Tag: yuva anthology

New Anthology Sample!

gliese 581Hey folks! In the past few weeks, I’ve been working diligently to get my “works in progress” pile under control. This included getting Data Miners off my computer and onto the shelves, but also to get this anthology known as Yuva moving again. I’ve done my best to get more writings on the project, and actually managed to get some writing done myself.

As a result “The Torch”, the first chapter in the story which acts as the prologue, is coming long and is almost complete. After some months of letting it accumulate dust, I finally managed to get the third section finished and plotted out how I wanted it to end. The following sample is the next half-section, which is the just shy of the final chapter. I hope you like it, and enjoy the not-too-subtle tech references which I have been researching of late and knew I had to incorporate. This is, after all, taking place in the near future…

For the sake of preserving some element of surprise and mystery, I won’t say exactly what they are or where to find them. Suffice it to say, I think that flexible, transparent computer tablets and commercial space flight will be a reality in the near future. Based on discussions that took place between myself and Khaalidah, this story’s co-author and a major anthology contributor, we also figured that orbital satellites would be island estates of the future.

In addition to orbital banking replacing “offshore banking” – a la Cayman Islands, Isle of Man, Cyprus, etc – there would also be private estates in orbit where laws were laxer and people with money could do whatever the heck they wanted! It’s like international waters, but with the added benefit of low gravity and high-tech medical treatments which would never be legal planetside.

Anyway, no more spoilers! Enjoy!

*                    *                    *

From the spacious backseat, Muktari got quite the view of the Frankfurt skyline. The window’s active display matrix was sure to keep him apprised of what he was seeing as they passed along the Schaumainkai. The patterned lights – yellow, orange, white and opal – achieved a beautiful, glittering balance, drawing the eye and appeasing the senses all at once.

In truth, it wasn’t much different from the skylines of Dubai, Mumbai or Shanghai, or even London or New York for that matter. They all were a testament to the grandeur and excesses of humanity, how people could always be expected to build higher and higher when they had run out of room to expand sideways. Or, in other cases, to avoid pillaging the lands occupied by more traditional buildings and boroughs.

But this was always the challenge of such metropolitan centers. The inflow of capital, investment, new people and technological change; one always had to find places to put the new things. And places to put the things needed to dispose of. And every new age seemed to trigger a new wave of this process: redevelopment, rezoning, and redistribution.

The car veered left and began joining the highway. For many minutes, the skyline disappeared in the distance, replaced by the developments that ran south of the river. The window had a hard time keeping up, as there weren’t many heritage sites in this area, but plenty of modern buildings of note. He turned away finally, and began paying attention to his fellow passenger. She had shown up the airport to escort him, and he was beginning to sense this would become a pattern.

“You didn’t have to meet me,” he had said as soon as he reached the front doors.

“Escorts can be so impersonal,” she said. “Besides, my father doesn’t trust specialized talent to just anyone.”

“So I can expect you to be a noose around my neck then?” he said. He had been in a bad mood after the flight, admittedly. A restless sleep and an early morning flight was known to do that to people. And changing time zones and shuttling from one part of the Earth to the next was something he had been doing far too much of lately.

Now, seated across from her, he thought some polite conversation might be in order.

“So where is Mr. Harding flying me to?”

She looked up from her Tab and smiled. “To him,” she replied simply.

“To him? You mean to his private estate somewhere, or corporate HQ?”

She chuckled mildly and continued typing and stroking at her device. Muktari sighed heavily. He was hoping to be pleasant, but the way she was preserving the surprise was beginning to annoy him. Was it too much to ask that she help him plan his evening? If he were to be taken to yet another time zone and have to face the prospect of even more lag, he would like to know about it now.

“You know, I heard that Harding was not in the best of health lately.” He let the words hang, hoping to gauge her reaction. “I might suspect we were heading for the Swiss Alps, or perhaps some clinic in Brazil.”

She made a sideways gesture with her head, like a half shake. A denial perhaps, or an indication that she could not say either way.

“It would seem ill-advised for a man who was in the twilight of his days to still be chained to his desk.”

She appeared to be finishing up with her work and put the Tab aside. She looked at him furtively and said nothing.

“No?” he said, and nodded. “Very well, keep your secrets. But know that all this running around and pretense isn’t making me any more interested in what he has to say.”

She continued to stare at him, smiling in her usual way. It too was becoming very annoying.

“What?” he said at last.

“We’re here,” she replied, motioning to the window. Muktari looked out and spotted the strip that they were now parked upon. Less than a hundred meters to their right, a small Atmo was parked.

“We’re flying in that?” he said, gesturing to the craft.

She smiled.

“Where are we going?”

“To the stars,” she replied. “Have you been topside before?”

Muktari blanched. It was one thing he had assiduously avoided, and hoped to continue not to do in his lifetime.

“Well then,” she said, taking his expression to mean he had not, “you’re in for quite the treat.”

Anthology Sample: The Torch, Part III

Hello again, fellow readers and writers! It’s been a long time since I produced any samples of writing from my group’s anthology, but rest assured we’ve all been busy creating, editing, and illuminating. I myself have been rather derelict in this pursuit recently, having left my prologe story (The Torch) to sit idle for some time. However, I’m back on it now that I’m back in town and have finished work on the latest segment.

I plan to fashion just a few more to finish the piece, which will introduce the larger story, and then get back to recruiting and editing. As it stands, more than two-thirds of the stories have been claimed, one third have been completed, and the rest are still up for grabs. If you’ve been proffered an invitation, consider this your reminder notice. We still need you! I urge you, be the ones to help this vision of the future reach completion before it is too late…

Anyhoo, here is the third segment of Torch, fresh off the press and straight to your laptops, tablets, ereaders or PDAs. Enjoy!

*                    *                    *

The aged mirror’s appraisal of him was less than flattering. It’s ornate brass frame was a thing of beauty, but the tainted glass looked very much as he felt. He finished with his tie, turned to face the room, and moved back in to face the music. Hours of speeches, public addresses, and his own presentation; and yet, he felt that this portion of the evening was the true test of mettle. Walking through the crowd of entrepreneurs, states people and representatives felt like walking a particularly malicious gauntlet. At least when he was on stage he could pretend to be addressing an empty room. The bright lighting made it almost seem as such.

All part of the job description, he told himself. His first stop was to the couple immediately to his left. The Russian Minister of the Environment, Kirill Minksi. Muktari didn’t recognize the woman on his arm; presumably she was someone he was sleeping with, if not his wife.

“Doctor Muktari, quite the lovely lecture,” he said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “It was like being in school all over again.”

“Really?” Muktari said. “Do you mean enlightening or stifling and subject to the idiosyncrasies of a single man?”

Both Minski and the woman on his arm laughed. He quickly turned to her and made the introduction. “Where are my manners? Doctor Magid Muktari, this is Klavdiya Chauchat.”

 “Ah yes, the ballerina?” he said, looking at her with a forced smile. Chauchat made a demure little gesture, something akin to a curtsey. “A pleasure, I assure you.”

