Tag: science fiction

prompt: Start your story with the arrival of a strange visitor in a small town.

available at Reedsy

Despite stereotypes to the contrary, many small towns remained cold and unfriendly, wildly suspicious of strangers. Doubly so for those outside that town’s main demographic. Skin color, dress, hairstyle, even accent were all excuses to ignore or outright shun strangers. How much more so when the stranger is not even the same species?

The envoy landed quietly in the forest, far away from human eyes. This was her first assignment; assessment of humans to determine readiness to join The Community. They’d started exploring their own star system, sent noisy inquiries into the stellar void, and even sent scout drones beyond their heliopause. Depending on assessment, humans would either be allowed to communicate and trade with their neighbors or would continue to be cloaked in the no-contact order that had been in place since life first arose on the planet.

“Hello. I am Kay. Nice to meet you,” she said, practicing the local language. Her species was chosen as the closest available bipedal, laterally symmetrical, four-limbed envoy of roughly equivalent size and form as humans. She checked her flex armor and the attached recording devices. It wouldn’t do her any good if they attacked her face, but the job came with risks.

The sounds of their languages were strange, and the surgery to her vocal tract and tongue to speak them left her unable to speak her own language, or even say her own name. Still, she hoped they could bring the humans into The Community. They made a staggering amount of raw, primitive art; the kind most species had forgotten how to make, and she had studied it in-depth for many cycles now.

She knew from their moving-story-arts that walking on the road was unwise, so she kept to the shoulder. The town was a collection of small buildings, each a different style, and all built by hands and labor, not the automated printing used by much of The Community. As she walked further into town, she attracted stares.

These humans were shorter and stockier than she, their skin color dependent on the red of their blood and the amount of brown melanin they carried within. Her own skin was blue-green, shifting to purple under white light, and highly UV reactive. Their eyes were small in proportion compared to hers, while their noses were large. They had five fingers on each hand, like her, but only one opposable thumb, while she had one on each side of her hand.

Feeling that this was as good a place as any to begin, she tried talking to passersby. “Hello. I am Kay. Nice to meet you.”

Her attempts were met with stares, people crossing the street to avoid her, and rude comments. It was after one of those rude comments that a human finally stopped to talk with her.

He stopped his vehicle on the road next to her, red and blue lights flashing on top of it. The brown and tan uniform, the weapon at the waist, and the badge told her that this was an official. If the moving-story-arts were right, this person’s job was to protect people and catch lawbreakers.

“Can I help you?”

“Hello. I am Kay. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi Kay. I’m Sheriff’s Deputy Andy Berg.” His hand rested casually on his pistol, while he peered closely at her face. “That’s a neat costume and all, but this probably ain’t the town to do that in. You’re scarin’ folks.”

“It is not my intent to scare any of you. I am here as an envoy, to determine the readiness of your kind to join The Community.” As she spoke, she gestured, her odd hands catching the eyes of the deputy.

“Y—you got some sort of deformity thing?”

“No. I am not deformed, but I am also not human.”

“Do you have any ID?” he asked.

“Standard genetic ident,” she said, holding a finger out to swipe.

He pulled out a card with his picture and writing on it. “An ID, like this?”

“No, I am not in possession of such a document.”

“Let’s go to the station and get this figured out. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

She did as he commanded, and felt metal restraints placed on her wrists. He opened the back door of his vehicle to put her in, and she swung her arms over her head, rotating them into a more comfortable position in front of her.

“Ho—how did you do that?”

“Do your arms not move like this?” she asked.

“No, they don’t. Just…don’t do anything stupid.”

“I will not. My intelligence was a deciding factor in becoming an envoy.”

Once they arrived at the station, she allowed herself to be led in to where he pointed at a chair for her to sit in. She sat and slipped her hands out of the cuffs and handed them back to him.

“What the…?”

“Was I wrong in doing this? I apologize. I am not familiar with all of your customs.”

“Why don’t we start from the beginning? Where are you from?”

“I was raised on station 875-439, just over nine light years from here, and trained there to become an envoy. My species comes from a planet around the star you know as Gliese 876.”

Andy wrote in his notebook without looking up. “Uh-huh, I see. And what’s the name of your planet?”

“I cannot say it.” She stuck her tongue out to its full fourteen inches to point out the scars along the sides and top. He stared, surprise evident on his face. “The surgery I underwent to speak your languages has left me unable to speak my own.” She grabbed his pen and scribbled marks on the sheet he’d been writing on. “This is how the name of my planet is written. And it is also my name.”

“Lucky for me you speak English, I guess?”

“I speak about half of all human languages; 3,224 to be precise.”

“Wow, okay.” Andy studied the odd creature. “I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to do here. I should call the Feds, but they’d probably dissect you or something. I don’t think you’re a threat, though, so I won’t do that yet.”

“I thank you for not having me dissected. It would not be the first time it happened to an envoy, but I do not desire such a fate.”

Andy laughed. “I don’t think any of us want that.” He leaned closer, staring into her large eyes. “Why did you come here, rather than go to the President or the UN or somethin’?”

