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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”
Robotic card reps call to collect in the morning, reiterate in the afternoon, and assault my ears in the evening.
They really need to get in touch with Nicholas Alexander Botkin. Age thirty-four. Date of birth 16 January 1987.
Continue reading “Over the Limit by Yash Seyedbagheri”
Do I love?
Of course, Ship can love.
I mean, who the fuck are you to ask?
Enrique studied the faces around the table. The purchase committee dispensed their limited resources with utmost care. It was no surprise that the investment in another “staff” member should arouse such discussion. They didn’t object to using androids in schools, especially in the internment facilities, where the headcounts of students exceeded all conscionable limits. Within the southeast sector alone, an android already functioned efficiently as a janitor and two, female in aspect, doled out cafeteria food. The machine vetting the kids’ thin, government-issued bags at the building entrance possessed some enhanced intelligence. Three monitored the scrappy stretch of ground called a play area. But to order one with a limp, for the lower grades…
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