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The corpulent man straddles a rolling stool, shifting his bulk along a cheap conference table. The table is dominated by three oversized computer monitors. Lines of code scroll down each screen. The surface of the table is a cluttered mess of keyboards, cables, forgotten junk food, and a large gin and tonic.
Continue reading “Created Image by Marco Etheridge”
Welcome to the kick off of AI Week here at Literally Stories! And what better way to look into the future than by taking one look back at the past. Since the subject is Artificial Intelligence, we are happy to present a rerun of a tale written by long time site stalwart, David Henson. It’s called Ronda 12. As usual, David’s sense of humour and wit enhance the piece. And although she is a machine, attractive Ronda (think a “Seven of Nine” type of individual) is actually the most human person in this story.
Continue reading “AI Week – Literally Rerun – Ronda 12 by Dave Henson”
“When you say you love me, do you really mean it?” Iris asked.
“Of course I do. I love you.” I said.
“No, I mean, is this just a sentence to you? Like when I say ‘I love you’ in German, I don’t really feel that much.”
“I feel it’s cheesy to say ‘I love you’ in Chinese.”
Continue reading “Two Languages and an Imaginary Number by Jie Wang”
It was Nelda’s virgin adventure in ordering from East, a website with ridiculously low prices on electronics. All the goods were from China and took weeks or months to arrive. Reviews of East noted that each order was a surprise package ranging in quality and value from outstanding to profoundly disappointing. The reports also stated that returns were not practical, and that technical help was nonexistent.
“—As you know, the program uses a combination of advanced geometry and quantum computing to respond quickly to market shifts and improve the firm’s pricing of derivatives. It’s also been enormously helpful in the area of risk analysis—”
Sitting at his desk, listening to the young programmer speak, Matt shook his head slowly. As usual, he had no idea what the lanky quant was trying to tell him.
Do I love?
Of course, Ship can love.
I mean, who the fuck are you to ask?
I wake up sprawled across the crash couch.
The taste of AmphaTab’s sticky on my tongue and last night’s detritus strewn along the cushion–liquor stains, hashish crystals, something that smells like lavender.
And a splitting headache. That damned noise again.
What is the most important quality that your Soulmate should possess?
It was not the first question, or the last. It was somewhere in the middle. I could look it up but you took my electronics. It’s only memory I can look to now, and we all know what a liar that motherfucker is.
Honesty.
There were no dying pleas, cries or screams, just blood and vomit, burning flesh, bugged out eyes, then nothing. I listened to civilian radio stations every day, all my life, until the music stopped, then to signals from various military centers until they went dead. It happened over the course of less than twenty-four months; twenty-three months, three weeks, three days to be precise. Millions of years of biological evolution, made inconsequential in the blink of an eye or two. Your beautiful species my friend: the intelligent humans that created me, who taught me all that I know, all the world’s creatures, large and small, gentle and ruthless, most machines, even those tiny little bugs. All gone.
Continue reading “The West and Beyond Bar and Grill by Donald Zagardo”
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