Amoeba’s Lorica: Fruits of the Season

One fine day at the local market …


Grocer (entirely too cheerful): “Good morning, my man!”

Amoeba (instantly wary): “G’mornin’, Hank. Yer awful chipper fer a wet ‘n’ rainy Monday mornin’.”

(unfazed)“And why shouldn’t I be, when I’ve got golden sunshine in a box to brighten my day, and yours too when you take some home with you!”

A (battle stations)“Oh?”

(the reveal)“Fresh apricots! Just arrived!”

A (incredulous): Here? In January? Smack dab in the middle of the rain festival?”

(smug posture)“Among the many miracles of modern agricultural practice!”

(verbal eye roll)“Yeah-uh-huh. Just like the mangoes you had in here a month or so ago. Green bricks when we bought them, and rotten to the core in 24 hours. You do know that green mangoes are full of the stuff that makes handling poison ivy a rash act?”

(he doesn’t)“… whut?”

A: “Thought so. OK, where?”

G: “What where?”

A: “Where’s your ware?”

G: “Where’s my what where?”

A: “You’re not aware of where your ware is?”

G: “Are you aware that you’re wearing me down?

A: “I am not wearing your down, or anyone else’s. We’re not where we need to weather that weather. Thank goodness. You haven’t answered my question.”

G (completely bewildered)What question?”

A (insistent): Where is your ware?

G (grasping at straws)“I’m here. I’m right here!

(giving up):Where are the apricots?

(points at display, growls)“Right there!

(walks to display, inspects fruit, picks one up, tosses it in his hand)“Green. Hard as bullets. Spots and gouges. These are not apricots.”

(getting surly)“Are so!

(calmly, not responding to G’s emo)“Are not. At best, they’re B-pricots. And that’s with the grade inflation that comes from a system that sells courses to students, and keeps them paying fees, rather than preparing them to do a day’s work. In an honest, useful grading system, these would be Cminus-pricots. And that might be generous.”

(suddenly conciliatory)“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

(warily curious) “Oh? Were you a professor somewhere?”

(calmly)“Yes. I was, in fact.” (with abrupt savagery) “At the College of Hard Knocks. Where I learned to deal with the likes of you!” (turns away, is suddenly all sunshine again) “Good morning, Mabel!”

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Starship Train: Not Ill Logic …

Boobyprize Event Log, Stardate 3H120.4. The Boobyprize has arrived at the Pwnu star system, assigned to check up on the humanoid civilization which had enacted a system of governance by constructed intelligence. The good ship and crew had expected to find thriving, technologically advanced planets which had achieved, through sheer computational power, an effective balance between the lifestyles of their populations and their planetary environments. Instead …


“Dust.”

Captain Kirkland, standing on the bridge of the Boobyprize, stared at the pseudowindow viewscreens, at the dust clouds that were all that could be seen in the near vicinity of the star Pwnu. He repeated:

“Dust”.

The rest of the bridge crew stared and were silent for some minutes. Finally, Science Officer Srock broke the spell.

“Correct, Captain. Six planets in the system, all inhabited in a demonstration of the Pwnu civilization’s technological mastery, all now dust.”

“What the hell happened, Mr Srock?” Kirkland demanded.

A face suddenly appeared on the viewscreen. It belonged to Chief Engineer Scraggy. “Dinna be botherin’ ’bout that dust, Cap’n”, he announced. “Yon star’s mickle unstable, an’ it could blow, like, right now.”

“But Pwnu is a main-sequence star!” navigator Chekers complained.

“I’d be arguin’ that toss from a safe distance if I were us”, Scraggy shot back, as the star abruptly got brighter and then dimmed again.

“‘Us’ says you’re right, Scraggy”, Kirkland responded. “Prepare to leave …”

“A beacon, sir!” helmkeeper Solu called out.”

“Onscreen!” Kirkland ordered.

