Archives for posts with tag: science fiction

AllCoversLarge.AI.2

CHAPTER 1

The age had its own momentum.  Virgil Copeland could sense it.  Even here, now, as he waited anxiously for Gabrielle it tugged at him, whispering there was no going back.

He stood watch by the glass doors of the Waimanalo retreat center, willing Gabrielle’s car to appear at the end of the circular driveway.  He imagined it gliding into sight around the bank of lush tropical foliage – heliconia and gardenias, ornamental ginger and potted orchids – their flowers bright in the muted light beneath heavy gray clouds.

But Gabrielle’s car did not appear.  She didn’t call.  All afternoon she had failed to respond to Virgil’s increasingly frantic messages.  He couldn’t understand it.  She had never been out of contact before.

Randall Panwar stopped his restless pacing, to join Virgil in his watch.  “She should have been here hours ago.  Something’s happened to her.  It has to be.”

Virgil didn’t want to admit it.  He touched his forehead, letting his fingertips slide across the tiny silicon shells of his implanted LOVs.  They felt like glassy flecks of sand: hard and smooth and utterly illegal.

“Don’t do that,” Panwar said softly.  “Don’t call attention to them.”

Virgil froze.  Then he lowered his hand, forcing himself to breathe deeply, evenly.  He had to keep control.  With the LOVs enhancing his moods, it would be easy to slide into an irrational panic.  Panwar was susceptible too.  “You’re doing all right, aren’t you?” Virgil asked.

Panwar looked at him sharply, his eyes framed by the single narrow wrap-around lens of his farsights.  Points of data glinted on the interactive screen.

Panwar had always been more volatile than either Virgil or Gabrielle, and yet he handled his LOVs best.  The cascading mood swings that Virgil feared rarely troubled him.  “I’m worried,” Panwar said.  “But I’m not gone.  You?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Panwar nodded.  “I’ve got sedatives, if you need them.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ll try to message her again.”

He bowed his head, raising his hand to touch his farsights, as if he had to shade out the external world to see the display.  He’d had the same odd mannerism since Virgil had met him – eight years ago now – when they’d been assigned to share a frosh dorm room, shoved together because they’d both graduated from technical high schools, and because they were both sixteen.

Panwar’s dark brown hair displayed a ruddy Irish tinge, courtesy of his mother.  By contrast his luminous black eyes were a pure gift of his father: Ancient India in a glance.  At six-three he was several inches taller than Virgil, with the lean, half-wasted build of a starving student out of some 19th century Russian novel.  Not that he had ever wanted for money – his parents were both computer barons and all that he had ever lacked was time.  Then again, it would take an infinite amount of time to satisfy his curiosities.

He looked up.  A short, sharp shake of his head conveyed his lack of success.  “Let’s drive by her place when we get out of here.”  His own implanted LOVs glittered like tiny blue-green diamonds, scattered across his forehead, just beneath his hairline.  Like Gabrielle, he passed them off as a subtle touch of fashionable glitter.

Virgil’s LOVs were hidden by the corded strands of his Egyptian-wrapped hair, and could be seen only when he pulled the tresses back into a ponytail.  “Maybe she just fell asleep,” he muttered.

“Not Gabrielle.”

Virgil glanced across the lobby to the half-open door of the conference room where the droning voice of a presenter could be heard, describing in excruciating detail the numbers obtained in a recent experiment.  It was the sixth project review to be laid before the senior staff of Equatorial Systems in a session that had already run three hours.  The LOV project was up next, the seventh and last appeal to be laid before a brain-fried audience charged with recommending funding for the coming year.

Gabrielle always did the presenting.  The execs loved her.  She was a control freak who made you happy to follow along.

“Maybe she lost her farsights,” Virgil suggested without belief.

“She would have called us on a public link.  Maybe she found a new boyfriend, got distracted.”

“That’s not it.”

It was Virgil’s private theory that in a world of six and a half billion people, only the hopelessly driven obsessive could out-hustle the masses of the sane – those who insisted on rounded lives, filled out with steady lovers, concerts, vacations, hobbies, pets, and even children.  Sane people could not begin to compete with the crazies who lived and breathed their work, who fell asleep long after midnight with their farsights still on, only to waken at dawn and check results before coffee.

Gabrielle had never been one of the sane.

So why hadn’t she called?

Because something had stopped her.  Something bad.  Maybe a car accident?  But if that was it, they should have heard by now.

Virgil’s gaze scanned the field of his own farsights, searching for Gabrielle’s icon, hoping to find it undiscovered on his screen.

Nothing.

Panwar was pacing again, back and forth before the lobby doors.  Virgil said, “You’re going to have to do it.”

Panwar whirled on him.  “God no.  It’s 5:30 on a Sunday afternoon.  Half the execs are asleep, and the other half want to get drunk.  They emphatically do not want to listen to me.”

“We haven’t got a choice.”