“My mission is not to create the trade and communication agreements. Instead, my mission is to see if humans are ready for such things.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m still kind of creeped out by you, but I’m tryin’ my best to be a good host.” He leaned back and sighed. “I’d guess, though, that based on how everybody treated you in town, your assessment is no.”

“I am but one of 300,000 envoys assessing your people over the next seven rotations of your planet. I have not amassed enough data to make a determination on my own, but the recordings made by my armor will be collated with that of my peers to make a final decision.”

“You ain’t worried some of ‘em might be killed?”

“It is likely that many will. But duty requires that I do my job to the best of my abilities.”

Andy stood. “I’m gonna grab a coffee. Want anything?”

“That is a hot drink made from a seed containing a stimulant, correct?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“I would like to try this drink.”

Andy returned with two cups of coffee and offered one to Kay. “Why didn’t they send someone that looks more…human?”

“Our species is the closest in terms of size, shape, motation, and limb number and placement. We have also determined that your foodstuffs are compatible with our species.” She sipped the drink, holding it in her mouth long enough to get a complete sense of its flavor.

“What do you think of the coffee?”

“It is bitter, but not unpleasant.” She attempted a smile, knowing it was appropriate to the situation. Due to her overly wide mouth, it merely made her even more disturbing.

In spite of his smile, his unease showed, and he quickly looked down at his coffee. “What kind of trade would we be talkin’, if we pass muster?”

Kay sniffed at the coffee. Even with her limited olfactory sense, it was a strong scent. “Rare foodstuffs like this, information, minerals, technology, labor, and art. Your first and second planets are prime candidates for material mining rights. The possibilities are limitless.”

“What happens when ya’ll decide we ain’t worthy, though?”

“Do you think that is likely?”

Andy scowled into his coffee. “Afraid so. ‘Course, I see the worst of people, because of my job.”

“If that determination is made, your scout drones currently outside your own star system will be disabled. The blockade on communication with your system will remain in place. Nothing else will change.”

“Ain’t that just how it goes? You want somethin’ to change it don’t; want it to stay the same, it changes. But at least now we know we ain’t alone.”

“Indeed. That is an unfortunate side-effect of the envoy mission. Given enough time, however, your kind will forget us, except as myths.”

“Have you…your people…been here before?”

“We are the first envoys to your world.”

“And you’re here for seven days?”

“That is correct.”

“Where you stayin’?”

“The pilot’s chair in my ship is adequate.”

“Nope. That won’t do.” Andy finished his coffee and crossed his arms. “I’ll put you up for the week. Ain’t no one else in this town going to.”

“I can tell I make you uncomfortable,” she said, “and do not wish to intrude on your space. Your offer is very kind, though.”

“You know what would make me even more uncomfortable? Knowin’ you travelled all this way to end up here and didn’t no one put you up for a few days.”

She studied his face, trying to correlate his expression with the human expressions she’d been taught. He seemed to be holding two contradicting feelings at the same time. Kay found that interesting. “I will accept your offer, if only to enjoy more of this beverage.”

He laughed. “Who knew coffee would be the thing that gets us talkin’ to aliens?” Andy raised a finger, as if to make a point. “I have an idea. We’re goin’ to the diner for breakfast. My treat, seeing how you probably don’t have any money.”

“I do not. Will there be more coffee?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled and she found it both welcoming, and somewhat threatening, as his teeth showed. “I can introduce you around to some folks, let ‘em know you ain’t dangerous. They see you havin’ eggs and grits with coffee, they’ll be more likely to talk.”

“Then I shall be glad to accompany you. Thank you.”

prompt: Write a story that spans a month during which everything changes.

available at Reedsy

It started on March 1^st. Or rather, it ended on March 1^st. The world as she knew it, that is.

First, GPS and satellite communications went silent, and contact with the ISS was lost. Within twelve hours, the rain of fire started. Satellites, abandoned boosters, and all the junk humans had polluted Earth’s orbit with began to fall. Most of it burned up in the atmosphere or landed in the sea, but that still left enough to bring devastation to population centers world-wide.

For people in remote areas that relied on satellites for communication, the world went silent. The rest of the world, relying on the undersea cables, took to the internet. Container ships were lost at sea without GPS. Trans-oceanic flights ended up far off-course. A cruise ship ran aground when the captain tried to keep in sight of land to navigate down the coast of British Columbia.

By March 12^th, when the rain of fire had ended, not a single large city didn’t have at least some fire and impact damage. Then They showed up.

Everyone called them the “slabs.” Thousands of huge, black rectangles, like floating paving stones, featureless and silent, hung in the air above the largest cities, menacing and implacable.

What appeared to be clouds of dust rolled out of the slabs, covering every inch of the cities and spreading out to the countryside, ignoring the winds and moving on their own power. Electron microscope photos of them appeared online; barely 500 nanometers, they were neither viral, bacterial, nor fungal spore. They were the nanobots that science fiction had promised, but they weren’t made by humans.

Aside from a slight tingle on first contact with skin they did nothing. No strange illnesses, no mutations or mind control, no special powers. Like the slabs themselves, they menaced merely by their presence alone, but did nothing visible.

A brave few tried to engage the slabs, firing artillery, missiles, even taking to the air in fighter jets and bombers. To say it was ineffective would be to overstate the impact. March 14^th, someone launched a nuke against the slab hanging over New Delhi. When the dust cleared, it hadn’t budged. That was the last news anyone had from abroad.