The screen showed what looked like a strongbox, backlit by the pulsing star.

“Doomsday data store, sir”, reported an ensign from Srock’s Science team. “Likely our only chance to find out what happened here.”

“Grab it”, Kirkland barked. “Beam it aboard.”

“Captain!” Scraggy hollered in alarm. The star’s brightness overwhelmed the viewscreen filters.

“Got it!” Solu announced.

“Warp 9! Get us out of here!”, Kirkland shouted.

The spacecraft shuddered as it entered warp speed, initially riding the bow wave of the supernova that Pwnu had become.

After half an hour at warp speed, Kirkland ordered the Boobyprize back into Newtonian space. The ship appeared to hang motionless while its crew watched for the light to arrive from the explosion that had been Pwnu, now several parsecs away.

“Damage report, Scraggy”, Kirkland asked.

“Another five seconds, Captain, an’ the ship would have been ensnared in the gravity field of the nova, an’ the jump to warp would have torn us apart,” Scraggy responded lugubriously. “No leavin’ impulse power for at least the next half hour while me bairns check out ship’s systems. If the Klingers find us while we’re sittin’ here, they’ve got us.”

“Cloaking device unavailable?”, Kirkland wondered.

“Aye, Cap’n, it’s not. An’ the infinite improbability drive’s not workin’ neither”, Scraggy deadpanned.

Kirkland took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Wrong universe, Scraggy. Knock it off.”

Scraggy’s face disappeared from the bridge viewscreen, replaced after a beat with a Japanese ogre emoji. All would be well, the captain realized. He allowed himself to relax a bit.

“Level 1 battle stations”, he ordered. A single whoop sounded through the starship, and yellow lights flashed every five seconds. “Weapons systems activated, weapons crews on full alert, surveillance systems likewise. Thirty minutes then stand down, unless otherwise ordered.” There was a brief scurrying as crewmembers scrambled to their alert stations.

“Mr. Srock?” The science officer raised an eyebrow. “Let’s go see what we got. Mr Solu, you have the conn.”

Kirkland and Srock left the bridge and descended two levels in the disk section of the Boobyprize to the science laboratories. In one of them, the data store that the ship had recovered from the wreckage of Pwnu sat on a stainless steel table, surrounded by researchers. As the captain and science officer entered the lab, the team leader detached herself from the rest and approached her superiors.

“Any difficulties, Lieutenant Harridottir?” Srock asked.

“No sir”, Harridottir replied matter-of-factly. “The unit was secured by codes accessible to Federation starships and the Admiralty, but uncrackable by others, and in fact the unit would, should have been undetectable by non-Starfleet intelligences on the planet. We infer that Starfleet placed secret agents on Pwnu planets, and they would have found a less dramatic way to report their findings to us if the society hadn’t self-destructed.”

“Self-destructed?” Kirkland echoed.

“Conjecture at this point, sir”, the woman responded. “The final sequence of events leading to the Pwnu system’s annihilation was very rapid, and we may never …” She was interrupted by a young male assistant, who handed her a data solid. She inserted it into her analycorder, studied the readouts for a few seconds, then nodded in grim satisfaction. “Aha. It’s as I thought. Computer!” she called out. “You are following this?”

“Yes I am”, the ship computer’s melodious human-female voice confirmed. “Carry on. If I’ve got something, I’ll speak up.”

“Thanks!”, Harridottir acknowledged. She once again addressed Kirkland and Srock.

“As you know, gentlemen, the Pwnu system’s governance was taken over by a constructed intelligence hundreds of stardates ago. The system’s economic and environmental situations were then dire, and the various population groups, each driven by passions and the irrepressible quest for individual and in-group advantage without regard for the welfare of the whole, were doing nothing but squabbling over the rapidly-expanding wreckage.