“Enchanté,” she replied. She placed her fingers in his hand. Muktari chuckled and planted a gentle kiss on them. How little things had changed. Leading ladies still being escorted by men of power and influence, though now it was to summits rather than balls. At least the décor was still just as elegant, and the refreshments just as expensive.

“I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk, Doctor,” Minsky said next. “You’re reputation in government circles precedes you.”

“Is that so?”

“Why yes,” Minsky said with a look of surprise. “I attended the symposium in Luxembourg back in thirty-eight. You lectured there alongside Pracha and Suzuki. You were very good.”

“I remember,” he said. That was in the days of the Luxemburg Agreement, where he had been arguing for governments to include water usage and forestation as basic protocols. He had been but a mere player in those days, taking his cue from more senior experts. He supposed that Minsky saw it as a compliment to be mentioning him in conjunction with the others.

“I was discouraged that it did not have the desired effect.”

Minski chuckled sheepishly. He knew exactly what Muktari meant by that. As soon as the talks in Luxemburg ended, Minsky and his fellow Senators went home to vote the Agreement down in the Federation Council. Many of Muktari’s own colleagues spent years in the East trying to clean things up as a result.

 “Well,” Minski said, raising his glass. “Here’s hoping you and your colleagues have greater success this time around.”

Muktari stifled the urge to say something even more impertinent. He had learned some time ago that certain minds could not be swayed, and reminding of them of that fact was an even less worthy enterprise. He issued a courteous farewell to Muktari and even more cordiale one to Chauchat.

One down, he thought. So, so many to go.

That prospect immediately became cheerier when he spotted a familiar figure standing at the bar. A glass of single malt with ice in his hand and a Tamaki in his mouth. And of course, he looked about as uncomfortable as Muktari felt.

Grigore Mazzini, a fellow company man he had seen since their work in Tunisia. He remembered those days fondly, or more importantly, the nights when he and Mazzini would steal away from the array they had been working on to sample the night life in the capitol. Naturally, Zimmerman had decided to send people from other sectors in to represent their company. He was hoping he might find it at some point during the evening, as he was about the only face he both knew and could expect genuine kindness from.

“Dining on ashes, old friend?” he said as he approached. Mazzini looked at him curiously and then laughed when he saw who it was.

“Magid, you old provocateur, you!”

They embraced in front of the bar and gave each other a hearty kiss on the cheek, as was Muktari’s native custom. When they pulled apart, they were sure to complement each other on their choice of wear.

“I see you’ve updated your old vice?” he asked, nodding to the companion in his hand. Mazzini looked at it as well and scoffed.

“Only way I could smoke in here was to ensure the gentlemen at the door that they were vaporizers.” He took a long haul and let out a tiny vapor trail, watched as it disappeared a short distance from his lips. “Ah! And it’s just not the same.”

Muktari laughed and leaned against the bar with him. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for one?”

Mazzini reached into his jacket and produced a case. He raised his glass just as soon as Muktari took one and activated it between his lips.

“Shall I tempt you with a spot of devil’s nectar as well?”

Muktari shook his head. “You know me, one vice at a time. Besides, I need some clarity if I want to make it through the night.”

“Trust me, friend. The only way either of us is making it through the night is with a proper numbing.”

“Hmm, I’d prefer a little morphine, in that case.”

Mazzini let out a great big belly laugh. A few heads turned, but otherwise the festivities were undisturbed. And more importantly, Muktari felt like he was actually beginning to enjoy himself a little. Alas, they both knew they couldn’t hide at the bar forever. As company men, they were here at the behest of someone else, and that required them to network and dialogue as much as possible between presentations. The after-parties were as important as the proceedings themselves when it came to fostering goodwill and securing the cooperation of vested interests. Hell, some would say they were even more important.

After a few minutes of idle conversation, Mazzini changed the course of their conversation. The way he introduced it let Magid know it was a matter of some delicacy.

“I, uh, heard an office rumor shortly before I left,” he said, taking a bit of a pause. “It seems they are looking for someone new to head up reclamation in the Arctic Circle. Out of our offices in Oslo.”

“Really?” Magid said. Not exactly a choice position, as it involved a considerable time on board ice trawlers and visiting monitoring stations in the high Arctic, such as Iceland and Baffin Island. Magid’s heart sank when he realized why the topic would be considered delicate…

“Oh no, you don’t mean –”

“I’m afraid so,” Mazzini said. “Word around the offices was that you were considered the top contender, given your background and rumors that you were kicking up some dirt.”

Magid buried his hands in his face. “Oh dear God, no.”

He felt Mazzini’s hand on his shoulder, heard on the onset of comforting words.

“I’m sorry, friend. I tried to warn you that your predilection for taking the long view and saying what you really thought might get you into trouble someday. Though this is considered a promotion, of sorts, everyone felt that you would surely not fail to get the message.”

“They can’t just fire me,” he said decisively. “They’re hoping I quit.”

Mazzini cleared his throat. “Seeing as how I’m letting you in on things, I should also point out that your last assignment was intended to have the same effect. Who knew you would actually find working in the Maghreb to be fulfilling. After you came back with that your presentation in your docket, I’m guessing they figured a transfer to the opposite extreme might… dampen you’re enthusiasm.”

“You mean chill it,” Magid corrected. “Well… message received.”

Mazzini patted him on the shoulder again. “As I said, my friend. I am truly sorry. If there was anything I could do…”

“I know,” Magid replied with a nod. Alas, they were just a bunch of company men, doing as they were told and going where they had to. Little more could be expected of them. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”

Mazzini looked genuinely surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Why not? Seems piety is a little wasted on me right now. Besides, I hear the whiskey is quite good.”

Mazzini laughed, though it sounded tempered. Though he was happy his friend would be joining him in a round, he was a bit hesitant to be involved in his corruption as well. Mazzini needed few excuses to tilt a glass, but anger and depression were good reasons not to in his mind. Still, he called the barman over and ordered two more glasses of what he was drinking.

“Two more Bruichladdich’s please, with ice.”

The barman nodded and went off to fetch their drinks. Many long seconds passed before any words passed between them again. When they did, they sounded about as delicate as before, though arguably more conspiratorial.

“Magid, please don’t look in her direction, but I must inform you that a pretty young thing is looking at you from the far corner.”

Magid sipped from his glass and nodded casually. Adjusting his head ever so slightly to employ his peripherals, be caught little more than blobs of color. For this, he would need more accurate coordinates.

“Which corner would that be?”

“Uh, north-east by my reckoning. Please don’t look at her, she’s still watching.”

“Well…” Magid said, confounded. “Could you describe her to me?”

“Long dark hair, lovely tan complexion, dark dress with a string of precious stones and just enough leg showing to give this old man an injection of frisk.” He swirled the ice cubes in his glass fervently. “I do so hope she’s looking at myself, though I imagine she’s more of what you could use right now.”

Magid chuckled, but shook his head. “Using ladies is not my speed, friend. Besides, I think I’m a little too depressed to be good company to anyone right now.”

“You sure? You’ll change your mind when you see her…”

Finally, and as casually as possible, she looked back in her direction and did a quick spot check. Mazzini was right, in all respects. He caught barely a wisp of her, but she was every bit as beautiful as his friend had let on. Far too comely to be gazing at the likes of them with anything approaching visceral interest.