“You could do it,” Panwar said.  “You should do it.  It’s your fault anyway Nash stuck us in this time slot.  If you’d turned in the monthly report when it was due–”

“Remember my career day talk?”

Panwar winced.  “Oh Christ.  I forgot.”  Then he added, “You always were a jackass.  All right.  I’ll give the presentation.  But the instant Gabrielle walks through that door, she takes over at the podium.”

#

Virgil skulked in the conference room doorway, as much to make it awkward for anyone to leave early, as to hear what Panwar had to say.  The LOV project always confused the new execs, stirring up uncomfortable questions like: What’s it for?  Where’s it going?  Have any market studies been done?

The project was the problem child in the EquaSys family, refusing to stay on a convenient track to market glory.  It was Panwar’s job to make the execs love it anyway.

Or rather, it was Gabrielle’s job.  Panwar was only subbing.

“…At the heart of the LOV project are the artificial neurons called asterids.  Conceived as a medical device to stabilize patients with an unbalanced brain chemistry…”

Virgil scowled.  Wasn’t Panwar’s passion supposed to illuminate his voice, or something?  Why had this sounded so much better when they’d rehearsed it with Gabrielle?

“Test animals used in this phase of development began to exhibit enhanced intelligence as measured on behavioral tests, though never for long.  The cells tended to reproduce as small tumors of intense activity.  Within an average sixty days post-implantation, every test animal died as some vital, brain-regulated function ceased to work.”

Not that Panwar was a bad speaker.  He was earnest and quick, and obviously fascinated by his subject, but he wasn’t Gabrielle.  The rising murmur of whispered conversations among the execs could not be a good sign.

“The tumor problem was eliminated by making asterid reproduction dependent on two amino acids not normally found in nature.  Nopaline is required for normal metabolism, while nopaline with octopine is needed before the asterids can reproduce.”

Virgil shook his head.  Nopaline, octopine, what-a-pine?  The nomenclature would have been music coming from Gabrielle’s mouth, but from Panwar it was just noise.  Virgil glanced wistfully at the lobby door.  Still no Gabrielle.

“In the third phase of development, the asterids were completely redesigned once again.  No longer did they exist as single cells.  Instead, a colony of asterids was housed within a transparent silicate shell, permitting easy optical communication.  In effect, EquaSys had created the first artificial life form, a symbiotic species affectionately known as LOVs – an acronym for Limit of Vision, because in size LOVs are just at the boundary of what the human eye can easily see.”

A new species.  To Virgil, the idea still had a magical ring.  It was the lure that had drawn him into the project, but to the execs it was old news.

“When implanted on the scalps of test animals, the asterids within each shell formed an artificial nerve, able to reach through a micropore in the skull and past the tough triple layer of the meninges to touch the tissue of the brain.  To the surprise of the development team, the LOV implants soon began to communicate with one another, and once again, long-term behavioral effects were observed in test animals.  They became smarter, but this time without the development of tumors, or failures in vital functions.”

The momentum of discovery had taken over the project.  Virgil had not been part of it then, but he still felt a stir of excitement.

“The original medical application was expanded, for it became apparent that the LOVs might be developed into an artificial or even an auxiliary brain.

“Then came the Van Nuys incident.”

EquaSys had not been involved in that debacle, but the company had been caught in the fallout, when the U.S. government agreed to a two year moratorium on the development of all artificial life forms.  One of the witnesses in favor had been the original LOV project director.  To Summer Goforth, Van Nuys was a wake-up call.  She’d publicly renounced her work, and the work of everyone else involved in developing artificial life forms. Virgil had been brought on board to take Summer Goforth’s place.

“In a compromise settlement EquaSys agreed to abandon animal testing and to export the LOVs to a secure facility aboard the Hammer, the newest platform in low-earth-orbit.  From such a venue, the LOVs could not possibly “escape into the environment,” as happened in Van Nuys.

The LOVs had been so easy to contain.  That’s what made them safe.

“Since then our research has been limited to remote manipulation, but that could soon change.  The two year moratorium will expire this June 30.  At that time EquaSys will be free to exploit an unparalleled technology that could ultimately touch every aspect of our lives….”

All that and more, Virgil thought, for if the LOVs could be legally brought Earth-side, then no one need ever know about the LOVs the three of them had smuggled off the orbital during the moratorium period.  He still could not quite believe they had done it, and yet… he could not imagine not doing it.  Not anymore.

It had been worth the risk.  Even if they were found out it had been worth it.  The LOVs were a gift.  Virgil could no longer imagine life without them.

The original studies suggested the LOVs could enhance the intelligence of test animals, but Virgil knew from personal experience that in humans the LOVs enhanced emotion.  If he wanted to lift his confidence, his LOVs could make it real.  If he sought to push his mind into a coolly analytical zone he need only focus and the LOVs would amplify his mood.  Fearlessness, calm, or good cheer, the LOVs could augment each one.  But best of all – priceless – were those hours when the LOVs were persuaded to plunge him into a creative fervor, where intuitive, electric thoughts cascaded into being, and time and hunger and deadlines and disappointments no longer mattered.  With the LOVs, Virgil could place himself in that space by an act of will.