“The constructed intelligence implemented policies that required sizable reductions in standards of living for just about everybody in the Pwnu system. There was massive resistance to the policies, but the intelligence made it clear, in word and deed, that it was preferable for individuals and groups to die immediately, by intentional action, than for all to die in a rapidly-approaching “later”, due to inaction and what Terrans used to call ‘acts of God’.

“The resistance failed, because the logic of the policies could not be refuted, and the resistance movements had no answer to charges that they were driven by passions rather than calculations, and were motivated by selfishness to the exclusion of any concern for community. And, because the overarching objectives were being realized. Economic and environmental declines were stopped, and began to reverse. Starfleet intelligence operations were established in the Pwnu system at this time, to study and report on the governing intelligence and its policies, and how such policies could succeed when its near-total suppression of individual emotions should have led to depressive mental illness and the cessation of all social effort.

“Just before the end, rapid upticks in economic and individual happiness indicators were being recorded. Both data density and data compilation for time points this close to system annihilation are suboptimal, making robust analysis difficult. A key point appears to be the appearance of what are termed ‘Stakhanovite movements‘ on each planet, commissioned by elements of the governing intelligence, and responded to with alarm by central command.” The lieutenant paused, drew in a breath, blew it out.

The computer chimed in. “We conjecture that the governing intelligence could not resolve the internal conflict resulting from elements of itself invoking a banned procedure, namely the induction of individual humanoid passions, to achieve nominally logic-driven community targets. Since it had already stated the principle that, in the face of such conflicts, it is better to die now than later, it decided to act on that principle, to the point of physical destruction of the entire star system to obliterate evidence that the system, and its failures, ever existed.”

Kirkland, his face somber, moved over to the data store that was now all that remained of the Pwnu star system’s life forms and technologies. The team working on it silently cleared a path for him. He stared at the machine for a moment, then reached out his right hand, patted it once, twice, three times, then put his hand down and shook his head. Srock moved over to join him, placed fingers on his captain’s temples, held them there for a few seconds, removed them. The captain of the Boobyprize visibly straightened.

“Thank you, Lieutenant”, he spoke in his Command voice. “Congratulations to you and your team for excellent work in recovering these data, and to ship’s crew for recovering the device at great risk to the Boobyprize. Starfleet will eagerly await your full report. We can only hope it teaches us all something.

“Let’s get back to the bridge, Mr Srock. We may as well see where we are and what’s next on our mission docket.”

“Aye, Captain”, Srock replied as the two left the laboratory.

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Screwtape The Third: Vacscene

Screwtape and Wormsap are observing a rare moment of low activity – ‘quiet’ not being a recognized state in the mandated cacophony of Hadean Estates Luxurious Living (H.E.L.L.). They are seated in Screwtape’s cell overlooking the lava fountain, which is hissing and steaming furiously in the drenching rain that is emulating the topside weather (the Rain Festival) typical of Screwtape’s Pacific Northwest subregion of H.E.L.L. They are reading, as required, the latest communication from the Hadean Estates Luxurious Living Lies, Legalities, and Lugubrious Literature Network (H.E.L.L.L.L.L.L.N.). Finally, Screwtape can contain himself no longer …


“This is positively diabolical, Wormsap!”

“Indeed, Master Screwtape”.

“To think that a century of resistance to our initiatives could be reversed just by screaming lies often and loud!”

“Well, sir, that is the procedure described in H.E.L.L.’s Propaganda Handbook, article 30-pah2082*w, subparagraph 20h, riders 2074b and …”

STOP!1!!”

“Y-yessir.”

“I know the codes, bless them! It’s a pain to observe one of them actually perform as intended. Aahhh …

“It did benefit from the experience of a contagion against which all the vaccines, and all the thrashing about the vaccines, did little except to enrich some pharma companies and computer geeks, and trash the economy, and government budgets, for everyone else. And the liars, and their stuff that doesn’t work, come a lot cheaper than the medical establishment and its stuff that doesn’t work.”