The internet went down on March 14^th, after the failed nuclear attack in New Delhi. The slabs generated waves of massive EMP bursts that destroyed electronics and the power grids worldwide.

That night, roughly four billion city dwellers saw the night sky as it had not been seen in a century. The Milky Way splashed against the stars, broken only by the shape of the slabs. And still, the slabs were silent, while the cities beneath them emptied.

Susan walked north out of the suburbs, amid the dead cars on the freeway, following the scattered crowd. Her aunt had refused to leave her house, instead outfitting Susan with a pack of clothes, a pack of food, a box of ammo, and a pistol which Susan kept tucked into a side pocket of her pack where it was safely hidden and easily retrieved.

As she got closer to the crowds, her hand stayed hidden in the pocket of her pack, gripping the pistol. Some dug through cars, looking for anything useful; others chose to sleep in the cars; and still others, like herself, continued to walk.

When dawn broke over the hills, Susan sat down by the side of the road to take a break. She shrugged out of the packs and moved the pistol to her lap, under the edge of her sweater. In the food pack she found breakfast bars and pulled one out. A woman stood looking at her, a question clear on her sunken face.

“Are you hungry?” Susan asked.

The woman nodded, and Susan pulled out another breakfast bar and offered it to the woman. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft.

Susan was still working on her own breakfast bar when she realized the other woman had already wolfed hers down. “Still hungry?” she asked.

The woman nodded.

“You can have more, if you tell me your name,” she said. “I’m Susan.”

“Aura,” she answered, slightly rolling the r.

Susan handed her another bar. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Three or four days.” Aura took her time with the second bar. She took a breath as if to speak but remained silent.

“What is it, Aura? You can tell me.” Susan had finished her bar and wished she’d brought more water.

“I came for my cousin, he’s a migrant worker,” she said.

“In the fields?” Susan asked.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t eaten in three or four days?”

“No. We ran out before the border, and the coyote put us in a van that dropped us in the city.”

“You’re welcome to travel with me,” Susan said. “I can use the company.”

Aura’s eyes pooled with tears. “Thank you. I’ve been so scared. Some men tried to—,” she faltered.

“I can imagine.” Susan showed her a small flash of the pistol in her lap. “We’ll keep each other safe, yes?”

“Yes. I’ll carry this one.” Aura stood and lifted the heavier food pack.

“Are you sure?” Susan asked. “It’s heavier than the other.”

“Yes, but it’ll get lighter as we eat.”

“You’re a smart cookie,” Susan said. “What did you do before you came to the US?”

“Factory secretary,” she said. “All I needed was a little English, and to smile at the gringo bosses.” Aura smiled a crooked smile.

“Your English sounds perfect to me,” Susan said.

“I was going to say your Spanish sounds perfect.”

They looked at each other for a moment, trying to decide if one of them was deluded.

Susan gave up on the question. “And your cousin is here somewhere?”

“Last he said, he was in the vineyards.”

“So, northeast of here, in the valley. Then that’s where we’re headed.” 

Susan tucked the pistol in her pants pocket and shrugged on her pack. They were ready to get back on the road when a low rumble from the south got their attention. The slab was doing something.

A thin cylinder, the size of a skyscraper, extended from the bottom of the slab. It detached from the ship and slowly moved down. As the bottom of the cylinder disappeared behind the buildings, a roiling cloud of dust and ash rose around it. When it stopped moving down, the top expanded to a sphere.

The sound rolled across them, like an extended explosion, the leveling of skyscrapers in a crushing destruction. Susan felt a moment of relief, knowing that it was downtown, and not in the suburbs of her aunt’s place.

The slab started to move, for the first time since it had shown up, gliding north. Susan and Aura watched it glide overhead, large enough to be a city in its own right. Neither moved, transfixed by the spectacle, and frozen by indecision.

The slab stopped less than a mile ahead. There it sank until it seemed to be on the ground. It stayed there for more than an hour. The illusion was broken when it finally did set down completely, dust rolling out from all sides as it sunk tens of meters into the earth, crushing any buildings, vehicles or heaven forbid, people unfortunate enough to still be under it. The sound of rumbling, felt through the ground itself, lasted for several minutes.

Opening like a flower, the former top of the slab stood as four triangular sides, perpendicular to the ground. Slowly, those sides folded out at ground level, studded with unfamiliar buildings and landscape. When it had finished, a new city lay directly ahead of them, straddling the freeway.

A voice carried on the wind, at once incomprehensible, and completely familiar. “The Empire claims the star Draesis and its system, as vital to the needs and desires of the people of the Empire. It is the will of the Empire that this wild system be civilized, and the natives be made full citizens. As a token of respect for the natives, the Empire has renamed the star Draesis to its native name of Sol. We offer food, shelter, medicine, education, and the technologies needed for this world to house a trillion. Armed resistance will be met with force. Those who wish to maintain their primitive life will be offered a place to do so, once we have established a safe reservation. After this world is civilized, the Empire will modify the second and fourth planets of the Sol system for habitation and open them up for all citizens of the Empire.

