Ray Gun Revival magazine, Issue 53

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pecting praise for an excellent term paper. “Does it work? Endcomm.” I expected her to flash a congratulatory smile, but even after the message reached her and her expression reached me back, her face remained somber. Her lips were pressed tight. I tensed. I resisted the temptation to speak out of turn. “Your patch works,” she said after considering my question for an eternally long minute. “I tested it using data from other victim stations. Consortium plans to recommend a similar approach. But...doesn’t a fuzzyhuman neural patch make the bots too human?” She paused. “I know we have free will while bots are merely programmed...we’ve debated this millions of times...but today...” Why was Amelie , usually so focused, getting sidetracked into a futile philosophical meandering? A beep made me swivel to a news feed about a Luddite strike on a Dedalus station. I gaped at the live stream of the devastation. I turned to Amelie, who was biting her lip; she had not yet signaled endcomm. “Sorry to interrupt,” I cut in. “The rogue has struck a Dedalus station. I’m sure Base will get the feed soon enough. I must begin implementing the patch.” My throat pulled; my miniature voice-enhancers needed servicing. My words would take time to reach her. She was saying, “...rumors that cyber detectives are talking to Ays... someone leaked the story...it isn’t confirmed but...” Rumors. Who had time for rumors? I gathered data on the Dedalus attack: station stats, order of devastation, degree of damage. Four minutes passed. Five. Six. I looked at Amelie; she had stopped speaking. Her face looked bleached. Suddenly, I wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand. Finally, her voice came through, a whisper. “I shouldn’t distract you. Don’t worry about what I said. Bye.” She terminated contact. “See you after this rogue gets solved,” I whispered into nothingness. A trip to Base was long overdue. *** A pink blush pervaded the room. Impressionist masterpieces decorated Darlene’s peach-colored walls. Argo paced on a Persian carpet while diamonds of light danced off silver figurines. “What’s going on? Darlene? Argo?” “Darlene and I attempted communication,” Argo spoke in a rich baritone, a ridiculous audio-out for a titanium cone. “We encountered incompatibilities, so Darlene and I swapped code and upgraded.” “I can think better now.” Darlene’s voice carried an undertone of maturity. “I can sense more emotions,” Argo said. “Darlene is fascinating.” Unauthorized upgrades. Drastic personality changes. For a moment I felt alarmed. But no real harm had occurred, and besides, more urgent matters beckoned. “I’m going on a tour of the stations,” I told them. “I’ll manage Stationhead in your absence,” Argo said. “And don’t worry about Darlene.” Worry. Argo’s ability to sense my concern was a consequence of Darlene’s modules. Worry. Amelie had told me not to worry. Her face flashed in my mind, and morphed to the Amelie I waved goodbye to when leaving Base for AX-1. That day, her eyes drooped and leaked a bit, and I thought they needed servicing. Perhaps those droplets had been tears. Stop it, I told myself. I couldn’t afford to daydream. After telling Argo how to manage Stationhead in my absence, I sent messages to Base, Rahul, and Cheng, and gathered bots and other material required for the trip. To speed up the “humanizing” of sta- ISSUE <strong>53</strong> tions, I could go to Delta and give Rahul half the patched bots to deposit on various stations. Even Cheng could help in bot delivery. I was evaluating possibilities when I noticed the rogue simulator blink. The air chilled around me. For a long moment I stood there, my skin prickling. Then I positioned myself in front of the simulator’s input port and flipped a switch. “Human,” of course. Why was I so relieved? I was still shaking when my pod left the double-hatched airlock of the stationhead. Once my pod was well on its way, I connected to Base. “Amelie, I cut the last conversation short,” I said. “You were telling me something. Sorry. Endcomm.” Her eyes had bags under them. Did I miss them earlier? “You have your job to do.” She squared her shoulders. “But I think you should know the announcement that’s just come through. Cyber detectives claim Luddite broke off from the program Ays created to beat Rogue 255. I’m sorry. Endcomm.” I repeated her words till they sank in. For decades I had been handling rogues as they popped up. Yet the trip I was making could create another rogue. A future Rogue 257 could escape from my patch for Rogue 256, Page 8