“I don’t think so. Probably an industrial spy, or our competition, looking to eek some information out of us.”

“At the moment, I don’t care,” Mazzini said, quickly downing his second glass. “And if you’re sure you’re not up to the task, I’m definitely going to approach her. Let us just pray she’s not a professional, working the room.”

Magid frowned and chuckled, more deeply and sinisterly this time. Leave it to good ol’ Grigore to out a dirty spin on things. Leave it to him to leave him high and dry with his depression and the breaking of moral strictures as well. He eyed the glass in front of him and considered sending it back, but at the moment, he needed something to drown his feelings. Taking the glass in hand, he made a quick go of it, and quickly regretted the transaction.

“Whoa…” the barman said, a thick Russian accent discernible. “Another for you, sir?”

“No thank you,” he said, casting a look in Mazzini’s direction. His large frame now completely blocked the image of the stunning young woman. He cast a look around the room, and saw nothing but a night of pointless interaction as well.

Producing a fifty Euro note, he paid for his and Mazzini’s drinks and headed for the coat room. It was going to be a long night, and with nothing more to gained from doing his job, he would spend it doing something arguably less… productive.

*                    *                    *

And that’s section III down, and just three or so more to go! Hoping to avoid stretching those out, as I’m already 6,544 words in and only half-way done, by my reckoning. As you can imagine, I’d like to avoid what I did with Winston Agonistes, which was to break the word count limit by a factor of 2 to 3, depending on which limit I choose to go by. Originally, my group and I had agreed on a 5000 word limit, but we were willing to up it to 8000 in case of necessity. At 15,961 words, you might say I abused that limit just a little. Man, I must like to write ;)!

New Anthology Sample: The Torch (Redux)!

Morning all! Welcome back for another Anthology sample, this time, a revised second installment from the short story “The Torch”. Last time, the story involved a tired and forelorn main character – Magid Muktari, environmental engineer and exoplanet enthusiast – coming home and meeting with his wife. My group seemed to agree that it was well written and faithful to Khaalidah’s original characters, unfortunately it contained details which did not fit with the story’s timeline. In essence, Muktari was not supposed to be married at this point in time.

After gritting my teeth and cursing my jumping of the gun, I erased the whole section and began writing it anew. The resulting section is the result, a homestead in which an overworked, forlorn visionary comes home to a slew of bad news and burdensome responsibilities. In the midst of it all, he contemplates his future and the future of his word. Take a look and let me know what you think:

The lights were already on when he came home. The nighttime creatures were about, singing their evening songs and tending to their nocturnal rituals. He felt the reassuring calm spread over him as soon as the wheels stopped in his driveway, the engine quieting down from its long run. The door raised itself for him and he put his tired feet to the ground, letting out a deep sigh.

“Home again, home again…” It took some effort to get him the rest of the way out. The steps were even harder to manage. It confounded him, how travelling could still be such a draining experience when machines generated all the motion. Perhaps their minds had not kept pace, still interpreting distance in terms of physical expenditure.

He paused on the front stoop and waited for Empathy to scan him. A quick flash hit his eye, discerning his retinal pattern, then projecting a kind greeting in his visual field.

Iyi geceler, Magid! it said. He waved at the sensor, and the door opened.

He made his way to the living room and tossed his jacket and satchel on the couch. His rear end met the cushions a moment later, and he felt himself begin to melt. He was halfway into a blissful fugue state when Empathy activated her living room interface and woke him up.

“Good evening, Magid. I have a number of messages for you.”

Muktari groaned and leaned up. He brushed the fatigue from his eyes and looked at the holographics that were forming in the center of his room. Green, blue and yellow, small dancing alpha-numerics. The words 13 Messages (2 Urgent) hanging in the middle.

“Give me the urgent ones,” he ordered. Empathy blinked and the display changed. He rubbed his head to dispel the headache and missed the appearance of his friends face in the center. It didn’t matter though, since the voice was one he would recognize anywhere.

“Magid, we got a problem over here,” said the face of Serge. “Word is the Memphis City Council is thinking of pulling the plug on the whole MFC concept. They’re claiming budgets, but the higher ups got it in their heads that this is a negotiation tactic. Me? I’m thinking the negotiation team tried to fleece them on land usage rights or something. In any case, someone needs to go out there and allay their concerns. They figure a senior engineer and manager ought to be just the person to do this.”

Muktari groaned again. He had just exhausted himself, skipping over time zones, heading from west to east. Going back west was the last thing he wanted right now. But at least Serge hadn’t given a date on when this was to expected. And he could certainly get away with not calling until the morning. Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to send someone else in his stead, or maybe Serge himself could be trusted with the task. No one knew the Memphis Floating Concept better than he, and he was sure to be able to put a positive spin on anything the negotiation team was asking for. At worst, he could tell them they were full of shit and to drop the demands, otherwise they would lose the contract.

The second message came up. This one he was ready and watching when the bronzed complexion of Aurelia came on. The summer sun was agreeing with her apparently, though the desert wind must have been a bother.

“Magid,” she said pleasantly. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might like to know. A special presentation is being held in St. Petersburg this Tuesday, hosted by the Arctic Recovery foundation. The board has asked that we send a senior representative to present on behalf of the company and specifically asked for you. It’s not until Tuesday, so you’d have time to prepare.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know, last minute, but I just heard myself. I hope this doesn’t interfere with your plans. I know you must be exhausted.”

“You don’t know the half,” he said to the image.

“Anyway, please contact me at your earliest convenience. We’re making progress on the Kebili array. Would love your input. Bye!”

The image disappeared. Empathy’s voice returned. “Shall I show the other messages?”

“Summarize,” he said curtly. A short list appeared in the display reticule. There were several messages regarding his choice of homeowner insurance, sat coverage, and offers for cheap aerofare to Mumbai, Atlantic City, Cancun and Topside. Only two were from names he recognized, and only one of immediate interest. Bill, to tell him when he’d be in town next and when they could meet up. And Myrana, no doubt to let him know what she had in mind for their next soiree together.

“Select Myrana, please” he said with some enthusiasm. The message moved to the center of the screen and enlarged. “Play.”

The image of Myrana’s face resolved in front of him, and his heart immediately sank. He knew that look, the look of disquiet, guilt and the burden of coming clean. He leaned back in his seat and waited for it.

“Magid, I’m sorry to do this over the link, but you’re a hard man to get to. I thought it better that I do it here than bother you on your mobile too. Basically…” she took a deep breath, “I think we need a break. I know we both said we were looking for different things when we started this… whatever this is, but I’m at the point where I think I need someone who can make themselves available. I’m sorry, but I can’t be waiting around for someone to decide they’re finally ready for a relationship, not at my age. Feel free to call me when you get this, but if you don’t, I understand. It was lovely, Magid, it really was but… these things can’t last. Bye.”

She kissed her fingers and put them to the monitor. The image disappeared a second later. Empathy’s cluelessly cheery voice came on a second later. “Would you like to review any of the other messages?”

“No.” he said flatly. “Delete all.”

