Read SFS1 - Science Fiction Short Stories Online
Authors: Krishna kumar Mani
The small robot took the evidence from Blue
Tiger and handed it to the judge.
“Oh shit,” whispered Rose.
“I will have the judgment in two hours. We
will reconvene then,” said the judge.
During the break, Rose sat silently for a long
while thinking over what had transpired in the
case. She eventually got up to talk to Blue
Tiger.
“Won't you please consider withdrawing the
case? We can just get a mutual divorce.”
“I know why you're asking for a divorce. It's
because my model is out of date. I'm not doing
any favors for you. What do I care if you're
punished.
I
loved
you
so
much,
but
you
cheated on me. I don't owe you anything.”
Rose left the break room and went to a quiet
place to communicate with Smart Bridge. She
updated him on the status of the case.
Two
hours
later,
just
as
the
judge
had
prescribed, he announced the judgment.
“The evidence that Blue Tiger has provided
indicates without a doubt that Rose has been
having an affair
with another
robot named
Smart
Bridge.
Both Rose and
Smart
Bridge
shall be punished,” said the judge. “However,
to retrieve this data, Blue Tiger hacked and
accessed the private correspondence of Rose so
he too will be punished as per the Cyber Act.
“Officers, please find and arrest
this
robot
named Smart Bridge,” said the judge turning
to the court officers. “As per the regulations set
down, all memories of these three robots will
be erased.
They
will
be
assigned
different
names and given back to their employers today
after the procedures have been completed.”
Later the judge sat in his study writing a letter
to the legislation.
“In the future, the government needs to
instruct
robot
manufacturers
to
only
manufacture genderless robots. No more male
or female robots. This will save the court time
and expense.”
Sorry,
I forgot
to
introduce myself,
the
name's Joe; I was a top scientist at a university
and got many offers for employment in the
private sector but I chose to teach because I
loved the university environment because it
offered a great opportunity to continue my
own research. For the last six years I've been
working as a physics professor at the same
university I graduated from.
Although I've been fully focused on it for
the last
few
years,
I've not
been able to
complete my research.
All
my hard
work
seems
useless.
Once
I
understood
that
I
couldn't complete it, I decided that I didn't
want to continue my research at all.
I've tried to stop a couple times before but I
convinced myself to keep going at it. But now
I've decided that I must quit and the only way
is to destroy all my research. As long as they're
around I'll be tempted to continue with the
research and
wreck my
own future.
This
research has already spoiled my last six years.
A top scientist at a university that earns less
than the average classmates do! I don't even
own my own car or house because of all this
damned research.
Sorry, I guess I'm getting a little ahead of
myself
again.
My
research.
Yes it's
about...
well, no maybe I shouldn't tell you right now. I
don't even want to think about it. In fact, it's
useless. I'm about to throw all my research into
the river.
Now you know why. I'm standing on the
bridge, taking one last look at the briefcase
before I throw it all away. Unless I throw it all
away, I'll never be able to do anything useful
with my life. So often we read about research
successes.
Does anyone care about
stories
about failures in research?
No more waiting. I have to throw it in. I
looked around to see if anyone was watching.
No one was even nearby enough to see what I
was doing. OK. Time to throw. I closed my
eyes for a moment to control my emotions.
Just then what sounded like a very modern
bike swooshed down to a halt right next to me.
A guy got down from the bike and shouted at
me.
I was shocked and looked around. But yes,
he was talking to me.
He must have been
around twenty-five years old.
I was speechless for a moment because no
one else even knew about my research. He was
talking to me like he knew me very well.
“Listen, I can't explain. Even if I did you
wouldn't believe it. I'm merely someone who
wishes you well. Please keep it safe. I have to
go now.”
“If I told you that you had a grandson,
would you believe it?” he asked
“What?”
“Listen, I have to get out of here. I'm from
the future and I'm your grandson. My father
invented
a time machine
based
on your
research documents. If you destroy them, how
will he ever invent it? I have come here to save
the documents. Whether or not you believe me,
you have to keep them safe. You might fail at
all your inventions, but the research will live
on, granddad.”
Without waiting for my reply he started his
bike and vanished with a subtle movement but
more like a light
going out.
I gazed
with
astonishment at where he had been a second
ago.
Then, as if reminding myself, I thought “My
research certainly is about a time machine. It
might
not
be possible now,
but
it
will
be
possible in the future. My son will invent that
time machine in the future. I'm not a stupid
scientist
at
all.”
David
speaks
from the stage.
Nearly
forty
people are in the audience including
some
members of the media, his friends and other
scientists. Everyone listens attentively.
