Challenge #00533 - A158: Relative Cartography

Google Maps is accurate. Apple Maps is the product of Dali and Picasso smoking a joint before painting the child of a canary and penguin with a frightened cat used as the paint brush, then selling the result as a map. – RecklessPrudence

There’s an old human saying, that there is no such thing as an accurate map. Maps lie.

For a start, they compress thousands of square distance units into flat expanse capable of -for instance- being held by your average humanoid in two hands. Or to compress a station the mass of a large dwarf planet into an accessible  hologram with a zoom feature.

Which still doesn’t solve the timeless question of all map apps.

“How the fook do I get directions outta this heathen thing?”

A small child, still wearing three locator bracelets, stopped to stare at Shayde.

Shayde looked down at the little sprite. “If I gi'e ye a penny, will ye go awa’?”

“Are you lotht?”

Fabulous. The kid had a lisp. Small children were already her vulnerable point. Small children with lisps had her firmly by marshmallow zone. Shayde sighed and dropped into a crouch. “I’m new to the technology,” She took off her info-monocle. “It’s no’ shown’ me how tae get to B from A, ye ken.”

“You talk funny.”

“Aye, an’ it gets worse when I’m stressed.” She put the app on display mode. One of the accidental features she’d repeatedly tripped over on her quest to get directions. “I can get it tae show me where I’m aimin’ t’ go. I can get it tae show me where I am. More or less…” The relevant, happy, green X hopped about in its margin of error. “Woh I cannae do is get it tae tell me how tae get there.”

The small child peered at the app and poked about. “Thith ith the default app. You need to get the better one.”

“Oh aye? Ye know a better one?”

“Mm-hm. Ama thayth the default app'th given out free ‘coz of how nobody’d want it.” The child nodded sagely. “You need t’ get My Thtathion from the thtore.”

Shayde fiddled with the interface and finally found, “Ee, there’s a baker’s dozen…”

The sprite pointed to a friendly-looking icon. “That'th the one Ama got for me.”

“Oh aye? Is it the one Ama uses too?”

“Mmm-hm! Ama liketh it way better than th’ grownup app.”

She couldn’t argue with that recommendation. Plus the kiddie’s app was free. Shayde dug out one of her Special Pennies, and pressed the apparently ordinary copper coin into the kid’s hand. “Keep this aboot ye. It’ll bring ye good luck.”

The sprite peered at it. “That'th a kangaroo… They’re from Earth.”

“Aye. So was I, once.”

“Who'th the man on the other thide?”

“That’s Edward the Eighth. The king who never was. You be guid tae tha’ coin, yeah? It’ll be good tae ye right back.”

“You’re funny,” said the kid. “I like you.”

“Awa’ wi’ ye,” Shayde mock-scolded. “I’m sure there’s someone oot looking fer ye.”

“Bye, demon-lady.”

The favoured app was so simple to use that Shayde hardly needed the pastel rainbow tutorial. She did turn off the syrupy music as soon as possible, though.

And, a bonus, she could turn off the directions by simply exiting the app.

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Challenge #00532 - A157: Pee Ode

On a scale of one to “I will invent a time machine explicitly for murdering your parents,” how mad do you think [person] is? – RecklessPrudence

“Ambassador Z0rk? He’s always tetchy.”

“That’s tetchy?” Shayde boggled. “Remind me never tae get him PO'ed.”

“Pee… ode?”

“Pissed off. Angered. Riled. Bluidy furious.”

Humans. They were equally confusing in any temporal zone. At least she wasn’t mysteriously speaking of uric poetry. “Ambassador Z0rk has had something of a grudge against organic life since his before elevation.”

“Aye?”

“He started off as a shipping drone. Apparently, a Nae'hyn Hitchhiker decided to twiddle with him and… now he’s part of the AIA.”

“The Artificial Intelligence Alliance. Got it.” Shayde paused to inspect the graffiti in a registered graffiti zone. “Ere. Ain’t he the feller who chucked oot th’ Consortium o’ Steam fer bein’ too human?”

“Yes. That was him.”

“Fook. Feller’s go’ his virtual knickers in a twist.”

That was the singular best description he had ever heard for Ambassador Z0rk in his life. He’d have to pass it on to Sherlock.

