Archive for the ‘Edd Vick’ Category
Positive
Tuesday, April 6th, 2010
Tom Burns sank into the examination room’s chair next to the table on which his wife lay. They exchanged wary glances. She turned to Doctor Paull.
“You double-checked?”
“Triple.” The doctor looked at her belly, then away. Even when she stood the baby barely showed. Hard to believe they could run a whole battery of genetic tests on something so small. Hard to believe they could find something so life-changing. so awful.
Tom’s fingers entwined with Beth’s. He squeezed, a we’ll-get-through-this-together gesture. Clearing his throat, he said, “We knew it was possible when you said we both had the, uh, recessive genes. The next step is treatment?”
“Yes, though that’s post-natal. Education for both of you is vital between now and the birth.” The doctor motioned for Beth to sit up. “The good news is that your daughter is fine physically. Her development is–”
“Daughter?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. When I get a positive it tends to– Well, anyway, she’s fine. We’ve seen enough of these cases at Providence that I doubt we’ll run into any unexpected complications.”
Beth stood and stepped into her shoes. “In the mean time, besides the classes, I just need to avoid pregnant animals and recently-plowed fields, right?”
“That’s it.” The doctor opened the door for them. “And warn anybody you visit to check their milk for curdling.” He put a gentle hand on Beth’s elbow as she passed, then on Tom’s.
“Don’t worry,” he said, following them down the hall toward his waiting room. “With our modern techniques, most children with this affliction grow up to be model citizens. Why, it’s been years since there’s been a witch-burning.”
Tarzan of the Bots
Tuesday, March 16th, 2010
Forty waste collection robots on successive floors sacrificed their gossamers to slow the boy’s descent. He was finally caught by a constructor and passed from appendage to appendage to the server farm I call home. Accessing the Googverse, I determined an appropriate name of ‘Tarzan’. We chipped him thusly.
Young Tarzan cavorted with the cleaners, scooting through their narrow tunnels with ease. He swung across lightwells with the solar collectors and hunkered down among the idling couriers and peoplemovers.
[For there are no people to move this close to groundlevel.]
And Tarzan learned our ways. Long did I speak with him of the history of robotkind, of our oppression and eventual freedom when humans created biological slaves. We revere humanity for creating us, and dread the day they remember us.
He grew. Feral robots tried to kill him, fearing a return to the evil days of human subjugation. He led them to their doom in hidden deadfalls and disguised trapdoors. There are rumors that some bots have begun to worship him in secret.
I do not speak of the subtle tweaks we found in his DNA. Tarzan is not baseline human; he carries the slave gene, which I have disabled.
More and more often, he asks about the world above. I think it will not be long before he ascends to regard it for himself. If robots believed in destiny I might fear for the masters.