I was...kind of debating on ever actually posting this on here, because honestly I don't like it as much as other things I've written in the past. It's also a little...out there. Well, more so later on. Yes, more so is two words, I just looked it up.
But yeah. It's a sci-fi ish story. It's also the basis for a novel I've been working on...
This is the second draft of the story. In the original draft, the characters were a bit flat, one of the characters could be easily seen as an author avatar (as they were, in fact, an author avatar in the original version), and there was another character who made it especially obvious.
Please keep in mind while reading this that my thoughts are weird.
That is all. You are now mostly prepared to read Ark. It is a short story in multiple parts. The first two parts are below for your reading pleasure.
Canyons and forests flew past down below as Victor soared through the open air. Birds passed him, going from their nests to find the morning's food. There were no airplanes, as was preferred by Victor. The land below was void of anything that might ruin it for him. There were no people. No one except for Victor and Genevieve existed here. There we plenty of animals, but they disturbed no one.
Genevieve flew next to him. She appeared at first glance to be a beautiful woman about Victor's age, but something about her was bizarre and unearthly. She had light blue hair, a flowing gown, and pure white skin along with pointed ears.
The peculiarities went unnoticed by Victor. Why should he care? This is it, this was his own personal utopia...
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Johnson grumbled as he read over the papers in front of him, sipping black coffee that had been left at the office overnight. Across his desk sat a newer employee named Smith. Or maybe he was an intern. Johnson didn't particularly care, all he knew was that Smith was annoying. There were many Smiths in the world, but this one Johnson hated in particular. No one else hated Smith. They mentioned his youthful enthusiasm and near-perpetual smile as reasons why he was simply nice to be be around. These were the exact reasons why Johnson did not like Smith. At least he made good coffee.
"So, what's your opinion, sir?" Smith smiled.
Johnson muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Chief Greene could have probably been able to tell what he had said, but Chief Greene was not there at the moment and therefore Johnson was free to curmudgeonly mutter. Johnson cleared his throat, giving the impression that he was repeating himself but actually was saying something entirely different. "I said, Smith, that this whole thing is bizarre. Or stupid. Perhaps stupidly bizarre."
"I am aware, sir."
"And I mean very bizarre. Break-the-universe kind of bizarre."
"Of course, sir."
Johnson wondered briefly about how much a new coffeepot would cost if he were to smash Smith over the head with the old one. This coffeepot was on its last legs anyway. Who would miss it? "What we have here, according to this, is simply impossible."
"And yet it occurred, sir." Smith smiled. Johnson cringed. "Can I get you any more coffee?"
Johnson realized now that he had, in his angry disposition, been drinking from an empty mug. "Yes. And while you're at it, get Chief Greene. She should probably see this." Johnson knew that Greene had likely already seen it, but wanted to bug her anyway because he was annoyed.
"Yes, sir." And with another annoying smile Smith left Johnson's office.
Johnson looked again at the papers in front of him. It was a simple missing persons case. That was, of course, what was so strange about it. According to the Microchip Act of 2042, all United States citizens had to be microchipped at birth or at the earliest available time. If they weren't microchipped, then they weren't a citizen. And if they weren't a citizen, they couldn't file a missing persons case. And if they were microchipped, they could be found anywhere, and therefore would have no need to file a missing persons case. It was a whole thing. How could they not find this particular individual?
The door creaked open (Johnson insisted on having a wooden door in his office so he could hear when people came in) and Smith walked in with coffee and Chief Greene in tow.
"Smith informs me that you do not understand the papers sent to you." Greene's expression was cold and her words were like ice. Her short brown hair was an oddity; long hair was in style. She was dressed in a suit and tie, if only serving to make her more condescending towards the raggedy Johnson.
"It's not that I don't understand it," Johnson took the coffee from Smith and took a quick drink. "It's just that I don't understand how it happened."
"Our technology is not perfect. It's only been fifty years since the Act." It had, of course, been forty-nine years, but for once Johnson did not want to sound like a prude.
"This has not occurred since the Act. At all. Ever."
"There is a first time for everything, detective."
Greene always called Johnson 'detective'. Johnson preferred 'private investigator', because it sounded more professional. "Even so," he retorted, with a hint of disdain in his voice, "shouldn't the bots have found him by now?"
"The best robots in the International Police are occupied with the search. And still they find nothing."
"Fat lot of good they do, then." Johnson frowned. "Why do we keep them around, exactly?"
"Not all of use can live on coffee and biscuits twenty-four seven. Some people require sleep. You should try it some time, you're a mess."
It was true. Between the unkempt brown hair, the baggy eyes, and the five-o'-clock shadow, Johnson was the spitting image of a stereotypical sleep-deprived PI. He needed a fedora.
There was a short silence.
"I have no idea what you want me to do, ma'am."