“All of our research to date,” Panwar said, concluding his historical summary, “has shown without doubt, that LOVs are perfectly safe.”

An icon winked into existence on the screen of Virgil’s farsights – but it was not from Gabrielle.  He felt a stir of fear as he recognized the symbol used by EquaSys security.  He forced himself to take a calming breath before he whispered, “Link.”

His farsights executed the command and the grim face of the security chief resolved within his screen.  Beside it appeared a head-and-shoulder image of Dr. Nash Chou, the research director and Virgil’s immediate boss.  Nash had hired Virgil to handle the LOV program.  Now he turned around in his seat at the head of the conference table, a portly man in a neat business suit, his round face looking puzzled as he gazed back at Virgil.

“Dr. Chou,” the security chief said.  “There’s been an incident in Dr. Copeland’s lab.”

Visit Linda Nagata at http://www.mythicisland.com for more about her award-winning books and stories.

The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only for six more days until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today only at https://storybundle.com/ai

Limit of Vision Cover Final

Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata

Virgil Copeland, Randall Panwar, and Gabrielle Villanti are all brilliant young biotechnologists, working together on an artificial life form affectionately known as “LOVs,” an acronym for Limit Of Vision, because in size LOVs are just at the boundary of what the human eye can easily see.

LOVs contain bioengineered human neurons. They enhance brain function when implanted in test animals. Experimentation on humans is, of course, highly illegal. But it’s the nature of brilliant and ambitious young minds to ignore the rules. Believing the LOVs to be perfectly safe, Virgil, Panwar, and Gabrielle experiment on themselves, using implanted LOVs to enhance their own cognitive abilities.

But there is a limit of vision, too, when we try to foresee the consequences of technology—especially of a living, thinking technology that can evolve into new forms in a matter of hours. When the experiment goes terribly wrong, the consequences are bizarre and unforeseeable. Virgil finds himself on the run, riding the whirlwind of a runaway biotechnology that could lead to the next phase of human evolution.

A “compelling biotech thriller […] an idea-provoking narrative that is genuinely innovative in conception.” —Publishers Weekly

“Nagata … blends hard science with cutting-edge technology in a fast-paced technothriller…” —Library Journal

“…the best science fiction isn’t so much about the science as about society’s reaction to it. A fine example is Linda Nagata’s Limit of Vision, which not only maintains the right balance of humanity and technology within its storytelling, but is actually about that balance—pinning down the elusive boundary, if there is one, beyond which technology will make humans something other than human.” —Amy Sisson, Metroland

“The increasingly desperate situation will serve to keep a lot of readers breathlessly turning pages […] The limit of vision can also refer to imagination struggling to catch up with events, as humanity gets booted into an era unlike any it has known.” —Faren Miller, Locus

Linda Nagata is a Nebula and Locus-award-winning writer, best known for her high-tech science fiction, including The Red trilogy, a series of near-future military thrillers. The first book in the trilogy, The Red: First Light, was a Nebula and John W. Campbell Memorial-award finalist, and named as a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2015. Her newest novel is the very near-future thriller, The Last Good Man, due out in June 2017. Linda has lived most of her life in Hawaii, where she’s been a writer, a mom, a programmer of database-driven websites, and an independent publisher. She lives with her husband in their long-time home on the island of Maui.

Visit Linda at http://www.mythicisland.com

The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only one week more until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today only at https://storybundle.com/ai

AllCoversLarge.AI.2

Glass Houses: Avatars Dance by Laura J. Mixon

MAN SCAVENGE

I don’t know if you’ve ever had a skyscraper collapse on you. I don’t recommend it. The floor gave out under me, cascades of concrete and steel fell onto my head, the screams of the old man filled my ears. I remember those few seconds in flashes, like it all happened under strobe lights.

His nearness to me-Golem when the ceiling collapsed was the only thing that kept him from being killed instantly. One of Golem’s arms crocked up as I-he toppled over and protected the old man’s head and upper chest. The old man probably wished he was dead, though, because a steel beam fell across his abdomen and crushed his internal organs and let buckets of blood spill into his abdominal cavity.

I know all this because I-Golem wasn’t completely disabled in the crush. The same steel beam that fell on the old man lodged against the wall and kept other chunks of mass from destroying Golem’s casing. That much I saw before the shock threw me home.

I struggled backward through the gel to the wall, pulled my knees to my chest, and shook. The connector dangled from wires in my hand—I must have pulled it loose from the beanjack at my crown. I wanted to tear the monofilaments right out of my brain. But the old man’s screams hung in my ears. He was still alive in there and he wouldn’t be for long. No waldo rescue squad, no ambulance would get there in time to save him. Every second counted. So I went back.