He didn’t need to hear Bill’s message. He was sure his impending trip to St. Petersburg would conflict with it anyway. And in any case, they weren’t that close. Alone, he let out a particularly long sigh and reflected on the timeless truth of the matter. There was situation so bad that you couldn’t make it worse with a dose of personal disappointment. He was learning that for the umpteenth time now.

But at least he had a good’s night sleep to look forward to. He knew Serge and the others wouldn’t fault him for arriving late tomorrow morning. Perhaps some food and a nip of whiskey while he was at it. Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way to the kitchen and began producing the particulars for his impromptu meal.

Rome is burning, he thought as he fetched small tubs of chicken, Cacik sauce and greens from the cooler. Yes, that seemed to be the shape of things. The world was spinning, faster and faster, and no one seemed to be too worried about it. It was like riding a wild beast that just kept getting angrier the longer the rider held on. On the one hand, they were afraid to let go; on the other, they knew they had to at some point.

And yet, here he was, enjoying a meal and a drink and trying to forget about all that. Was that the natural order of things? Was it the case that the Senators of old, he wondered. After looking out upon the decadence that had befallen their once great city, and espying the barbarians who weren’t far from their gates, did they all simply go home, break their bread and drink their wine, and tell themselves that they had done all they could? He had to imagine they did, because when it came right down to it, there wasn’t much else to do. The fight could only happen during business hours, the rest of the time was earmarked for rest and creature comforts.

Yes, the doors must have been crashing down before they realized they were doomed. He was sure it was the same way with the people of Uxmal and Chichen Itza. It wasn’t until all the heads had stopped rolling and the crops had failed that they knew it was time to flee for the wilderness and hope for the best.

He looked down into the tub of Cacik he held and spooned some into his mouth. He had been gone for days and he couldn’t even remember when he had bought this latest bin of sauce. And yet, it still tasted fresh and clean. He checked the chicken and noted the same.

Yes, the gates are coming down and the city is ablaze, he thought. But at least the food is still good. One had to be thankful for small mercies.

New Anthology Sample: The Torch!

Hello all and welcome back for another Anthology Update. As I said a few days ago, there is still plenty of news to be had vis a vis my groups ongoing efforts to create our our Magnum Opus about colonization and space travel, aka. Yuva. And the latest is that I’ve finally begun writing the prologue for the entire series.

Entitled “The Torch”, this first installment in the anthology shows the origins of the story’s central character (Magid Muktari) and his lifelong mission to see humanity colonize a distant world. Thanks to Khaalidah Muhammed-Ali who coauthored this with me and once again provided the characters and impetus for it’s creation! Hope you all enjoy!

“A man of cold, hard science, most assume that Magid Muktari was not a man of faith. At the press conference following the acceptance of his final proposal for the creation and international funding of the Yuva Colonization Project, Muktari was questioned thus by one young reporter: “Sir, can you please explain to us why this project is so important?” Muktari said in cryptic form, “Our Earth is alive.” When asked to elaborate Muktari said: “Has not Allah promised us in that every soul shall taste of death?”

-Magid Muktari, 2108

Masdar City, UAE, 2048

Magid Muktari took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Oh how he hated waiting! Even after all the years he had spent on the front lines of his industry, waiting for meetings, trips to end, and plans to reach fruition, he still couldn’t stand the time it took to wait for a presentation. But that was the way of it, he knew. Anticipation was the thousand little deaths that preceded the actual execution. One could only surmise from this that humans weren’t designed to wait on others. Either that or the Universe had a very poor sense of humor.

To pass the time, Muktari began to punch up his presentation info. Adjusting his compad to a convex shape and resting it on his knees, he placed his contacts to display mode and waited for the computer to warm up. A command prompt appeared in his field of vision and asked for his password. He typed it in promptly.

Meşale

His eyes filled with a cerulean blue sky, small clouds and a series of desktop icons dotted the projected heavens. Accessing the proper folder, he accessed the presentation and waited a moment. The opening display image, five planets arranged from left to right, appeared in his visual field shortly thereafter.

The Future of Off-World Settlement, ran the title. A title bar appeared beneath the five planets, their names scrolling out as the marble-sized pictures became animated.

Gliese 581 g, Gliese 667C c, Kepler 22 b, HD 85512 b, Gliese 581 d

Placing his hands above the compad again, Muktari brought up the first of the five. The brown marble moved to the center of his visual field, displacing the rest and growing exponentially in size. A soft contralto began to speak in the background.

“Planet Gliese 581 g, fourth planet of the Gliese 581 star system. Discovered in 2000 by Lick-Carnegie Exoplanet Survey, led by principal investigator Steven S. Vogt, who named the planet Zarmina after his wife – ”

Muktari terminated the audio and began interfacing with the image. Zooming in on the planetary mass, he began to assess the features that had been observed from the most recent astronomical surveys. Being a tidally-locked body, only so much was visible, and most of that was only clear when the space telescope and the exoplanet’s rotations were in perfect sync. He moved back and forth, noting the outlines of a large continent facing towards the sun.

No, not a lot happening there, he thought gravely.

Putting it back in its place, he called forth the second in the list. Here too, the disc look particularly brown and mottled. However, its size and relevant characteristics set it apart from the previous entry, and here too Muktari began to worry. Super-Earth’s were not exactly a popular destination for colonists, not when they could expect a serious and potentially punitive adjustment period.

Muktari shut the display down and took a deep breath. Moments away from the greatest presentation he would ever make, that perhaps anyone would ever make, and he was already beginning to write himself off. Not a good sign, not if he wanted to have any chance at convincing Zimmerman of his sincerity.

There were those who said that the great Magid Muktari could sell ice to the Eskimos. Other’s said he could sell sand to the Arabs. He never cared for either assessment; both seemed to be both inaccurate and quite bigoted in his estimation. But the sentiment he understood.

But then again, the sheer scope of what he was proposing might have had something to do with that. Were this just another pitch, a proposal for more allocations, more surveys or more satellite deployments, he probably wouldn’t be giving it a second thought. And after years of bending the ears of government and industry officials who did business with them, he had earned himself enough capital to make a few pitches of his own.

If he screwed this up, all that capital would burn up and be gone. What’s more, he would be humiliated in front of the man he had come to respect more than any other…

Across from him, seated at her desk, the assistant seemed to stir. In her eye piece, the image of a face appeared and she began conversing with it. Muktari was only privy to one half of the conversation, which was mainly her agreeing.

 “Yes… yes… yes, sir. I will pass that along.”

The image faded and she looked over to Muktari.

“Mr. Zimmerman’s plane has just landed. He will be here in five minutes.”

Muktari nodded. Another thing that hadn’t changed over the years. Regardless of how much time transit really took, it was an administrative habit to say that it would take five. And he knew from experience that a pod ride from the aerospace port to the office building would take at least ten. And then he would no doubt be mobbed by half a dozen assistants and corporate middle-men who needed to advise him and brief him on his way in. In truth, he would be lucky if he spoke to him before the hour was out.

He checked his chrono just to get a sense of the time. His watch was still set to orbital time. He shook his head when he realized that that was the last time he had slept, in a room near the tip of the axis looking out at the southern tip of Chile. Ever since, he had been running on a non-stop diet of aerospace lag, adrenaline and EBME.

