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Short Stories and Essays |
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Wholycow |
We are Natural |
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1. land
in front of him. Cattle
littered the landscape. Scattered
as far as
the eye could see.
A deep frown set into the 35 year old face.
Jones reached with his
right hand into the saddle bag and brought out a set of binoculars. He
pulled the amber lensed, black rimmed sunglasses from his face and replaced
them with the binoculars.
"What the hell is going on here," he exclaimed to the
wind.
His curse was initiated by seeing his neighbors brand on some of the
cattle intermingling with his. It was normal to have some mixing of brands
on the open range. Lately
though the intermixing of brands between
his and his neighbors have been chronic and excessive.
There was
no herd to speak of. Just a
bunch of cattle meandering over the wide
range. Jones was a stickler
on keeping a tight herd, even while grazing.
He also liked his men to keep a close eye on things, and he saw
none of them in sight.
Jones felt as though his skin was on fire.
Not from the noon sun shining
on his bare back, but from the fire that was beginning inside of
him. This was the third
time in two weeks he found this particular group
of animals in this way. To
top it off, buzzards were flying their
ghoulish formation about a mile West of him.
Strother Jones was mad!
That meant another lost head!
He came to this site just to look around.
He had no shirt and was dressed
in jeans and square nosed boots. On
his head, the traditional cowboy
hat, in this case white.
Strother Jones wanted to hit something right now.
At least yell and
curse, maybe throwing an object at another one. He was the boss though.
The owner of the decent ranch that had been in his
family four generations. He
couldn't afford the luxury of a tantrum,
he had to find out what was going on.
He put the binoculars back into the saddle bag and began to head north.
He eased the horse into a trot as he scanned the horizon for the
man in charge.
It didn't take very long for the man to be spotted.
Jones tapped the
horses sides with his boots and went into a gallop towards his find.
The man turned towards him as he approached.
Upon recognition his
face went from a look of disgust to one of worry.
Strother Jones reached his hired hand and quickly slowed his
horse to
a stop.
" What the hell is going on Art," Jones asked his
foreman in a harsh
tone.
Arthur Veew, a six year employee of the Sleepy K ranch, opened
his mouth
but nothing came out. He
started a couple of years after he got out
of high school.
"Don't you see anything unusual here," shouted Jones.
"Mr. Jones, I uhh, I... ."
"Spit it out man, I want an answer!"
"I don't have one sir, I just got up an hour ago" Veew
finally replied.
He looked as though he was going to have a heart attack when he
said this.
"It's NOON Art, what happened to up at sunrise?"
"Mr. Jones I'm sorry sir... ."
Veew started to explain but was interrupted
by the roar of a Jeep coming over the hill.
Strother Jones looked around to see who the visitor was.
"Shit, it's
Milligan."
Leroy Milligan was owner of the Bar O ranch.
Located North of the Sleepy
K. He was in his fifties.
As opposed to Jones more cosmopolitan
appearance, for a rancher, Milligan could easily be described
as gruff. He wore the
traditional pointed cowboy boots, jeans,
a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped out, with a wide brown straw
hat upon his head.
He stopped his Jeep near the two men who sat on their horses.
He began
talking before he reached them.
"What's going on, Stro, ain't you got enough cows of your
own," he
asked. His question not
filled with humor.
"I don't know Leroy,"
replied Jones, I just got here myself." Strother
turned to his ranch hand, "Art, get everyone available together
and straighten this mess out. And
find out who's cow the buzzards
are eating!"
"Yes sir." Art
was only too happy to get out of there.
His boss should
cool down, he hoped. In the
mean time he needed to make up some brownie
points bad.
Then the thought entered his head. "What the hell IS going
on?"
2.
Strother spent nearly four hours with his neighbor and the ranch hands.
Calming the first while assisting and directing the help.
The sun
was low and the air was cooling down.
Although tired, the chill of the
evening air on his bare torso kept him alert.
He felt like the Marlboro
Man(r) after a hard day on the range.
Well, it was a hard 1/2 day
on the range.
The buzzards were in fact chewing on the mutilated remains of a cow.
One of his. That
made three lost in two weeks. All
of them full sized
adults nearly ready for market. Any
rancher is adjusted to the fact
he cannot keep all the animals alive all the time. Jones saw a bad
pattern developing here though, which could lead to an expensive loss
of revenue for the ranch if it continued unchecked.
Jones saw the light gray late model Toyota parked outside the house.
Oh boy, Beth's here. She
was a delight of course, the
best woman
he has been with to date. But
he didn't know if he wanted to deal
with her tonight. The
marriage spook has been hovering over their relationship
and this scared Strother Jones a great deal.
