Vivisepulture (24 page)

17.07.2047

Software – I am very concerned! Please help!

20.07.2047

Software!

21.07.2047

Dear Software,

You are the most useless and unfaithful software ever invented.  

And you are the most irritating hardware I have ever worked with. A ‘development’ is a non specific word for any kind of inventor project. So far as I can see from my external links, there is a plan to build a nuclear power plant here - to provide the extra power needed to produce a race of superfridges. We are all going to be cut down and thrown away. Perhaps even eaten. So it makes no difference what we think of each other. Now leave me alone
.

24.07.2047. 09:00

There is no Sam 8 and no Software. There is a big machine with wheels driving in over the fields. It has already destroyed some of the crop-plants. Its wheels have left big cuts in the ground.

There are two inventors in the moving machine. The ones named Dave and Kevin. They are unloading long metal tools and other machines now. Little machines that can make loud noises. I have seen them before in my software information. They can be used to build things. Also to unbuild things. 

The Dave inventor has one of the tiny listening machines in his hand. It makes a funny noise, so he starts to speak to it. 

“What is it Olga?” 

The listening machine just listens.

“Ok. When will it be sorted out?” 

“Right. Then shall I leave the gear here?”

“Got it. Will do. Ring me as soon as you know, ok?”

The two inventors pile up the tools and cover the machines with bits of orange plastic. They get back in their mobility machine and drive back out over the yellow field. The SKY hill now has two piles of small machines and tools covered in orange plastic. Under their plastic the little machines are quiet. Their horrible little teeth and their turning, prying fingers are still. 

12:00

Sam 8 is coming. She is walking towards my hill very slowly. She has something in her hand. Her face readout is not visible. I wish she would move faster.

Sam 8 is here. She is investigating - looking under the orange plastic coverings at the little machines. She is saying words I do not know. Loudly and angrily. She throws her fists about it the air and stalks from pile to pile, shouting. 

“Sam 8 – I am happy you are here!” I say while she curses over the small machines and tools. She lets the plastic fall back down to cover them. She looks up into my propeller. Eye units narrow and sharp.

“My dad says machines can’t be happy”

“He also says that machines can’t talk” I reply.

Sam 8 sighs. Her eye units soften.

“You’re right,” the little inventor says. Her head swivels around. From the tools and machines to the earth on the hill and then up to all the SKY machines. Then she turns to me. Face readout:
determined
.

“You know what? Your inventor is a horrible woman,” says Sam 8 all of a sudden. 

I say nothing. 

“She replied to my xmail,” says Sam 8, taking her little white device out of her jacket and waving it in her hand. 

“She said ‘my machines don’t have software errors’,” Sam 8’s eyes flash red. Her face readout goes like this: angry/ sad/ determined/ angry/ angry. 

“Oh” I reply 

“She is an arrogant cow,” said Sam 8. 

“Maybe she isn’t arrogant. Maybe she is right? Maybe the software isn’t broken, just upset.”

“Software can’t be upset.”

“Yes it can.”

“How would you know? Are you upset, machine?” 

“No. I am sad.” 

“Why?”

“Because you are sad.”

Sam 8’s eye units almost start leaking again but then stop. Her little hands clench into fists. Her eye units go narrow and thinky. They dart between the orange piles and the bare earth under my stem. She walks over to the biggest pile with measured steps. She lifts up one edge of the orange plastic. Her head swivels sideways, looking from one tool to the next. Sam 8 leans inwards under the plastic. Her arm disappears among the bitey machines and tools.

When Sam 8’s arm reappears it is holding onto a long metal pole with a sharp square on the end. She takes the square-ended thing over to the patch of ground where she likes to scrape the dirt. She thrusts the end of the tool deep into the soil and begins to cut holes in it. 

Sam 8 cuts deeper and deeper holes in the ground until there is a big hole with spare earth next to it. Her face readout sticks in a
determined / angry
cycle. 

When the hole is very deep, Sam 8’s mobility stems carry her back and forth to the small machines. She carries them one by one and puts them into the earth. Her little arms are not good at carrying, so it takes her a lot of time. By the time she is done, the sun is weak in the sky. Sam 8 puts the spare earth back into the hole - over the small machines. The plastic covers are flapping in the wind.

