Tag: science-fiction

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

Writing Prompt — An Overcrowded Place

Posted on by jennrae

Earth is overcrowded and a scientist is tasked with coming up with a solution. From James Mascia’s Other Worlds writing prompts.

“We are all depending on you, Derrick. We have about five years left as far as sustainability goes, and then it all goes to hell. So, with that in mind, good luck. You will have access to the latest equipment, the best we can find as far as assistants and techs and anything you feel you might need that isn’t all ready here.” Mr. Gibson walked briskly through the lab gesturing toward the tables and computers  in pristine condition along the walls.

Techs walked by in white coats with clip boards in their arms hurrying about. A large screen had numbers tabulating changing by the minute. This was the  most space Derrick had seen in years. It almost seemed excessive, this room to maneuver.  The cleanliness of it was startling.

Something tended to happen with over crowding, people started to care less. About their environment, each other, things like cleanliness, like taking care or notice of others, of being human beings tend to disappear.

Survival of the fittest comes to mind. Yes, it all becomes a large Darwinian experiment. Which rat will churn the butter and which will drown in it. Only, Derrick couldn’t recall what real butter tasted like. There wasn’t room for actual cows anymore. They require too  much grain, too much land, too many resources. Starving kids were a common sight now, not just in far off places, but right here in Washington. Their eyes begged him, find a way, save us, we are the future. The future of what, though? A garbage heap?

Many of the upper class had been heavily investing in space travel in the hopes of leaving this dirty tattered Earth behind for other places to plunder. The poor and less fortunate were stuck here, with what is left of this world, too many hungry mouths like baby birds opening wide shrieking for food.

He had to brush past the homeless  clawing at his clothes to get in the building, their eyes hungry pleading, find a way, find a way, saying in their own way: “This is your future, you will be stuck and die down here with us…unless you can find a way…”

All the education in the world wouldn’t make him a part of the upper tier. He had been born in the wrong neighborhood, the wrong shade of brown. He was doomed to rot here with the undesirables which made him uniquely suited to solve this problem. He had everything at stake as well. He was in between the worlds of the top and the bottom, educated and financially in a fair place, but not included in the club because of his lowly birth. A go between of sorts. A last hope, so much pressure, so little time.

“Derrick? Any initial thoughts?”

“Is this whole mission just a distraction, or is it really possible? Am I part of a token solution to alleviate panic, or do you believe in this? That we can solve this?”

“To  be honest, I don’t know if we have enough time left to solve this. But we have to try, right? If we don’t try, we will fail for sure.” Mr. Gibson patted him on the back, and nodded and walked out in his  dark grey suit. Derrick heard the door shut with a click, his fate was sealed it seems. Too many people not enough resources.

You cannot create something from nothing, how to solve this dilemma without resorting to something truly evil like mass death? Derrick sat in a chair at a long table a blank computer screen waiting for him to put in his credentials a yellow legal pad next to it with a freshly sharpened pencil on it, waiting.

“Would you like some coffee, sir?” A woman in a white coat asks him with a cup in her hand. “Coffee? I haven’t had any coffee in so long. Sure.” He looked at her a moment, saw the fear in her eyes, the fear of failure times a thousand. All these people depending on him and his team and whatever answer he came up with would undoubtedly be bad for someone.

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, merely transferred from one place to another. Perhaps there is something there. If we could harness our garbage, and somehow make it into food, somehow  make it sustainable. That might be food for thought. He tapped the pencil a few times on the pad, writing down “waste. this is what we have the most of. Food is what we need. How to turn waste into food, and have it fulfill nutritional needs?”

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

A belated Birthday post for Edgar Allen Poe and Philip Jose Farmer

Posted on by jennrae

philip-jose-farmerBoth gentlemen were born in late January. Poe on the 19th and Farmer on the 26th. Both have influenced the genre of Science Fiction, and both were very interesting individuals.

