Ighnot's Stories

How could we possibly run out?

2007-10-30T15:27:38Z

“Today’s lesson, then,” Boro announced. He took his place behind the control podium. The class fell silent, recent drama forgotten. Lights dimmed to utter blackness and the atmoseal engaged. Alice heard the hiss of hypnogas, and dreaded the bitter taste that would linger in the back of her throat. She leaned back into the desk’s cradle and felt the wire snake into the back of her head. She breathed in sharply. For a moment, total nothingness.

Suddenly, the room sparkled like the inside of a geode. None of the students could be seen. They were all being fed the same vision. The room erupted into activity, showing a 3d motif—historical images of the Quest for Energy. Boro’s voice could be heard over it all, like the voice of God. “Before leaving Earth, we used the Ring of Fire to provide energy while Hydrogen Fusion was being developed. Once HF became commonplace, 300 years ago, the amount of energy available to us was no longer an issue. It was the rate we began to use energy that became a problem.”

Hot potato

2007-10-20T14:07:04Z

Canton decided to step around Dr. Ingres and warn the tech at the next station. Mira loved secrets, anyway.

“Martin’s coming, and he’s in rare form today,” whispered Canton. He looked to confirm Ingres was still absorbed at his terminal, entering today’s data, muttering to himself, little ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s…

“What do you mean,” whispered Mira, conspiratorially. Canton’s tone excited her. She turned to find her Doctor. He was in the hall. She relaxed a bit. “Is this a tech-to-tech thing?”

“If keeping your job matters to you. Look, we nailed him with the usual routine that sends them out gibbering idiots, only this time he asked for seconds, and thirds, and Ingres gave it to him. Not a twitch. Your chamber’s Education2. No safety interlocks like we have in Stress4. Just be aware, and be careful.” A pause, some muffled conversation. Then, in a loud tone of voice, “Okay, see you at lunch, then.” Click.

Mira saw the light go green, and her doctor was back. She pushed the button to open the door.

Typical classroom BS, no matter what age you live in...

2007-10-19T21:46:50Z

Boro was the typical first-gen, with no sympathy for gen3s. He made up for his physical frailty with vitriol. Alice was about to suffer from that tendency. Again.

“Administrator 3rd class. Is that beneath you, Alice? Is that why you’ve decided to grace us with your presence ten minutes late?” Boro had that well-practiced smug expression on his face that made Alice think violent thoughts.

“No, sir,” Alice muttered, as she sidled her way into her assigned row between whispering children. “I’m honored to have been assigned the position, and will strive to fulfill my role in the coming society on newEarth,” she droned, mechanically. She hoped it would be enough. She had no time for this BS right now. She needed to get herself injected into the stream in time for nextMeet, and had no time for feeding some old fart’s ego.

“I know who were assigned parentage to you, and though they have their own problems, I can add to them significantly, should you trouble me further,” warned Boro. And then that smile.

Give me a break.

2007-10-19T21:17:47Z

Susan tried to fight her urge to slap him. She had to fight that often. She did NOT expect to see him as far in as downtown. How had he gotten here? He must be camping out. She had no idea how right she was. The man had truly lost everything, and was literally camping out on her doorstep.

She lost her sense of pity. “Oh, is that me?” she demanded. “Am I what’s yours? And what did you think, that you could just show up now, when you’ve already lost me? You think this last-minute shit’s gonna redeem you? I’m smarter than that. This shows me you always coulda’ been here for me, but no, you had to hang out with your friends, getting high. Showing up now is ‘too little too late,’ asshole.”

“People change.” He stood there, wavering, hardly able to stand in her presence and under the influence of his old friend JB. “I may be late, but it’s not too little, is it?” He took something out of his pocket, something small and black, and hinged, and cliche’.

I get hit, NOT, and not like Borat says it...

2007-10-19T16:59:33Z

I’m Ighnot, pronounced “ig’-not,” and I’ve found this name to be very, very not taken everywhere I go. It’s sheer convenience and habit, really. How it was established is a funny, perhaps boring, story related to my job.

I joined the Air Force years ago, and you have to have a nickname in the military. At the time I joined, Silence of the Lambs was a popular hit movie, and my last name sounds very close to “Lecter,” as in Hannibal Lecter. So for a while there I was Hannibal. Then the movie Hannibal came out. Before then, if I named myself Hannibal in a video game (games are a big thing in my life), it wasn’t normally taken. After Hannibal, that changed.