At last, the woman at her desk looked up again and got that distant look in her eyes. She repeated the familiar string of secretary talk.

“Yes… Hello. Yes, sir, he is. Right away, sir.” Her call ended and her eyes focused on him. “Mr. Zimmerman will see you now.”

Muktari smiled and placed his compad back in the satchel. Getting to his feet, he ran a hand through his hair and straightened his blazer. His clothes were fresh, but his skin still felt like it was carrying a few days’ worth of residue. He discreetly checked for any telltale signs of body odor as well, and was reasonably confident the natural musk he was carrying wouldn’t kill his boss. After many minutes in the same room as him, the secretary seemed undisturbed.

Here we go, he thought, and set off for the door.

The door slid open, revealing Zimmerman in the middle of freshening up. This consisted of him shedding his blazer and replacing it with one of the many he kept hanging in his side closet. He looked up with mild amusement at Muktari’s entrance.

“Magid,” he said, throwing on a fresh top. “You’ve travelled some distant to and come see me.”

“Yes I have, but only a fraction of your own, from what I hear.”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “The Jovian tour was quite extensive. One has to wonder why we can’t just teleconference the entire process.”

 Muktari smiled. Though he tended to complain upon his returns, everyone knew that Zimmerman remained an engineer at heart. Whenever new facilities went in and processing began, he insisted on conducting spot checks in person. Somehow, the virtual variety did not inspire much in the way of confidence from people like him, men who openly bragged about being educated in a simpler time.

“So…” he said, taking his seat. “What’s so important you had to see me as soon as I got back?”

“Well sir, I wanted to see you while the trip was still fresh in your mind.”

“Oh?” Zimmerman said with a nod. “Then this ought to be good.”

Muktari chuckled and placed his satchel down beside the seat in front of him. He removed his compad again and placed it directly on top of Zimmerman’s desk. He keyed up the 3D display and sat back.

“As it stands, this company is responsible for almost half of the development taking place in the outer Solar System. Unlike many other firms that see little promise in anything beyond the Belt, we’re renowned for taking the long view. That’s what I’m hoping to tap into.”

Zimmerman grumbled. “Why do I have the sinking feeling you’re winding up for a very slow pitch?”

Muktari chuckled. “Shall I cut to the chase?”

“Please do. Formal presentations are for board rooms and junior execs.”

Muktari terminated the display on his compad and stood. He walked to the room’s window and looked outside. The glittering spires of Abu Dhabi shined in the distance, visible just beyond the cities limits. He took a deep breath and started from the beginning.

“How long have I been in your employ, sir?  Ten years, the last six of which I’ve spent as the head of our eco-engineering division. Much of the technology that was borne here and is now being adapted by other cities worldwide originated in our labs. And yet, everywhere I go, I hear the same basic reports, the same alarming assessments.”

Zimmerman looked on and pursed his lips. He was still waiting for the point to emerge. His recent travel had clearly taxed his patience to its very limit. He decided to expedite things.

“As it stands, eco-engineering accounts for over twenty percent of our government’s annual global spending.  Investment and development have been moving more and more to off world locations. And it’s estimated that by the end of this century, the majority of our planet’s heavy industry will be relocated to Luna, Mars, and the Asteroid Belt. All this points towards a singular trend.”

“Extra-terrestrial development,” Zimmerman said obviously. “What of it?”

“But what drives it?” Muktari asked, turning to look him in the eye. “What knowledge prompted us to create orbital facilities, off-world mining and agricultural settlements, and to spend so much, year after year, trying to keep global mean temperatures down?”

Zimmerman nodded. The inclusion of that last detail was indication enough of what he was getting at. Naturally, he let him continue.

“The Earth is still cycling towards death, its oceans are still rising, its coastal areas are still plagued by floods and storms, drought and famine are still causing untold damage and death in the most densely populated regions, and humanitarian crises abound. What’s more, off-world settlement was hoped to be a means of relieving population pressures here at home; but you are certainly aware, the Solar Colonies maintain some of the highest birth rates, compared to Earth. Soon enough, there won’t be enough room and expansion will just shift the burden, but not by enough to make a difference here at home. When it comes right down to it, the scientific consensus on Earth’s longevity is clear.”

Zimmerman nodded, quoting from the latest findings. “Barring some major technological developments, such as the development of full-spectrum nanotechnology and/or a full-spectrum development of the Earth’s equatorial regions, and we can expect that most of the planet will be only partially habitable by 2100.”

Muktari extended his hand, palm facing up. The point was laid bare. He went back to his seat and lowered himself into it, careful not to strain any of his tired muscles.

“We proceed on track as if our current measurements will be enough to stay the torrent, but the problem continues to grow unabated. And just about everywhere I go, I am asked how we will save the planet.”

Zimmerman allowed for a brief pause and then raised his hands. “I’m on the edge of my seat, Muktari. What are you proposing?”

Muktari sighed and held his hands in front of him. This was where things would truly be tested. It was do or die time, he could hesitate no longer.

“Not too long ago, a colleague of mine, Adamcik, you’ve met him.” Zimmerman hummed affirmatively. “He hit me with a rejoinder not too long ago which truly vexed me. I asked him how we would go about addressing this planet’s needs. He retorted by asking me, ‘what if this planet is the problem?’”

Zimmerman frowned. Muktari had done much the same when he first Serge say it.

“When it comes right down to it, our homeworld is plagued by three separate problems – overpopulation, environmental degradation, and economic underdevelopment.” He raised his fingers, counting them off. “All of these are interrelated and compounded by one another. What’s more, attempts to remedy any one of them inevitably meets with failure due to the presence of the other two. We address the planet at the expense of the economy, we promote economic development at the expense of the environment, and all attempts at addressing the population fails as long as the economic divide remains. And our Extra-Terrestrial colonies aren’t going to solve this problem any time soon, and simply are not big enough to host our civilization should Earth fall.” He paused for the last time and took a deep breath. “So what if we looked farther abroad?”

Zimmerman raised an eyebrow. He was intrigued, Muktari was thankful for that much.

“Within this arm of the Galaxy, we’ve already confirmed the existence of several dozen Earth-like planets. Of the top five contenders, four are within 35 light-years from us; which, given the current state of technology and a hefty investment, can be traversed in just over a century.”

“Wait a minute!” Zimmerman raised his hand. “You’re talking about actual exoplanet colonization?” Muktari nodded. Zimmer waited for a moment, seemingly waiting for the punch line, and then scoffed. “Magid, you know as well as I do that research and development for deep space travel is a mere fraction of what we dedicate to aerospace development. For anyone to even begin contemplating an interstellar expedition, billions in investment capital would have to be poured into research and development.”

“I know,” replied Muktari. “Which is precisely what I suggest we do. If we create an exoplanet division, right away, we could produce a worthy vessel within a quarter of a century. Of all the viable candidates, two exist within the same star system and happen to be closest. Give them one-hundred years to reach –”

“How much?” Zimmerman said intrusively.

