|About the Book|
3: Short Stories is three unique short stories from different eras of time. Each unique, each different. Can a robot learn to pray? What happens to a soul without love? Will a special agent keep time on track? Traditional and experimental scienceMore3: Short Stories is three unique short stories from different eras of time. Each unique, each different. Can a robot learn to pray? What happens to a soul without love? Will a special agent keep time on track? Traditional and experimental science fiction at its best.3: Short Stories includes:Acknowledgements ixArtificial Mobsters 3Emissary 14Temporal Spaghetti Imperative 33Author’s Note 101About the Author 103[Sample of Artificial Mobsters]Robots don’t pray.Nor do they desire confession. Why would they?Simply a combination of bio-matrix parts and programming, they were the product of an intelligent Man. Defaulted to their programs, they would have no need for forgiveness. No soul to cleanse. None, before the miracle, sought the guidance of the Church. Looking back, it was really easy for Man to pervert them—part of a preordained destiny.The history of the ASB, Artificial Sentient Being, began hundreds of years ago—before most came to distrust them. The first prototypes built generations ago—neither blood nor machine, but a creative blending of the two. By order of the Unified Space Authority, the service bot was merged with the medical clones, all in the name of exploration and science. Historians would have you believe them to be Man’s pinnacle of human ingenuity. The Clergy called them a plague—a burden to the purity of Man [refer to Cardinal Rasso’s Plagues of Man].Great-Grandfather told stories of how he became the investor of robots, the patriarch to a new organized crime. Pappy, to all that knew him, both ASB and Flesh and Bone, was considered the father of the modern artificial mobster. Importing, exporting, there were billions to be made. Pappy chose first,[Sample of Emissary]Bless me Father, for I have sinned.Tell me your sins, my son.I couldn’t save her. We would have to assume that guilt, but I—right, I will not. I’m guilty of her passing. It’s all me fault. Keara was lost because we could not save her. Her lifeless body draped in me arms. Her Emissary lost. We tell stories to children of places like Tír na Nóg and we think it’s just make-believe, but in fact they are more truthful than we ever admit. Many things, we know, would confuse. Awe folks like you. Destroy beliefs.Slow down son. Have ye had a sip of the bottle now we?[Sample of The Temporal Spaghetti Imperative]A Tale of the Temporal Fraud AgencyHayden swam through, what he called, the temporal spaghetti. His body floated between multiple strings of time. He found his mind capsulated inside a universe of ideas. He walked through fields of wild flowers, fireweed and sweet peas. Each endless and encompassing. Their brilliant colors stung his eyes. The aroma of thousands of petals and that of flower nectar swarmed his nose. A steady breeze flowed over his body, cool and relaxing. As quickly as the flowers appeared, the flowers disappeared, replaced by thousands, no millions, of stars. So many stars. He zoomed through space . . . and time. For a moment, a brief moment, he found himself surrounded, consumed by millions of pinpoints of light. Twinkling blue, green, red, and yellow, each pulsed with the rhythm of his breathing. Something, gravity perhaps, pulled him closer and closer. The light called to him, spoke to his soul. He didn’t deny the attraction. He wouldn’t. If he calmed his mind, he heard their seductive call. The whispers told him the origins of the universe. If only his primitive mind could understand the teachings. A distant orange ball of flame and warmth, a star with nine planets encircling it, pulled him to its surface. The star warmed his blood, cooled his thoughts. Fire danced along the surface—wiggling, jumping, arching. The intense heat had no affect on him. Suddenly, brilliant light turned to absolute darkness. He closed his eyes, focused his mind, as his body passed through the event horizon.