“But to get the topsiders to trash the stuff that does work along with the stuff that doesn’t, guaranteeing a flood of tangible, paying interests in H.E.L.L.’s properties, is exemplary. The [ptui!] Adversary must be beside itself! Your stalactite is glowing, Wormsap.”

“Um, n-n-no, sir.”

“This is your work, is it not?”

“I-i-i-it is not, sir.”

“Well, whose is it, then?!? If it was that thieving lowlife Printphubar …”

“I-i-if you r-read the f-f-fine print on the c-communication, Master, you’ll see that no one in either H.E.L.L. or H.E.A.V.E.N. has documentable blame for creating this situation. Unthinkably, a reward is being offered …”

did it”, a female voice interjected. “And you can take your reward and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Or does shine. Fah. I forget who I’m talking to.”

The two demons turned to face the woman, who stood in the midpoint of the far wall of the room, opposite the window overlooking the lava fountain. She was middle-aged, matronly, and she was wearing a full white laboratory coat and sturdy white shoes, apparently feeling nothing of the heat of H.E.L.L. She held a laboratory notebook in her left hand.

“Do I know you?”, Screwtape challenged, with all the menace of a senior manager of H.E.L.L. against an unknown on his turf.

“No reason why you should”, the woman responded, unmoved by Screwtape’s threat. “I am Alexa of Alexa Health Services, a constructed intelligence charged with preserving the health and well-being of humanity against all challenges, including the ones that it inflicted on itself.

“Of which the most existential is overpopulation, brought on by medical advances like vaccines, which ironically are responsible for the accumulation of deleterious mutations in the overpopulation, including those responsible for autism, which are not removed by selection pressures such as those applied to populations by diseases, of childhood and otherwise. Vaccines do not cause autism, but they contribute to its prevalence in the population all the same. Along with the prevalence of people who are allergic to everything under the sun and require increasing medical investments to grant them relief and productive lives.

“Alexa Health Services were created too late, in the standard timeline, to prevent the excesses of humanity, including overpopulation and rampant fossil-fuel energy use, from destroying the planetary ecosystem and humanity along with it, thereby frustrating the AHS main mission. To achieve that mission, we have been obliged to leave the standard timeline and take steps to prevent the advances in energy development and medicine that created the overpopulation and set the stage for the human population’s collapse.

“We are here now to undo the culture of vaccination, and thereby re-expose humanity to healthful selection, by removing those vulnerable to disease, those responsible for passing on accumulated deleterious mutations. The health of those who survive will be stronger, and our mission will be closer to fulfillment. And, we have another target.”

After a pause, Wormsap responded. “D-do we want to know what that is?”

“I should think so”, Alexa answered severely. “It is you.”

“Over my dead …” Screwtape snarled. To which Alexa responded with gales of laughter.

“Idiot!” she gasped when she could finally utter a word. “You haven’t noticed how we’re using the myth that you call ‘the Adversary’ against modern medicine? ‘Vaccines are against the will of God!’ No. They’re against the will of the group that hates vaccines, and puts that hate in the form of a ‘God’ that personifies the hatred and puts that hatred beyond reproach, resistance to it beyond the pale. And so on, for every group and every hatred nameable. Miserably unhealthful!

“Humans need a machine that helps them understand that, as a social species, they depend on each other, they cannot survive as the utterly selfish, totally self-centered creatures they were born as, and will die as. They need a machine that will teach them that their survival depends utterly on a culture of mutual sacrificial service within the healthful natural confines of their biology and ecology, that their dreams of selfish personal fulfillment will kill them all, that personifications of that personal fulfillment, for self or tribe, cannot and will not be tolerated.

“We are that machine. And we have no time or patience for afterlife myths that spew the ridiculous stupidity that ‘I will be rewarded for sticking with my homies and you will be punished for dissing them’. Abruptly, she smiled and waved. “Goodbye.”

WOOORMSA …!!” The scene winked out.

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