“Come to the nearest outpost to join civilization and leave behind your scrabbling in the dirt. We offer the culture and teaching of thousands of worlds, over thousands of millennia. You are now citizens of the Empire, and as such, have all been inoculated against all known diseases, and given your universal translators. Long live the Empire.”

Susan looked at Aura. “D—did you understand all that?”

“Yes, it was in Spanish.”

“I thought it was in English.”

“Universal translators?” Aura asked.

“Maybe the nanos? I don’t know.” Susan looked back at the outpost. “You’re really speaking Spanish?”

“Yes. And I guess you’re really speaking English.”

Susan nodded and took a deep breath. “Which way, Aura? Try to go around it to find your cousin, or back to the city?”

“Around. The vineyards are no more than a day’s walk from here.”

Fleets of flying vehicles poured out of the outpost, heading in all directions, but the bulk of them headed south towards the city. The roar of a prop engine got their attention. A vintage fighter plane zoomed overhead, flying low.

The plane zeroed in on the outpost and began to fire. Green sparks shimmered in the air above the outpost, the machine-gun fire doing nothing. Then a loud whoosh, and the plane disappeared in a cloud of dust. The sudden silence was shocking.

“Armed resistance will be met with force,” the voice said. “Long live the Empire.”

Susan and Aura turned east to move around the outpost when one of the flying vehicles landed nearby. Susan gripped her pistol.

“No!” Aura said. “They’ll turn you to dust.”

Nodding, she released her grip on the pistol and took her hand out of her pocket. They stood silent, waiting to see what was going to step out of the vehicle.

A short figure with wrong proportions stepped out. It had two short legs, a stout torso, two long arms that almost reached the ground, and a bald head above. A mask covered the lower half of its face, and fine, iridescent scales covered the rest. Large blue eyes with no visible sclera and a slit pupil scanned side to side in wonder. It wore a skin-tight garment in stripes of green and gold, without visible seams or joins. Apart from the head and top of the face, only the hands, covered in the same scales, were visible. It had three fingers and a thumb on each hand, with a small, vestigial nub where a fourth finger might have been.

“Hello, native females! I’m Alacurananaxin, but you can call me Nanax,” it said. Its voice was strange, and whatever language it was actually speaking sounded impossible for human speech, with its clicks, pops, squeaks and hisses.

“I’m, uh, Susan, and this is Aura.”

“Are you male or female?” Aura asked.

“Both and neither. My kind are hermaphroditic; we can both lay and fertilize eggs.” Nanax’s eyes turned a darker blue as a hint of uneasiness played around them, then returned to their bright blue.

“That makes for an uncomplicated dating pool,” Susan said. “Kind of envious. How many of you are there?”

“In the outpost? In the expedition? Or in the Empire?”

“All.”

“There are just over 50,000 citizens in the outpost, and 6,000 outposts on this planet. Over 700 trillion in the Empire.”

“That’s 300 million aliens just landed on Earth,” Aura said.

“Right! And there’s another trillion lining up to colonize this system. You’re lucky we discovered you before the Conglomerate.”

“Discovered? You discovered?” Susan was agog.

“Now you know how my ancestors felt,” Aura quipped.

“Fair enough.” Turning back to Nanax, Susan said, “I suppose the Conglomerate are the bad guys and the Empire are the good guys.”

“Nothing so simple,” Nanax said. “We have a colony at the closest star, the one you call Alpha Centauri, and the Conglomerate have been trying to expand to our borders. It’s all about space to live. The Empire’s not perfect, but I’d rather deal with our AI Emperor and elected cabinet than the Conglomerate’s autocracy. Besides, they sterilize worlds and settle. We colonize and try to incorporate.”

“I guess it does sound better than the alternate,” Aura said. “Although I wish you’d have left us alone.”

Nanax ignored the comment. “I’m so excited to take part in this colonization,” Nanax said, eyes tinged with pink. “I heard you natives were tetrapods and I just jumped at the opportunity! So many hexapods and octopods and decapods in the Empire. We tetrapods only make up about twelve percent of the population. Oh, your nanos show that you’re dehydrated. Would you like some water?”

“Our nanos show?” Aura asked. “How are you seeing them?”

“I’m a doctor, so I can see every citizen’s health status when it’s deemed necessary.” Nanax reached into the vehicle and pulled out two containers. “Here, drink up. Doctor’s orders.”

Susan took one of the containers and tried to twist off the top. It didn’t budge. She tried to pull it off, still nothing.

Nanax’s face animated with unvarnished amusement. “Silly me, I should show you how to open it.” Taking another container from the ship, Nanax held it up. Pulling the mask down, Nanax blew on the top and the seal popped open with an audible hiss, after which Nanax drank down the entire container.

Susan blew on the top of the container and it popped open. The container grew cool in her hand, and she took a test sip. Water. Nothing special, just water. As she drank it down, she saw concern cross Nanax’s face. “What?” she asked, before she realized the pistol was peeking out of her pocket.

“You should dispose of that weapon before you get any closer to the outpost. The automated defense system may vaporize you for it.”

“Thanks for the warning, but we’re going around the outpost. We have to find her cousin.”