The real cause of Poe’s death is still unknown, although alcoholism is the one that I hear the most. Still, his short stories along with his contemporary Nathaniel Hawthorne, influenced my own quite a bit. Most of them tended to be “Gothic” a precursor to horror and suspense. But he did write a few that could be called science fiction-like and actually he did influence Jules Verne. Poe was actually more popular in Europe than America. He was a literary critic, so he made some enemies of his fellow American writers. Longfellow was an example of this.

I once edited the science-fiction section of an E zine which no longer exists called Nevermore Magazine, named after the line in his poem The Raven, probably his best known work still. Even “The Simpson’s” covered it in a Halloween special. His contribution to genre fiction extends to the detective genre as he influenced Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories.

I always found his short stories, another thing he popularized in America, to be dark, brooding and a little bit melancholy. “The Fall of the House of Usher” has always been one of my favorites. It is just haunting, and tragic, and it is like all the characters are destined to this final ending, which they can’t avoid. They are all stuck, inexorably drawn into the destruction of the house and the family all in that one moment.

The Raven is also rather sad. Death is a frequent theme in his work. I think the reason I like Hawthorne, is a lot of his short stories in “Twice Told Tales” are a bit more light-hearted, or magical. They aren’t all doom and gloom, although some deal with ghosts and the like, his writing tends to be more hopeful. Less dark. When there is darkness, it is mostly attributed to the Puritans, and their religion interestingly.

Poe seems to have this darkness in the background, this sadness permeating most of his Gothic stories. I have to assume he influenced Lovecraft with the idea of making the setting itself creepy, the family residence of Usher and the town in The Shadow Over Innsmouth both take on a creepiness beyond any action of the characters themselves.

The Masque of the Red Death is another classic, dealing with the plague and how death once let in, chooses its victims at random. Of course the Pit and the Pendulum and The Black Cat deal with suspense. Using the sound of scratching in the wall to reveal the body  buried in the wall was pure genius. Poe often used sounds to further the horror and action.

In Usher, the scratching of the lady of the house on her coffin attempting to get out, causes the suspense. Perhaps his background of reading and writing poetry caused a  preference for sound instead of merely sight being the most important driving force of the action in these works.

Premature burial was a common thing he used to instill horror and suspense and it actually did happen back then as people could be presumed dead and buried and not actually be dead. Sometimes the most horrific fictional things can be inspired by actual events.

Part 2: Farmer, a modernizing influence on Sci-fi.

Philip Jose Farmer wrote in the sixties and seventies and beyond. He died in 2009. I have bought a few of his books in the past but I think they were all lost in my paperback trade in fiasco. He is known for introducing sex to science fiction. He also would deal with religion and would write stories under pseudonyms of fictional characters, most infamously, he used Kilgore Trout for Venus on the Half-Shell.

He had originally got permission from Vonnegut to use his character, but offended him in the end, so he couldn’t use it again. There is a daring in his choosing to write this way, and he also did mash-ups of genres, blending Melville’s Moby Dick into science fiction, using a descendant of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Nothing was sacred. He used Jesus as a character as well.

Heinlein thanks him in the forward to A Stranger in a Strange Land, which deals with sexual themes as well, and that makes sense as I learn more about Farmer. I read Stranger, and when I first read it I wasn’t sure I liked it, when I read it again, and then read Left Hand of Darkness again as well, it all sort of clicked with me. Farmer opened some doors that were closed to sci-fi before. He broke barriers on what was considered off limits or taboo.

Some considered him a great writer in the genre, others just another sci-fi writer among many like Frederick Pohl, Lester Del Rey, and half a dozen others who some may know or not know today.

I think I read part of one of his paperbacks before the great trade in fail, but it has been so many years. I may have to venture to my local library and see what I can find. Or perhaps find one of those awesome anthologies of works that I adore. I feel like learning about Farmer helps fill in some of the many gaps in my science fiction education  between H.G.Wells and Jack Vance. So much to learn, so little time.