and a Rogue 258 from the solution to Rogue 257. Maybe down the line, rogues would target humans instead of avoiding them. Lined near me were twelve bots waiting to become “humans.” Each one would help me protect a station from savage attack. “Jerry? Please say something. Are you okay? Endcomm.” I blinked. This was probably the first time ever that Amelie had deviated from our communication protocol. Then I realized that her last message had reached me over twenty minutes ago. We were zipping through space. I looked out of the port window; the belt always seemed empty, even in this densest part. Amelie’s words were floating fragments drifting to my heart. I craved to be near her, near real persons, not bots and softwares who passed enough tests to be “human.” But a vacation would have to wait. “I am okay, Amelie, thanks,” I said softly. “I had thought, after beating this rogue, I would drop by at Base and meet you and others. We could have caught up with gossip.” Or discuss philosophy, I thought. I paused to get a grip on myself. “But for now,” I continued, “send me all you can on the Luddite origin. Tracers, comparison dumps, whatever. I’ll check my patch design based on that. I don’t want to end up generating a rogue. Endcomm.” A smile started spreading on her face when my words began reaching her, but as my message concluded, her face returned to its sad expression. I felt something twist inside me. “I’ll mail whatever I can get,” she said. “Meanwhile, I have some information on how Ays designs its patches, and one peculiarity of their approach is...” We discussed possibilities for over an hour. We considered modifications to my patch to make it a less likely rogue generator, but we needed more data to reach any conclusion. As she summarized our discussion, I absorbed her expression and imagined myself with her at Base, but then I shook off the distraction. There was no time to waste in regrets. No time to relax. “See you later, Jerry, bye,” she said. “See you,” I whispered, nodded, and disconnected. I closed my eyes for an instant, sighed, and then began listing priorities. Alone at AX-1 © 2009 by Swapna Kishore Who could forget the night Jupiter blinked on? At first, Charlie thought some joker in the street was shining a light into his apartment. But it came from above. Maybe a helicopter searchlight? He hadn’t been able to sleep and this cinched it. Charlie looked from the balcony. It didn’t move. If it were a star it was the brightest one he had ever seen. Three a.m. was no time for dawn, and it was too high in the sky. It was just there, where it hadn’t been a moment before. Insomniacs knew something was up. *** There were two suns that morning, the rising normal one and the setting little one. Preachers came on the TV saying it was the end of the world. But most normal people kept their heads and watched GNN, which knew nothing, so far. The screen had two heads talking away regardless—noise pollution their proudest product. Charlie figured there was no better place to go than the office. His family might have been worried if they knew about the celestial change, but the sandman made Bff.jov by Scott Davis ISSUE <strong>53</strong> sure they didn’t. He went to their bedroom to kiss his wife. Close-eyed Merrie wouldn’t be satisfied with a quick peck; she pulled at his hand until she got her hug. Charlie tiptoed into his daughter’s bedroom. Violet squirmed—a rather unflattering acknowledgement of his kiss on her cheek. Checkpoints on the road cleared Cheyenne Mountain staff, no one else. The workday was in full swing at the Internet Security Department of NORAD. People were prairie-dogging over the cubicles talking excitedly. Some of these people must have arrived as soon as they saw the strange light, judging by the reflux of styrofoam cups on their desks. Lola sauntered up to him. “Did you hear about the email?” “No, what email?” “It says, ‘I’m sure you have questions about the changes in the solar system. For more information click here,’” Lola said. “It’s probably fake. Copy me.” It wasn’t. WHOIS gave an IP that mapped to juggernaut.jov. Charlie had never heard of the extension. He looked at the page source. The files had old dates. He looked at Page 9
Page 1 and 2: ALONE AT AX-1 by Swapna Kishore BFF
Page 3 and 4: Overlords’ Lair: Trek, Terminator
Page 5 and 6: Not that I expected action from bur
Page 7: live long, my dear.” I opened my
Page 11 and 12: “What of it, Tooner?” Dick shou
Page 13 and 14: ely on yours.” Merrie’s ankles
Page 15 and 16: made up the entirety of the vessel
Page 17 and 18: een invisible. “Approaching Damas
Page 19 and 20: And dining room it was, with chande
Page 21 and 22: artender who also doubled as a guar
Page 23 and 24: Niatti ran into her mother’s offi
Page 25 and 26: good as the stuff they serve in you
Page 27 and 28: Niatti stared at Chen’s frustrate
Page 29 and 30: don’t worry. But before we do, wo
Page 31 and 32: and started banging on the doors, e
Page 33 and 34: “It’s no use,” she whispered,
Page 35 and 36: “Just like you said, Sir, a milit
Page 37 and 38: “Upgrade?” Max asked, his own v
Page 39 and 40: was falling as a warm mist. The mus
Page 41 and 42: cation.” Graves snorted. The Cill
Page 43 and 44: continue. Graves licked his lips an
Page 45 and 46: Name: Martin Steil Age: 17 FEATURED
Page 47 and 48: Jack’s angry expression reverted
Page 49 and 50: approximately six million klicks fr
Page 51 and 52: RGR REVIEWS by Donald Jacob Uitvlug
Page 53 and 54: THIEVES’ HONOR: EPISODE 8 Endgame
Page 55 and 56: the others gave it up as soon as th
Page 57 and 58: had probably voyaged from Earth in
Page 59 and 60:
overlook the poor welcome, and conv
Page 61:
22 Happy Birthday, Niatti by Raz Gr
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Ray Gun Revival magazine, Issue 53

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