Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Thursday, March 19, 2009
We made a mistake
It's been a long time since I posted a link to a short story but this one is probably one of the best ones that I've read in a while.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
More Stories
Been reading more of them on 365 tomorrows.
All quite short (less than 600 words) and some of them are quite decent.
Some of my favorites so far:
Birthday Boy
Take Me To Your Leader
A Mother's love
Turing Test (if you don't know what a turing test is, here's the wikipedia entry)
All quite short (less than 600 words) and some of them are quite decent.
Some of my favorites so far:
Birthday Boy
Take Me To Your Leader
A Mother's love
Turing Test (if you don't know what a turing test is, here's the wikipedia entry)
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
What Is Intelligence?
What is intelligence, anyway? When I was in the army, I received the kind of aptitude test that all soldiers took and, against a normal of 100, scored 160. No one at the base had ever seen a figure like that, and for two hours they made a big fuss over me. (It didn't mean anything. The next day I was still a buck private with KP - kitchen police - as my highest duty.)
All my life I've been registering scores like that, so that I have the complacent feeling that I'm highly intelligent, and I expect other people to think so too. Actually, though, don't such scores simply mean that I am very good at answering the type of academic questions that are considered worthy of answers by people who make up the intelligence tests - people with intellectual bents similar to mine?
For instance, I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles - and he always fixed my car.
Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I'd prove myself a moron, and I'd be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.
Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: "Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?"
Indulgently, I lifted by right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, "Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them." Then he said smugly, "I've been trying that on all my customers today." "Did you catch many?" I asked. "Quite a few," he said, "but I knew for sure I'd catch you." "Why is that?" I asked. "Because you're so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn't be very smart."
And I have an uneasy feeling he had something there.
- Isaac Asimov
All my life I've been registering scores like that, so that I have the complacent feeling that I'm highly intelligent, and I expect other people to think so too. Actually, though, don't such scores simply mean that I am very good at answering the type of academic questions that are considered worthy of answers by people who make up the intelligence tests - people with intellectual bents similar to mine?
For instance, I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles - and he always fixed my car.
Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I'd prove myself a moron, and I'd be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.
Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: "Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?"
Indulgently, I lifted by right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, "Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them." Then he said smugly, "I've been trying that on all my customers today." "Did you catch many?" I asked. "Quite a few," he said, "but I knew for sure I'd catch you." "Why is that?" I asked. "Because you're so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn't be very smart."
And I have an uneasy feeling he had something there.
- Isaac Asimov
Sunday, January 13, 2008
The Seventh Night
It was dark and quiet. This is never a good combination, and is usually a sign that bad things are about to happen. This night would be no different.
A figure sat perched on the wall of the palace. The darkness veiled his tabard but could not conceal his eyes. The brown eyes peered out into the night, watching. He seemed like he was ready to leap at any moments from the shadows where he clearly belonged.
Then a faint sound pierced the silence that had comforted the night. It was caused by a rock tumbling ever so slightly from an abandoned building adjacent to the palace. Within a heartbeat the figure on the palace walls was gone, leaping from roof to roof. A second figure appeared in the night sky, springing up from the abandoned building. This one had caused the sound of the falling rock. And as his cover had been blown and a pursuer entered the equation, he started out in a dead run. The black-clad figure raced away from the scene of his unveiling and the creature from the shadows chased him over the rooftops. The one who had remained so silent in waiting, was now in full dash and started gaining on the assailant in black. But before he could gain, his prey jumped down and crashed into an unoccupied cart. The black-clad man rolled out of the debris and broke out in a flat run. His pursuer, still on the roof headed back in a different direction. The unknown assailant hurried through the streets, looking back but not seeing his pursuer. As he glanced back he saw the man in the tabard jump down from a nearby roof in front of him, tumbling to get up in one swift motion. As the figure in the tabard stood up, two daggers appeared in his hands. As this was a creature of the shadows, so were his daggers dark as black and they shimmered in a fleeting wind.