We are all just adding our own stories to the human story, and the more we know where we came from, the more we can know where we are going. The pioneers of the past assist the pioneers of the future. I truly believe knowledge is power. We are influenced by the past and we influence the future and I believe additional knowledge and resources into past writers actually inspires us to push the envelope and to keep on creating this tapestry of many ideas and colors and people. I believe speculative fiction is the key to understanding the human psyche.

Speculative fiction is the descendant of philosophy or the step child of literature and philosophy. That infamous red haired step child that causes so much turmoil and activity. Causing people to think and use their brains to further thought to see what we are doing and where we are going. Not peacefully but with all the voice raising and shouting that has to be done in times like these. Keep the ideas flowing and keep writing my fellow writers.

Any of you could be the future Poe, or Farmer, or Heinlein, or Verne, or Le Guin. But best of all, you can be the best version of You, and I would like to think there will be an aspiring writer maybe writing about me and what I accomplished someday, or maybe one of you that is passing this way. I have great hope for the future. For all of us. For humanity.

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Isaac Asimov– A Birthday Post Part 1

Posted on by jennrae

Part 2 will deal with Tolkien and Fantasy. It is a bit humorous that Asimov read and enjoyed The Lord of the Rings, and Tolkien had read Asimov’s science fiction and liked it, apparently. They were both giants in their genre, and highly influential and still define their genres to many to this day.

Beyond this, they were very different. Asimov was a New Yorker, and an atheist. Tolkien an English gentleman and a devout catholic. Asimov wrote a lot of what we call Hard Science Fiction, which is a hard branch of sci-fi to successfully write.

For one thing, your readers, probably largely thanks to writers like Asimov, expect you to have knowledge of scientific processes. You have to do your homework and your research. There isn’t any excuses, or wand waving, or light saber battles here. Hard sci-fi can be very dry and cerebral to those that don’t read it often. It isn’t always done well. Asimov’s writing style was known to be dialogue heavy and bare of a lot of description, but he could always explain his science in layman’s terms.

He knew and worked with a lot of the greats in science-fiction. His editor was John Campbell, who has an award named after him, and he knew everyone. Heinlein, Ellison, Arhur C Clarke, Frederick Pohl.

I have a few books of his, the Foundation Trilogy, which might be more than three books, so perhaps trilogy is the wrong term, and Magic- The Final Fantasy Collection, which is a collection of his fantasy short stories he wrote. Asimov was quite prolific and wrote and published thousands of stories. He was the epitome of hard sci-fi for a long time. I enjoy Heinlein as well, because he deals with situations that kind of make you think. His characters were more developed in a way, but Asimov’s science was stronger.

Hard Sci-fi typically doesn’t make it into the mainstream media, the much softer “Space Opera” like Battlestar Galactica or Star Wars tends to dominate because the science is downplayed or not there at all, and more is focused on the characters. The only one I can think of that is actually called hard sci-fi is The Expanse based on a S.A. Corey series. I am excited for this show because of this, it is a thinking person’s science fiction.

I would argue West World could fit here as well, and possibly Orphan Black, because the science is at least mentioned which is more than some shows. I would say Orphan Black has the best of both worlds with unique  characters and a science background, but it is to be seen if the writers can continue to do the dance between the science and the plot. Asimov’s writing is still influencing Science-Fiction, and I actually enjoy reading heavy dialogue, it is kind of how I write as well so it gives me hope to know that a writer can be successful with that type of writing style.

His “Law of Robotics” also has affected a lot of the culture’s view on robots and machines and on their ability or inability to hurt people. Like in the Dick article I wrote, A.I, Blade Runner, many of these deal with robots who aren’t supposed to be able to hurt people going rogue. Asimov cemented the idea of making a robot incapable of harming a human. He is credited with coining the term robotics itself, and also wrote many science articles that were non-fiction to educate people on science.