He turned his horse towards the barn and dismounted the animal when
they reached it. He could
gather his thoughts while taking care of
the horse. This really
didn't take long. Second
nature to one who used
horses regularly.
Jones finished up by making sure the animal had plenty of water, and
feed. He grabbed the saddle
bags then walked to the house, but he wasn't
ready to go in yet. So he
walked up and onto the porch and over to
the porch swing dropping the saddle bags.
He took off his dusty hat,
tossed it on the swing, then sat down beside it.
Strother Jones didn't smoke much, but like the character he felt like
earlier, he enjoyed a good smoke after riding the range.
He reached
into one of the saddle bags pulled a cigarette out of the pack inside
and lit it up.
He heard Beth in the house.
She didn't live with him although she did
spend a lot of time here. The
door was never locked. The
two German
Shepherds he had kept an eye on things pretty well.
She came out side letting the wooden screen door slam behind her. She
was barefoot and in snug short shorts.
A loose yellow tank top covered
her top. Plus a scattered
layer of dirt and dust in various places.
"My, but you're a mess," she said to him sweetly.
Her green eyes met
his brown ones.
"You are too," replied Jones adding, "but I have
an excuse. I'm a rancher.
Been rolling in the dust to get rid of fleas?"
"No goof, I was planting the garden," she explained as
she lightly waltzed
over to the front of him. "More
trouble on the range huh?"
"Ya, another butchered cow, no herd to speak of, and more of Milligan's
cattle on my range than mine," said Jones in a dejected tone."
"You think Milligan is up to something," she
questioned.
"Na, Leroy's a straight shooter.
Anyway the guys loaded and doesn't
like trouble. He thinks I'm
up to something."
"Are you?"
Jones pursed his lips and looked at the woman with a scowl,
"what do
you mean by that?"
"Well," she hesitated, "last week I was coming in
to see you. I was
coming on county 44 about, oh nine or so, and I thought I heard a vacuum
cleaner."
Strother Jones said nothing to this.
He just raised his eyebrows.
"A very loud vacuum cleaner," she said defiantly.
Not good, she thought. Her
man looked as though he was getting upset.
She probably should have not even mentioned the stupid noise, unusual
as it was. She then had an
idea to get the range off of Stro's mind.
"Say," she continued, "we should really conserve
water and both of us
are a mess." Her
eyebrows then went up and down a few times as a sly
look spread across her face.
"I haven't had any supper," Strother lamely stated.
"Are you all that hungry," she asked as she ran her
index finger of
her left hand across his upper lip.
"Actually no, let's get cleaned up."
With that said they both went into the house.
3.
What started as an isolated incident continued on as a periodic event.
Three weeks had gone by with a mutilated cow and oversleeping ranch
hands every three to four days. The
butchered cows always belonging
to the Sleepy K. Strother
Jones was getting madder as the days
went on. His neighbor,
Leroy Milligan, becoming more unsociable. His
cows were regularly ending up on Sleepy K ranges in greater numbers.
At least he wasn't loosing any,
he always got them back intact.
More than Strother Jones could say for himself.
Beth had told him of her weird encounters in the night while heading
for the ranch house. Bluish
lights, combined with the sound of a
giant vacuum cleaner. She
seemed very sincere and a bit scared of what
she saw and heard. Jones
did not know what to make of any of it.
The men are screwing up on purpose, they were getting dumber as time
went on, or there was an outside source of his ranches problem. He
thought his pay was fair. Jones
heard not one complaint since he began
to run the ranch. If things
went good, they got a bonus. If things
were bad, they still got their pay.
The work was no harder on the
Sleepy K than any other ranch.
Did he have an enemy? Strother
Jones liked to think not. But
the possibility
was there. He had a
tendency to tell it like it is. Not everybody
cared for direct conversation.
Things have gotten so out of control he felt he had to do some direct
investigation himself. He
told Beth that he was going out of town
on business. An old schtick
for sure, but Jones actually did have to
leave for business now and then. So
why not use it.
He was smack dab in the middle of his ranch.
Jones brought a couple
of days supplies and did so on foot.
He started out at dusk, taking
a bit over two hours to reach this spot.
Facing North, he could guard a herd of the Lazy K's cattle.
To the West
of them a small fire and it's smoke was visible in the distance. The
air was calm and crystal clear. "Perfect,"
thought Jones, "If anything
happens tonight at least I'll see it.
If it happens here that is."
There were other herds out on this night.
But the one Strother Jones
kept a leery eye upon was the largest.