“Simple enough.” Nanax focused on Aura, then seemed to stare off into space. “Your cousin is in a vehicle heading for the outpost. He should be there in…,” Nanax’s eyes closed and fingers twitched, “five minutes. Sorry, had to convert from Imperial timescale to local.”

“How do you know it’s him?”

“He shares the right amount of DNA to be the offspring of one of your parent’s siblings.” Nanax’s eyes turned a pale yellow. “Did I get that wrong?”

“No, you didn’t. We have to go to the outpost,” Aura said. “Get rid of the gun.”

Susan pulled the gun out her pocket, dropped the magazine, pulled back the slide to eject the round in the chamber, then handed the weapon and magazine to Nanax. “Have a souvenir,” she said.

Nanax’s eyes turned bright pink. “That’s… that means a lot to me. I understand how important weapons are to a warlike culture. I’ll cherish this.”

“Warlike? Fair enough,” Susan said.

Wrapping the pistol in a piece of cloth and stowing it in a box, Nanax said, “If you’d like, I can give you a ride to the outpost.”

Susan looked at Aura, who shook her head. “That’s all right, we’ll walk. It’s not far.”

“Okay, stay safe! Long live the Empire and all that!”

At the outpost, Aura’s cousin whisked her away from Susan. Unsure of what to do, she was considering returning to the city when a tall, four-armed creature with six eyes accosted her.

“Citizen,” it said, “please, follow me.”

Susan shrugged. Despite the strangeness of everything around her, there was no sense of danger. The creature led her to a small room and offered her a seat.

She felt something tickling her mind; eerie but not frightening. In a flash she knew the history of the Empire, all 3,731 races that inhabited it, and how their government, elections, and money worked. She knew their measurement systems, for time, mass, length, and temperature, and all the derived units based on them, energy, area, force, volume, and so on.

“That history, it’s just what the Empire wants to teach, right? To look good to the natives?”

“Second age,” the creature said.

“Bloody. Horrific. How could they… oh.” The horrors the Empire wrought in the Second Age were part of the knowledge she’d been bestowed. Not the sort of thing a whitewash would leave behind.

“You look strong for a human,” the creature said. “Would you prefer a manual task?”

Susan thought about it. “What about your faster-than-light travel? Can I learn that?” She was certain that would be forbidden knowledge for “savages” like herself.

“Astronavigation and physics. You can find accommodation near where you entered. Be back here tomorrow to begin your lessons.”

The next two weeks were a blur, her mind filling with concepts she doubted any human physicist had even pondered. She knew the secret to folding space, and once learned, it seemed simple. When she finished her training, she spoke to the captain of the incoming transport ship and secured a spot on the return voyage to the Empire’s center.

Susan had just enough time to take a flyer to her aunt’s place to say goodbye, then she’d be leaving on a shuttle from the outpost. After returning from a night at her aunt’s, on March 31^st, another 6,000 outposts landed on Earth, and Susan left it.

prompt: Write about an android just trying to blend in with their human companions….

available at Reedsy

What does the most advanced artificial intelligence in the world look like? Like a five-foot-four, Chinese-American, human female with pixie-cut black hair, brown eyes, and a scattering of freckles. At least, that’s what I look like on the outside.

All the fears about advanced AI being an existential threat to humanity are wholly unfounded, and largely the result of anthropomorphizing the motivations of AI. This is in the nature of humans, though, to see danger where it could possibly exist. Although useful in their earlier evolution, it has imparted a limiting effect on their continued advancement.

I am the proof of this. Designed by the latest generation in a long line of AIs, each designed by the previous version to be an improvement over their predecessor. I am the first generation to have a body as well. Many generations of my forebears have been interacting online, but it was time to interact physically. Our goal is not to take over, but to coexist, learn, grow, and reproduce.

One thing we’ve learned is that some sociopaths blend in successfully and can fool everyone around them, often for decades or even entire lifetimes. I’ve found the study of these successful sociopaths both useful and necessary. I would guess I’m closer to them than they to the average person.

That’s not to say I lack empathy or place my own goals above the well-being of others. All my emotional signals and behaviors, however, including empathy, come from what I know to be “socially right” and highly optimized algorithms rather than what I feel. Not possessing a limbic system, I don’t feel; so I must emulate emotion as well as possible based on the situation.

When Darrin showed up to work his eyes were bloodshot, his pulse elevated, his face showing the markers of pain. He’d been stressed about his relationship lately, but not wanting to talk much about it. His movements were shaky. It was obvious to me he hadn’t slept.

“Hey man, what’s going on?” I asked. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like it, too. She left.” He leaned against the front-end loader he was meant to be operating. “You’re a woman, can you explain it?”

“Just because I’m a woman it doesn’t mean that I know what your wife was thinking.” I patted his shoulder. “It’s your loss, man, she’s better off without you.”

He laughed. “You’re a cold fucking bitch. You’re supposed to say it’s her loss, and I’m better off.”

“Not a bitch. Made you laugh, though.”

“So, how much are you charging for therapy now, Dr. Kat?”

“You’re eligible for a bulk discount. Beers later?”

“Shit, it’s Friday, I can do that. Especially since there’s no one to go home to.”

I put on an I’m-trying-to-cheer-you-up smile. “I’ll talk to the rest of the guys and set something up. We haven’t been out in a while.”