"Thank you for attending my demonstration
session even though I have not yet disclosed
what it is I'm demonstrating today. As per
your guesses, this session is about my new
invention.
Some aspects
new
a little more
work,
but
I wanted
to
get
some feedback
before I made finalized anything. That's the
reason
for
this
demo
session.
That
and
publicity of course,” said David with a smile.
"David. this is too much suspense. Can't you
just tell us? What's your invention?" asked one
of his David's friends.
“You are viewing my invention even as we
speak. It's already on stage."
The audience scanned the stage and saw
nothing other than a laptop, a projector and
David's headphones. There was confusion in
crowd.
The
audience
talked
amongst
themselves trying to guess what it could be.
"This is my new invention.” David held the
headphones up to the audience. Everybody,
including his friends, got upset.
“Does this
do
any
noise cancellation for
better quality of voice?" asked a reporter as a
joke.
"Nope! Any other guesses?"
It was silent for a long while before David
out into the audience and spoke.
“It is a dream recorder.”
"What?" asked the audience collectively.
"Yes. This is the dream recorder. You wear
these headphones,
fall
records
your
dreams
morning you can watch your dreams as videos
by
easily
connecting the headphones
to
a
computer."
"Is it ready?" a reporter asked in curiosity,
before David had even completed his sentence.
"Yes,
but
for
now
there's
one
small
limitation: it only records in black and white
format. I'm working on getting it to record
dreams in color at the present, but it's tricky.
Before I give you a demo, you should know
some facts about dreams and
about how my
recorder works."
David continued as the projector showed
some slide on the screen behind him:
"#1. Normally you will forgot 80 to 90% of
your
dreams.
But
my recorder
will
record
100% of your dreams. Anything you dream it
will record."
"#2. It's possible to sleep without dreaming.
asleep and
then
it
as
videos.
The next
Obviously, if this occurs the recorder will not
pick up anything to record."
"#3. Some dreams are repeated with slight
variations in them. In that case my recorder
will record multiple times. You might think it's
made a mistake, but if you look closely you can
see the differences between the dreams."
"#4. Lastly, an important note about dream
duration. The time that you dream does not
correlate exactly
to
the time that
will
be
recorded. Your dream's narrative can be even
longer than your total time asleep. ”
The same reporter interrupted again. "David
please tell us how it works! Can you show us
with a demonstration?"
“It's very easy to use, you simply wear this
headphone before you go to sleep. Later, you
can view the videos by connecting it to your
computer or smart TV.”
The audience clapped.
"Okay, now I will
demonstrate it. Who is
ready to participate? Somebody has to come up
here, wear the headphones and sleep. That’s it.
For the demonstration I will project the dream
as a live video on that screen right there."
Most had their hands up to participate in the
demo. “One question,” began a reporter, “their
actual
dream will
be on that
screen right
there?”
"Yes, once the person wakes up, he can cross
check
the video
and
confirm that
it
was
recorded
accurately..
Are
you
ready
to
participate?"
“Oh no, not me, thank you. I know a good
deal about dreams. Dreams are unpredictable.
They don't make sense or listen to reason. I
might dream about something unacceptable to
society.
Your
invention is
great
but
I am
unwilling to share my dream in public."
"Yes what you said is true, who else would
like to come up?"
Another
reporter
asked, “I don’t
understand. What's the problem with sharing
our dreams?”
“Dreams are out of your control,” the
reporter replied. “You may dream about
anybody. Just for example, you may dream
about going on a date with your coworker. You
might not have even thought about her like
this before. If she or your spouse watched your
dream, that wouldn't be great, would it? That's
just
one example.
others.”
Now
everybody
Immediately their hands went down. No one
was willing to participate after they thought
about
the effects
it
might
have on their
reputation.
"No one is interested, then?” asked David.
"No,” replied a reporter. “Everybody is
interested
in your
invention.
But
we're all
afraid to share our dreams because we are not
I'm sure there are many
The audience laughed. "If you give me this
recorder,” said a scientist, “I will record my
dream, watch the videos and share it with you
later."
"But I have to demonstrate it now,” replied
David
David thought for a moment. “Alright, then.
I will share my own dreams. Hopefully you
won't think I'm trying to trick you in any way.
Anyone else please feel free to take my place.
I'll try to fall asleep here and you guys wait, eat
the snacks that have been provided. Once I
start to dream, you'll see it on the screen.”
How
long David
slept,
he didn’t know,
nobody disturbed him, he woke up and looked
at the audience.