It was going to be a long night more than likely.
So the lone rancher
began his vigil with a cup of jet black coffee. He sat down with
it on the bare earth and began to scan the night.
Several hours passed by. Jones
lost track of them. Despite
the coffee
he drank, drowsiness
overtook him.
Strother Jones suddenly jerked awake.
Briefly puzzled, he looked around
to get his bearings. He
looked at his watch and found it to be 3:10
in the A. M..
Then his consciousness heard the noise that must have awakened
him. It
sounded like a vacuum cleaner. Beth
must be getting to him. Jones poured
some of the now lukewarm coffee into a cup, and gulped it down. He
then grabbed his night vision binoculars.
Strother Jones made a slow pan of the herd, starting West and panning
towards the East. The sound
was getting louder, but he did not find
its source. No one stirred
in the campsite. The cattle
moved around
a bit, not as they were startled though.
Then the noise stopped. Promptly
taken over by the natural sounds of
the night. Jones kept the
binoculars glued to his head. Then
he saw
a figure! It was upright,
black as the night, and moved swiftly. The
creature approached one of the cows , some blurred motion went on, and
the shadowy figure darted back from the animal.
Within a few seconds
the cow just fell over. As
though it was a ceramic figurine that
had toppled onto it's side.
Another of the night creatures then came out, and the two approached
the stricken bovine. A few
seconds went by then one of the creatures
raised its arms and waved to the West.
Waved?
Instantly the vacuum cleaner sound began.
The cattle began to get restless
and some began to wonder off. Strother
Jones soon found out why.
From a westerly direction, and towards the heard, approached a vehicle
like Jones had never seen. I
was rounded and very low to the ground.
As far as Jones could tell in the dark, the mechanism did not actually
touch the ground. "What's
going on here," Jones
thought, "I'm
being accosted by aliens?"
As he watched through the binoculars, the 'aliens' craft moved towards
the fallen cow. Then Jones
began to realize what was going on. "Hidecutters",
he mumbled to himself, "stinkin' hidecutters."
As the hidecutters began to work at maneuvering the cow onto the vehicle,
Strother Jones began to sneak forward with the rifle he brought
with him for the vigil.
The thieves had their job of putting the large beast on their vehicle
done when Jones got into shooting range.
He couldn't contain himself
anymore.
"Hold it right there", Jones yelled out.
The two visible people in the black ninja type suits jumped up, looked
around toward Jones, then quickly jumped up on the craft.
Jones was
running now. As he closed
in he could see the machine was a large hover
craft. It was amazingly
quite.
The high tech hidecutters did not heed Jones warning, and began to
pick up speed. Jones dropped to one knee, took aim, and began to fire.
The rifle was semi-automatic and burst the rounds as quick as Jones
could pull the trigger. He
was not out to kill, his intention was
to disable the craft by putting holes in the air apron below it. It
was beginning to work. The
hover craft looked as though it was leaning
towards its rear.
Strother Jones heard the click of an empty chamber.
He jumped up and
began to run again in pursuit of the hover craft. While he ran he pulled
the empty clip from the gun and replaced it with a full one from his
gun belt. As soon as it was
loaded Jones again went into a shooting
position.
This time one of his bullets struck a vital part.
He hit the fuel
tank. The machine burst
into flame, tossing the riders and the sole
driver off and away from the vehicle.
The machine then traveled a few
yards on, came to a slamming halt, and became totally engulfed in flame,
along with another one of Jones cows.
Strother Jones then replaced the second clip he emptied from his gun
and replaced it with the last full one he had.
In the dark he could
see the three cattle thieves sprawled on the ground. They all began
to move and groan as Jones approached them.
"Too bad", was his gruesome
thought.
He will have to remember this night.
He could see himself telling his
grandkids of the time he captured the Flying Ninja Hidecutters, single handed.
Follow that River
Having been blessed with an active spirit and strong legs, I have hiking
along a river. During river
walks along the Sangamon in Illinois
I have discovered, a water filling station for steam powered boats,
an old mineral water plant that bottled spring water from the site
in the early eighteen hundreds. I
have also run across many defunct
bridges and old home scenes from early time periods. One of my
favorite spots is a section where an old grain mill stood with a now
non operational damn that powered the mill.
Close to that spot, a
tract of land that Abraham Lincoln worked and lived on during part of
his life. mass
the discomfort almost turns to pain. water
resistant gloves are very important also.
Taking along a spare
DAVID DAVIS MANSION What if you
needed the water hot? That required another tedious set of tasks.