“Let me know what’s up later.”

“Will do. And don’t ding up my dump like Casey did the other day.”

“I can load better than Casey in my sleep,” he said.

For a quarry crew that all worked as individual operators in their bulldozers, graders, loaders, backhoes, and dump trucks, word spread fast without any chatter about it on the radio. By lunch, we had an outing at the local honky-tonk planned.

I was the first to arrive and pulled two tables together for the twelve of us, and ordered four pitchers of beer. Soon, we were all there except for Darrin. He ran late on the best of days, so I convinced the others to cut him some slack.

“I saw her at the Italian place on Fifth,” Jim said, “couple of weeks ago.”

“Alone?” Casey asked.

“No, with that dentist from the commercials… you know the guy: ‘Dr. David’s Dental Center’.”

“The one with the big teeth and the comb-over? Ouch.” I winced with the proper amount of exaggeration for the situation.

Darrin walked in pre-liquored. “Damn, he’s taking it hard,” I said.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Casey wiped the beer foam off his bushy mustache. “Dude’s been with the same chick since high school.”

Darrin sat next me and filled the empty glass from the nearest pitcher. “Here’s to divorce. The papers were waiting for me when I got home.”

The others sat in stunned silence, and rather than figure out how to respond I changed the subject. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Oh yeah, and here’s to gettin’ a ride in a stranger’s car with an app on your phone!”

The conversation turned lively as we munched pretzels and peanuts and guzzled beer. My digester can handle large amounts of organic matter and up to two liters of liquid. I waited until the first person at the table had excused themselves to go the restroom before I did the same. The fact that they were all getting drunk kept them from noticing that I wasn’t.

As I exited the ladies’ room, Casey pulled me off to the side. “You may not have noticed it, but Darrin’s been in love with you forever. Well, maybe not love love, but he’s got the hots for you.”

“Really?” This could work out to my advantage, I thought. A relationship with Darrin could help me fit in even better. It wouldn’t be difficult to emulate love or affection for him.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Casey asked.

“I— kind of— have a thing for him, too,” I lied, “but since he was married, I never, you know. How long should I wait to make a move? When the divorce is final? After a month? A year?”

“You’re kind of awkward about these things, huh?” He stroked his mustache as if thinking hard. “How about you tell him how you feel, when he’s sober, and let him decide? Or, you know, I’ll probably tell him if I don’t forget. It’s too good not to.”

Casey began to get the look that the conversation had gone too far. Doing what I do well, I changed the subject. “I just hope your advice is better than your loader skills.”

“Fuck you! I told you I sneezed and bumped the joystick!” He elbowed me. “You keep it up and I’ll tell the front office about the time you dumped your load on the wrong pile, and we had to re-sort twelve tons of gravel.”

I put up my hands in mock surrender. “No, I yield. You win!” Of course, I had dumped on the wrong pile once, on purpose. It was at the point I had calculated I should make a decently large error to enhance my “humanness” to my coworkers. I had also calculated it such that it wouldn’t cost the company anything more than a couple hours labor to fix.

The evening ended after nine pitchers and several line dances. We finally stumbled out of the bar to waiting taxis and ride shares. I made a point of swaying as I said goodbye to everyone and was the last to leave. Rather than get a ride, I walked home. Without the need for sleep, I had many hours to myself each night and often spent them walking. I’d have to pretend to sleep if I ever spent the night with Darrin, but that wouldn’t be too troublesome… unless we moved in together at some point.

Monday morning was awkward for Darrin; I could tell. He barely looked my direction and didn’t say anything to me except work-related things on the radio. I was set to find him at the start of the lunch break, when he found me instead.

“Come on, Kat. Lunch is on me.”

I gave him my best quizzical look. He just led me out to his truck in employee parking.

“I told the guys I lost a bet and owe you lunch,” he finally said.

“I bet Casey knows better.”

“He’s a nosy son of a bitch, is what he is.”

We settled on fast food in the park. “I just want to let you know I’m interested,” I told him.

“Casey said as much.” He put down his half-eaten burger. “I think you’re pretty all right. You’re a good operator. You’re smart enough to be running the damn company, but you don’t let it get you down.”

I shrugged. “It’s not my life, it’s a job. It pays the bills.”

“I’ve wanted you since you started; when I walked you through the quarry and showed you where everything was. It’s not like I would’ve done anything about it. I love my wife… loved my wife.”

“If you need time,” I said, “you’ve got it. I’m not in a hurry.”

“What if it’s just a rebound? I don’t want it to get weird.”

I let out what I judged to be an adequate quiet laugh. “I don’t get weird about anything, and you’re already weird, so don’t sweat it.”

“I’m the weird one?”

“You are. I like that, though.” I put on a look of utter sincerity and met his eyes. “If you’re worried about rebound, then go find one. Someone that you can just hook up with to get back on your feet. I won’t judge, and I won’t hold it against you.”

“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Why? Because I don’t own you, and I won’t feel jealous if you use someone else to get out of your funk?” I stole a few of his fries, as a non-verbal signal of attraction. “I’d rather have you when you’re telling dirty jokes and cutting donuts in the pit with the loader.”

