Archive for the ‘David Kopaska-Merkel’ Category
Maybe why he didn’t want to be involved
Thursday, May 6th, 2010
Yeah, D’miss and I, we own exoarcheology. We translated a newly discovered example of Precursor writing, which we found etched onto a billion-year-old polished stone standing upright at the geographic center of a rubble-strewn plain. Mauger the rubble, the place was flat as a pancake. Must have been an important spot. Now? Sole remaining trace of life on a long-dead world. The stone, with its inscription, the only fabricated object within lightyears. The Precursors were the oldest interstellar civilization; their ruins range in age from 1.8 to 0.9 gigayears. The few known examples of their writing had been enough for Odaro to crack the code – to translate. Yeah, that Odaro. Not just a writer and singer. I know; his translations haven’t been published yet. Heard rumors at the last Interstellar Archeological Congress. We tried to contact him after IAC, but he blew us off. At first he said he’d try to squeeze us in, but then he said he was too busy, when he’d merely glanced at a photo of the stone. After that, even his autoclerk wouldn’t respond to messages. So we fixed his ass. The AI Klondyke hacked his linguistic database. With its help we tackled the new inscription ourselves. The translation was surprisingly easy to come up with, though we’re not sure what to make of it. Here’s what we’ve got so far.
Some flowers have color, others do too,
food additives have flavor, and I love you.
So the oldest known poem is … doggerel, of an all-too-familiar sort.
end
Mr. Smith Makes A Complaint
Friday, April 30th, 2010
“I want to make a complaint.”
The being behind the counter, white robed, wingéd, and possessed of an unearthly beauty, looked puzzled. It cleared its throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one of those.”
I rolled my eyes. “You must be new here.” Very new, I silently added.
The celestial being looked around, perhaps hoping to find someone else to deal with me, but no one was there. “May I help you?” it asked. “Mr….?”
“Smith. I think entropy has come to the afterlife.”
“Entropy? But that implies progressive, irreversible degradation. It’s just not possible here, what with this place existing outside of time and all.” It smiled reassuringly. Immaculate wings fluttered and a couple of disarranged feathers settled back into place.
I scratched my head. “That’s what I thought. I’ve been here a while (not sure exactly how long) and at first stasis seemed to prevail.”
“Go on,” it encouraged.
I had been standing in line at the celestial cafeteria, trying to decide between heavenly ham and a simple fried egg, when I suddenly wondered why there was a line at all. I mean, every other time I went to eat, I encountered only those people I wanted to meet, and we never had to wait. But this morning, the line had stretched from the heavenly serving area, through a lobby of unparalleled symmetry, and out doors of surpassing loveliness into a meadow of unmatched beauty. A murmur had arisen, and as I craned my neck to see what was going on up ahead, I saw many others doing the same. In the end, I had to settle for cold pizza, which makes an excellent breakfast, but wasn’t what I wanted.
I later heard that no one had shown up to serve, which was why only leftovers were available. Not the level of competence I had come to expect, frankly. Which was why I decided to register a complaint.
After I finished the story the attendant did not respond. I waved my hand in front of its face, cleared my throat loudly several times. Nothing. Finally, I reached forward and lightly tapped it on the shoulder. It toppled over backward and plummeted through the cloud like a brick through rice pudding.
“Aaaaa!!”
I jumped back, tripped, and almost fell myself. Maybe all this time I’d been wrong about where I’d ended up. Maybe today’s events were the next step in an extraordinarily subtle form of torment. Wherever this was, I needed to get out.
The end