"Hey where I am?” he shouted. “Oh it is my
bed room... Oh, it was all just my dream. I
didn't complete the dream recorder at all.
Just
a dream! I must complete my dream recorder
soon.”
“Anyway one good thing did come about
from this dream. I figured out that I should
change the design of my dream recorder so
that it was in the headphone form rather than
as a helmet as I currently had it.”
My name is Robin and I am a new writer. A
few months ago, I self-published a book that's
gotten rave reviews.
Its success convinced me
that I should leave my job and make write full
time. Every month I receive a decent amount of
royalties from the sale of the books I've put out
into the marketplace. I'm single, and though
the royalties aren't a lot, they're enough for me
to pay my rent, and some nights I even eat out
rather than cooking at home.
But in a writer's life, you're only as good as
your next book. I already have four to five
concepts for the book, but I'm on the lookout
for new and better concepts.
I have a duty to
my readers to provide the best stories I can.
I've been gaining popularity lately and as a
growing writer,
I even have more twitter
followers than some other older, more widely
known writers. My readers expect a unique
concept for my new book! Unfortunately, after
I left my job I've been having trouble finding
new ideas.. I keep wondering why that is .
When I was working full time, the ideas came
so often that disturbed me and prevented me
from working. In those days, I didn’t even
have time to write down the ideas. But now
that I am searching for new ideas, I can't seem
to find a single one.
And if I do somehow
manage to get an idea, it's often worse than
what I already had. I know my ideas should
come from inside me, but only outside events
can
trigger
my
imagination.
After
all,
imagination needs fuel to run. And that's why I
continue to search outside myself
I'm one of those writers who crafts my story
characters from people I've seen in real life.
Every day is a constant struggle to get up and
go out in the street and find people, to look at
people. I'm usually pretty shy. I think most
writers are shy. If we were extroverts we'd
probably be actors. I leave my car at home and
walk in to the street to mingle with people. I
often
wonder
about
aimlessly
with
no
particular
destination in mind.
I just
walk
where my feet are going. But even when I do
this, no ideas come to the surface. Perhaps
there's a problem with the right hemisphere of
my brain. Maybe I should see a doctor. During
my work days I frequently traveled by train to
meet my clients. During that time I came up
with plenty of ideas but wasn't able to write
them down; I believe those ideas might still be
on those trains. So today I am going to travel
by train to collect the ideas that I missed.
It's the same train, but the faces are different. I
look
at every
face
to
sculpt
my characters.
Some people fit
and
have roles.
Some are
merely extras. Most that I see have no place in
my stories.
They
have their
own mundane
lives and have very little that I can steal or
borrow.
Everybody
is
busy.
They're all
so
certain of where they're going. Not me. I'm the
only ticketed passenger without a destination. I
continue to study all their faces. Normal faces,
men's faces, women's faces.
One guy is sitting
in the corner seat and jotting down something
in his notebook. I watch him for a while. He is
writing something, what is he writing? Is he
someone like me?
Or
just
a businessman,
perhaps a doctor? Maybe he's only doodling.
He notices that
I am
watching him and
suddenly turns down and start writing again.
After that he doesn't look up at me any longer.
After that, nothing else is as interesting on the
train.
I get
off
at
the
next
station maybe
something somewhere will pique my interest. I
walked for nearly two hours. No ideas came,
but my stomach got hungry. I enter into a
restaurant, complete my lunch and wait for the
bill. I saw the same guy sits at a nearby table
writing notes. There's no food on his table, just
notes. He's the mystery man. And he's just
writing something in his notes. I get the bill
and pay it. This man seems to be following me.
Even I don't know where I'm going but he's
been with me since the train. Only, I must not
have noticed. I can't wait here to watch what
he does. Restaurants need paying customers,
and people are waiting for this table.
Opposite to the restaurant, there's an ice cream
parlor.. I grab a vanilla cone and sit down on
one of their benches to check if the man exits
the restaurant.
Two ice creams and an hour
later, I'm beginning to question myself. My
hands are sticky and I have to wonder if this
man has been following me at all. Perhaps he
owns the restaurant. I decide to go in to check,
but there's a call on my cell. A number I don't
recognize. Is it him? I kept my eye on the doors
as I answered the call.
“Hello,” I say to the unknown caller
“Is this the writer Robin?” a man's voice asks.
“Yes”
“My name is James calling from United
Publishing”
It could have been my mystery man. But why
was he following me if he had my number.
Besides, United Publishing was one of the most
prestigious
publishing
companies
in
the
country. They wouldn't talk someone.