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Challenge #00531 - A156: Hidden in Plain Sight

“But, how did you know that the file contained their secret plans for world domination?”
“Because it was labelled ‘secret plans for world domination’.” — RecklessPrudence

K’orvoth could not believe that the humans would be that stupid. Or stupid enough to lable said plans in all known languages where anyone could read it.

Or to leave such things on an unsecured commconsole in the open.

He could not believe this windfall. “Decrypt it at once,” he ordered. “We will soon see how these humans plan to conquer us and foil them at every turn.“

The progress bar was alarmingly fast…

Then every monitor on K’orvoth’s vessel began playing the same data. Syrupy, synthesised chords filled every speaker. A human in loose-fitting clothing danced like a spavined marionette against a pastel background.

"Oooh… We’re no strangers to love,” it sang in Human. “You know the rules and… so do I…”

*

“What do you mean, you ‘Rickrolled the entire enemy fleet’?”

“Um,” Tahir tangled her fingers. “Well… I never thought they’d fall for my honey trap? So… I kinda made the virus file super-agressive? Andum… it’s spread like wildfire.”

“Officer Tahir, there is a special blend of genius and outright lunacy. I think you got the gold-plated version.”

Tahir grinned like an embarrassed school kid. “Uhm. Thanks?”

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Challenge #00530 - A155: The Human Effect

First submission since the identification of an ableist slur. Edited from original form, thusly:

I love the image of his brain just clearly rebooting because too much ridiculousness and unbelievability is hitting it at one time. – RecklessPrudence

Harry stared up at the edifice that was Security Chief ‘Sherlock’. It was hard not to. Sherlock stood at 6'4" and she was a diminutive 5'2".

“…i know i’m in trouble, there’s no need t’ loom…” she squeaked.

“I just want to know exactly how it happened,” he said, easing his distance between them with a casual shift of his weight. “Ambassador Z0rk is not happy. And when he gets unhappy… he tends to share that around.”

“Um…” Harry twiddled with her apron ties. The aliens who found her, and found her amenable, had replicated her uniform in various shades of gold. And that was the least disturbing facet of her adventures. “I’m not qualified t’ be here, sir… I… I’m just a lunch-lady. I bring the tea cart around…”

“Sadly, that’s not grounds for disqualification. You currently have the most experience with Galactic affairs, and they have the most experience with you.”

“But I ain’t– I’m not trained,” she almost bit her tongue out for that slip. She was from Northern Scouse and it tended to leak through in her speech. She tried to keep speaking The King’s English, but… in times of stress and worry -like right now- it kept coming out.

“Many aren’t. Ambassador Z0rk forgets he began his career as a shipping drone. He tends to throw his weight around.”

“Ee, that’s considerable throwin’,” she blurted. Then 'eep'ed and covered her mouth with both hands.

“Hm,” said Sherlock. “Now tell me, please…” he leaned conspiratorially down. “What did you do to get that old fossil flustered?”

“…thought I’d tell a joke,” she squeaked, sure this was a tactic of some kind to get her shipped back home in chains. Or whatever these strange aliens did. “…y'know? Break the ice?”

“Aha. And what was the joke?”

Tears sprang up in her eyes and leaked into her already-wobbling voice. “…a blonde, a brunette, a redhead and a rabbi walk into a bar,” Harry quavered as she twisted her apron strings into tighter and tighter knots. “…clang, clang, clang, but the rabbi du-u-u-ucked…” She sobbed softly into her own apron.

Sherlock made a strange noise. He shook and snorted and made a grinding noise… and finally erupted into a surprisingly jolly and warm laugh. “Hahahaaaaa… that’d do it,” he cheered. “I love the image of his brain just clearly rebooting because too much ridiculousness and unbelievability is hitting it at one time…” He cackled as he made his way back around to his desk. “I’m going to have to start a file. Things to tell Ambassador Z0rk when he is getting… on… my… nerves…” He was typing as he spoke. “Do you have any others?”

Sniffle. “You ain’t mad at me?”

“Dear lady, I owe you. Do you have any realisation how much… Ambassador Z0rk has been a pain in my arse?”