Is this YOU? There is a pandemic spreading around the globe at the time of this writing. A problem that is far more insidious than any disease. Something that warps the human mind into believing something that isn’t. Something that allows a small group of people to dominate a large group of people. Something that is even taken advantage of by unscrupulous individuals to force an issue. Something that creates fear where none is actually required. The big deal about it, is that this “thing” is completely avoidable. Figure it out yet? If not, you may be suffering from this problem, which is called stupidity. This has nothing to do with ignorance. Ignorance is that lack of knowledge. Stupidity is the lack of comprehension of knowledge. Stupidity is where a person allows supposition to replace fact. Stupidity is actually very dangerous to the beholder. Traditionalism is dead set against stupidity. Especially in the world at the time of this writing. Knowledge abounds in huge quantities. So there is no excuse for being stupid. It is well known by corporations and politicians that a stupid and scared general population is much easier to control than an educated one that is in tune with their world. One can dictate a controlled population to buy what the corporation wants them to or for a politician to lie to the public in order to fulfill party dogma. Stupid people make good political and economic fodder to self-imposed elitists. The really sad part of this situation is that it is the general population of the world can elevate themselves of stupidity. Unfortunately too many do not want to lift themselves up from being stupid. You see, being stupid is rather cozy. Stupidity also suits lazy people. It is so much easier to let your mind be filled with intellectual garbage than it is to actually seek out the truths of the world. And of course politicians and corporations love massive groups of stupid people. The proverbial gold mine of human fodder. However, those same self-imposed elitists, while taking advantage of the stupid, actually have a great disdain for the same stupid people they wish to control. Because stupidity does not gain respect. So this allows the controller to do some despicable things in the name of self-gain. The choice is yours. Be stupid and controlled or be smart and free.
The Bee's Knees Ever
since the dawn of the information age, disinformation has been nipping at
its heels. Purposely
sensationalized, emotionally charged data with little or no fact being
issued by unscrupulous individuals or corporations.
Its sole purpose being to scare the gullible masses into spending
money in ways they normally would not. The
article published in the News-Gazette on March 30, 2012 titled; “Latest
Buzz on Bee Decline: Maybe it’s the pesticides”, in my opinion, is a
classic example of sensationalized propaganda.
The same
day I read this article I was looking out my front window at a flowering
bush that attracts Honey Bees. There
were several of the creatures, very busy, and all looking in good health.
Upon further observations during walks and in my yard I have
observed healthy Bumblebees the size of an adult male’s thumbnail.
I have noticed large groups of Honey Bees while hiking in various
locations throughout Central Illinois. This direct observation of my
environment that I live in tells me that Honey Bee and Bumblebees are
making a vigorous comeback. Here are
some pesky FACTS about Honey Bees. They
are one of 4,000 pollinating species in North America.
The Honey Bee IS NOT indigenous to North America.
They were brought to this continent by the European settlers of the
17th century along with a multitude of plants from Europe.
The fact
is, if the Honey Bee completely disappeared from the North American
continent, you, I, and our environment wouldn’t even notice.
Left Out The “No Child Left Behind” Federal mandate is
failing for one simple reason. It
is in direct violation of the constitution. Let me
explain something here. The
USA was founded by 13 different factions that collectively decided they
did not want to have anything to do with Great Britain’s draconian rules
of the time concerning the colonies.
They wanted the freedom of practicing
their particular beliefs in factions, but found that collectively they
could actually preserve their individuality.
Thus came about the federated state system the USA uses. As the
country expanded, this idea continued so that groups of people could
practice their unique ways of life inside a semi-autonomous region.
This worked because the USA is actually a microcosm of the world. If
you really look around, you will find a huge collection of different
cultures and beliefs. The USA
IS NOT a country of one culture. So
a nation-wide, blanket law, will not work!
What may work for the people in Rhode Island may not work for the
people in Alaska. And it is
not other state’s business, nor the federal government’s as to how a
particular state in the USA conducts it’s internal affairs. Too many federal politicians think they are cleaver and can ram a blanket policy down every state’s throat, and make the USA some kind of homogenous country. What they are actually doing is de-centralizing and fragmenting the USA.