The black-clad figure just stopped in fear, savouring what he thought was his last few moments, but then decided that running seemed like a better option. He dashed away, straight into an alley. He didn’t look back anymore; he just wanted to get away. The alley ended and he ended up in a new street. Only here he was expected, ten palace guards awaited him with their swords drawn. The black-clad figure raised his hands in surrender as the figure in the tabard coming up behind him.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got him, sir’ one of the guards said towards the newly arrived figure.
‘Good, search him’ he answered back. Feuntes swiped away some dust from his tabard, he probably could never get used to wearing the king’s colours. Even though it seamed only a while ago that he sailed across the world, having adventures in strange foreign countries, actually a few years had already passed. And now he was head of the palace guard, protecting the king with his life.
‘Sir’ the guard said as he handed over a yellow envelope just recovered from the black-clad figure. This is what Feuntes had feared. A number of murders had happened in Vaticine city over the past few days, each time a yellow envelope had been left. The envelope was empty but the message was clear. And now an assailant had tried to sneak into the palace carrying such an envelope.
‘Take him in for questioning’ Feuntes told the guards. He had enjoyed himself jumping over the roofs, chasing down the bad guys. But now it was time for more serious work. This is what he did now.
A figure sat perched on the wall of the palace. The darkness veiled his tabard but could not conceal his eyes. The brown eyes peered out into the night, watching. He seemed like he was ready to leap at any moments from the shadows where he clearly belonged.
Then a faint sound pierced the silence that had comforted the night. It was caused by a rock tumbling ever so slightly from an abandoned building adjacent to the palace. Within a heartbeat the figure on the palace walls was gone, leaping from roof to roof. A second figure appeared in the night sky, springing up from the abandoned building. This one had caused the sound of the falling rock. And as his cover had been blown and a pursuer entered the equation, he started out in a dead run. The black-clad figure raced away from the scene of his unveiling and the creature from the shadows chased him over the rooftops. The one who had remained so silent in waiting, was now in full dash and started gaining on the assailant in black. But before he could gain, his prey jumped down and crashed into an unoccupied cart. The black-clad man rolled out of the debris and broke out in a flat run. His pursuer, still on the roof headed back in a different direction. The unknown assailant hurried through the streets, looking back but not seeing his pursuer. As he glanced back he saw the man in the tabard jump down from a nearby roof in front of him, tumbling to get up in one swift motion. As the figure in the tabard stood up, two daggers appeared in his hands. As this was a creature of the shadows, so were his daggers dark as black and they shimmered in a fleeting wind.
The black-clad figure just stopped in fear, savouring what he thought was his last few moments, but then decided that running seemed like a better option. He dashed away, straight into an alley. He didn’t look back anymore; he just wanted to get away. The alley ended and he ended up in a new street. Only here he was expected, ten palace guards awaited him with their swords drawn. The black-clad figure raised his hands in surrender as the figure in the tabard coming up behind him.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got him, sir’ one of the guards said towards the newly arrived figure.
‘Good, search him’ he answered back. Feuntes swiped away some dust from his tabard, he probably could never get used to wearing the king’s colours. Even though it seamed only a while ago that he sailed across the world, having adventures in strange foreign countries, actually a few years had already passed. And now he was head of the palace guard, protecting the king with his life.
‘Sir’ the guard said as he handed over a yellow envelope just recovered from the black-clad figure. This is what Feuntes had feared. A number of murders had happened in Vaticine city over the past few days, each time a yellow envelope had been left. The envelope was empty but the message was clear. And now an assailant had tried to sneak into the palace carrying such an envelope.
‘Take him in for questioning’ Feuntes told the guards. He had enjoyed himself jumping over the roofs, chasing down the bad guys. But now it was time for more serious work. This is what he did now.
The Seventh Night commentary
Just a few notes about the post above this one.
This is a short story I wrote in under an hour about a character that I once had in a 7th roleplay. It was quite possibly one of my favourite characters and I felt a little sorry to retire him.