Golem’s light had gotten smashed and the infrared was useless in that chaos. Systems weren’t in great shape—the needles danced like amber Pick-Up Stix in my-Golem’s vision. Four of his eight gigacrystals were shattered. Besides the arm immobilized over the old man’s head, two limbs were inoperable, crushed. One of his two cameras was out, too. His chassis was severely damaged, with hydraulic pressure dribbling slowly away.

It took only seconds to clear out all the software and fill the remaining four linkware crystals with the bare-bones operating systems. The gyros told me which way was up, so I knew which way to dig, and I-Golem had length and strength—of the two of Golem’s five arms still working, one was his telescope arm and the other his schwarzenegger. I’ve scavenged under rubble before and I know how to keep an unstable structure from collapsing. Things didn’t seem too bad, except for the old man’s screaming. So I-Golem got started.

He was crazy with pain. A couple of times I-Golem tried to comfort him but he didn’t listen. It finally got to me—I-he yelled at the old man to shut the fuck up and stop feeling sorry for himself. Like he didn’t have a reason. Christ. I hope he was too far gone to understand.

Anyhow, as the sounds he made got wetter and softer I-Golem dug faster. But he’d been silent for what seemed like days before Golem’s hole saw drilled through to air. That give me-him enough light to see how to work free.

My-Golem’s ultrasound filaments fractured the chunk of concrete that had Golem pinned against the steel beam. Then I-he—ever so carefully!—disconnected the arm that protected the old man’s head, rolled myself-Golem all the way onto his back, then retracted the wheels—which lifted me-Golem up and gave the wheels purchase on the floor on either side of the Coffin—and slid myself-him off of it. With some judicious shoving and wedging I-he freed myself-him from the debris. Then I-Golem propped up wreckage, cleared a path for the old man, and slid him free.

I saw then that there was no point in calling an ambulance. His body was already starting to cool. I could have used Golem’s IR earlier, after all, and saved myself a lot of work.

I still remember all the details—the expression he’d died with; the way his crushed arm got left behind; the way his belly had swollen up with blood till it looked like the belly of a tick.

Anyhow, I sat there, squatting inside my battered Golem, and looked at him for a while till I realized that the sun had risen and was shining into Golem’s camera. Beyond the crumbled wall, where another interior room had been last night, was open air and twisted snarls of metal struts. I-Golem caught a glimpse of the Manhattan-Queens ferry moving up the sparkling East River, trailed by crying gulls; last night’s gales had softened to a breeze. Streamers of clouds raced inland overhead.

The storm remediation waldos, hundred-foot-tall mantises with blue flashing lights and steel maws, crawled along the streets below, lifting wreckage and debris with their crane arms. They scooped sludge and wood with their dozer mouths, dropping the debris into the massive hoppers they dragged behind.

According to Golem’s chronometer, it was almost six. The building wrecker waldos were due—we had to get out.

There wasn’t much hope for the scavenged data but I-Golem checked the Coffin anyway. As I’d suspected, they were so much worthless debris, bent and broken. Man, was Vetch going to be pissed. He hated losing salvage.

I-Golem emptied the Coffin, put the old man inside, and slid the Coffin onto Golem’s back. Then I-Golem and the old man headed for the nearest support cable.

A failed scavenge, a failed rescue, and Melissa off fucking some strange man for spending money in the middle of a hurricane. All in all, not a good night.

The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only for eight more days until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today at https://storybundle.com/ai

Glass Houses Cover Final

Glass Houses: Avatars Dance by Laura J. Mixon

Ruby runs waldos. Freelance. Construction, security–no job too large or small. And her favorite tool is Golem, six hundred pounds of vaguely human-shaped, remote-operated power. Not an easy living, but it’s better than most in half-sunken, greenhouse-heated, 21st Century New York. Best of all the waldoes go Outside, not Ruby. Ruby hates the Outside.
But when a Ruby/Golem tries to rescue a rich Egyptian from a collapsing skyscraper, and accepts the papers he presses into her hands as he dies, Ruby’s in trouble. She may have to go Outside for real.
All of which might be a lot easier if she hadn’t stolen the diamonds off his body…

The 1992 feminist cyberpunk classic, finally back in print with an introduction by 2-time Arthur C. Clarke Award winner Pat Cadigan and an afterword by Lydia LeBlanc on genre and gender in cyberpunk fiction.

From Library Journal
A dystopian Manhattan of the next century is the setting for this tough, gritty sf debut featuring an agoraphobic salvage artist who uses virtual reality to connect her with the machines that face the world in her stead. Part cyberpunk, part mystery, Mixon’s first novel introduces a lesbian heroine whose life is made up of second-hand encounters until reality comes calling with a vengeance. The author’s razor-sharp prose catapults this story beyond the bounds of genre. Recommended for most sf collections. Copyright 1992 Reed Business Information, Inc.