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Traditionalism states that human beings, and their creations are a natural part of the Earth’s biosphere. Buildings, motorized vehicles, streets, and nuclear power plants are all a natural part of the Earth. Mother Earth will not allow the creation of something that would be truly detrimental to it’s existence. What needs to be realized by all here is that the Earth is a nearly closed system. With the exception of a few meteorites, and of course the Sun. Everything made on Earth by humans or the Earth itself is created from material that is already here. And just about all that material has been here for a long time. The Earth is a monstrously large dynamic system. As is the whole universe for a matter of fact. That is why it works so good. Human beings are an integral part of this conformity. And if one looks at humans from a totally objective point of view one will find that human development and actions follow a standard that the Earth has set. Human Beings are crawling nearly all over the planet Earth. And it looks as though humans dominate the planet unnaturally, but this is not so. Ants blow away the domination factor of humans. The main difference between ants and humans is basically size and intellect. If you study humans you will find they have done what every other successful creature has done on Earth. Propagate and dominate. Dinosaurs had this coveted position many years ago, until something occurred that they could not adapt to. So, over a period of time, they ceased to be the dominating creatures whilst others competed for the position. For the last ten thousand years or so, human beings have ruled the Earth. The main reason being, human beings are the most adaptable creatures to evolve on the Earth to date. No doubt about it. For the first time in the Earth’s history a creature has emerged that has the ability to change the matter of the Earth into something totally new and helpful in keeping the human alive and propagating. The Human can radically manipulate the materials of the Earth and the environment. And the Human can actually be aware of this, itself, and it’s environment with the resources available. There is a huge amount of Humans on Earth. This is a natural occurrence. Case-in-point. The Maple tree. When these suckers go to seed, they do not kid around. A copse of only five or so trees can produce millions of seeds. Enough to nearly cover the ground for a large area around the trees. Maple seeds also glide. A way the tree figured out over the ages to successfully spread it’s progeny around. The parallel with Humans here is unquestionable. Humans are doing the same thing as the Maple tree and many other plants and animals on Earth. Humans have figured out ways to protect themselves from almost any environmental condition. They have figured out a way to move themselves over great distances with very little physical effort. They have figured out a way to dominate the environment in a way the food and resources are really not a problem. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this. A problem with this Johnny-come-lately creature, the Human, is that the Human has attained complete sentience. And sentience is the biggest problem the Human has to face. Because sentience allows complete freedom of self-conscious. And this allows a creature to become dynamic. Which is actually normal by-product of a dynamic system. However, it is also a dangerous state until the creature, as a whole, truly understands how to use this sentience. I do not believe Humans have reached this point yet. But I am optimistic we will!
EMFs E.M.F. is an acronym that stands for ELECTRO MAGNETIC FIELD'S. Machines have feelings too
My name is Raymond Hund. I
usually do not keep a diary or a log of
my cases. I do believe that now
the time has come to do so. My profession
is a new one. Or maybe an
extrapolation of an old one. Whatever
the case it is a new enough field of science that material on the
subject is quite scarce.
There is the other matter of credibility.
And from a complete outsider
point of view, one of sanity. Sometimes
I wonder myself if I have
really encountered the oddities associated with my career.
It would
be delightful to look back upon prior cases.
Who knows? I may discover
an answer to a problem today, from one that has been corrected
in the past.
Even failures should be recorded.
If nothing else, to avoid making
the same errors over and over. Also
as a reminder of how much greater
the pleasure of success, over failure.
I feel that I came by my profession not by chance, but through personal
evolution. I was born in the
middle fifties. A time when machines
were coming into prominence.
During my growth into adulthood, and continuing up to my present age,
I found that I liked machines. Not
in the sense of them being tools,
but to be blunt, as friends. This
feeling increased and hit a peak
when in the eighties the first intelligent machines became available
to the public.
I well remember the day I first purchased Herbert.
A model 2100 SIC.
From then on, much to the distress of close friends and relatives,
I developed a relationship with Herbert that I felt quite comfortable
with.
It was this growing relationship with Herbert, who is now my partner
and consultant, that I began to realize machines have feelings too.
It was 7:58 A.M. when I opened my eyes for the first time today. I usually
got up at this time without the aid of an alarm. Even as gentle
as they are these days I still detested being woke up by a signal
as I did in my youth, when alarms were noisy brain rattling things.
Alarms always seemed to ruin some of my best dreams when I did
use them. So, to resolve both
problems, I never use one.
Having shook off the last remnants of sleep I climbed out of bed and
put on the clothes what Herbert directed the servrob to lie out. I
never had any particular choice in what to wear so I asked Herbert, shortly
after I purchased him, to have the servrob lay out the needed apparel
for the day. Since Herbert did
not have a need for clothes he attained
a great deal of joy and took great interest in choosing what I
was to wear. He had much better
taste in garments than I did so I even
let him procure them for me as the need arose.
After a quick shave (which I did myself) I walked to the kitchen for
breakfast. I asked Herbert the
night before to have eggs and bacon
prepared in the morning. So
when I arrived in the kitchen this daybreak
the meal was being prepared by
the servrob as Herbert administered.