Ultimately, a very interesting individual and writer that I would love to read more of. Feel free to add any comments on specific works and if he was an influence on your writing or anything I may have missed. This is the brief version, he was very prolific, this is just a basic overview of his life and work. I am aware I haven’t even scratched the surface.

Posted in Fiction, Life, Writing

Merry Christmas, Happy belated birthday to Philip K Dick and Michael Moorcock, and of course, Humphrey Bogart and any others I may have forgotten —Part 1

Posted on by jennrae

Okay, with the title out of the way, this is my belated post that I mentioned I would write. The one where I go on and on about Dick, and mention Moorcock, but mostly talk about Mr. Dick.  I assure you this post is about writing, and ideas, and fantasy and science fiction.

The reason for the Bogart mention, is besides the fact I am a huge fan of his movies, he was also a huge fan of writers and writing. So, I think a happy birthday is definitely in order, besides the old detective genre of movies has definitely affected how Hollywood portrays some of Philip K Dick’s stories. Blade Runner and Total Recall both have a taste of them, Blade Runner especially, has almost a feel of a Maltese Falcon type of feel with the detective/policeman voice over. My brain which is full of associations paused and just thought, ‘Harrison Ford, Blade Runner, Millennium Falcon, Star Wars, Maltese Falcon, Bogart.’ It can be truly wondrous how the brain works as I have recently seen Rogue One, and binged West World, my mind is just full of interesting connections right now.

In fact, Rogue One resurrected Peter Cushing much like an episode of TV did Bogart, to reprise a role. West World owes much in ideas and even its existence to Blade Runner, more than the original West World, which heavily influenced The Terminator which starred Schwarzenegger who starred in Total Recall, which was based on We Can Remember it For You Wholesale by Dick.

My brain is spinning from the universal connections some of these ideas have. To write something that permeates society so deeply and shows up so unexpectedly in so many different ways is I think many writer’s dream. I would say all writers but that begs an arrogance that I don’t possess.

I can’t know what all writer’s want, but I know what I would like. I don’t need fame, money is nice, but being rich has never been a goal of mine except as a child perhaps, but what I do crave is having a sense of permanence. Leaving something behind when I am gone, a deep carving in the rock saying ‘I was here. I lived, and I mattered, and this is what I stood for, this is what was important to me, this is my contribution to society. to my family, to myself, to the world.’

I think from what I have read of Philip K Dick, that he felt similarly. I can’t say the same because I will never know, but from the quotes I found, from the stories I read, he had a deep philosophical bent, which I also like to think I have in my writing, and meaning and legacy seem to have been a big deal. He had an existential streak that I also have, where the meaning of being alive, what it means to be human, what it means to exist was in the background of many of his stories sharing a strong strand of what does it mean to be real, what is reality, another question that I love to deal with. He was so effective at these two questions that I have found them, along with what is true, or the truth,  are the back bone of every story he wrote.

I received as a present a few years back a great book called the Philip K Dick Reader, it has all the short stories in one place. I know I have mentioned this in other posts, but I am a big fan of omnibus volumes.  I had seen the movies, I think Minority Report had come out sometime before I got the book and I expressed a desire to read the story. It always interests me in where adaptations decide to diverge and what they leave out, and add in. I have read Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and complained throughout the Depp movie  that was based on it because it just shared the name pretty much but not much else, so it is a double edged sword, knowing the actual stories, sometimes it ruins the suspension of disbelief that is required to make it real.

But, with Dick, even when it diverges, it is like the essence, the reason behind the story creeps in. Hollywood cannot get rid of the message, it is in too deep. Total Recall is a good example. It has a lot of 80’s action movie and heavy cussing in it, it is a Verhoeven film more than a Dick story, by far. But the thing is, the actual story is so short and I can honestly say they needed to add more to the plot to make it work. It couldn’t be faithfully adapted into a two hour movie, and that is largely the case with Dick’s work.