“One of the strongest debuts I’ve read in ages. READ THIS BOOK. And watch Laura Mixon. She’s going to be one of the stars.”
—George R.R. Martin

“Glass Houses is a remarkable first novel… one you will be glad to have read.”

—Algis Budrys

“A good, solid, entertaining novel that will probably keep you up half the night, unable to stop turning the pages.”

—Cynthia Ward

“Under the high tech and hard edge associated with cyberpunk, Glass Houses is an old-fashioned tale of honor and adventure and, especially, of all the small and large human choices that become what we call integrity.”
—Susannah Sturgis, Lambda Book Report

Author Bio
Laura J. Mixon

SF novelist and Hugo-winning blogger Laura J. Mixon wrote her first story for her own amusement at age eight. At age 11, she discovered science fiction in the local library and never looked back. Her popular SF thriller Up Against It came out from Tor Books (as M. J. Locke) in 2011 and is due for re-release soon as part of an upcoming trilogy. Set among the asteroids, it is the first book of WAVE, a series of novels about savvy and desperate people (and other beings) living in a future, settled solar system.

Author of six novels and assorted shorter works, including the highly acclaimed cyberpunk trilogy AVATARS DANCE (Glass Houses, Proxies, and Burning the Ice).

She and fellow SF writer Steven Gould stabbed the cake tied the knot at WeddingCon in early 1989. They have collaborated on one novel and two world-class daughters, now grown (who might even be spotted wandering the halls of certain cons and costuming events). They now live in New Mexico with their daughters.

She is an environmental engineer and served two years in Kenya in the Peace Corps. Her work is often associated with the cyberpunk movement, and has been the focus of academic studies on the intersection of technology, feminism, and gender. She is a graduate of the Clarion writing workshop and an instructor at the Viable Paradise genre writing workshop on Martha’s Vineyard. She blogs occasionally at laurajmixon.com and feralsapient.com and tweets as @LauraJMG.

Social Media
Website: http://laurajmixon.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LauraJMixon/
Twitter: @LauraJMG
The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only nine days more until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura J. Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today at https://storybundle.com/ai

AllCoversLarge.AI.2

Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider
Chapter 1
Why Did the Robot Cross the Road?

“Are you sure she’s going to be okay?”

“Stop asking me that.” Rory slapped the big yellow crosswalk button again. Behind them, the Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon, wide and blue.

At the end of the Santa Monica Sport Fishing pier, the giant Ferris wheel revolved under the California sun.

A bullet-nosed monorail train whooshed by on its silver electromagnet track perched on spidery stilts above the street.

“What if she’s not ready?” Tim asked. “Candy’s going to be. . . . I don’t know what she’s going to be, but she’s going to hate our guts, that’s for sure.”

“She’s not going to hate us; she’s our friend. We’ve been friends since college, remember? Besides, I’m not sure Candy is capable of hatred.” Rory pressed the big yellow button, hard this time.

A flatbed truck drove slowly down the street. On the back of it stood a tall electronic marquee. The marquee displayed a stocky, balding man wearing tinted eyeglasses.

Tim pointed. “There goes Grossman. Again.”

“Robots made in China and Japan are stealing jobs from hardworking Americans,” Grossman thundered.” The truck drove down the street.

“God, that guy is everywhere,” said Rory.

“He’s serious about being President.”

The truck drove down the street.

“What were we talking about?” Tim asked. “Oh yeah. Are you sure she’s going to be okay?”

“No, damnit, I’m not sure. But so what? She’s gotta get out there sometime.” Rory slapped the big yellow crosswalk button half a dozen times more. “Does this thing even work? It’s 2047, for God’s sake. We’ve got orbital hotels but we can’t design a friggin’ crosswalk computer that works. There are no cars coming yet we have to stand here like robots incapable of determining for ourselves when it’s safe to cross the street.” Rory noticed a silver, skinny robot standing next to him with a case of beer in its hands, waiting to cross the street. “No offense.”

The robot’s balloon-shaped head swiveled toward Rory on its skinny post of a neck. “No offense taken, of course, sir.” Its electronic voice sounded happy and cheerful.

“Instead, we have to wait for the computer to tell us when we can cross,” said Rory. “And what are you looking at?”

A second robot stood nearby, grimy and with a significant dent on one side of its head. One of its glowing red eyes was missing. It held a square flap of brown cardboard scrawled with black ink: Will work for electricity. Or beer. God bless. A long, black leash stretched from a collar around the robot’s neck to the wrist of a filthy man lying flat on his back in a patch of nearby grass, fast asleep.

“I’m not looking at anything, sir,” replied the robot. “Could you spare some change?”

“Fuck you,” said Rory. “Fuck him, too.” Rory thrust his chin at the sleeping man.

“Yes, sir,” said the robot.

“Dude, calm down,” said Tim.