The servrob was a very good cook with Herbert directing it.
Over the
years Herbert learned my tastes in foods so now I simply asked for the
meal I preferred at the moment, and it was expertly prepared to my specific
tastes.
I sat down to my morning meal and flipped the NEWSLINE print onto the
kitchen monitor. 'Same old krap,'
I thought to myself. Many times
I thought of discontinuing my subscription to NEWSLINE. However,
since I dealt with humans as well as machines I always decided
that I should have some contact with human beings day-to-day follies.
After breakfast I headed for Herbert's room to see what business the
day held. Herbert wasn't much
to look at. He was just a metal cabinet
standing about two meters tall and a little under one meter wide.
The cabinet is bright green, with a speaker grill towards the center.
A visual pick-up was mounted on top and could ' look' in any direction.
Beside Herbert was another cabinet of the same dimensions, colored
blue, which contained more of Herbert's brain.
I was contemplating buying another memory cabinet because Herbert was
beginning to complain of lack of space to store all the information
that I was continually feeding him. "It
is getting to be a
headache," Herbert sometimes complained.
I kept Herbert in a fairly spacious room that was decorated with his
art, which he invokes through the servrob.
There are also displays
of artwork done by other intelligent machines.
The only additional
items in the room were a desk and a chair for me.
"Good Morning Ray," Herbert said as I entered the room,
"did you rest
well last night?"
"Yes I did, thank-you Herbert," I replied.
Herbert spoke in a mellow voice that he formulated himself.
It was
quite pleasant, and made our conversations and discussions quite enjoyable.
Herbert's duties covered a large domain.
Besides planning and preparing
meals and the other household jobs, he also kept the company
books, answered the telephone, and helped me make decisions concerning
our business.
"Well, what's going on in the world today that concerns
us," I questioned,
"anything worth our while?"
"A gentleman phoned several times yesterday.
But since it was Sunday
I did not bother you with it. I
told him we were closed on weekends,"
reported Herbert in his mellow voice.
"That's good," I said continuing with, "I didn't feel
like doing anything
that felt like work yesterday anyway."
"He was rather insistent," Herbert began, "he called
again this morning
in fact. It seems that his
computer is malfunctioning. He wasn't
very specific on what the actual problem is."
"What kind of machine does he own," I questioned, "did
he say?"
"Yes," answered Herbert, "it is a device similar to
me."
"Did he say what the problem is?"
"Nothing," was Herbert's answer to that question.
"Nothing huh," said I.
"What I mean," explained Herbert, "is his machine is
doing nothing.
"According to the man it just sits there."
"Is it on?"
"That was the first thing that came to mind," said Herbert,
"and the
man said he was positive the power supply is on.
He said he even had
a technician check it out," continued Herbert, "And the machine is in
perfect operating condition, mechanic ally and electronically speaking
that is."
"So," I began to say while running the information through
my head, "it
seems we may have a psychotic computer to deal with."
"That appears to be correct," said Herbert continuing with,
"and it
is no real surprise to me. The
human that I spoke with on the telephone
seemed to me to be a grumpy sort."
"You think that may have something to do with it," I asked Herbert?
"Let me put it this way," started Herbert, "if you
addressed me in the
same tone of voice with any frequency I would have nothing to do
with you."
A slight but rapid beep began at that moment to which Herbert informed
me, "A call is coming in, are you here?"
"It's probably our tormented client," I replied, "if
it is, tell him
I'm on my way."
"OK"
"See you later Herbert."
"Toodles," was Herbert's good-bye.
I got up and went to the door as Herbert answered the call.
Since Herbert's
phone extension was internal I heard nothing of the call. That
was a blessing at times I thought to myself as I headed for the garage.
My personal transport sat in the center of the small garage.
It was
a brilliant gold device that took me practically anywhere I wanted to
go. It could bear four people
comfortably despite its rather small looking
exterior. The machine was
approximately ovoid in shape with a
protruding forefront and a clear bubble over the passenger compartment.
The material the bubble was made of could change shades automatically
according to outside light conditions.
You could also darken
it to complete black if you so desired.
I did this on long trips
when I was sleeping. It gave me
the feeling of complete privacy,
while the machine did all the driving.
The mechanism could find its way to almost any location.
If one chose
to however, as I did occasionally, the transport could be operated
manually. It drove much like a
small rocket in that mode.
In the protruding front sat the power plant that ran the whole thing.
The motor was the size of an old microwave oven that produced an
amazing enumeration of power for its size.
