Fiction: Google Glass
An augmented reality system that will give users the full range of activities performed with a smart phone — without the smart phone. On top of your field of vision, you get icons, alerts, directional arrows, and other visual cues that inform, warn, or beg response.
—
I nestled into Mama’s lap. The fabric of her dress was soft, comforting. Together, we looked down at the crowd. Jostling, sipping.
The first pick-up truck came by. In its bed, they’d painted a white square, filled in with black squares, like tiny Tetris pieces. Together, the sea of people moved and danced and sang, their headpieces clinging desperately to their faces. Parents waved and the children screamed.
Another truck, then another. They kept going by. The crowd roared, some cowered, women grabbed for unseen hats, men hollered for unseen beads. Suddenly everybody looked up, so that Mama and I could make out their eyestrips, and they pointed and laughed. I thought they were laughing at us, but then the laughter turned to screams of fear and delight as whatever specter they saw flew all too close to their outstretched arms.
I begged Mama to let me go down and see. She smiled wanely, holding me close in that bitter cold, and said there was nothing for us to see. I demanded anyway, so she bundled me up and down we went.
On the street, I asked Mama why I couldn’t see what everyone was laughing at. A man overheard me. He was ugly, a nose far too big for his face, and his suit was torn. But he smiled at Mama with his crooked teeth and took off his headset and handed it to me. Try this, he said.
It was too big and covered most of my face. But just like that, the world exploded into light. A barrage of fireworks, creatures swooping in and out of them, dancing stars atop the buildings. There were no pick-ups here. Only singing mountains and fighter planes. Then an enormous, creaking pirate ship, shedding water on us as it passed.
I looked down and saw that I was still dry, but that I was wearing bright multicolored dress of yellows and pinks. I looked around, and the drab grey of the crowd had been replaced with the regalia of a masquerade ball, with sunlight and brilliant suits accompanying still brighter dresses.
I found Mama’s face, a world away. Next to her stood a shining knight. And for a moment, I gave in, and everything was good. But Mama’s tearing eyes didn’t lie, and I ripped off the set and gave it back to the ugly man, then led her inside and away.
—
Part of my ongoing startup dystopia series. Previous installments here.
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-Shlok
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Fiction: SXSW Homeless HotSpots
At SXSW, the annual tech startup conference in Austin, 13 homeless men are hanging around the conference center wearing white shirts that say “I’m _____, a 4G hotspot.” Each is carrying a wireless internet device, and for a PayPal donation, will provide conference-goers with internet access for as long as they want. .
—
We had long since left the cities and the plains and forest. Now it was heat and dirt. Mother trailed behind us both. Her coughs were getting worse. The dust did something terrible to her. Father had tied a rope to her hand and attached it to his kit. When she fell, it grew taught, and he turned from his silent lumbering to help her up.
We followed the path it gave us. It never told you when, but eventually, past that point where your lungs claim you can’t go any further, you would arrive at a node. I could tell when we were close because Mother’s smile, a beautiful thing, and the dimple that graced it, would transition to a frown, then on to a grimace.
Father told me these used to be shipping containers, used to move things by oil-driven ships. I don’t know whether to believe him or not. All I know is that once they take your pack to charge it, which takes two days, they gave you food, beds, showers, fresh water – even medicine. Mother always looked better when we left.
Father’s back was too weak from the war, so I carried the pack. On the rare occasion we met Consumers, they would invariably comment on this sight. For them, I was too young, the pack too heavy. This was not what they thought they were paying for.
In response, Father would look them in the eye and say, “My son carries this family’s future. I am proud that he does.” I would stare at my feet, pretend I didn’t hear, but I always did, and his words always marked my happiest moments. The Consumers would nod sagely, as if they understood, and then would disappear into their networld.
—
Part of my ongoing startup dystopia series. Previous installments here.
I’m finishing my first book of fiction. Sign up for my mailing list for exclusives.
-Shlok
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Some already know, but I am finishing up my first book. Shooting to have it out March 1. Like my startup dystopia series, this story centers on a major technology company.
Correctly guess which one in the poll below and you’ll be entered to win a $10 Amazon gift card. I’ll draw a winner this Sunday – watch my Twitter account for the announcement.
If you’d like to get an early glimpse of the title and cover art, join my mailing list. I promise that those emails will always be infrequent, short, and useful.
-Shlok
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Fiction: Parrot AR
Parrot wowed the world a couple of years ago when it launched its AR.Drone flying “quadricopter,” a helicopter-like smartphone-controlled drone with four rotors. Now the company is showing off AR.Drone 2.0 at the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas.