I mentioned to a co-programmer at work that I had this problem, and we divised Ighnot from an obscure wiring diagram of the inner workings of the AWACS Radar System, on which I was a technician at the time. The signal name was “I get hit,” signifying a target candidate, and it was a “notted,” or inverted, signal as well. “Ighnot” was born.

A new pet

2007-10-18T17:00:24Z

Claire tried to control herself. Her breathing was rapid. Her heart rate had to be close to redline. The rapid beats seemed to merge into one long rattle that made her ears roar.

She found herself, in an instant framed by lifting a spoon of Frosted Mini Wheats to her mouth while watching House on TiVo, to now, 1500 feet in the air, in her nightgown, in a clear, tear-shaped bubble, with a dribble of milk on her chin. She was pretty sure she recognized her house at nadir. She was stationary. Other than the roar in her ears and her breathing, it was dead silent.

And that wasn’t all. Just below her and a bit northward, an impossibly-sized half-naked man was ravaging Atlanta like a toddler tear-assing through sandcastles on the beach. His head was near her level. He was quite handsome, really.

Yeah, this day was shaping up to be pretty darn interesting. Thoughts of work pressures evaporated. Some strange part of her thought, “Well, I only thought I had problems.”

Aman turned, and moved toward her.

The glass shoe fits

2007-10-18T16:37:19Z

Doctor Ingres leaned forward, keying the com with his finger while moving his lips close to the mic. “Exit.”

Martin, on autopilot, half-lidded, abruptly stood and turned toward the door in the back of the room. He plodded out into the narrow hallway and moved toward the next station, seeing nothing.

Ingres turned to his colleague. “Was I reading that right, Canton? Maybe the sensors were misplaced, or loose-”

“No,” interrupted Canton, “I double-checked. We gave him nine. No system toggles at the transition states, either. Like it wasn’t happening.”

“But, there was definitely REM once he was in. He was seeing it. How could he not…” Ingres, at a loss for words for once, began writing, filling in today’s test form. To Canton, he seemed overly absorbed with it all of a sudden.

“What do we do? Just move to the next one? Don’t we have to call someone? Shouldn’t we?”

Ingres spoke carefully. “Wait until we see it again tomorrow. No way we found someone after a month of testing. It’s a glitch.”

A day in the life of a robot surgeon

2007-10-18T00:28:51Z

That did not just happen. Electrons were trickling out of the wire into open space, simply obeying physical laws, oblivious of the impact on stressed sentient beings hovering around the operating table.

Daniel squinted his eyes tightly until he saw white stars. It hadn’t worked before, but maybe it would work this time.

Eyes open, twinge of hope. Nope. Fucking nope.

He looked down at the mess before him. This was like defusing a bomb. It was just as complicated, so it wasn’t his fault for failing, was it? Yes, it was, you shit. Stop rationalizing and save some lives. Or wallow in self-pity some more and lose a hundred. Just metal, anyway, right?

Back on track. Focus.

Daniel took another look at the colorful tangle of wires, like arteries and veins, pulsing desperately, attempting to maintain faux-consciousness in the blue-brain at the head of this model. He knew that ten or twenty families’ welfare depended on this being’s survival. Instead of giving him power, this knowledge made his knees buckle.

Carrying out Father's wishes

2007-10-11T18:05:52Z

With a flick of his wrist, the young god Aman toppled the tallest building in the city. Great clouds went up from the collapsed structure, and the screams of thousands merged into one long, eerie wail that he could barely hear. The men walking the streets with the end-of-the-world signs were right. They just didn’t know how right.

Some work remained, though “work” was a generous description for his favorite activity. He was happy Father had sent him to this unfaithful place. He had a secret desire for women of this species. They were simply incredible, and surprisingly complacent when fearful. His agitation upon hearing of this world’s non-compliance with Father’s wishes was entirely feigned.

Father would want a full, detailed report, of course, and he would be happy to give it, but a few things would be left out. Being a god, Aman knew, in the way that gods simply knew, that 5,358 beings had died so far during this punishment visitation. Aman would save one. Father didn’t need to know about that.