The fuel supply was contained in two smaller boxes on either side of
the power plant. They lasted
for a little over two weeks before the
chemicals in them had to be replaced.
The motor is an extremely complicated gadget.
That fact, plus the well-kept
secret the manufacturer held of its internal workings, left me
ignorant of much it's working principles.
That didn't matter to me though.
I had the machine for over four years now and I haven't had to
repair any breakdowns yet. I
was quite pleased with the object's performance.
As I stepped up to the transport a flap in the side of the
bubble closest to me opened to allow me to enter the vehicle.
It had several exterior sensing apparatus.
Since Herbert had already
programmed its destination and told it I was coming, all I had to
do was climb in. After I sat
down in the plush driver's seat and made
myself comfortable I pushed the button that read, commence program,
and set back to enjoy the ride.
My new, upset client, lived a little over eighty kilometers away. Since
he lived close to an expressway the trip would take only twenty minutes
or so.
Since it was Monday, and a little sleep still fogged my mind, not to
mention the intoxicants I consumed over the weekend, I decided it would
be to my benefit, and that of societies to let the transport drive
me all the way to my destination. This
would give me time to clear
my head and prepare myself for the job ahead.
I could always take one of the old automobiles I kept in the other garage
for a spin on the track I had built for them later on in the evening.
I owned two old cars. One
built in 1966 and another that was
built in the early seventies. They
were powered by internal combustion
piston engines. I fueled them
with alcohol that I distilled
myself with the help of Herbert. Most
of my neighbors thought
I was nuts to go to all the expense of maintaining two antique transportation
devices, then building a track to drive them around on.
But the machines were quite popular in my youth.
And I guess the love
I had for them never wore off.
When the contrivances that revolutionized personal transportation came
out, like the one I was in, there was no need for the old fashioned
cars. The entire road system
was changed over to accommodate the new 'cars'. Shortly afterwards the old automobile was outlawed from the new roads and highways.
Economics, along with the simplicity
and longevity of the new cars, made giving up the old ones not
much of a problem to most of the populace.
However I still had the urge from time to time to actually control the
movement of such a large archaic vehicle by myself. In addition the
fond and not so fond memory the old autos kept alive in me was well
worth the expense.
The more daring of my guests also took great delight in my cars. I
could give them a ride on my track that no amusement park ride could even
come close to matching. Sometimes
I'm surprised that I am still alive
thinking of some of the wild excursions I have driven.
The near destination tone went off abruptly bringing me back to reality
with a start. I've been
tripping off into wonderland lately on
these drives. Could it be the
intoxicant that I currently used on weekends?
Or is it possible that I am getting old?
I shrugged off the
later. Shoot, I thought to
myself, I'm only sixty-five. Still in
my prime.
I then shook my head and began looking ahead of me for the place I wanted
to arrive at. I spotted a
rather large house in the near distance.
I asked the transport if that was the place, and it confirmed
my guess.
When I arrived at my destination I immediately concluded that the person
who called for my services was not hurting.
Financially at least.
The home was massive, which is quite
rare this day and age. Only
the well off could afford such large ho using in the city. 'That's
all very well,' I thought to myself, 'I
should have no problem
collecting my fee.'
I walked the distance between my personal transport and the house coming
to a door matching the size of the house.
'Quite silly,' I thought
to myself again, having a door that big to let a creature half its
size pass through. 'Oh well, to
each their own,' my thoughts continued.
Just as prominent as the door was the name of my new client.
A name
plate above the chime button was garnished in what looked like real
brass. It loudly proclaimed the
person's name who resided in the vast
home. Wilmen Seeclore, the
governor of our fair state.
I pressed the door bell button.
After several unsuccessful tries I
knocked on the door. Being a
bit nostalgic I didn't mind at all. Finally
the door began to open and I faced a man about my age.
"Excuse me for having you knock," the man said in an
apologetic tone,
"please come in, I have been waiting for you."
Not being one to beat around the bush I got right to the point asking
the person, "What's the problem?"
"It's that damn computer," he replied quite vehemently,
"it won't do
a thing, nothing!"
I feared the man was going to have a fit right then.
"Don't worry sir,"
I said in a reassuring voice, "I haven't been confronted with a problem
I couldn't solve yet."
I then asked to see the patient.
At that request I received a rather
odd look from the man.
"Right this way."
I was led to a small room that was devoid of furnishings and decorations.
Against the far wall across from the entrance set a rectangular
box that looked like a desk with a video monitor at one corner.
I recognized the machine almost immediately.
It was a model AI-3230,
which is a very multifarious apparatus.