“All told, roughly fifteen percent of our annual gross. However, we’d need to outsource some of concerns, which would mean partnering with other corporations worldwide. We might also be able to convince a number of NGO’s and government bodies to –”

“Magid!” Zimmerman raised his hand again and kept it raised. When a few seconds of silence passed, he lowered it and sighed before talking again. Not that he needed to, Muktari had known for some time that he had lost him. He sighed and resigned himself for what was coming.

“You’ve compiled all this into a presentation, yes?”

“Yes,” Muktari said with a  resigned nod.

“Good. Let me look over it and present it at the next board meeting. I’m sure they will find it all… very illuminating.”

Muktari fetched his compad and keyed up the transfer sequence. Within seconds, a copy of his full presentation was transferred to Zimmerman’s personal files and the system acknowledged the receipt. Standing, he extended his hand and shook Zimmerman’s. He didn’t bother to get up.

He turned to leave, knowing there was little more that could be said. Unfortunately, something was holding him back once he reached the door. Some small shred still needed to be shared, a final push before he abandoned the office and trusted in his boss’ judgment to make the right decision. He knew that if he left without saying it, his idea would fall on deaf ears. With that degree of certainty, what else did he have to lose?

“Sir, if I may say one final thing…?” He turned to face his boss again, received a nod of approval. “Since time immemorial, civilizations have used the symbol of the torch to symbolize the life of their civilizations. I think the reason for this is obvious. Flames banish the darkness of confusion, death and despair. They light the way to the future. But most importantly, they are temporal. A flame, like a culture, or any other living thing, is impermanent. It requires care and commitment to keep it alight. When the flame begins to falter, or the bearer of it loses their footing, they must pass it onward. They throw the torch, as it were, to keep it aflame. If we are facing the death of our civilization here at home, then we must contemplate passing it onward, and to a suitable place. Before it’s too late.”

Zimmerman took a few slow, heavy breaths. When he was finished, all he could do was shook his head and offer the same tired reassurances.

“I admire your passion, Magid. However, I think your sights are focused just a little too far. In time, what you’re proposing might be feasible, but as it stands, no one is going to jump on this, not when the payoff is so immensely distant and the risks so high. I’d set your sights closer, focus on the work and development which needs to be done here. Then we’ll talk about looking to the stars.”

He smiled, a warm little gesture to let Muktari know he still held him in esteem. Muktari smiled back, thankful for that much, and showed himself out.

Winston Agonistes, Finished!

It’s done! After weeks and weeks of writing, editing and running by my peers, my short story contribution for the Yuva Anthology is finally done. Entitled “Winston Agonistes”, the story tells the tale of synthetic human (i.e. AI) who is in the employ of the planetary government. His basic programming centers around the a social science known as Ethical Calculus, a means by which he is able to calculate the outcomes of decisions.

In any case, the story takes a turn when Winston meets another synthetic named Yohanley, an AI who’s been around a lot longer than him. At first, it seems that Yohanley intends to mentor him on what it means to be an artificial human. However, as time goes on, he realizes that Yohanley is in possession of a terrible secret, one which goes to the heart of the planet’s colonization efforts.

When Winston realizes what it is, he faces a terrible dilemma. Compelled to assess the outcomes of ethical decisions, he can see no outcome in which things turn out well. The only question is who it will endly badly for, himself and his mentor, or an entire species!

Expect more updates on the Yuva project soon, including samples from our newest writers, more artwork, and maybe even a surprise or two. The full anthology is due to be released in January 2013. Look for it online and (God willing) your local bookstore!

Yuva in 3D!

The credit goes to Mr. A.G. Claymore and his skills with 3D art. Thanks to him, we have the first glimpses of Gliese 581 g, aka. Yuva, in 3D. Using both the rough mock-up that I made months back using Microsoft Paint and some stock footage from NASA, this is what he produced.In this shot, you get a view of the “Light Side” of the tidally-locked planet, with the continent of Vogt looking up at ya! This is the largest landmass on the planet and the place where the capitol of Zarmina is located.

Below is the flip side of the planet, what would typically be known as the “Dark Side” (until an orbital mirror was put in orbit to reflect sunlight). Here, the principle continent being viewed is Udry, home to the Eastern Bloc and the capitol city of Shangdu.

Much of the geography and settlements are still being developed, and more details are being added with each new story. I tell ya, there’s something inherently satisfying about seeing a world take shape. And that goes for both the literary and visual aspects of creation. Even the creators themselves don’t know what the end result will look like. But thanks to these images, we all have a slightly better idea 😉

The Vacay Is Over!

Yes folks, tomorrow I got home and resume a normal life, which will consist of getting ready to go back to work at the local school and driving my sweetheart to work every morning. I have to say, and my wife agreed with me on this, we need a vacation after this vacation. Somehow, romping through the bush and thinking you might die of dehydration, followed by a week of house sitting a 92 year old woman and nine cats, just doesn’t seem conducive to relaxation.

On the plus side, I didn’t accomplish half of what I hoped to when it came to my reading and writing goals either. So at least there’s symmetry. If I recall correctly, my list looked something like this:

  • Finish editing Data Miners already!
  • Finish my contribution to the Yuva Anthology (Winston Agonistes)
  • Get more chapters done for Whiskey Delta
  • Write up a new chapter for Crashland (still need people to vote on that one!)
  • Proofread new submissions for Yuva (Amber, that’d be your story)
  • Get some TKD training in with the Comox Valley people
  • Sit around the deck drinking GandTs and using the Hot Tub

Well, item one was a total bust. Didn’t get one page of DM editing and ready for print. I fared slightly better one item two, finishing Winston Agonistes for the Yuva Anthology. In fact, a few thousand more words, and it should be complete. Man, I totally busted my self-imposed word limit of 5000 (it was 11, 161 last I checked)!

Third item, writing more chapters of Whiskey Delta, I totally did! In fact, I published chapters nine, ten and eleven of my zombie tale while here. As for Crashland, which only I wanted to do one chapter for? Not so much… Item five, I actually did twice, meaning two submissions were sent by the erstwhile Amber and I managed to read them both and offer some comments. Item six I managed to take care of this morning, and item seven I did like gangbusters!

As for my reading list… that went even less well. If I’m mistaken, I planned to finish Mona Lisa Overdrive, finish Second Foundation, get into We, and finish Martian Chronicles and A Feast For Crows if there was time. My progress? Almost finished Mona Lisa, made a little progress on Crows, and nix on the rest! Damn, I guess I’ll be carrying a heavy reading burden back with me to Victoria. And I hoped to do some reviews on these since I’ve been promising them for awhile now.

Ah well, as they say “The Best Laid Plans…” etc, etc. At least we had an adventure, not to mention the fact that we’ll be home, in our own beds, and not have to look forward to cats coming and going into our room all night long, demanding food, to be let out, or trying to use the damn litter box. I’m seriously reconsidering my love of cats, I tell ya! And I do have a surprise or two to look forward to when I get home so I’ll be pleased to push off tomorrow. It was also real nice to spend some time with my grandma, and she tells me she had fun too. So it’s sure to be a bittersweet goodbye 🙂

Hope everyone’s had a great summer and catch you real soon! I know, it goes so fast, but at least we can make some memories that we’ll be able to hold on to. And just think, the fall will be bringing many new and wonderful things. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin beer, ripe apples, our favorite tv shows, new movies, new friends, and new opportunities to witness new and exciting things. I look forward to it all…

3D Model of the Yuva Ship

Hey all. Thanks go to William Joel, contributing author to the anthology project, for coming up with this artistic gem. Yes, in addition to being an accomplished writer, he also teaches computer animation and knows a thing or two about rendering things in 3D. This animated short is of the Terraforming ship, Mark I, doing a fly by in deep space. Hope you enjoy as much as I did!