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Challenge #00520 - A145: Given Enough Rope

Observe - a Mad Scientist that’s cracked a little more than usual, and has completely stuffed up their cost-benefits analysis:
“This weapon accelerates the round - any variety of tree nut - up to point-eight-cee in the direction of the target. Observe! An average walnut. Walnuts average between five and ten grams, while this particular specimen is right around the middle at seven and a quarter. If I place this nut here - you’ll see the machine analyses the round to determine that it is an accepted ammunition variant - and press this button here, then when the nut impacts the target - the so-called Face on Mars - in a bit under fourteen and a half minutes, we shall see an effect on the area roughly equivalent to a hundred-and-three kiloton bomb! And best of all, the ammunition is so cheap it literally grows on trees!” – RecklessPrudence

"You’re forgetting a few key factors, Weatherby.”

“Such as?”

“To reach Mars, this walnut will have to accelerate at speeds that will cause it to spontaneously combust. And you’ve forgotten about the aerodynamic capabilities of a walnuts surface.”

“Really?” Jane placed her hands on her hips. “And what would you suggest, Professor Hetherington?”

“Well, for comparable mass and density, you’d really need a macadamia nut. They’re denser, smoother and harder than your average walnut.”

She glared at her academic rival. “It’s always Australian things with you, isn’t it, Sheila?”

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Challenge #00519 - A144: Unreasoning Profits

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

-George Bernard Shaw

If he doesn’t blow himself up in the process.

-Anonymous — c/- RecklessPrudence

Ax’and’l often struggled to find something nice to say about the human race. His usual compromise, that they were profitable mammals, did not always make it seem like enough of a boon.

Especially when Hwell had managed to wander off and get into one of his… escapades.

When he was done swearing, Ax’and’l often swore that he could feel his life shortening. He wanted to rail and cry at the statistics stating that species who had involved relationships with humans lived longer and healthier lives. He wanted to leave Hwell on the statisticians’ laps as Exhibit A as to why their statistics counted worse than damn lies.

But humans had a knack for seeing past the self-evident, which was both blessing and a curse. Sex aids on one planet became repackaged cooking supplies on another. Despicable toys for adults became a plaything for little children. Instruments of death became tools for civilisation.

And predators… became harmless pets.

Humans were also the only known species with a Luck gene. It came with the caveat of spectacular accident and Ax’and’l repeatedly checked Hwell for it following one of his usual unmitigated ur-disasters. Hwell was not a Lucker, despite all evidence to the contrary.

He just had a phenomenally scary impersonation of one.

And he was consistently profitable. Even when they had to pay for the damages.

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Challenge #00513 - A138: Poor Unfortunate Souls

In your universe, how do the - as far as I can tell - legal AIs feel about Uplifts being illegal? Considering you could make an argument that they are equally people, and might even have some of the same theory applied to them, in creating/augmenting a consciousness, just applied to silicon or grey jelly.

Especially considering that at least some of the arguments I can imagine being levied against Uplifts could equally be levied against AIs. – RecklessPrudence

Creating life is a heck of a lot easier the traditional way. But various hungers: the desire to nurture, the need of family, or just being Nae'hyn… result in new life and new life forms coming to the fore. These are the legal ELFs. Engineered Life Forms.

When baser appetites are involved: the desire for profit, the need to control, or just plain not thinking things through… you get illegal ELFs. Uplifts. The Enlisted Man. Sexbots.

The conflict, as always, is not in What Was Done, but rather, Why They Did It. And in such conflicts, the Cogniscent Rights Commission comes to the fore.

Every cogniscent being has certain inalienable rights. The basic rights: atmosphere, food, shelter, medical care, companionship. The corollary rights: education, safety, security, meaningful employ. The biological rights: love, family, the ability to reproduce, the ability to choose to reproduce.

When any of these rights are taken away, as they frequently are in the cases of illegal ELFs, there are intense legal battles. Companies greedy for their missing profits frequently hold un-birthed ‘products’ in stasis or storage, in legal limbo and definitely for ransom. They hold back on reproductive information, lest successive generations continue suing their successive generations unto perpetuity.

The CRC has very firm views on that. As do their sponsor members: every last recognised species of Artificial, Cogniscent Life ever made. All of them. Both legal and illegal.