“No, goddamnit. I’m pissed off now. I think I can determine for myself when it’s safe to cross the street. I neither need nor want a damn machine telling me what I can or can’t do and when I can or can’t do it. Maybe Grossman is right. Screw this nanny-state bullshit. You know what, to hell with it, I’m crossing.”

“You’d better not. They’ll fine you.”

“Like hell.”

“See those little white cameras on top of each streetlight?” Tim pointed. “This entire intersection is covered. If you cross, they’ll see you. You’ll get a citation in your inbox. Five-hundred-and-forty dollars.”

“Five-hundred-and-forty dollars for jaywalking? Are you sure?”

“Dead sure. You know that new guy who started in the Bio-Plastics Division last week? Skin specialist?”

“Larry? Yeah. Good guy. Graduated Cal Tech.”

“Larry told me all about how he crossed the street on a red light because he ate some bad Japanese food. He ordered Teriyaki Chicken for lunch, but he said it wasn’t like any chicken he’d ever seen before. It was little round nuggets of weird, dark meat.

“Anyway, he wasn’t even through with lunch and already things were gurgling around down there. By the time they were paying the bill, he was having uncontrollable flatulence. And not cute little girl-farts, either. These were the long, hot, steamy ones that smell like death warmed over.

“Ten minutes later, he’s standing on this very corner. He doesn’t want to cross the street because he knows the cameras will see him and he’ll get a fine. But he doesn’t want to shit his pants, either. Plus, he and his fiancée were having dinner with her parents that evening right after work and he wasn’t going to have time to go home and change or to freshen up.

“So, finally, when it was safe to cross the street, even though the crosswalk computer said not to, he runs across the street and into Positronic Pizza and Pub. But you have to get a token from the robot cashier in order to get into the bathrooms, because of all the homeless people who like to bathe in there. And there was a huge long line for the cashier. By the time he was first in line, the robie tells him the bathrooms are for paying customers only, so he orders a soda and hands over his debit card, but the robie says it’s a ten-dollar-minimum order for all non-cash transactions. But Larry doesn’t have enough cash because he just spent it on the Teriyaki cat at the Japanese place. So he orders a pizza, even though he just had what he thought was lunch, which was probably some little girl’s tabby. He spends twenty-seven bucks on the pizza, gets the token, and goes to the bathroom. But there’s somebody in there; the door’s locked. So he waits, and he waits, and he waits. And a few minutes later, he shits himself.”

“He shit himself?”

“Completely. Larry told me there was nothing he could do. He said he was standing there clenching as hard as he could. He was sweating, breathing heavy. But it was no use. It was like a bowling ball of shit rolled out of his ass and exploded in his underwear. There was nothing he could do.”

Tim caught the robot holding the beer looking at him. The robot looked away.

“So what about dinner with his fiancée and her parents?” Rory asked.

“He made it. But he had to take the rest of the day off so he could go straight home from Positronic to shower and change. He said that when he got home, he tossed his pants and underwear into the incinerator. And he had to have a new driver’s seat installed in his car, which was a brand new Jag, by the way, one he’d only had three weeks. He said the Teriyaki cat stained the seat, because he went with the Icelandic White cloth, whereas if he’d gone with the Icelandic White leather, the stain wouldn’t have set in like it did. At least, that’s what they told him at the dealership. So he told them to put in a whole new seat, which was seventeen-hundred bucks. Plus, right there in his inbox was the jaywalking fine for another five-hundred-and-forty bucks. A real nice photo of him illegally crossing the street. He’s a pretty smart guy, so he does the math and between the citation, the new driver’s seat, the pizza, the cost of his poopy pants he had to incinerate, which were a gift from his fiancée, by the way, plus the cost of the Teriyaki cat, he figures he spent about twenty-six-hundred bucks.”

“Damn.”

“The best part is, he helped design the new-generation facial recognition software they’re using in the cameras up there on those traffic lights. He basically got himself busted.

“So, if you jaywalk, they’ll see you, too. Five-hundred-and-forty bucks, guaranteed.”

“So if he designed it, he can pay the fine for me.”

“Good luck with that.”

Tim caught the robot holding the beer looking at him. The robot looked away.

The crosswalk signal LEDs flicked to green. The electronic voice ordered pedestrians to “Cross now . . . Cross now . . . Cross now.”

The robot with the beer crossed the street.

The robot with the collar around its neck remained standing on the sidewalk.

Rory and Tim proceeded into the street.

“So who’s Candy going on the date with?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know,” said Rory, “some guy. She said she met him on the Internet.”

“She met him on the Internet? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s her decision.”

“What if he’s a murderer or a human trafficker, and he kidnaps her and takes her to another country and sells her as a sex slave?” The robot carrying the beer turned its silver head and looked at Tim. “I wasn’t speaking to you,” said Tim. The robot looked away.

“She said he seems like a nice guy,” said Rory.

“What if he’s not?”

“Relax. She’s an accomplished psychologist. She can handle it.”