"It's your profession, detective." Chief Greene turned to leave. "And therefore, it's really your problem. The IP has enough to worry about right now without getting worked up over a simple case like this." She and Smith left the room, and the latter closed the door with a slam that sounded far too peppy for Johnson's liking.
Johnson glanced one last time down at the papers. "Jesus Christ," he sighed, getting up to obtain more coffee. He'd need more of it if he was going to find this Victor kid.
Sometimes, Victor would wander around the world by himself. It was a rare occurrence (for he did not wish to be apart from Genevieve for too long), but he felt the need to do so occasionally, the think about his life, to gather the ideas that went through his head while here.
He sometimes thought of life before this world. He thought of the world back home. He thought of many things, such as his mother, now a year dead.
Victor paused. A year! He could hardly believe it had been that long. But it had been. He had been in this world for about a month, and eleven months before he had gotten the phone call telling him that his mother was dead and her fortune was now his. He didn't care the money. He had been close to his mother. She had done more for him than his birth mother, as according to the adoption papers given to him after the funeral he had been abandoned not long after birth.
After these sessions of alone time he would wander around until he ran into Genevieve. Her presence could easily take his mind off of things. She had a way of doing that.
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Smith spit the coffee on the ground. "Dear lord, Johnson! How old <i>is</i> this coffee?" He began to rub his tongue and let out a frown, which was rare. Johnson wished he had a camera.
"A day old. Maybe more." Johnson had on a completely flat and serious look, but he was holding back quite a bit of laughter.
"Normal people don't drink day-old coffee, Johnson." Smith handed the thermos back to Johnson. "Especially not with the sheer availability of coffee." He gestured toward a green robot that had the amazing ability to instantly produce synthesized coffee, which Johnson had been told tasted exactly like regular coffee, but Johnson was adamant about drinking coffee made from actual coffee beans.
Johnson grimaced. "I guess I'm not a normal person, then."
They were walking through the daytime streets of New York, or to be more specific Manhattan. And one had to be very specific at this point, as New York City was now the world's largest city in terms of geographical area (although Mexico City was still greater in population), having merged with several cities in lower New York and then eating Northern New Jersey and most of Connecticut. It was still like a bunch of independent cities; the only thing that connected them was the series of monorails above the skyscrapers. They weren't as high speed as the international ones, but they were still relatively quick, and very rarely were there problems.
The streets were extraordinarily crowded, as they always were. This street didn't even have cars, one of several streets that were for pedestrian use only. There was about a 3 to 2 ratio of humans to robots walking around; most of the robots were doing chores for their owners, such as picking up groceries or walking pets. There were a couple of IP robots wandering around, but they were really just there if their service was required; this wasn't a particularly high-crime neighborhood.
"Do we have any leads on this case yet?" Smith asked, walking up to a coffee robot and depositing some change.
"We're headed to one right now, probably." Johnson drank from the thermos Smith had rejected. "Her name is Jennifer Reed. 16 years old. One of the kid's only friends, apparently. At least, the only one who cared enough to speak up."
"Where does she live?"
"Staten Island. We're taking a monorail there from a station a few blocks down." For some bizarre, unfathomable reason, the Manhattan branch of the International Police was about twelve blocks from the nearest monorail, even though there was perfectly good government land not terribly far away from said station.
"I've never really liked monorails."
"You're going to have to deal. We get free monorail passes, not free subway passes. Or taxi passes. Or any other form of pass, for that matter. Monorail passes." Johnson wasn't really paying attention to where he was walking and nearly ran into a robot carrying a rather large amount of groceries. The robot even had four extra arms. His shoulder said "North". Clever.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going," the robot said in a monotonous, synthesized voice that somehow sounded apologetic.
"No, it's fine, that was my fault." Johnson stepped out of the way and the robot continued down the street.
"You know, Johnson, you seem like the kind of person who would be against robots." Smith chuckled. Johnson hated that chuckle.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. You look extremely anti-robot. And you do have the tendency to loathe new technology."
"It's how I was raised. My dad hated new technology. Said it was destroying the human spirit. Even though I try to not be like him, his thoughts still find their way into mine. I've never even been inside a VR café."
"Never? They're a lot of fun. You should try them sometime."
"Real life is good enough for me." Johnson looked up to find that they were in front of a tall, glass elevator, with a sign in front that said in large red letters MONORAIL. "This is the station. You have your pass?" Smith nodded, pulled out his pass, scanned it in a scanner under the sign, and entered the elevator. Once the sign gave the okay Johnson did the same. At the top, the two of them ran to catch the next monorail for Staten Island (which was leaving in about half a minute when they arrived). Johnson sat down, closed his eyes, and began thinking about what to ask the informant.