I have a new character in that campaign now, who will have to live up to the previous one. But I still wanted to make a sort of epilogue to the story of Fuentes (I actually also still need to write his background...). I'm not sure if I'll continue this story, depends kind of what I feel like writing.
I post the story here as I intended to use this blog as a kind of repository for short stories I write and some info about the campaigns I'm in. The other things are just fluff (though it seems to have grown in size).
I hope this story is the first in many.
This is a short story I wrote in under an hour about a character that I once had in a 7th roleplay. It was quite possibly one of my favourite characters and I felt a little sorry to retire him.
I have a new character in that campaign now, who will have to live up to the previous one. But I still wanted to make a sort of epilogue to the story of Fuentes (I actually also still need to write his background...). I'm not sure if I'll continue this story, depends kind of what I feel like writing.
I post the story here as I intended to use this blog as a kind of repository for short stories I write and some info about the campaigns I'm in. The other things are just fluff (though it seems to have grown in size).
I hope this story is the first in many.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Answer
Another short story:
Dwan Ev ceremoniously soldered the final connection with gold. The eyes of a dozen television cameras watched him and the subether bore throughout the universe a dozen pictures of what he was doing.
He straightened and nodded to Dwar Reyn, then moved to a position beside the switch that would complete the contact when he threw it. The switch that would connect, all at once, all of the monster computing machines of all the populated planets in the universe -- ninety-six billion planets -- into the supercircuit that would connect them all into one supercalculator, one cybernetics machine that would combine all the knowledge of all the galaxies.
Dwar Reyn spoke briefly to the watching and listening trillions. Then after a moment's silence he said, "Now, Dwar Ev."
Dwar Ev threw the switch. There was a mighty hum, the surge of power from ninety-six billion planets. Lights flashed and quieted along the miles-long panel.
Dwar Ev stepped back and drew a deep breath. "The honor of asking the first question is yours, Dwar Reyn."
"Thank you," said Dwar Reyn. "It shall be a question which no single cybernetics machine has been able to answer."
He turned to face the machine. "Is there a God?"
The mighty voice answered without hesitation, without the clicking of a single relay.
"Yes, now there is a God."
Sudden fear flashed on the face of Dwar Ev. He leaped to grab the switch.
A bolt of lightning from the cloudless sky struck him down and fused the switch shut.
(Fredric Brown, "Answer")
Dwan Ev ceremoniously soldered the final connection with gold. The eyes of a dozen television cameras watched him and the subether bore throughout the universe a dozen pictures of what he was doing.
He straightened and nodded to Dwar Reyn, then moved to a position beside the switch that would complete the contact when he threw it. The switch that would connect, all at once, all of the monster computing machines of all the populated planets in the universe -- ninety-six billion planets -- into the supercircuit that would connect them all into one supercalculator, one cybernetics machine that would combine all the knowledge of all the galaxies.
Dwar Reyn spoke briefly to the watching and listening trillions. Then after a moment's silence he said, "Now, Dwar Ev."
Dwar Ev threw the switch. There was a mighty hum, the surge of power from ninety-six billion planets. Lights flashed and quieted along the miles-long panel.
Dwar Ev stepped back and drew a deep breath. "The honor of asking the first question is yours, Dwar Reyn."
"Thank you," said Dwar Reyn. "It shall be a question which no single cybernetics machine has been able to answer."
He turned to face the machine. "Is there a God?"
The mighty voice answered without hesitation, without the clicking of a single relay.
"Yes, now there is a God."
Sudden fear flashed on the face of Dwar Ev. He leaped to grab the switch.
A bolt of lightning from the cloudless sky struck him down and fused the switch shut.
(Fredric Brown, "Answer")
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Last Question
I found this short story online by Isaac Asimov, I'd already read it a few years ago but felt like reading it again. After reading the ending, I remembered why I liked Isaac Asimov's stories. So definitely worth a read, even if you've already read it.
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