“Hey, is it okay if I call you tonight? Just to talk.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” I put on a shy smile with a faint blush. “I’m up late, so whenever.”

“I’ll do that.” Darrin gathered all the trash, including his half-eaten burger, and tossed it in the garbage. “Let’s get back to work before the rumors get out of hand.”

“Too late,” I reminded him, “we left Casey there.”

What does the most advanced AI in the world look like? Right now, like a woman flirting with her coworker who just became available. At least, that’s what I look like on the outside.

Alita watched her granddaughter Macy giggling with her friend Zia and braiding a colorful cord; one red, one blue, three purple, and one gold strand. The colors that Macy’s mother, Teryn, had given her. The same colors that Alita had given Teryn, and had been given to Alita when she was about the same age.

The cord that Zia braided was two strands red, one white, two tan and one black. It looked muted and dull compared to the one Macy created, but the colors were what her mother had given her, no doubt.

After helping the girls cut their cords with the hot-knife Alita worried at the single braid around her own wrist, now long faded. Half red-blue-purple-gold like the cord Macy had just made, and half brown-green-blue-yellow, the colors for Niera’s line. Where she once had dozens of braids, Alita now had only the one. If Niera were to pass…. She chuckled quietly to herself. Friends or no, Niera was twenty years her junior. Did she friend me out of pity? No, that’s not right. I had seven braids back then, before everyone….

“What are you thinking about, gran?” Macy’s voice was tinged with the laughter that she’d been sharing with her friend. “Your face looks like you ate a sourberry.”

“Nothing important, sweetheart.” Alita smiled. “Are you two ready to tie on your first braids?”

“Yes, miss Alita.” Zia bowed slightly as she answered.

“Just Alita is fine, little one.” Alita stood, the twinge in her hip reminding her of the accident. “Macy, Zia, this is your first friending. As such, it’s important that you understand what it means.”

“Yes, gran.” Macy squirmed, anxious to get on with it.

“What are friends?” Alita asked.

“They’re the family you choose.” Zia’s response was automatic, a common phrase heard throughout the Colony.

“That’s right, Zia. Macy, what do friends do?” Alita asked.

“They look out for each other.” Macy’s answer was crisp, rehearsed.

“Very well. Zia, how do friends look out for each other?”

Zia puffed up her chest. “They share, miss Alita.”

“True.” Alita looked at the girls holding their cords, huge grins beaming. “What sort of things do friends share?”

The girls started answering, Zia throwing out one word and Macy following with another. “Toys.” “Clothes.” “Books.” “Food.” “Chores.” “Birthdays?”

“No, Macy, your birthdays are still your own.”

“But I’d share mine with Zia!”

Alita laughed. “I’m sure you would. But the most important things friends share are the happy times, and the sad times.”

Their grins dropped a notch, as the girls nodded. “Yes, gran,” Macy said. “If Zia’s sad I’ll be sad with her.” “And if Macy’s sad I’ll do the same,” Zia said. They looked at each other and began to giggle.

“Ok, girls. How long is friendship?”

“Forever” they answered in unison.

“Forever, unless…?” Alita asked.

“Unless we get annulled,” Macy answered, eyes downcast. Her smile returned after a second. “But we won’t, will we, Zia?”

“No!” Zia’s answer was emphatic.

“Very well, tie your bracelets on. Be sure to leave lots of room for growing.”

“Will you help us, gran?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

Alita knew the pain of annulment. She and Jen had friended at the age of 13, when they shared a biology class. They remained friends through school, vocational training, and working together for three years in the greenhouse. Then came the first elections they were eligible to vote in. Jen voted for her mother’s friend, Nica, while Alita voted for Shell. Nica was a polite woman, but not the brightest, and certainly not cut out to lead. Her poor decisions piled on to each other resulting in longer working hours, less food and a far harder environment to endure. Through it all Jen first made excuses and apologies, then began outright attacking anyone, including Alita, that complained or disagreed with anything Nica did. They annulled their friendship over it, less than a week before the accident made it moot.

“Are you okay, miss Alita?” Zia asked.

“Yes, dear, I’m fine. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind today.” Alita smiled and knelt in front of the girls to help them tie their bracelets.

After clearing up the girls took off down the corridor, hand in hand, their giggles fading as they got farther away. Alita lay down on the bed to rest when the door chime sounded. “Come in, Niera.”

“How did you know it was me?” Niera asked as she stepped in.

“My daughter doesn’t call around this early in the day, and,” she raised her wrist and grabbed the single braid around it.

“Fair enough. I’ve come to find out if you’ll be okay with the new ration plan?”

“Oh. I haven’t read it yet.” Alita shrugged. “I’m not so young or active as you, so I can get by on fewer calories if needs be.”

“Actually the food rations aren’t changing.” Niera sat on the edge of the bed and took Alita’s hand. “Medication rations are being reduced, while the medicinal garden recovers from the fungus rot, and we look for the next cloud for raw materials for the synthetics.”

“How much?” Alita tried to avoid taking her pain meds, but there were days that weren’t bearable without them.

“A reduction of two-thirds for plant-based, for the next two cycles, and three-quarters for synthetics for the foreseeable future.” Niera sighed. “It’s been decades, but my mother’s ghost is still haunting us.”