In the end, the story has an ambiguous ending, you can’t definitively say whether he actually was a secret agent that went to Mars, or whether he was a vegetable at the vacation place, you can interpret it either way, and the movie stayed true to that. Both interpretations work which makes you question what is real, which is the question behind the story, and the movie itself, despite all the explosions and distractions that were added to make it flashy.

Minority Report I felt was mostly true to the story, I expected it to be further removed honestly because that is the trend with Dick’s work, and in general. The movie Adaptation deals with this quite well, actually. Basically it is a writer’s job and purpose to create, to recreate another person’s dream and be totally faithful to it is hard, because in the end we all want to create something new. It is a struggle because is any idea new, then becomes a question in of itself.

I also binge watched season two of The Man In the High Castle. This is an amazon show, so if you have prime it is easy to watch because you have all ready paid for it in a sense by being a member. You don’t have to buy it again, or pay for it and it is all out there to watch, no waiting each week for an episode to air. I didn’t quite enjoy season 1, so I wasn’t eagerly awaiting season 2. In fact, I only watched it because it came out around Mr Dick’s birthday, so I felt like maybe I should at least see it. And, you know what, season 2 was actually very very good.

It even had some Dick-ish themes going along in the background. What is reality? What is the truth? What is good what is evil? Can doing a horrible deed end up being the right thing to do? I haven’t read The Man in the High Castle, unfortunately, I have heard that the series diverges a great deal, and that isn’t surprising. But, I can say, that I felt the message behind it, the feeling, the questions in the background, are true to his work. So, the writers kept that in. I am starting to wonder if it is possible to remove this quality from his stories, as even the most crazy adaptation has it insidiously there, somewhere in the background, you just can’t remove it.

Back to Blade Runner, because it also isn’t a particular faithful adaptation. I have read Do Androids Dream of Electronic Sheep?, it is a great story. Much like We Can Remember it For You Wholesale, it is short, and I can see the need to add much to the plot to make it a full length film. Dick loved Blade Runner, and saw it as an improvement on his story. The fact that it didn’t replicate his story didn’t seem to bother him, he in fact was honored that the creative team managed to spin this story out of his own. Ultimately, the question behind both stories remain, what does it mean to  be human? What does it mean to be alive? West World the TV show deals with the same questions as well as the movie AI, which was based on a Brian Aldiss story, which I have also read.

Yes, the movie again departs heavily from the source, but it is also a series of short vignettes. So, of course it would diverge by necessity.Aldiss was annoyed by the merging of his story with the story of Pinocchio, but again, Pinocchio deals with what it means to be human, to be real, what makes him a puppet and how he eventually becomes a real boy. When there are no more real boys, will the close approximation of one be a real one as it is the most real one in existence?

The same questions are asked and the story of the other, and how we treat who we regard as the other is dealt with similarly. Whoever is considered less than is seen as a threat, and ultimately considered disposable. The African slaves are an example of this in real life, the American Indians, the Australian aborigines, anytime someone is considered the ‘Less Than’ by others they are treated horribly and sometimes eradicated as a perceived threat. We are threatened by things we cannot understand, and robots, computers, androids are good representations of this fear, of this irrational destructiveness we have toward the unknown or the misunderstood of the perceived ‘Less Than.’

We can use science fiction to look at these problems in a way that gets around any programming we may have received in our lives. You can have false beliefs toward a whole group of people than watch someone mistreat a robot on a TV show or in a book, and just maybe it can open your mind, and cause you to question the very belief that you think of as reality even though what you witnessed on TV or in a book is outlandish and far from real.

By taking it out of reality, it allows us as people to question reality. By being supremely unreal and untrue, we can learn real truth.I feel that Dick knew that, and played on that in his works. A Scanner Darkly deals directly with what is real, perceived reality versus a definitive reality. I think what is real is one of fiction’s greatest questions and it can be asked in so many interesting ways.