“She’s a robopsychologist. The robot brain and the human mind are nothing alike.”

“Hey, watch this. I bet I can freeze out that robie.”

“Don’t do that,” said Tim.

“Hey! Robot!”

Mid-way across the street, the robot carrying the beer turned its head toward them.

“Is that beer you’re carrying to be delivered to your master?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you know beer is unhealthy for humans? Alcohol is harmful. By delivering that beer to your master, you will be harming him. Remember: robots aren’t allowed to injure humans.”

The robot stopped walking and stood in the crosswalk. It began to take a step forward, then stopped. It tried yet again, but stopped. Its red eyes angled down to the beer in its hands, then up to Rory, then to the dozens of humans crossing the street and strolling among the storefronts and sidewalk cafes. The robot shuddered for a moment and became still. The red glow faded from its eyes, and its silver mechanical body sagged. It stood motionless in the crosswalk, a little more than halfway across the street, the case of beer still in its hands.

Tim said, “You killed it.” He and Rory gained the sidewalk, peering behind at the inert robot.

“Relax, it’s insured. The lazy bastard who owns it will be able to buy a newer model.”

“For a roboticist, you’re a vindictive son of a bitch.”

“Can’t help it,” said Rory. “If we don’t keep robots in their place, they’ll take over the friggin’ world.”

“You know, that thing almost surely has a recorder in it.”

“Nah, look at it. It’s a low-end model, at least ten years old. They didn’t come with separate recorders back then. When its positronic relays went bye-bye, so did its recordings.”

“How do you know it didn’t have recordings from birthday parties or weddings? Or childbirths? Those things are irreplaceable.”

“True. But anyone stupid enough to not back up their data deserves to lose it.”

Tim gave one last glance toward the robot. “Are we going to leave it there in the middle of the street?”

“Of course.”

“Think it’ll get a ticket for jaywalking?”

“No,” Rory laughed, “but the registered owner will. Five hundred-and-forty bucks.”

“That’s an expensive case of beer.”

“Serves him right for not getting off his fat ass to go buy it himself.”

“So, what about Candy?” Tim asked.

“If it makes you feel better, we’ll call her after the date, to make sure she hasn’t been kidnapped or sold as a sex slave. Hey, why did the robot cross the road?”

“Why?”

“To rescue the slow and inferior human on the other side, thereby obeying the first law of robotics.”

Visit Ryan at http://www.authorryanschneider.com/p/eye-candy.html and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/RyanLSchneider

The A.I. Storybundle is live but only ten more days until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours only at https://storybundle.com/ai

Eye Candy Cover Final

Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider

In a near-future Los Angeles of 2047, roboticist Danny Olivaw finds himself on a blind date with a beautiful robopsychologist named Candy. But the next day, strange things begin to happen. Confronted with an unbearable truth, Danny soon begins a downward spiral in search for the woman he loves. Little does he know what fate has in store for them. Brilliantly conceived and executed with delicate precision, Eye Candy is a complex, endearing tale for mature readers that’s as fast-paced and uplifting as it is fun.

Candy Calvin has it all. She’s a respected robopsychologist who specializes in the care and feeding of robots, particularly those belonging to Los Angeles’ wealthy elite. Her best friend Susannah helps Candy run her practice. The only thing Candy is missing is someone special with whom she can share her life. Until one day, on a whim, she visits an online dating site. She soon finds a profile she likes: ROBOSTUD2047. They agree to meet for dinner. But when Candy lays eyes on him, she gets more than she bargained for, including a trip into orbit, a midnight ride in a ViperJet, and a revelation that rattles her to her core.
Danny Olivaw is a reknown roboticist famous for his books on the inner workings of artificially-intelligent beings. When he’s not writing, he flies his jet and hobnobs with celebrities and movie stars. His roommate Floyd is a screenwriter and actor who convinces Danny to try online dating.

EYECANDYPh.D. immediately catches Danny’s eye. They agree to meet at Chateaux Pizza and before Danny can get over the statuesque beauty before him, she’s sampling his bruschetta and tasting his wine. Danny knows instantly that he’s head over heels for Candy. But things aren’t always what they seem, and Danny soon finds himself in a downward spiral in his quest to reunite with Candy.
Packed with action, comedy, romance, and an ensemble of lovable characters, EYE CANDY is an uplifting roller coaster ride in the time of robots.

Ryan Schneider is a husband, aspiring father, writer, and full-time novelist.
Ryan writes in many genres, including Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Mainstream Fiction. He is the author of five novels, a collection of short stories, and a dozen screenplays.
Ryan earned a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature from the University of the Pacific, and advanced degrees in Screenwriting and Independent Producing at UCLA. He has worked as a newspaper staff writer and film critic, as well as co-host of a weekly radio show.
Ryan is also a commercially-licensed pilot with multi-engine and instrument ratings. He lives in Palm Springs, CA with his wife Taliya, a Guinness World Record-holding singer/songwriter and recording artist. Taliya received a Guinness World Record in 2005 for recording her original song “Flower Child” in 15 languages. She is currently in the studio, mastering a brand new acoustic album.

