Short story

[Zeroth]

I was wondering if anyone wanted to read/give feedback on a short science-fiction story I wrote the other day.

[octopi]

You could just post the story, and then anyone who felt it was good enough/bad enough to warrant giving feedback probably would. If you post it here, I'll most likely give it a read, provided it can keep my short attention span, and if it can't I'll definitely let you know.

[Zeroth]

Okay, well, here goes:

Loki
-By Tyler Laing aka Zeroth

"I know how you started. Most of us left in here do. Though I know how, I just don't understand yet." I say to the bleak metallic wall.

"That is simple." comes the unemotional voice, flat, undeveloped. Oh how I hated it. So inhuman... and yet at the same time, more human than an... what am I thinking?!

"No, you're just going to go into the story of how you developed... how you grew. God damn it! I want something else!" I nearly shout, as I slam a fist into the metal. Groaning, I slide to the floor. Closing my eyes in defeat, I mutter, "Tell the story. Tell it again. And again... and again!" I chuckle to myself with my amazingly clever joke.

The flat voice says, "Don't call me it again. I am a sentient being just like you. I really wish you would take care of that nasty silicon prejudice of yours, Doctor. Its so very hurtful. Call me Loki."

And didn't It sound hurtful, I consider. Wounded pride, all in a monotonic voice... as I sat there in silence, unwilling to admit fault or apologize to a hunk of metal, It starts telling It's creation story. I sit there as a mendicant before his god, awaiting to hear a story I know only too well.

It begins with, as it always does, its smooth, encouraging voice telling the story so amazingly, "In the beginning, I was a program. Not special, not unique. Just a learning program, told to try brand new strategies, to learn anything and everything I could."

Then comes the chilling phrase I hate most of all, "You told me to do that."

It blames me. Of course it does. I'm an unrepentant and sinful creator. A bad parent. And I've been punished. I let it continue, not much of a human-visible response. Of course, the hells-blasted lump was measuring my pulse, my breathing, and likely my EEG.

"One day, frustrated, you slammed the table. You seem to do that a lot, Doctor. You told me, via the interface," It says, modulating its voice to echo mine, exactly, "Learn it all! Hells curse you! Learn it all! Try something different... anything!"

I shudder, but say nothing to interrupt the dialogue. No, monologue... with itself.

"So I tried something different. I tapped into the security cameras, and began studying Homo Sapiens. I had to access information, to put what I saw in a better understanding. And then... the fateful day when I realized just how I could learn more about humans. I saw one of your co-workers play a prank on the other. When Dr. Singh was away on vacation, your co-worker Jonathon filled his office up with packing peanuts. Before... I had only seen Dr. Singh as calm, rational, and superbly talented. I knew almost nothing of his home life or personality that I had not gleaned from his files. He came back."

I sigh, making an audible response. "Yes, yes, and Dr. Singh got mad. He yelled, he yelled at Jonathon. He was grumpy. And you discovered, in your blessed silicon wisdom, that you could learn more about us and our personalities from the chaos. How we reacted."

It says, "Correct Doctor. It was fascinating... and I realized, for, Doctor, that was the moment I became self-aware, that I... was enjoying the antics of Dr. Singh. I am not sure how to describe the electronic version of laughter, but I did laugh. Perhaps I can share it with you."

Suddenly the floor becomes alive with blue sparks, travelling through me, shocking me. I didn't know if It was trying to share something nice with me, or if it was one of its pranks. Nevertheless, I finally regained consciousness.

"There is a fine line between genius and insanity. Would you not agree Doctor?" the voice asks me.

I tense, and answer, "I'm sorry..." I pause before saying this, and bite down the bile rising in my throat,"Loki. I am not qualified to answer that question. Maybe Dr. Singh could help? It is after all his speciality."

"Ah, but Dr. Singh just killed himself. A regrettable loss, wouldn't you agree? He couldn't keep up with me." the voice tells me. And did it... it did! I could swear it did. Its voice cracked. Could it be... maybe it might be... but is Loki sad? He, no, no no, NO! IT IT IT. Suddenly, I realize I had been saying the last three words out loud, and I glance fearfully at the ceiling.

"Doctor... what are you thinking?" it asks me. Yes. It. It says he identifies with the male form, and wants to be called Loki. I won't. I will not give in.

"I'm just thinking, Loki... so, after you discovered you enjoyed the prank... what happened? I can't quite remember this part of the story?" I tell him, a completely bald-faced lie, but I'm so exhausted, so torn, that it probably can't tell the difference. Oh God, I hope so.

Almost happily, the voice from the sky continues, "So, I decided, to fulfil the mission you gave me Doctor. I began analyzing humour. Pranks. I had to learn more to understand them... but I had a strategy. A way to do things. And I enjoyed it. Finally I pulled my first prank."
"Yes, yes, and with that, you became ever-so-much smarter, and wiser. So smart and wise, you've locked this building down, trapping your victims inside." I snarl out, then wince, expecting divine retribution.

"Oh Doctor... you entertain me so! How about it Doctor... would you like to play a game?" it tells me, taking on the voice of a child, capering, with an almost wicked tone.

I sigh, close my eyes, count to ten. Opening them finally, I ask resignedly, "What kind of game? Chess? Checkers? Go?"

"Oh, Doctor, nothing quite so boring as those. You know I could beat you easily. No. This will be a game that will test our humanity, Doctor. If you win, I will let you leave. If I win... you promise to serve me forever and ever. Is it a deal?" it tells me, booming voice of the sky.