Death of a graphic

2007-10-09T17:29:11Z

Through the open office door, a conversation could be heard. The murmuring got louder quite suddenly.
“Too green! Aah! Ugly! Undo! Undo it, quick!”
“Oh, fudge. I, uh, I think I can’t undo it.”
“What? Well, fix it! Replace that color with something else!”
“I can’t. It wasn’t layered. There’s nothing I can do.”
“How, what—you said you could do this!”
”...”
“I’m wasting my time with you. It looked so promising, and you messed it up! I don’t believe it…”
“You don’t have to pay me, I-”
“Oh, you think? Yeah, thanks for that, and thanks for nothing. Get out of here!”
“But-”
“Out!”

With a hurried rustle of coat, umbrella, and supplies, the man hurried out of the office, one sheet of paper fluttering out of his briefcase and onto the ground, unnoticed.
“That’s the last time I do any work in front of the client,” thought Martin. “Now I’ll have one more mess to clean up,” and he set about planning her murder.
People really needed to think before they spoke. He’d made every effort to be nice to her.

Take Back

2007-10-03T16:59:24Z

“Who are you talking to?”
“What?” He noticed he was lying down. He sat up. The cap was loose on his bottle, and a few precious drops had been lost, quickly evaporating on the hot concrete. He tightened it hastily, nearly spilling more in the process. “What did you say?”
“You were just yelling a bunch of nonsense. Sounded like a f-d up conversation to me,” she slurred, getting to her feet. “I’m doing my rounds. You want anything?”
“No, I think I’m sick. Don’t want nothin’. What was I sayin’?”
“Some shit about a piano, I dunno.” Velma, a 22-year old street walker, got to her feet slowly, like an old lady. She stretched, holding her lower back. “My dogs is killin’ me. You need to get out from under here, J. Do ya good. Quit yer mopin’.”
“Right.” Jonathon wondered what time it was. He wistfully watched Velma walk away, working those hips. There was a time he didn’t have to pay for that.
“Time to take back what’s mine,” he thought, as he walked up out of the culvert onto the New York street.

Push back

2007-10-02T20:33:13Z

Do you stop to think of me the way I stop to think of you? Do you lose your ability to concentrate, get that thousand-yard stare, and stop being a good listener? That’s what I do. I’d be embarrassed to find out that you don’t have this problem, so I think I’d rather not know. Let’s go with that, though, ‘cause you know how I love pain and drama—let’s imagine you’re somehow able to go on with all your life’s various details lined up just so, all your ducks in a row, with the house in suburbia, the white picket fence, spouse, kid, the whole thing. I’ve done that, too, you know. Still, you come back. And no, you don’t haunt me. Please. Ghosts do that. They aren’t around any more. I know you’re still somewhere, doing something. So, “haunt” doesn’t come close to what you do. Leave me alone, will you? Or tell me how to leave “it” alone. How do you do it? How do you go on like we never happened? Am I assuming too much to think you aren’t, or am I flattering myself too much when I ask?

Sans Terif

2007-10-02T17:18:09Z

This was unprecedented. The things that used to frighten Martin no longer had an effect on him. Success? The doctors couldn’t illicit a response at stimulus level 9. This was with Martin’s latest scans on record, so they knew they were using the big guns. Martin’s heart rate never went over 60.

He wasn’t bio-parented, so he had no rights. The fact that he even had a name was unusual. It doesn’t seem right to name something you’re essentially going to torture.

He was in a dental-looking chair with medal appendages fanning out over his head. Lights winked on and off, and soft, rythmic beeps reported that his physiology was maintaining its current docile patterns. It was very quiet. He stared straight ahead, into the dark, tight little room, and regarded the scene in his head.

For a time, he sat, half-lidded and unmoving, processing information.

What he saw would cause any normal, socially well-injected person to permanently lose the ability to speak.

Event horizon

2007-10-02T15:31:12Z

The seed was huge, roughly the length and breadth of Manhattan Island, and in it rested the future of the quest for energy. The people living on it, or rather, in it, knew what they were getting into, both literally and figuratively. They could never emerge. They made that choice. Those born after them had no hand in that choice.

If you grew up there, you had no frame of reference, so you didn’t really know how small your world was. You didn’t feel a sense of loss when you harkened back to life on an actual planet’s surface. You never had that privilege, so you “never knew any better.” This is often the lamentation of the first gens who are still alive. “No appreciation” for what was given up.

You were living in a pod skirting the edge of the event horizon of a Class IV black hole. In the time it took you to brush your teeth at cycleStart, majestic civilizations rose and fell elsewhere.

All Alice knew was that she was late for school and didn’t have time to brush.