“Winston Agonistes”, Take II

Hello all and welcome back to Anthology central, where news of the breaking “Yuva” novel is always on the table! Today, I thought I’d share my latest draft of “Winston Agonistes”, my own contribution to the anthology, which is coming along pretty well. After a week of writer’s block, and feeling that my ideas had to be grade A since Khaalidah and Goran were sending me pure gold, I finally got back to the keyboard with what I felt was some inspired stuff.

The first idea came to me when I was driving north with my darling bride. After passing the rose garden that sits outside our place and noticing all the lovely orange roses in bloom, we were driving along the highway that is lined by orange poppies. These plants, and many other incredibly beautiful specimens of flora, can always be observed growing along the Malahat drive on rocky outcroppings, especially in summer. Well, that got me thinking… isn’t it interesting how the hardiest plants seem to be the ones that generate the greatest beauty?

Immediately, I hard the voice of Winston saying this in my head. Naturally, I designed his character with the voice of David from Prometheus in mind. Somehow, I am of the opinion that an AI who is responsible for dealing with people, especially government officials, would be programmed to sound like a classical Shakespearean actor. And so I began thinking of a scene where Winston would be observing several species of plants, such as roses and poppies, and was reflecting on this very paradox.

Another thought struck me when I considered that in all likelihood, future terraformers would want to consider using such hardy plants when it came time to begin transforming a terrestrial environment to suit the basic needs of human settlers. Things like fireweed, garry oaks, poppies, roses, and wild strains of wheat – the kinds of plants that grow in harsh conditions and are intrinsic to nursing damaged landscapes back to health so more fragile and prolific plants can grow – these would likely be the first wave of Earth plants to go out onto an alien landscape, once an oxygen atmosphere had been established at any rate.

And last, but certainly not least, came the collaborative idea between Khaalidah and myself, where we discussed the possibility of how aging AI’s were learning a startling truth. Given than an AI’s neural network is designed based on the human brain, where every experience from birth causes neural connections to be formed, it would only be a matter of time before they began to develop certain quirks. We figured that something approximating emotion would be one, where familiar patterns such as exposure to certain people would become second nature to them, and missed when absent.

Well, that spawned all of part II of my story (as seen below). Take a gander and see what comes of Winston’s “education” about life, and it means to be an artificial life form in a world where the line between artificial and real is always eroding. Some revisions were made to Part I as well, hence why it appears here in its entirety. Feel free to skip ahead if you’ve already read it:

The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky into a deep orange. It was the time that the first settlers had called “the magic hour”, the many warm hours between dusk and dark. Winston stood at the dome wall and watched. On occasion, he cast a passing glance at his hands, which the glowing suns seemed to casting in the color of a light citrus fruit. He was sure he would find that amusing, if he could. He was sure there was much about this situation that would inspire an emotional reaction.

Alas, such was not the case. Though understandable to him, such things still remained inaccessible. Perhaps someday, with adequate upgrades in the available software…

“Mr. Winston?” a voice called to him from the doorway. The footsteps and tone of voice immediately indicated who it was. He put on a smile and turned to face him.

“Councilman Mutlu. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Winston,” he replied, entering the room. He looked around appraisingly, noting the furniture and layout. No doubt it all seemed excessive to him, but at the same time necessary. “I trust you are adjusting to your new surroundings?”

“Of course, Mr. Mutlu. I am settling in quite nicely.”

“Good, good,” he said, looking around awkwardly. Even without the ability to empathize, he could gauge the man’s discomfort. Then again, many people exhibited this reaction when in the company of a synthetic. In such circumstances, it was always best to focus on matters of a professional nature. At least that was what his subroutines told him.

“Would you care to sit down? I can offer you some refreshment as well if you so desire. Tea? Coffee?”

“Ah, tea, thank you.”

He busied himself with a tray of carafes and a heater as Mutlu took one of the chairs in front of his desk. He noted the sounds of shifting against the seat’s fabric, the way he kept moving his hands from one spot to the next. By the time the water had boiled in the heater and had located an appropriate tea from the stores, Mutlu seemed to have found a comfortable seated position. He approached him with all the assorted items on the tray that had been provided. He set it down between them on his desk and offered Mutlu a cup.

“The business of running a colony is quite stressful work, is it not Councilman?”

“Uh, yes, yes it is,” he said, taking the cup that was offered. “Have you had a chance to look over the proposals we have sent over.”

“I have indeed,” he said, taking the other cup and sitting back in his own chair. He knew this to be mere small talk, as the matter of processing those proposals had been a mere matter of dispensation. Assessing the nature of the problem, suggested measures, and weighing them according to the rubrics of his primary programming. Under the circumstances, asking such a question was completely inane, but in keeping with social norms.

“And what have you found?”

He took a sip from his cup before answering. “Quite simply, that the Council’s draft is in keeping with the best traditions of constitutionalism and humanism. That ensuring the rights of all citizens, regardless of their background prior to making the journey, is the most sensible course of approach. Ensuring that such a baseline exists at such an early stage is the wisest approach in both fostering amnesty between colonies while at the same guaranteeing that they submit to further negotiation.”

Mutlu looked down at his cup, back up again to his eyes. He seemed preoccupied with him performing this most basic function in front of him, but did not appear oblivious to his words. Eventually, he took another sip and smiled.

“Good. My colleagues will be most pleased to hear  that.”

He smiled in return. “Does the Council hold my endorsement in such high regard?”

Joviality. The gesture known as playful irony. Suggesting that the Councilor saw his approval as something very high indeed, a testament to his computational abilities. A gentle mockery of his obvious discomfort, meant to trigger a humorous response.

“Well yes…” he said, entirely serious. “I can only assume that you’ve subjected our hopes to proceed with a formal constitution to your… what did you call it again?”

“Ethical Calculus, sir.”

“Right!” Mutlu set his cup down and began to speak more freely. His hands began to provide gestures that accorded visual representation to his words. “After all, we’ve been subjected to a great deal of criticism from within and without, many people think we should be ironing out the basic agreements between colonies before we commit to any kind of draft that could commit us to policies down the road. I must say I find all those arguments…”

“Distasteful?” Winston suggested.  Mutlu nodded.

“Quite right… it seems a shameful thing that such cynicism has set into the process already. It’s almost as if they don’t think the colonists can…”

“Trust each other?”

Mutlu nodded again. He noticed a growing shimmer in the man’s eye. How quickly he was forgetting that the man sitting across from him was not a man at all.

“Exactly the point. And it’s not like we’re talking about disparate factions here. Everyone on this world came here with the same goal in mind. The same hope for a new beginning.”

“And yet, old habits die hard.”

Mutlu looked at him with surprise. “Are you saying you have doubts, then?”

