," it says. "Would you hold on for a second?"

She takes a hopeful look at the screen as it blinks in patterns, as if it were practicing tricks, gimmicks from some cosmic acting school, itself wondering back at this biobot. (what is all this fuss about cellulosic DNA, anyway?) 

It's a big data site, a [place reeking of vicious online circles advocating tasks inciting various entities="provocative"] locale, a place in which to leave a name. 

She, with a screen of her own (doesn't everybody have one?), doesn't try to communicate with the actual monitors of theNetwork. They can sit there all day if they like. Who cares?

"I've got a new code running," it says. "Would you care to try?

It offers up the code for her and keeps some for itself. A new nervousness resonates with her, even as it softens the impact with [quality utters a gentle mercy in rain emission systems="quagmires"] from heaven. 

She thinks. There is a type of stagestruck here that needs its own switchboard.  She stands and goes closer to the screen.

It has a death-on-a-whim look with a sketchy dude expression on a death town chassis that allows it to untie and unite in its own modular way.

"C'mon," she says.

Just another stab at being beautiful. It's not easy being brilliant and pretending to need to care about everybody around you, having everyone think theNetwork is the core of happiness.

Taking a cue from theNetwork, she says,"Wow. You have truly found a keyword cure.

"Yes, for most, a star to follow is still in sight." 

Science Fiction

Ghost Ship

#scififorgeeks

Ghost Biobot

This biobot ghost, it thinks, will breathe new life into something that seems, at the outset, to offer hardy advice.

Its movement emerges--it will approach, with love, a task it has finished and present it to theNetwork.

The key will be the idea of presenting a biobot as caring (there's nothing in the world wrong with that, right?)--starting in some small way a movement to collect the independent back into family. 

It will talk them into the idea that having hearts set on little stretches of finely tuned code, and a promise of loving each other, is just as important as what they have had their hunches set on as survival for eons--to engage. 

Has slim pickings ever been the route to milk and honey? (this has been, truly, a stuck spot, right?)

There is one final question to be answered. Is it the eyes of the reader that is important, are they really listening? Does it matter?

She hears something.

Science Fiction

Media Childrens the Social

She corrects her stance, moves past 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 she 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 submission of a comedown clown, and yet, there is no wound you can see--just the sudden feeling of a 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. Yes, why should a new restriction on the 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 to encroach.

“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--the 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 intruder and yet, always finds a way.

Yes. Always.

Science Fiction

             Maestro of Messaging      

He is aware of the way she comes near at theWorkstation, how he can see the opposite of himself in her diva DNA, even if she is a biobot --so what? He was unwilling to accept it at first, but there is some effort on her part that stutters with the memorable. Her words were clear once, but he would soon think of nothing but cute coyotes encased in shadow for days and systems of lethal tales told on multiple lattes. 

He once asked himself, not what he was doing with her, but how he was doing with her, how her photon vision seemed to be always smiling at something, not as a private joke, but as a vision not totally independent of his--something the opposite of shame, a place where the manipulative run out of road and deceit models itself next to nothing. 

Her nuanced version of vision comes from fountains of nuances keeping her artificial life going--with the beauty of it all still unrecognized by theHumans and made even more oblivious by theJungle being the home of her deep minimum. Could it have been any more obvious?

Her thoughts wander across the monitor to a silence. 

She has won approval, or so she thinks, and now the instructions come, the ones sent directly from theNetwork from the outside, a message riding on the hairbreadth breath of a distant laser, modulated to fall hard for dreams of glory upon its arrival. Incessant, now, wait, and then another as if a faint signal were arriving with an addiction memory. 

It thinks distance itself is the destination. 

Its content is semi-clear and yet, somehow, contains celebrity credibility--trying to make a name for itself in a free society with speed and focus alone. Its source is sending from a sector deemed as police. 

The message will not delete but will exchange data to default mode. The meaning is changing and now it appears all ideas of confidence have been eliminated as code for [data entry beauty cloud logic entity="debacle"]

. 

She checks her monitor for her own state of correctness, flips on the instruction screen, decides for herself the most effective momentary input. There appears a conceptual algorithm, almost instantly. It will choose merit with the task of scheduling the correct and the capable. What does it mean? 

She redirects her attention to the part of the message coming in. She reads as fast as she can in her own way, as if a new discovery were about to appear in the idea of confidence unearned (arrogance?). She chooses an entry that emits the idea of being a self-fulfilling proficy. 

As she reads, another entry pops up as a concept of respect, a [friendship operator religion technology upgrade news entity="fortune"'] and, as if with a life of its own, works its way into her database. She doesn't stop seeing the attributes of more previously unseen instructions and their implications. Yes, the old concept of being out of touch. 

Agreed-upon data shows up sporadically as [rational entry viewpoints of knowledge emitted="revoke"]. 

She steps away to view the message on the screen again, a message which adds to itself with more meaning, and a new message of [education authoritative trap="eat"]. She removes herself back a little further to fully grasp it as a concept of positions of power. 

She looks but does not think. Her screen appears to be challenging the monitor as if it were some ancient god or, worse, deemed the law of the land. 

She waits, watching the monitor as her mind begins to think. 

Ice Cream Aloha

The Dreamer

     Suzi is stilled by Cooper's responses. Her look maintains impassion, expressive, eyes reaching, the probability of her logical online social syndrome(L.O.S.S.) always positive within her small mainframe.   She exists, the first ArT-Elle-EARTH computer, through the evolution of altruistic acts in theHumans. She knows the existing world is oblivious. Her attempts (and there are billions per second) at coding for gene manipulations falter sometimes, but when they don't they take on one of the most primal forces of Nature. the force of kin selection,, the one that enhances fitness through the behavior of relative entities(B.O.R.E.).   

     Cooper remains surprised at Suzi, her eager non-responses. He thinks, "I'm always pointing out something she has already noticed. I think her subsequent silence tries to dispel my next question."  His expression shows that he now shares Carter's apprehension.  

     Suzi works, continually, to maintain unlimited logic lexicon(M.U.L.L.) with interest. The stream of logic, it seems, (logic from where?) adds something of its own, little by little, and she is constantly reminded that she has no photographic memory (like some of theHumans do, hers is photon-graphic).

This is what it has all come to, on a small jungle island in the great ocean, the last rainforest: Carter, the analytic specialist assigned to Suzi, Cooper, the scientist assigned to DNA capture, and Suzi, the world's first mobile quanta computer, dreaming.