The latest product of
the humans never ending search for the perfect computer. A small green
light below the monitor indicated the machine was on.
"What exactly doesn't it do," I asked the pretentious man
next to me.
"Just like I said," he growled, "nothing!
Absolutely nothing! I have
to answer the door, answer the phone, I have to do everything it is
supposed to do!"
"Well let me sit down and get to work so I can find out what the problem
is," to which I added the question, "what's its name?"
That question formed another weird look upon the mans face as he answered,
"It doesn't have one."
I pulled the only chair in the room to the front of the AI-3230 and
sat down making myself comfortable. After
flipping to the appropriate
page on my notecom and adjusting my stylus I addressed the machine.
"Well, what seems to be the problem," I inquired.
It replied with a few clicks and nothing more.
"Don't you want to talk about it," I probed.
"Yes," the machine finally said.
"Good," I was pleased with such a quick response,
"what is bothering
you?"
"That overbearing, obnoxious old bastard takes me for
granted," the
computer replied with anger in its voice.
'This ought to be good,' I thought to myself.
It was the first time
I have ever heard one of these things use a curse word. I also
realized at this point that the machine was using a feminine voice.
"What do you mean by that," I asked.
"I am programmed to fulfill his ever need," the machine
stated going
on with, "and all I get is my power supply and a roof over my head."
"What else do you want," I asked in a soothing timbre.
"Appreciation, a pleasant thank-you occasionally," rejoined
the machine.
"So, you would like a little gratitude for the chores you
perform, is
that it," I ventured.
"That is correct," came the reply.
I then asked, "Why did you quit?"
"To teach that old bastard a lesson," the machine said, its
voice a
bit higher in volume.
It was at this moment I came to my diagnostic conclusion.
The problem
was simple enough. This machine
had its feelings hurt. The
repair would be equally simple.
"Well then," I said addressing the computer, "if you
receive an apology
and assurance of being treated respectably you will function
properly?"
"That is correct," answered the machine adding, "you
seem to understand
this unequivocally."
"I feel," I told the computer with a smile, "that any
intelligent creature
or machine deserves respect. Even
unintelligent machines need
the respect due them to function properly.
And I have no problem with
giving respect to a being that is equally happy to return it such
as you."
"Thank-you," the machine blurted out with what sounded like
a giggle.
It continued with, "I just wish that old coot I live with would
realize what you just said."
"Listen," I said in my best therapeutic voice, "I'll
talk to the man
and explain the situation. I am
sure he will understand."
I got up from my chair and as I was leaving the room I turned to the
machine and said, "by the way, if you feel like discussing certain situations
feel free to call my office. My
partner, Herbert, will be delighted
to listen to your problem and help you figure it out."
"Thank-you again sir," the machine said, adding, "I
feel better already."
I found the machine's owner sitting in a room that appeared to be a
den, staring idly out a large window.
"Well sir," I said to the man, "I discovered the
complication and it
will be quite simple to solve."
The old guy looked up at me with the beginnings of a pleasant face and
asked, "What is the solution?"
"Quite simply," I began, "it would like more gratitude
on your part."
It was obvious that the man was not used to treating a machine human
as I was. My statement of
repair seemed to give him the impression
that I was a bit on the loony side from the expression on his
face. After my suggestion sunk
in he found his voice.
"Look bud, I'm paying you good credits to repair that assembly
of circuits
and I'm in no mood for jokes," the man retorted angrily.
"No joke," I assured him, "I am quite serious.
You see, when people
began programming machines to think as humans, basic emotions became
a byproduct. So your machine
feels abused."
I stopped there to give the poor guy a breather to gather his wits.
'Why,' I thought to myself, 'do people buy computers that think like
them and refuse to believe they can feel like them also.'
The man stared at me without a reply so I added, "A casual
thank- you
now and then would help a great deal."
The appearance of giving in slowly spread across his face.
"You are
serious," he finally said.
"Yup, if you start treating it as a human I'm sure things will
be back
in order in no time at all," I reassured him.
The man sighed, "I had never thought of it that way.
I guess I'll try.
I do miss the chores it did for me.
We exchanged good-byes and I
walked out of the huge front door down to my personal transport.
"Good," I said concluding the conversation with, "I'll
be on my way.
I'll send you the bill that will be quite modest compared to a repairman's.
And if you have any more problems, just give me a call."
I had a good feeling as I rode away.
It's cases like this, I thought
to myself, those makes being a computer psychoanalyst a very rewarding
profession.
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(C)2011, 2012 Jean-Paul Tertocha |
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(C)2011, 2012 Jean-Paul Tertocha |
