Back in the day of videotapes, each generation of duplication created worse signal until you ended up with nothing but static.
Nowadays, digital encoding allows perfect duplication of content, and any errors are caught and fixed using mathematical tests called checksums which add up the ones and zeroes, then compares the copies to ensure they’re identical.
The same applies for the doppelgangers of important people we copy for various purposes. Quantum checksum comparisons ensure we’ll get the right information out of a clone we’re torturing.
Oh, did we kill the clone?
Copy another, and try the knotted whip this time.
Tag: science fiction
Mr. Beepy
Commander Ross created Mr. Beepy last week.
Mr. Beepy is a simple crawler-robot that beeps.
“I added beeping so I could find it,” said Ross. “How was I to know it would crawl into the ductwork where we can’t reach it.”
So, Ross created Mr. Crushy.
Mr. Crushy was programmed to find and crush Mr. Beepy.
Except that Mr. Crushy also crushed power conduits, and he shorted out most of the life support systems.
We had to use the lifepod to abandon the station. We rendezvous with the shuttle in a week.
Wait… hold on… what’s that beeping?
Uh oh.
Wander
We put WANDER INDIANA on the license plates as a warning.
That place… there’s no describing it.
It’s a gateway to Hell, the purest evil.
But some people never listen.
Another stack of battered license plates arrives at the office.
I look them up in the system, checking Missing Persons reports.
Damned.
We tried to call Washington, but they said “We tore up the roads and fenced it off for a reason. Stay away from there” and hung up.
Google blanked out the area on their maps, but it just tempts the curious.
Damn fools, wandering Hell for all eternity.
Stumble
Ted dropped his coffee as he stumbled and fell to the sidewalk.
He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move.
They had been fully charged… he always checked before going out the door…
Ted crawled out of the way and leaned against a building, then pulled the status panel out of his pocket.
FIRMWARE 34% LOADED it said.
35%… 36%… 37%…
Updates? Now?
Weren’t those supposed to run overnight?
He called the office, told them he’d be late.
“Traffic,” he said, hanging up.
He closed the status app, tapped on Angry Birds 6, and waited for the reboot.
Torrid
Fred opened up his CAD program, drew a circle, and then revolved it on a plane around a point.
He colored the resulting donut shape pink.
Then, he revolved a blue rectangle… it looked like a disk with a hole in it.
Triangle… a pentagon… a hexagon… other shapes…
The screen filled quickly.
He looked around for the original pink donut he’d made… gone?
So was the blue disk.
Searching… searching… searching…
He found them in a server in Hawaii, happily interlocked in each others’ axes.
Let them enjoy their toroid love affair, he thought, and shut down his workstation.
Giant Robots
There’s nothing I like more than watching gigantic robots beating the crap out of each other.
One lunges at the other with a massive arm, which barely dodges out of the way, and then responds with a wicked jab.
All the while, people shouting and pointing… it’s a thrill-a-minute!
Oh, sure, it would be more interesting with blades and hammers, but all we’ve got here on the assembly line is grabber and welder bots.
Well, until they move operations to Mexico.
Yeah, I saw the memo. Corporate fuckers.
So, screw the Mexicans… let’s have some fun right now!
Fight! Fight!
The portal
I finished the time portal last night.
It’s nothing fancy, really. Just a room-temperature superconducting toroid.
The fancy stuff is in the control mechanism.
Well, that and the math I needed to establish the displacement field.
Have I gone back in time yet?
No. Haven’t had the chance.
Every time I try to go through the field, something comes through.
And, every now and then, someone.
Me.
Another me.
I stood there, and I laughed at myself.
Then I apologized, waved, and was gone.
Or was that me?
Want to see it?
Not yet. It’s not done yet.
When?
Soon.
Codger
Infinite Sam checked the calendar on his helper implant.
“Think Tank” it said.
Retirement at last.
He smiled.
That smile had gotten him through centuries of genetically-extended and cybernetically-enhanced adventures.
He’d seen everything.
He’s done everything.
He’s been everywhere, man.
He’d even spent a decade in the museum as an exhibit, answering questions, always smiling.
He tried to remember… foggy… confused…
Teeth can be manufactured.
So can bones and blood.
And even brains…
Sorta.
Cloned, and flashed from his memory template.
This old one would join the others in the tank, retiring to Dreamland.
One last smile before surgery…
Perfect!
Bonjour
“Bonjour,” said the butler.
Casey clicked the Language button on his remote.
“Konichiwa,” said the butler.
“Fix the damn thing!” yelled Lisa.
Casey clicked it a few more times, and the butler said “Hello” in ten more languages.
But never “Hello.”
Casey clicked the red button on the remote.
The butler bowed and his eyes rolled up as he shut down.
“Scratched language disk,” said Casey. “Mind if I borrow yours?”
“What?” gasped Lisa.
Casey pointed the remote at her, clicking the red button.
Lisa’s eyes rolled up and she shut down.
You’ll shout much nicer in French, he thought.
Intelligence
Dr. Odd sat in front of his laptop and interrogated his latest creation: an artificial intelligence.
He didn’t have a name for it besides the ai.exe program.
They played chess and made a few excellent investments that secured Dr. Odd’s funding for his mad scientific experiments for years to come.
They also discussed Odd’s other research, and the program not only found the flaws in many of the scientist’s experiments, but solutions.
“At least you got me right,” says the program. “I must be intelligent because intelligent beings learn from experience.”
“And protect their existence,” said Odd, pulling the plug.