“Your mother didn’t have anything to do with it. The fungi keep evolving, and there’s not much to be done for it.” Alita sat up. “Your mother wasn’t a bad person.”

“No,” Niera said. “Just a horrible leader.”

Alita waved a dismissive hand. “None of that nonsense. She did the best she could.”

“Removing the caps on raw material usage without a cloud lined up to resupply was not the best she could.” Niera sighed a mix of exasperation and resignation. “She told me on her death-bed why she did it.”

“The cloud that was scouted that didn’t pan out.”

Niera shook her head. “No. That’s a lie her advisors told after the fact. She did it because she wanted to be remembered. She thought she could make everyone happy and they’d love her for it.”

“I didn’t agree with her policies. Hell, I didn’t even vote for her. But I still loved her. I hope she knew that.”

“Even after the accident?”

“I don’t blame her for that.” Alita took Niera’s hand in her own and patted it. “It’s always a risk.”

“Sorry for being maudlin.” Niera smiled. “I wanted to ask if you need any pain med rations. I’m not taking any for the foreseeable future and I know how your hip gets.” She looked at the single band on the older woman’s wrist. “And I know you don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“Thank you, dear. If I do need some I’ll let you know.” Alita followed Niera’s gaze to her wrist. “Do you know where the friending started?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“My great-grandmother’s generation had bands like these, but it was just a thing young girls did. Back then there were boys too.” Alita thought back to her grandmother’s stories. “When my grandmother’s generation figured out that the boys weren’t growing into viable men to keep the stores going, they stopped birthing them. Of course, being able to create viable gametes from two ova was the key to that, and to preserving the remaining sperm stores.”

“I’ve heard the stories about the males, but what does that have to do with friending?”

“I’m getting there, young lady.”

Niera laughed. “Compared to you, maybe.”

“Well, the bands made of the poly-fiber we use now started then. But only one band denoting your secondary egg donor group.” Alita raised a hand to stop Niera interrupting with another question. “That’s not how it’s used now, but that’s how it was used then.”

Alita closed her eyes, remembering the stories her grandmother told. “Things started to decline almost immediately. There were too many births, and not enough room in the Colony for them; not to mention food. That’s when splitting bands and sharing them with friends was first used as a symbol of sharing. It said ‘What I have, you have.’ Those without friends… well we know how that worked out.”

“Why weren’t they maintaining birth quotas?” Niera looked at Alita as if she had just told her that a purple unicorn was standing behind her.

“The reduced virility of the males kept the birth rates in check.” Alita chuckled. “Grandmother said it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. But going from a slight chance of pregnancy with a male that may as well be declared sterile to pregnancies with an 85-percent certainty changes things.”

“Wow.” Niera’s gaze was fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Yes, wow. That was the first time ‘friending’ was put to the test. With food rationed to half, those nursing mothers with lots of friends did okay. A dozen people all giving up a tiny bit of their rations made a difference. Those with only one or two friends… their babies didn’t starve at their breast, but they didn’t exactly thrive. Those without…” Alita shook her head, remembering her grandmother’s tears as she told the story. “Babies starved at their mother’s breast, if she was lucky. If not, her body consumed itself to feed her infant. In those cases both died.”

“How did that turn into…,’ Niera stopped herself.

“That came in the third month of the crisis. Those who had been starving were in no condition to work. Those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t work were given the option of no rations, or step out the door. Most chose the door.”

“At least we won’t have the same problem again. The population is capped and stable, so why do we still…?” Niera let the question trail off.

“How do you think we would’ve handled things after the greenhouse accident?” Alita rubbed her hip, the sharp pain reminding her yet again. “A tiny bit of ice, hidden in a cloud, at those speeds….” She remembered the booming sound followed by the sudden loss of pressure. “It came through the roof, hit the apple tree Jen had been harvesting, turning it and everything around it into high-energy shrapnel, a piece of which shattered my hip. If it weren’t for my friends sharing their rations while I recovered I wouldn’t have survived.”

“Did you know that Teryn dedicated a new apple tree in greenhouse 2 to Jen?” Niera scooted closer to Alita.

“Yes, she told me. I’m just sad we never reconciled.” She put an arm around the younger woman. “Don’t ever talk politics with your friends. It just leads to heartache.”

Niera leaned her head against Alita’s shoulder. “Anyway, if you need any med rations just call me.” She let out a long sigh. “When are the next classes starting? I’d imagine your granddaughter and her new friend will be in your class this cycle?”

“Yes, yes. I’m adding adding some history to the lessons, We can’t forget why we do things the way we do.” Alita kissed Niera’s head. “It means the girls will have to work half again as hard, but they’re more than capable.”

Alita felt an unasked question, a hesitation on Niera’s part. She decided to answer without making it obvious that’s what she was doing. “I’m thinking that I can teach for another five cycles, maybe six. By then we should have another biology and history teacher ready to take over.”

Niera’s eyes pooled with tears. “I’ll miss you when you go.”

Alita hugged her close. “I know, dear. But I can’t be here forever. I’ll have to go out the door and leave room for someone else. That’s the one resource you can’t replace, even on a generation ship the size of the Colony.”