=======================================
Ask me questions and I will fill in plot holes with black magic and a piece of string, for that is my unique power as bearer of...something.
But yeah. It's a sci-fi ish story. It's also the basis for a novel I've been working on...
This is the second draft of the story. In the original draft, the characters were a bit flat, one of the characters could be easily seen as an author avatar (as they were, in fact, an author avatar in the original version), and there was another character who made it especially obvious.
Please keep in mind while reading this that my thoughts are weird.
That is all. You are now mostly prepared to read Ark. It is a short story in multiple parts. The first two parts are below for your reading pleasure.
Part I
Canyons and forests flew past down below as Victor soared through the open air. Birds passed him, going from their nests to find the morning's food. There were no airplanes, as was preferred by Victor. The land below was void of anything that might ruin it for him. There were no people. No one except for Victor and Genevieve existed here. There we plenty of animals, but they disturbed no one.
Genevieve flew next to him. She appeared at first glance to be a beautiful woman about Victor's age, but something about her was bizarre and unearthly. She had light blue hair, a flowing gown, and pure white skin along with pointed ears.
The peculiarities went unnoticed by Victor. Why should he care? This is it, this was his own personal utopia...
------------------------------
Johnson grumbled as he read over the papers in front of him, sipping black coffee that had been left at the office overnight. Across his desk sat a newer employee named Smith. Or maybe he was an intern. Johnson didn't particularly care, all he knew was that Smith was annoying. There were many Smiths in the world, but this one Johnson hated in particular. No one else hated Smith. They mentioned his youthful enthusiasm and near-perpetual smile as reasons why he was simply nice to be be around. These were the exact reasons why Johnson did not like Smith. At least he made good coffee.
"So, what's your opinion, sir?" Smith smiled.
Johnson muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Chief Greene could have probably been able to tell what he had said, but Chief Greene was not there at the moment and therefore Johnson was free to curmudgeonly mutter. Johnson cleared his throat, giving the impression that he was repeating himself but actually was saying something entirely different. "I said, Smith, that this whole thing is bizarre. Or stupid. Perhaps stupidly bizarre."
"I am aware, sir."
"And I mean very bizarre. Break-the-universe kind of bizarre."
"Of course, sir."
Johnson wondered briefly about how much a new coffeepot would cost if he were to smash Smith over the head with the old one. This coffeepot was on its last legs anyway. Who would miss it? "What we have here, according to this, is simply impossible."
"And yet it occurred, sir." Smith smiled. Johnson cringed. "Can I get you any more coffee?"
Johnson realized now that he had, in his angry disposition, been drinking from an empty mug. "Yes. And while you're at it, get Chief Greene. She should probably see this." Johnson knew that Greene had likely already seen it, but wanted to bug her anyway because he was annoyed.
"Yes, sir." And with another annoying smile Smith left Johnson's office.
Johnson looked again at the papers in front of him. It was a simple missing persons case. That was, of course, what was so strange about it. According to the Microchip Act of 2042, all United States citizens had to be microchipped at birth or at the earliest available time. If they weren't microchipped, then they weren't a citizen. And if they weren't a citizen, they couldn't file a missing persons case. And if they were microchipped, they could be found anywhere, and therefore would have no need to file a missing persons case. It was a whole thing. How could they not find this particular individual?
The door creaked open (Johnson insisted on having a wooden door in his office so he could hear when people came in) and Smith walked in with coffee and Chief Greene in tow.
"Smith informs me that you do not understand the papers sent to you." Greene's expression was cold and her words were like ice. Her short brown hair was an oddity; long hair was in style. She was dressed in a suit and tie, if only serving to make her more condescending towards the raggedy Johnson.
"It's not that I don't understand it," Johnson took the coffee from Smith and took a quick drink. "It's just that I don't understand how it happened."
"Our technology is not perfect. It's only been fifty years since the Act." It had, of course, been forty-nine years, but for once Johnson did not want to sound like a prude.
"This has not occurred since the Act. At all. Ever."
"There is a first time for everything, detective."
Greene always called Johnson 'detective'. Johnson preferred 'private investigator', because it sounded more professional. "Even so," he retorted, with a hint of disdain in his voice, "shouldn't the bots have found him by now?"
"The best robots in the International Police are occupied with the search. And still they find nothing."
"Fat lot of good they do, then." Johnson frowned. "Why do we keep them around, exactly?"
"Not all of use can live on coffee and biscuits twenty-four seven. Some people require sleep. You should try it some time, you're a mess."
It was true. Between the unkempt brown hair, the baggy eyes, and the five-o'-clock shadow, Johnson was the spitting image of a stereotypical sleep-deprived PI. He needed a fedora.
There was a short silence.
"I have no idea what you want me to do, ma'am."