And should you still go ahead and create for yourself a cogniscent plaything, just remember this:

You really know you’re in trouble when you’ve pissed off the Consortium of Steam.

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Challenge 00512 - A137: Gengineer of Note

Uplifting, as opposed to Augmenting, is illegal in your universe, right? Presumably for how easily both the process and the products of said process can be abused, along with the sad examples of such.

But I refuse to believe that such a transformative technology with so many pitfalls along the way was developed solely for money. Sure, there had to be at least the potential for profit, otherwise the people capable of doing it would never have had the resources to do so. But there had to be passion, someone or someones doing it because they believed that it was the right thing, that it was a good thing, that they believed in it. Not because it would give them slaves, but because it would give them people.

And then it was abused. Repeatedly. How did they feel about their life’s work, their dream, turning into this? How did they feel, through all the no-doubt-innumerable hearings, the interminable legal proceedings, the castigation?

Were they simply idealistic, to not see the ways their dream could be exploited? Were they themselves, their genius or collective genius exploited by less scrupulous people?

Were they lonely? Were they Nypical, or were they ‘off’? Were they looking, at the most basic level, to “make a friend”? Were they attempting to better understand other people by quantifying what goes into a person, or even in building a person, better themselves?

And how are they seen now, centuries hence? Evil? Greedy? Amoral? – RecklessPrudence

It wasn’t always this way.

It wasn’t a life of solitude with his Cats for company and people like PETA and EVILR[1] constantly at his gates. It wasn’t dodging internet rumours about what he did with his Cats every time he was online.

It wasn’t always feeling sick because of what They were doing with technology.

Once… just once… it had been good.

*

“My name is Anton De'Vrieyez. And this is Jemima.”

“Hello,” said Jemima.

“Oh my god, it talks.”

“That’s ‘she’ talks, please? I’m a girl, not a thing.”

“And -uh- can you show the audience at home that you’re not a puppet or something, Jemima?”

She sighed and stood, turning a graceful pirouette. “I’m really getting tired of showing people how real I am,” she grumbled.

“It’s still your turn,” said Anton. “We agreed to this. You, Julie, Jake and James all decided together that this is how you were going to handle it.”

“There’s four of you?”

“There’s eighty of us,” said Julie. “We’re what you might call the 'display sample’.”

Gasps from the audience. Anton winced. “Jemima, that’s not a good way of putting it.” He sighed. “We all decided together that the J-run should be the prettier cats, and that some would go on the road to show everyone that I’m not doing evil things with you all.”

“I’m sorry, Poppy.”

More gasps.

Anton forced a smile. “All of the Cats call me some variant of 'dad’ or 'pop’. I -uh- did create them. Um. Trying to be a good father to eighty Kittens isn’t that… um… easy…”

“You do okay, Poppy,” Jemima smudged her cheek on his arm as she hugged it. “We all love you.”

“And you made these… sentient cats?”

“Cogniscent cats,” corrected Anton. “I always got on better with cats than I did with people and I looked at our current level of gentech and -uh- realised… I could make a whole population of Cats. Like, give them everything they need to communicate and function on a human level.” A shy smile. “I was so glad when it worked.”

“So… you literally made your friends.”

“If you want to boil it down to that level… yes. I have eight gestational replicators so the Cats come out in batches of eight. After Eve, of course.”

“She’s our Meow-ma,” added Jemima.

“I make sure they’re up to date with their inoculations, of course. Uplifted cats can catch all the human diseases and all of the felid ones, too.”

“So Eve is your girlfriend?”

“What? No! She’s my daughter. Just because she’s the eldest and takes care of some of the Kits with me… It’s complicated, okay? None of the Cats are designed as sexual objects. They’re friends. Companions. Family. I don’t know about you, but I don’t go around screwing my family.”

*

He was the first and last known person who thought about the inalienable rights of Cogniscent life. The right to freedom. The right to an education. The right to shelter. The right to nutrition. The right to reproduce and the right to choose to do so.

All others after him… chose to ignore that. Demanded control. Abused the power over living, thinking beings that were also, legally, property.

Anton and his Cats fled earth and founded the planet Felida. But not before the abusers dragged his good name through the mud.