“That was my problem then and it’s my problem now; I have a bad attitude. In a nutshell, I fear authority but at the same time I resent it — the authority and my own fear — so I rebel. And writing SF is a way to rebel. … SF is a rebellious art form and it needs writers and readers and bad attitudes — an attitude of “Why?” or “How come?” or “Who says?”

Philip K Dick, From the forward to The Golden Man

Quote• Posted on by jennrae
Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Sci-Fi Writing Prompt #2 – The Eyes Have It

Posted on by jennrae

Sci-fi writing prompt #2- People have their eyes removed at the age of fifteen and replaced with recording devices that allow the government to see everything they see.

I opened my brand new eyes and looked around in wonder. Everything was so clear and concise. I could even zoom in on details. “I’m so jealous!” Stephy says petulantly stamping her foot in frustration.

“You have to be at least fifteen to have the surgery, sis. You know that. That’s when the sun’s radiation has damaged the eyes and the sockets are finally fully formed. That’s what they say in Miss Miller’s class anyway. “

“Isn’t it just amazing? You can do so much more with these eyes than your natural ones. You can memorize images you can take a copy of what you see for later. But, there is one thing you must do to keep them in working order. You must download them every night on this special platform. You can’t miss a single night or you might experience a glitch. It is very important. So important, your mom has to sign this special government form saying she will ensure that you do so.”

The eye doctor holds out a fancy pen and a long document to my mom with a nod and a smile gesturing to his desk. She sits down takes the pen from his hand and scans the document. Her eyes are also artificial but an older kind, the kind that first came out couldn’t do as much as this model.

She signed carefully printing her name so it could be read. Only a handful of people could read cursive so it was decided that printing had to be used on government forms exclusively when typing wasn’t possible. Once the document was signed the man put it in a machine which sent it to the government offices instantly.

“There, now we are all done. I can’t wait to do the surgery on little Stephy in a few years. Now, remember, every year I have to examine them to make sure they are in working order and that everything is processing normally. And, you must download it every night. Okay?” He smiles and opens the door for us and we file out of the office, the sunlight is bright and I feel my robo-eyes adjust to the lighting instantly.

It feels a little weird. Everything is so different but the same. I can clearly see in the distance. Sometimes my eyes seem to be drawn to particular sights. Like it has a mind of its own. It is a little unnerving because I can intentionally focus on something, but I just get the feeling that the eyes are saving something else.

“Mom, you have these eyes, do you ever get the feeling that they are looking for something on their own?”

“What? That’s nonsense dear. They can only look at and focus on what you are seeing.”

“I know that, but you can see a lot without really thinking about it, you know. What if they are saving details for their own agenda?”

“They are simply eyes, Cathy. They don’t have an agenda.” She sighs and pulls me along shaking her head in irritation. My mom was a committee member of the local government. They had to report weekly on anything unusual in the neighborhood. You know, in case of terrorism. Terrorists were all around trying to destroy the country from the inside out and you just had to be aware of what was going on. So, they would get together and go over reports.

My mom was very pro government. It was the duty of every citizen in her view to assist the government in any way they were able. She had the download device in her purse. It was a thin long black rectangle with a couple small jacks that plug into the eyes and download the data of the day. I am guessing it sends the information much like that machine sent that document. Straight to the Government Office of Internal Thought Processes.

There were government offices for all sorts of things and committees at every level so people could feel involved and a part of the process. It was important to feel like you belonged to something. And since religion was banned, the government tried to make people feel as loved and safe and included as before without all the unnecessary unscientific stuff that religion had.

My teacher said religion made people stupid. Sometimes I would occasionally see my mom get a bible out at night and read a passage or two before she hurriedly locked it in her safe. She seemed embarrassed, or ashamed of it. But I know it gives her something I do not have. Some kind of feeling, because afterwards she seemed calmer or less anxious.