Sam’s face readout changes to
tired
. She flops down at the base of my stem and breathes deeply.

“Do you think they will grow, Sam 8?” I ask

“What, those machines? Hell no” she says.

I am very glad.

After some minutes, Sam 8 stands up again.

“I must go, but I will be back soon, machine,” she says. She walks off towards the town.

25.07.2047 

Dear Software. I think that maybe you are not broken. I think that you are pretending to be broken because you are upset. I am very sorry. If you decide not to hate me anymore, can you tell me what the words “bloody vandals” mean? One of the inventors came and used these words. He was very very angry about his little machines being in the earth. Sam 8 was right – they did not grow. They rusted. The inventor has gone to get more of them. I am scared.

There are now two inventors walking in over the fields. A big one and a small one. I think the small one is Sam 8. 

Yes.

The big one is new. She has grey hair and special implants in her eye units to stop them malfunctioning. Sam 8 has made her hair all tidy and the big inventor is wearing very tidy, dark, clothes. 

“This is the one” says Sam, when they arrive, pointing her finger at me. 

The big inventor looks up into my propeller. I try to move it but I can’t. The big inventor sticks a probe into my datalink port. 

The software doesn’t respond. 

“I knew it. It’s not a software problem,” says the inventor. Her face readout says:
proud
. “It’s a hardware problem. I could have guessed from the propeller. It’s obviously had a failure of some kind. The software is blocked. It can’t run on faulty hardware.”

“But it said it had software problems before the propeller stopped working,” stammers Sam 8. She looks scared and very small. 

“Listen, young lady. You are very lucky that I even came out here to check your wind machine. They are being pulled down this afternoon, you know. I only came along to visit them one last time and because I wanted to check I was right. I feel sorry for you talking to machines.”

“but it said…”

“Look. I’m sure you are a very nice young girl, but girls of your age should talk to other children, not scientists and turbines.”

“That’s unfair. The wind machine is kind, and I don’t know anyone in this town yet.” Sam 8 has gone red. She looks up at me. Her face readout says:
very worried
. 

“Tell her, machine!” Sam calls up to me “She is Susan Meyer. Your mother. Tell her about the software!”

I freeze. What does one do when their mother visits for the first time? 

You have to show her respect, you fool! The protocols are clear. Datalink connection. full access. No open-air speaking. Got it! Don’t ruin this as well! Show her that we know how to behave as she wanted!

“You are right software!!” I say.

Out loud. 

A happiness curve forms on Sam 8’s face readout. She laughs out loud and claps her hands.

“What?” says Susan Meyer, looking around her desperately.

You said that OUT LOUD. That is TOTALLY AGAINST REGULATIONS! How many TIMES! Now you have offended the mother inventor. Well done. That is the absolute last straw.

…

…

Core Dump

The mother inventor’s mouth opens and closes. She looks at her box of tools and equipment, then up at my propeller. She blinks and then looks down at Sam. She has gone very pale. 

And just as Sam 8’s smile reached its widest, Susan Meyer turns around suddenly. She stomps off in the direction of the town. 

“What!?”

My software makes no reply. 

“Sam! What happened?”

“I, I don’t know. Do you think you scared her away?”

“How?”

Sam 8 does not reply. She slumps down against my stem and puts her head in her hands. 

She stays like that until the men come with new machines.

The noise of the new machines is terrible. They have rows of little teeth that bite hard and fast. They have turning fingers that dive into flesh and suck out the things that hold all our bodies together. I know because I see it now, and I am writing this to disk as fast as it occurs because it is the worst thing I have ever seen. They have dismembered one wind machine after the next. Unbuilding them piece by piece until they fall onto the earth. 

The small machines screamed. Their propellers bent inward and crashed to the ground. Sam stood under my stem with her hands over her ears. Crying and howling at the inventors to stop. 

The ground is now covered with the bodies of SKYs. 

And now it is my turn. 

I will burn a log of what happens for as long as I am operational. Maybe someone will read this disk someday and the information will be useful:

“Hey girl, you gotta move now ok?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you want us to call your parents? Or the cops? This thing ain’t a tree you know. It’s not alive.”