“We would like you to publish your next book
with us. When can we sit down and discuss
this?”
“Tomorrow around 11 AM works for me.”
“Okay sure. Do you know where our head
office is?”
“Yes, I know,” I lied. I vaguely knew where it
was. I'd look it up on the internet later.
I'm excited by this opportunity. As a writer I'm
familiar with this publisher's work. A lot of the
top writers in the past decade have published
their novels through them. Needless to say, it's
a high honor for them to be calling me. I forget
about the no account note-taking man and start
to think about tomorrow's meeting. Maybe I
should pretend I've got other offers for my
next
book.
Would
that
help or
hurt
my
chances?
I got up so early it was still dark out. It didn't
matter,
I had
hardly
slept the night before
anyways.
Generally
publishing
companies
negotiate in royalties so I decided to take the
print-out
of
my previous
book's
royalties.
Would that make me seem like an amateur?
Would they laugh at how little I'd earned while
they were making money hand over fist? As I
start the car, an old song plays on the radio. I
don't know the words but I hum along to it
until it ends. It's soothing and before I realize
it,
I'm waiting at
a signal
across
from the
United's
head
office building.
Now,
every
second seems like ten minutes. I look around
outside. Oh god. Somehow the same guy with
the notes has followed me here and is parked
parallel
to
my car
a few
rows
over.
He's
watching me and jotting down something. I
am clueless as to who he is. I guess maybe they
did hire him to follow me? Either way, I'm
shocked to see him still around. I want to catch
him and shake him and ask him what in the
seven seas he wants, but I have a big meeting
so I control myself. But I keep an eye on him
until I walk into the front of the building. He
doesn't
seem
to
be
following
me
inside
thankfully.
I meet James in a conference room and he
comes to the point directly:
“Congratulations, you are going to write your
next book for us,
the time for completion is
only four months, but I believe you can handle
that? We want to have a new holiday release
and we think you're just the author to provide
us with it.”
I am surprised at this offer to say the least.
“4 months?”
“Yes, you're comfortable with that, right?”
I sit back in my chair and think for a moment. I
wouldn't have to search for a new concept. I
could use any one of the ideas that I already
have. If I did that, I could deliver on time.
“Sure.,” I answered.“Check the agreement,
these are usual terms given to writers. We're
going to give you a 20% advance for living
expenses. We will pay you right now with a
check. 10% will be paid after we finalize the
outline as a little reward. 30% will be remitted
after the first draft, and the final 40% after you
deliver the final copy of the novel. I'll give you
some time to look over it I'm sure it's a lot to
take in. I'll be waiting in my office. All you
need to do is sign it and then you can come
collect the advance.”
When he had left the room, I'd noticed that he
hadn't even mentioned the amount. I checked
the document and searched for the payment
section. Once I saw the amount “one million,” I
couldn't not believe it. I shouted to myself “one
million!” Suddenly I was afraid. This is a
dream. It has to be a dream. People do not give
you a million dollars for writing a book. That's
just crazy. But I check if it's a dream. I can't fly,
pinching hurts and I'm not in my underwear.
Everything seems to check out. I can't control
myself. I expected to be paid a lot less than one
million dollars. That wasn't even in my best
case scenario.
I hurriedly read through the
agreement and signed as fast as I could.
Now I am a millionaire. Well, once I complete
the book.
But
wasn't
that
the easy
part?
I
walked like a king to James' office. He looks
like he's having a meeting in his office so I just
decide to wait outside.
I look
around
the
visitor's area. There's a few chairs and a fish
tank, but I don't think there's any fish in it.
And in the corner of the room, there's a man.
And he's taking notes. This time I lose control.
I walk over to him and glare at him.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He doesn't even acknowledge my presence.
He's too busy with his notes.
“I asked, who are you? I know you are
following me, tell me!” I shout.
Now he smiles to himself and notes something
else on the page. But he still doesn't even look
at my face.
I shouted again. “Who are you?...”
He doesn't respond. Maybe he's deaf? Who
cares.
He's
following me and
I'm going to
make him stop. Suddenly I grab his notes and
look at that what he is writing down. Oh my
god, he's written down everything about me.
He even knows about the million dollar check.
He is spying on me.
I start tearing the papers and
finally
get a
response from him:
“Don’t do that. I'm the writer of the story. You
are the character and you've just destroyed
your own story.”
Note:
Sorry for the incongruities, I sculpted a writer
character
for
the story,
but
the
character
believes he's the real writer. He argued with
me and
likely
has
destroyed
the story.
He
thinks he's in control, but I am the real writer
of the story.