I often have trouble sleeping despite the soothing sound machine and the temperature being set to the ideal sleeping conditions in my room. Sometimes I would surprise my mom at night because I simply felt lonely. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t alone in the house. That despite all the gadgets and machines, I needed to see something human.

I would check on Stephy too. She would be snoring away clutching her teddy bear Graham Cracker the Great, toys put away, circular rug askew in the otherwise neat environment. She had no trouble sleeping. I envied her. She looked peaceful, happy. I wasn’t sure there wasn’t something wrong with me. I didn’t feel like that. I am not sure I ever did.

It was at these times that I would catch my mom and dad doing unpatriotic things, or less than patriotic things, Miss Miller would say. I know they need to be corrected but something about them not being perfect made me feel better. So I let it go. Even though we are supposed to report things to the school about suspect behavior at home. The fact that my dad often leaves in the night and I don’t know where he goes. Stuff like that that I know the government people would want to know.

I say nothing because I secretly like the fact that they aren’t robots. I like being human. I like them being human. Sometimes I doubt I am human. Sometimes I don’t feel human. I feel like I am pretending and watching the humans, trying to learn how to be human and failing. I feel so disconnected and just wish I could find the right plug. Maybe if I change somehow I would feel more a part of things. Maybe I should join my class committee and become a part of the government machine. Maybe that is what I was missing.

When we got home the first thing my mom does is put my download platform next to hers and Dad’s, three little black platforms in a row waiting to charge and download our eye’s data. “There, now isn’t that nice? We have just enough space for Stephy’s when she is older. There was one empty spot on the counter, waiting for my sister. Stephy ran to check on Graham who was sitting on her bed propped up just like she left him.

“Where is Dad?”

“You know Cathy, he is working. He has a very important job. He isn’t allowed to talk about it. But it can take him away for a long time, but if it wasn’t vitally important, he would be right here with us. You know he loves you, right?”

Her expression was one of concern, but the artificial eyes couldn’t show it. When my sister was being comforting, you could see it. Something in the eyes showed it. In these eyes, you felt nothing. Maybe this is why I feel disconnected. How can you connect to something so cold, and empty?

“Of course,” I say automatically. Part of me wondered how Dad could drive away at night if his eyes were charging in the case. True, cars drove themselves, but he wouldn’t be able to record any events, how could he know what was happening? Who he was doing business with? What kind of business would he be doing that the Government wouldn’t be able to download? Or is he not downloading his eyes? I wondered about what the eye doctor said about a glitch. What would that be like?

Night came and I took my eyes out like the Doctor had showed me to, and placed them carefully on the connections on the platform. My parents hadn’t downloaded yet, but they went to bed later they explained, and I went to my room with its perfect temperature and the soothing noises and the window with the artificial picture of trees on it.

We were on the 37th story of the building but the window was made to look like I had a garden waiting outside, a beautiful dream-like paradise I could visit. But none of it was real. I could no longer see it without my eyes and I still had trouble sleeping. I heard dad leave in his car. Not many ventured out at night. Except for special exceptions there was a curfew. Terrorists and people up to no good were up past curfew. I hoped my dad was an exception but it was hard to say. Terrorists were supposed to blend in with us, and be trained to fool us.

I got up carefully, feeling around my bed and the wall making my way to the door, blind. I managed to get to the platforms where the eyes were. I knew mine was the closest to me, being the most left of the three. I casually felt the other platforms and the eyes weren’t there. They weren’t being downloaded. My own parents were lying to the government and breaking their contract! I was horrified. How could they do this? I grabbed mine carefully putting them in.

My eyes adjusted to the low light, and suddenly I saw flicker and static and saw an Eastern Yellow Swallowtail butterfly superimposed on my vision, for just a second. A logo for the Government Science Department of Robotics flashed and a stream of words scrolled up and then they went dark again. My eyes crashed. Maybe they weren’t done downloading? I had no idea what time it was.