"It's your profession, detective." Chief Greene turned to leave. "And therefore, it's really your problem. The IP has enough to worry about right now without getting worked up over a simple case like this." She and Smith left the room, and the latter closed the door with a slam that sounded far too peppy for Johnson's liking.
Johnson glanced one last time down at the papers. "Jesus Christ," he sighed, getting up to obtain more coffee. He'd need more of it if he was going to find this Victor kid.
Part II
Sometimes, Victor would wander around the world by himself. It was a rare occurrence (for he did not wish to be apart from Genevieve for too long), but he felt the need to do so occasionally, the think about his life, to gather the ideas that went through his head while here.
He sometimes thought of life before this world. He thought of the world back home. He thought of many things, such as his mother, now a year dead.
Victor paused. A year! He could hardly believe it had been that long. But it had been. He had been in this world for about a month, and eleven months before he had gotten the phone call telling him that his mother was dead and her fortune was now his. He didn't care the money. He had been close to his mother. She had done more for him than his birth mother, as according to the adoption papers given to him after the funeral he had been abandoned not long after birth.
After these sessions of alone time he would wander around until he ran into Genevieve. Her presence could easily take his mind off of things. She had a way of doing that.
------------------------------------
Smith spit the coffee on the ground. "Dear lord, Johnson! How old <i>is</i> this coffee?" He began to rub his tongue and let out a frown, which was rare. Johnson wished he had a camera.
"A day old. Maybe more." Johnson had on a completely flat and serious look, but he was holding back quite a bit of laughter.
"Normal people don't drink day-old coffee, Johnson." Smith handed the thermos back to Johnson. "Especially not with the sheer availability of coffee." He gestured toward a green robot that had the amazing ability to instantly produce synthesized coffee, which Johnson had been told tasted exactly like regular coffee, but Johnson was adamant about drinking coffee made from actual coffee beans.
Johnson grimaced. "I guess I'm not a normal person, then."
They were walking through the daytime streets of New York, or to be more specific Manhattan. And one had to be very specific at this point, as New York City was now the world's largest city in terms of geographical area (although Mexico City was still greater in population), having merged with several cities in lower New York and then eating Northern New Jersey and most of Connecticut. It was still like a bunch of independent cities; the only thing that connected them was the series of monorails above the skyscrapers. They weren't as high speed as the international ones, but they were still relatively quick, and very rarely were there problems.
The streets were extraordinarily crowded, as they always were. This street didn't even have cars, one of several streets that were for pedestrian use only. There was about a 3 to 2 ratio of humans to robots walking around; most of the robots were doing chores for their owners, such as picking up groceries or walking pets. There were a couple of IP robots wandering around, but they were really just there if their service was required; this wasn't a particularly high-crime neighborhood.
"Do we have any leads on this case yet?" Smith asked, walking up to a coffee robot and depositing some change.
"We're headed to one right now, probably." Johnson drank from the thermos Smith had rejected. "Her name is Jennifer Reed. 16 years old. One of the kid's only friends, apparently. At least, the only one who cared enough to speak up."
"Where does she live?"
"Staten Island. We're taking a monorail there from a station a few blocks down." For some bizarre, unfathomable reason, the Manhattan branch of the International Police was about twelve blocks from the nearest monorail, even though there was perfectly good government land not terribly far away from said station.
"I've never really liked monorails."
"You're going to have to deal. We get free monorail passes, not free subway passes. Or taxi passes. Or any other form of pass, for that matter. Monorail passes." Johnson wasn't really paying attention to where he was walking and nearly ran into a robot carrying a rather large amount of groceries. The robot even had four extra arms. His shoulder said "North". Clever.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going," the robot said in a monotonous, synthesized voice that somehow sounded apologetic.
"No, it's fine, that was my fault." Johnson stepped out of the way and the robot continued down the street.
"You know, Johnson, you seem like the kind of person who would be against robots." Smith chuckled. Johnson hated that chuckle.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. You look extremely anti-robot. And you do have the tendency to loathe new technology."
"It's how I was raised. My dad hated new technology. Said it was destroying the human spirit. Even though I try to not be like him, his thoughts still find their way into mine. I've never even been inside a VR café."
"Never? They're a lot of fun. You should try them sometime."
"Real life is good enough for me." Johnson looked up to find that they were in front of a tall, glass elevator, with a sign in front that said in large red letters MONORAIL. "This is the station. You have your pass?" Smith nodded, pulled out his pass, scanned it in a scanner under the sign, and entered the elevator. Once the sign gave the okay Johnson did the same. At the top, the two of them ran to catch the next monorail for Staten Island (which was leaving in about half a minute when they arrived). Johnson sat down, closed his eyes, and began thinking about what to ask the informant.
=======================================
Ask me questions and I will fill in plot holes with black magic and a piece of string, for that is my unique power as bearer of...something.