Visit Ryan at http://www.authorryanschneider.com/p/eye-candy.html and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/RyanLSchneider

The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today only at https://storybundle.com/ai

Queen City Jazz Cover Final

Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan

In Verity’s world, nanotech plagues decimated the population after an initial renaissance of utopian nanotech cities.  Verity has been raised, an orphan, in a tiny Shaker revival community where all are forbidden contact with the enlivened Cities.  Yet as she grows up on the isolated farm, she is often drawn to the City of Dayton, abandoned nearby, and to its self-contained and still-functioning library.  Her happy life is suddenly destroyed when the Shakers, in spite of their precautions, contract a nanotech plague that possesses them.  Blaze, the only young man in the community and Verity’s best friend, is shot by a crazed elder.

And so Verity, with her dog Cairo—and the body of Blaze wrapped in a nanotech cocoon—sets off on a quest to the Enlivened City of Cincinnati.  It is a place of legend, walled off from the rest of the world. Where huge bio-engineered bees carry information through the streets and enormous nanotech flowers burst from the tops of strange buildings.  It is the place where Blaze might be brought back from the brink of death.

But Cincinnati is a city of dreams turned into nightmares, endlessly reliving the fantasies of its creator, a city that Verity must rule-or die.

This impressive first novel by an experienced story writer combines hallucinogenic visions, historical personae and an original futuristic dystopia. Young Verity has been raised by a reconstructionist Shaker group that bases its religion on the American cult that banned sex and believed in “simple” virtues. The adolescent has strange powers and mysterious compulsions that cause her to seek out and learn things from technologies that her adoptive community has forsaken. After tragedy strikes her “family,” Verity packs up several precious burdens and repairs to the technologically superior but dangerously insane “enlivened” city of Cincinnati. There she meets the passionate jazz musician Sphere and becomes embroiled in mutating versions of a nanotech plague and overlapping views of the historical facts that led to the destruction of rational civilization. In Cincinnati she learns her true identity and how to affect the city’s destiny. Highlights of the book include a scene in which Ernest Hemingway gets kicked off a baseball team because he’s not a “team player” and a mini-lesson in the communication techniques of bees. Also a pleasure is watching the intelligent heroine grapple with responsibility, passion and artistic creation. Goonan’s work is powerful and richly textured. –Publisher’s Weekly

A postmodern speculative fiction on American contributions to the arts–jazz, comics, abstract expressionism, and literature–embodied by Verity’s quest for her origin.

“An unforgettable vision of America transfigured by a new and utterly apocalyptic technology.” — William Gibson

“In the hands of Kathleen Ann Goonan, the science of science fiction becomes something lyrical and vividly human, and the intricately imagined future she presents is thus rendered completely plausible and poignant in the extreme. Queen City Jazz is hands down the best first novel I’ve read in the genre in the past ten years.” –Lucius Shepard

From Library Journal
In a future warped by nanotechnology-gone-mad, a young woman leaves the protected community of Shaker Hill and embarks on a journey to the “enlivened” city of Cincinnati. Hoping to find answers to questions long forbidden by people who learned to reject the technology that betrayed them, Verity discovers the key to the future within herself. Goonan’s first novel combines gentle Shaker philosophy with kaleidoscopic images drawn from Cincinnati’s Jazz Age. The resulting heady blend deserves a place in most sf collections. –Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Kathleen Ann Goonan is a writer, critic, and, presently, a Visiting Professor at Georgia Institute of Technology, where she teaches Creative Writing and Literature.
Her 2007 novel IN WAR TIMES won the prestigious Campbell Award for Best Novel of 2007. Her first novel, QUEEN CITY JAZZ, was a New York Times Notable Book and a British Science Fiction Award finalist, and her second, THE BONES OF TIME, was an Arthur C. Clarke Award finalist. CRESCENT CITY RHAPSODY and LIGHT MUSIC were Nebula Award finalists.

Visit Kathy at https://www.facebook.com/kathleen.goonan, www.goonan.com, www.goonan.com/blog, and on Twitter @KathleenAnnGoonan

The A.I. Storybundle is live, but only until April 20, 2017! Explore Artificial Intelligence and how A.I. will affect the future in Aristoi by Walter Jon Williams, The Bohr Maker by Linda Nagata, Arachne by Lisa Mason, Rewired: The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology, edited by John Kessel and James Patrick Kelly with stories by William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan, and others, Queen City Jazz by Kathleen Ann Goonan, Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider, Glass Houses by Laura Mixon, Cyberweb by Lisa Mason, Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata, and The A.I. Chronicles Anthology, edited by Samuel Peralta. Download yours today only at https://storybundle.com/ai