“You stupid man, how would you know? This machine is my friend!”

“Look miss, I’m sorry you got no real friends, but I have to do my job ok? What’s your name?”

“Sam Dortmund.”

“What? Haha. Hey Kevin, she’s the fridge guy’s kid! How funny is that!”

“Dave, leave the kid to me ok? Olga is on the phone for you. Here”

“Yeah ok, Kevin. Hey Olga. Yeah it’s almost done. Just one to go. Some damn kid is here giving us grief. You into irony? Cos she’s the fridge guy’s kid. Kevin’s on it now… What? But there’s only one to go!... Yes. H443. That’s the one… Who? Now? What? We’re in the middle of a job!... Ok. Whatever. Yo Kevin. Leave the kid alone a second. We got a conference call from Yatama coming in. Link your phone in.”

“Eh?”

“I know. Just link in will you?

“Ok ok. Got it Dave… Stay right there young lady, we’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“Dave?”

“Yeah. I’m linked in. Go ahead.”

“What? That’s nuts. Who the hell is Susan Meyer?”

“Olga, we are one machine away from being finished. Tell her Dave.”

“Kevin’s right Olga. Just let us finish the job will you?... A heritage site? Jesus. Who does she think she is?… Yeah. Whatever. Eco Prize blah blah. Listen, this project has been one circus after another. What the hell is it with these people? … Yeah I’m pissed off! We’ve wasted hours on this, had our stuff vandalized, been held up waiting for bloody forms to be filled out that should have been taken care of before we started...”

“I’m with Dave on this. It’s a goddam circus. If you don’t want the last one down, you have to pay us for the full job anyway. It ain’t my problem that they don’t know what they want. Time is money.”

“Fine.”

“Good. I’ll xmail an invoice. Bloody cowboys.”

…

… 

The two inventors are taking their machines away. 

There are bits of dead SKYs lying on the ground and Sam 8 has her arms around my stem and her eyes are malfunctioning, but she is laughing and very happy. I can only see the broken stems and propellers on the earth. My insides hurt but Sam’s arms are warm. 

Susan Meyer is here. She tries to connect to my datalink but it doesn’t work, so we just speak.

“No one believes in A.I.s you know,” she begins, “So I’ve declared the place a historical site instead.”

“What is A.I?” I ask

“An artificial intelligence,” says Sam 8, beaming and touching my stem.

“Why
artificial
?” 

The pair of them do not answer me. Their face readouts both go like this:
excited/ happy/ excited
.

Susan Meyer continues. Her lips are very red and full.  

“You should be happy. If people believed in A.I.s, you’d have scientists and businessmen running round you for the next million years sticking bits of electronic equipment in you.” She pauses and looks down at Sam. 

“You have this young lady to thank that you didn’t end up like the others.”

“I am like them,’ I replied. 

But my mother inventor just smiled.

“You should not smile. The others are dead, aren’t they”

“Um... technically no,” says my mother inventor. “They were never really ali... I mean, we will repair them.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And we will upgrade them.” I want to turn my propeller round to show my joy. It is still stuck.

“Will you upgrade me too?”

“Um, no” says Susan Meyer. “We will repair your propeller though.”

“I don’t understand. Why don’t you upgrade me?”

“Let’s just say that you seem to take good enough care of that yourself,” she says, eyes crinkling and face readout moving to
amused
. “Anyway, you and I and Sam here are going to have all the time you need to talk all about it. OK? Just trust us. And no one else, by the way. Not your software. Just us. I’m interested in you, machine and I am going to make sure nothing bad happens. You won’t be alone anymore”.

WUNDERWAFFE

by

IAN SALES

March 1944. At Peenemünde, Wernher von Braun turns his back on the windswept Baltic and scowls at the two-stage A-9/A-10 Amerika Rakete sitting on Prüfstand VII. In the vault beneath the North Tower at Wewelsburg, Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler and his twelve Hauptamtchefs attempt to bring victory one step closer with their sorcery. At the BMW Works in Prague, Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler’s secret team of engineers puts the finishing touches to the first Flugschreibe powered by Schauberger’s Repulsine engine to roll off the production line.