Only on Felida is he respected as an inventor and a creator. Only on Felida, is all the truth about him told.

When he was dying, the Cats offered to clone him, so that someone like him would always be with them. They had the technology. They could have easily done it without his permission.

“No,” he breathed, extending a gnarled and shaking hand to soothe the asker’s tears and whiskers. “Don’t ever make somebody just so they can be alone.”

If only the other Uplifters had paid him any heed at all.

[1] Egalitarian Vegans Insisting on Life-Rights

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Challenge #00511 - A136: Biochemical Imbalance

That wonderful feeling when you’re on just insufficient meds, or high on fatigue toxins, or had two hour’s sleep per night, max for the last week. After you’ve gone through the feeling-horrible portion, when you’re in the feeling great, can do anything, everything is so clear and sharp and makes so much sense…

And then, when you’ve had sufficient sleep, rest, or meds…

How the world actually is, and how you’ve been behaving. – RecklessPrudence

Charlie awoke in a med booth feeling amazing. It had actually been a good day, even if it did have an abrupt end. And a puzzling reset here.

She gripped the exit handle and pulled her booth out enough so that she could look out into the hallway. “Uh, hi there,” she chirped to the approaching nurse. “Can you tell me what I’m in for?”

He wasn’t wearing an iso-suit, so it wasn’t anything infectious. There was that bonus. Charlie waited patiently while the nurse checked his files.

“There you are. You suffered a near-catastrophic chemical imbalance and had to be sedated. You’ve been asleep for three shifts.”

Eighteen hours. Jeesh. “I didn’t feel imbalanced,” she argued, trying to recall the previous evening.

“You were arguing with a Racist citizen of Greater Deregulation North.” A redundancy of terms if there ever was one. Like, insane human or pointless art. “And apparently attempting to convince him that, by his own logic, all humans were fish.”

“…i was under the impression that i was doing well…” Charlie squeaked.

“Sorry to say so, but you were so bad that the citizen of GDN actually called in the medical emergency.”

“Is there anywhere I can hide until the Galactic Alliance forgets who I am?”

“Don’t worry,” soothed the nurse. “Your place of employment has been reprimanded and your quarters adjusted to suit your needs. Everyone goes through something similar sooner or later. All will be forgiven and forgotten soon enough.”

Charlie shut herself back into her booth. She certainly didn’t feel forgiven or forgotten at the moment.

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Challenge #00510 - A135: The Wolf’s Just a Puppy

Also about domesticated animals.

Almost every domesticated species, whether predator or prey, has been a social animal, with an internal hierarchy. Humans domesticated them by inserting ourselves at the top of the various hierarchies, and doing so consistently for generations, until the species is considered domesticated.
This can lead to absurd scenarios such as a human chastising a predator-species that was behaving inappropriately, one that masses more than they do, with a jaw that could shatter their bones easily, can outrun them - or, indeed, run them down - with ease, and is stronger than they are, by wrestling them to the ground and making noises at them. Said predator-animal is closely related to pack-hunting apex predators that were some of early civilisation’s most feared foes.

And then the mad human lets the animal up, and rather than rip their throat out for their temerity, it behaves contritely, as if the human had any capability to enforce their wishes upon it. Not only that, but within minutes the human and the predator will be playing games together! Games in which the predator has to be so very careful not to injure the human, even games in which the human deliberately provokes the predator! [Ed: tug-of-war with the rope, etc. NOT abuse] – RecklessPrudence

“Yeah, she’s still a predator,” said the human scratching the tiger’s ear. “She’s known me since she was a baby. I’m family. She won’t eat family.”

As if to punctuate the point, the tiger wrapped her mouth around an arm and pretended to bite and maul. All the human did was boop its nose and the animal let go and started licking apologetically.

“It’s all about socialisation. Now tigers need a large enclosure and lots of their own space, but in ten generations? We’ll have a species of tiger who can be house pets.” The human resumed scratching the tiger. “It sounds ludicrous, but it’s almost guaranteed to save the species.”

And that was how the aliens learned that humans wanted every possible animal as pets. Some were easier than others, of course. But the rising suspicion was already growing.

Show a human something dangerous and deadly, and they will figure out a way to domesticate it and turn it to their own purposes.

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