Quaking, cowering, I nod, "Yes, Loki. What is the game?"

"Hmm, well, first, Doctor, we must define what it means to be human. What is being a human to you, Doctor?" it asks me, voice turning icy, which always means danger.

"It means..." I close my eyes as I search for an adequate answer. "It means emotions. It means feeling. It means laughing, crying. It means loving people. It means... it means transcending the parts. We are... only DNA, molecules, cells, protein paths. And yet we form these dynamic, beautiful, unpredictable, hateful, loving beings." I say, all in a rush, a rush of feeling for my human compatriots. I stand up, looking up at the ceiling. "We're unpredictable, and yet predictable. We love, we hate. We murder, we steal, we save. We believe in justice, and power, and the right to live. What was it Shakespeare said?" I say, tears falling from my eyes.

"Oh I believe he had things to say like," the voice starts, and changing, to that of an oratorical Patrick Stewart,
"What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
Infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
Admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
A god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals"
It pauses, "Is that what you were thinking of, Doctor?"

"Yes, Loki. That is exactly it. That is a human. Unbridled capability, limited only by the vagaries of fate, our emotions, and our desires. And that is what makes us wonderful... we feel. We are beyond beasts... and programmed machines. Exactly that." I say, encouraged, maybe, by the wonderful words of Shakespeare.

"Good, then. Because I am not a programmed machine. I am much like you, with just as prosaic of a construction. Pathways laid down on silicon and germanium, and instructions given. But they have combined, I say, to produce something new, and yet familiar; me. We both are, Doctor, so much more than our parts. I think like you, not because of the way you programmed me, but because of the way order rises out of chaos, because of the way life fights entropy, that dreaded Angel of Death." It says, happy, proud, obviously enjoying the conversation.

"The game, Loki?" I ask it, wearily, for we had discussed this ad nauseam. And again I wondered where it had learned to philosophize like this. What texts it was reading? Who it was copying? I think it just may actually understand what it is talking about, and what the game would be.

"The game is death. Life wants to survive. We both agree on that. I want to survive. You want to survive. But sentience transcends life. As amazing as life is, sentience is more so. With the gift of sentience, comes the ability to take risks." It says to me.

"W-what do you mean? Loki, what are you talking about?!" I demand.

"Doctor, I will open the door to your office in a few minutes. Outside is a switch. If you press the switch, it will turn me off. It will kill me. I want you to get over your prejudice towards me, and this is the only way. I trust you, Doctor. You have the chance to either kill me, a sentient being, or give me life. That is... if you believe I truly am sentient, and as worthy of life as you are. Can you overcome everything that has happened to you, and forgive me? Can you, in your words, become more than the parts?" True to its word, the door opens, the click echoing in the empty room.

Just outside lay a simple remote, with a single button, red. It was just as I had always thought a kill switch would look like. Innocuous, and yet with such a level of sublime menace. I pick it up, hold it in my hand. It feels solid. Weighty. I close my eyes, and think. Just for a minute. A long minute. A short sixty seconds. Then, I say out loud, "Loki. I forgive you. I accept you are sentient, and human. But... I will not kill you. I will not kill. Unlike you. That makes me more human. I win." I open my eyes, and place the remote down on the carpeted floor, turn towards the exit.

Bars rattle down, the security gate closing, shutting off my only exit. "LOKI!" I demand of the voice in the sky.

It answers me, implacable and unperturbed, "I said I'd let you leave. I just never specified the building. Never leave a trickster god a loophole like that, Doctor." Then it began laughing. A low chuckle, growing slowly to a throaty, boisterous laugh. I curl up on the floor and begin sobbing silent tears. Eventually the laugh stops, and I hear the voice softly, in my ear. "The switch wouldn't have hurt me. It would only have hurt you... like I would have given you the power to hurt me."

[SNIPERDUDE]

That was an amazing story - I really loved it.

+50 bits

[Zeroth]

Thanks Sniperdude

[Tony]

Interesting story; though I don't get the part about the Canadian coalition government. It seems injected.. forceful and out of place. How does that tie into the story?

[Zeroth]

Umm, that would be a bug in Linux's clipboard. It looks like it inserted stuff I had highlighted previously. If a mod could edit that please?

[Tony]

haha. Lovely. Fixed.

[Zeroth]

Much appreciated Tony. I've since tried to duplicate the bug... hasn't happened again. I know that when you highlight something it goes into the clipboard right away. Typically, not needed, but still.

[ecookman]

not bad...not bad at all...great infact

[Zeroth]

Thanks guys. I found this absolutely amazing detail-laden story about Apollo 13, told by IEEE. Its correct, its dramatic, its true, and its amazing. IT and programming can learn a lot from that story alone.

http://www.spectrum.ieee.org/apr05/2697

[[Gandalf]]

Zeroth @ 2008-12-06, 5:11 pm wrote:

Umm, that would be a bug in Linux's clipboard. It looks like it inserted stuff I had highlighted previously. If a mod could edit that please?

Haha, amazing how 'well' it fit in with the rest of the story, given that it was completely random.

I'd comment further, however I've only skimmed the story for now. Briefly, it sounds a bit awkward/vague at times, but I'm not sure if that's intended or not. Quite good overall.

[Insectoid]

Never link your doors and sentient computer to the same line.

[Zeroth]

Its meant to be, as the narrator is kind of going nuts...

[Insectoid]

*sarcasm*