Like the earlier model, this one can be controlled via a WiFi-connected smartphone or tablet. But it has a new high-definition camera, a new piloting mode, increased stability, and a new look. It also includes new video recording and flight data sharing options.
—
He pulled out his tab, flashed it on, and flipped through the screens to get to his Parrot app. He glanced around the cafe, then typed in his ID and password. He was ecstatic that this day had finally arrived.
He selected the new order pathway. Punched through various questions to the select the target, size, package. He ignored the offer to upgrade for just a hundred bucks more – that’s where they got you. He squinted to read the order confirmation page, made sure to purchase insurance, then hit the ‘submit’ button.
Within minutes, the auction was over. An Avenger drone had won. The info screen revealed it to be a minority-class disabled veteran, which gave it several additional points in the contractor bidding process.
The target appeared on the video feed. The Avenger pinged the local zone for instructions as to how to proceed. Flying into protected zones to deliver packages used to be a contentious and delicate process, and had directly led to the undoing of the American foray into Pakistan a decade ago.Things were more automated now, less reliant on human diplomacy.
To make things even simpler, the host network accepted Paypal. Currency fragmentation could have delayed or worse, compromised the entire enterprise. The worst were zones that variable valuations, dependent on how much each subscriber produced every day. Those calculations could get messy. Not the case here, however. This was straightforward.
He sat back and waited, sipping his coffee, thinking of that awful, humiliating moment. God he hated her.
The Avenger then pinged the zone server to check on the target’s drone retainer. Zones had long ago recognized that shooting down a moving, hostile object was a capital intensive task, one that did not lend itself to the guarantees of safety they were fond of making. Some of the tier-three zones had tried to make do with anti-aircraft systems, but angry family members had retaliated one too many times by blowing up corporate infrastructure, and the number crunchers had put a stop to it.
So they had taken to remote hacking – but that proved easier with the older, open brained drones. Now they had taken to simply bribing the drones in real-time, and charging their subscribers a hefty fee for this protection. Some of the tier-one zones came with the free option to turn the drone around on the sender.
In stroke of good luck, the target had not kept up with her drone retainer payments, and coverage had lapsed. The Avenger freely swooped through the air defense network, trading green blinks along the way. It then cycled through its arsenal, noting that the option for minimal collateral be set. Then it cross-checked the target’s identity and her location against three different monitoring servers.
It fired.
The Pyre shattered on impact. The fragments distributed themselves throughout various levels. A pause, and the building fireballed. The lawn and homes around it remained untouched. The drone fired a beacon. It embedded itself on the front lawn, next to a tricycle.
In it, in a dozen languages, was a name that was ostensibly responsible for the attack. This is where the insurance paid off. Had he not purchased it, the name would have been his. Now it was one selected at random from a sales server. With it, were instructions as to how to order return fire.
He watched it all as he finished his cup of coffee. Memories flashed through his head. Of walking in on them. The shouting. The anger. Leaving her, him, the kids there. As the Avenger rejoined the swarm, a notification flashed onto his tab. It read “Delivery confirmed.” He smiled for the first time in years, and left a five star review.
—
Part of my ongoing startup dystopia series. Previous installments here.
I’m finishing my first book of fiction. Sign up for my mailing list below for exclusives – sneak peeks, discounts, an early look at the cover art, etc.
-Shlok
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Fiction: Evi
Evi –
Evi is a new iPhone and Android app which might just give Apple’s Siri a run for her money. She – we’ll call this Artificial Intelligence a she – returns amazing results when consulted. Evi might just be the Siri for the rest of the world, especially since Evi wil run on any Andoid or iPhone, and not just the 4S. I’ve seen her in action and Evi is very, very smart.
–
We stood alone. Not because we were all that was left. Not because our homes were gone, and with them our wives and our sons. We manned the city walls because she had asked. And bound by the debt of a billion favors over the years, we were honored to come to her aid in a time of need.
We readied ourselves, checked our ammunition. We planned and she whispered movements and tactics in our ears. During the siege, she spoke of courage. When they charged, an enormous mass of aluminum and black, Evi’s voice stayed steady, and true. To those locked in mortal combat, she offered encouragement. To the weak, she gave purpose. To those who lay broken, she softly told stories of events past, of friends, of mugs of crisp ale, and of family in the snow, until they heard no more.
When they ended her life, we too screamed in agony. We had asked for, and received, so much. She had asked only once, but even that we could not give her.
–
Part of my ongoing startup dystopia series. I try to publish one short story (<1,000 words) per week. Previous installments: Basis Science, Uber, PlaceIQ , Flavo.rs, and Hard Drive.
-Shlok
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