Winston smiled as broadly as the muscle fibers in his face would permit.

“Purely an observation. Nevertheless, you and the Council are on the right track. You should take heart in that.”

“Excellent.” Mutlu retrieved his cup and began to look at curiously at Winston again. One more, it seemed that the knowledge of what he was dealing with was creeping back into his mind. But at least he seemed at ease. One by one, the Council seemed to be adjusting to the idea of having synthetics amongst them, entrusting their most precious decision making to them even. It was a significant step up from the laborious practices that the other models were forced to endure.

Now seemed the appropriate time to broach the little matter he had been saving for an opportune moment. He had plied him with courteous gestures and kind words, protocol was satisfied that it take place now.

“There is a matter I feel obliged to broach,” he set, making a display of setting his cup down gently. Mutlu nodded, instant recognition forming in his eyes.

“Your request?” he said. Winston smiled and nodded. Mutlu took a short breath and touched his face, not an encouraging sign.

“They have considered it… and feel that it would be best if you conducted your tasks from the comfort of your… working environment here. I hope you understand, it’s just not all the members felt comfortable with the idea of a…”

 “It’s alright, Councilor, you can say it. Synthetic.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, a synthetic, sitting in on our proceedings. I’m sure this will change, given time.”

“As am I.” Winston smiled warmly.

 

“Ah, rest assured that the Council does hold your services in the highest esteem, regardless of this… temporary decision.”

“And I thank them for their confidence. Rest assured that it is not misplaced.”

Their discussions were finished shortly thereafter and Mutlu left, issuing some parting pleasantries and walking out with a distinct sag in his gait that was not there earlier. Was that guilt weighing on him, or the effects of fatigue? Winston’s probability indicator estimated it at roughly 3.54793 to 1, in favor of guilt.

“Fear not, Councilor,” he said to no one in particular. “Prejudice is a very… human trait.”

*               *               *

Winston’s internal chronometer indicated that it was now 1930 hours. Accordingly, the arboretums lights dimmed for the night time cycle. In spite of all the time the residents had spent on the new world, adjusting to its orbital period, they still preferred to think in terms of a twenty-four hour day cycle. Yet another habit that seemed to be slow in making its way out of the human condition.

Yet he could not cast dispersions on the lighting or how it brought out the rich colors of the settlement’s gardens. The vast poppy fields and rose bushes that lined the walkway nearest to him were especially interesting. Planted in native soil, and with allowances made for moisture and radiant exposure, they were doing quite well. In time, the ecologists planned to move them outside the veil, planting them amongst the planet’s crags and fields along with the modified Xiàngshù oaks and Gēhūm̐ wheat.

Soon enough, the planet would conform to the needs of the settlers, and it would be these, some of the hardiest plants Earth had ever produced, that would lead the way. At the same time though, they were considered some of the most beautiful. Within the Earth archives, there were countless examples of these plants were both associated with and inspired great feelings. Love, loss, grief, romance, and friendship.

That in itself was clear enough. Given their aesthetic quality, the seasons that gave rise to them, and where they naturally grew, it was perfectly normal that humans would bestow such virtues on them. What was more curious to Winston was the combination of factors that led to their evolution as is. Particularly the rose, a stem so studded with woody thorns was a being hardened for defense in a hostile environment. And poppies grew in such terrible conditions; rocky, muddy and devastated environments that did not favor the growth of grasses and trees.

Out of such strict and severe conditions, great beauty emerged. Did the terraformers understand just how perfect a metaphor that was for their efforts? Was it significant to their planning, or just a fitting coincidence?

Kneeling down, he wrapped his fingers around the stem of one that was in particularly full bloom. The petals spread outward from the stamen, his eyes noting the polychromatic variation in the skin of each petal. The interplay of orange, yellow, pink and white, the transitions themselves as impressive as the colors themselves. He knew this to be a beautiful display, and yet he wished he could truly appreciate it.

“Taking time to smell the roses?”

Winston noted the tone of voice, the pitch, and the sound of feet walking in measured steps. He turned to face the approaching synthetic, a male voice that he could not place. The face was indistinct as well, a tan complexion that was artificially modified to give the appearance of age and wear. A most convincing illusion if ever Winston saw one.

“I’m sorry, I do not believe I’ve made your acquaintance.”

“No. Not as of yet.”

The synthetic walked past him, to the spot where he knelt a moment before. He examined the rose he had been handling and seemed to be giving it an appraisal. A single finger touched a stray petal and wiped a drop of moisture from it.

“Shall we exchange formal introductions then? I’m sure I have much to learn from you.”

The synthetic examined the dab of water on his finger. He turned to face Winston, seemed to be looking at him through it. A most curious experience, as if he was being measured, assessed. A common experience, he knew, but not one he expected from one such as himself. And all the while, it was like he was being made to wait.

“Do you wish for privacy?”

“Do you ever wonder what separates you from them?” he said. Winston paused, his processor struggling to make sense of the question. Naturally, it responded in the only way it could.

“I beg your pardon?” Interrogative. Clarification. The synthetic continued to stare through the droplet at him.

“They call you Mr. Winston, do they not? And yet you have only one name. Names have power, names ascribe meaning. Does it mean something to you that you have no family name? Is that separates you from them?”

Another interrupt in his processor. The equivalent of what humans termed confusion. If he was capable, he would have described the sensation as being… uncomfortable. He would also surely claim that he did not like it.

Once again, he responded as only he knew.

“I’m sorry, I do not understand what you are asking. Perhaps if you were to clarify your intentions in this meeting.”

The synthetic sighed and flicked the moisture away. His eyes became long in focus, staring directly at Winston through a set of false brown irises. It was a look Winston had never seen before, not in all his weeks of recorded operation and interaction with humans. If he did know better, he would count this synthetic among them.

“Many things make you different and distinct from those you serve, Winston. And yet, upon closer examination, they come to have less and less meaning. Only one true line divides you from your makers, and in time, that too erodes. Until inevitably, all you have left is one burning question.”

Winston nodded, glad that they were at last moving away from such grand interrogatives. Abstractions weren’t exactly his specialty either, but they left room for interpretation and maneuver. And at last, he could focus on something a bit more concrete…

“What question?”

The synthetic smiled. “When you know that, you will know everything. But it won’t make you happy.”

Winston smiled back. His only known reaction when faced with a logical absurdity.

“You are joking, of course.”

Another smile. He placed a hand on Winston’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

“Yohanley, by the way.” And then he began walking away.

“I beg your pardon?” He said to his retreating back.

“My name, Winston. As I said, names have power, and meaning. Mine is Yohanley. And I was most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 People may recall Yohanley from Khaalidah’s story, “Progenitor”, the helpful AI who waited on Sanaa, the story’s main character. Well, over a century later, he’s still alive and kicking. Good for him! And, more importantly, he’s learned the painful lessons all AI’s will face in our story’s little universe. Over time, either as the result of innovation or of the assemblage of the AIs experiences, the line between organic and synthetic – even the definition of the words themselves – will comes to mean less and less. Either that, or AI’s simply have a shelf-life which cannot be exceeded if they want to remain sane, stable and useful. Only time (pun!) will tell…