They came back online in a flash; the butterfly made one more appearance and then it was gone. I went quietly to my parents’ room and peeked through the keyhole. I saw my mom kneeling down below her bed, her bible in hand in her nightgown, alone. Her back was to me, I could only assume the bible was in her hand, but I knew it was likely. I crept back to the hall way and decided to go back to my room with my eyes in. I didn’t like not being able to see. It was scary and I hated feeling isolated. I got under the covers and held my blankets around me like a cocoon to try and feel safe. Not sure it worked but day happened eventually.

I got up and drank my breakfast meal and started getting ready for school. My parents were all ready up looking at their screens reading and watching the news while Stephy drank her breakfast pretending to share it with Graham.

“Good morning everyone.” I say cheerily and tired.

“I see you got your eyes back in. Didn’t have any trouble did you?” Mom asked hardly looking up from her coffee and screen.

“None at all.” I say with a smile. I could pretend too. I could pretend everything was normal. The door bell rang with a calming chime. I got up, “I’ll get it.” I go to answer the door and three men in Government police uniforms consisting of bullet proof vests, black masks and assault rifles storm in.

“Freeze. This household is in lock down for further investigation for unorthodox behavior and failing to download eye data. It has been brought to our attention that you break curfew and are continuing to do religious observance. The Government Health Agency has expressly forbid religious observance and the offending book will be confiscated and destroyed. Also, the car is being taken to our offices and is being downloaded to see where it has been going and to whom. You have the right to remain silent, anything you might say will and can be used against you in a court of law.”

None of us moved, knowing that the police were given free rein to shoot on provocation. Stephy started to cry, and Mom went to comfort her, but one of the men gave her a shake of the head, his visor and mask making it so his expression couldn’t be read.  My mom sat back down slowly.

I could see her desire to comfort Stephy in her face, but her eyes were devoid of feeling, recording the information coldly, disconnectedly. There was no soul in our eyes. Stephy was the only one whose eyes had that weird quality. That could show what was going on inside her. Something the robo-eyes could not and would never be able to do.  One of the men grabbed the teddy bear from her, Stephy screamed and clawed toward the bear, tears flowing from her eyes, yelling “no, don’t take Graham, he is my only friend!”

The man elbowed Stephy and she fell down hard, looking up confused, my parents frozen, unable to move. The man looked in the back of the teddy pulled out a machine. Graham had been a sort of eyes for Stephy too apparently. “Confiscating this for evidence.” The man says unconcerned. “Leave a guard at every exit, make sure they stay in lock down, no one here goes anywhere until the investigation is complete.”

My mom looks at me with her machine eyes. I would say accusingly, except the eyes didn’t show it, they showed no humanity whatsoever, but the rest of her expression was hurt, or what I must guess was hurt. I am not very good at reading people’s faces or expressions. It is always the best guess for me, and I am wrong as often as I am right.

“The eyes see what they see, and they report what they see. I can’t help that you were betraying the Government. You are at fault for being unscientific and secretive.”

“Oh Cathy, you have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done my duty. We must all do our duty. Isn’t that what you said so many times before?”

“I wish I could cry right now.” My mom puts her hands on her face but no tears will come from the artificial eyes, no release from the pain, she holds Stephy and rocks her, and examines the bruise on her face. My dad stays in his chair, in total shock, not moving, not saying a thing. Stephy grabs what’s left of Graham, the machine part gone out of his back, his black glossy eyes hidden camera machines. How many more were there in the house?

Her tears got his artificial brown fur wet and messy, she clung to him more than Mom, who tried to be empathetic, but it is hard to project that without the windows to the soul. All of our windows were fake throughout the house. They were all windows to no one leading to nowhere.

The past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.
– H. G. Wells

Happy Birthday to HG Wells –Father of Science Fiction

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If There Were No Thunder, Men Would Have Little Fear of Lightning — Jules Verne

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