The Red Kimono

The Red Kimono

The Red Kimono

A collection of Science Fiction

stories

By Mark Stattelman

Copyright © 2020 Mark Stattelman

All rights reserved

I would very much like to thank KIM+ONO for generously allowing me the use of one of their photos in the creation of the cover design for this book. I encourage anyone looking for a kimono to visit their site. They have a wide and luxurious selection of beautiful kimonos.

Though KIM+ONO allowed me the use of the photo from which I created the cover, they in no way are responsible for the content of this book. Any opinions, assertions, expressions, reflections, or ideas contained herein are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of KIM+ONO in any way.

The Red Kimono

It is the A.I.’s method of eliciting information, gathering intelligence . . . And it is very effective!

Table of Contents

The Mechanicals

Resonance Shift

The Chair

She

City of Spiders

The Conduit

Lost Between Holden Caulfield and Walter Mitty

Empathy

October 1962

All Possible Worlds

The Safety of the Corrtu

Club Alhambra

The Red Kimono

The Mechanicals

THEY WERE A SWARM OF bird-like drones. People referred to them as The Mechanicals. The drones, these mechanicals, were to fly, and to keep flying. What was their purpose? It was to sustain life, human life. Certain of these birds held the key. Only one per twenty, probably, and no one knew exactly which bird, or mechanical held this key. What was the key? It was DNA, human DNA. It was not just DNA from one person, but DNA collected from many, from many ethnicities. Those who had started this venture, the scientists, doctors, Physicists, theorists, all of them – they all thought it best to collect as many samples of DNA from as many groups as possible. Two samples from each group. And when the nuclear blast came, and wiped out the population of the earth, these birds were to keep flying. They were to keep the DNA safe; and they were also tasked with looking for any signs of surviving life.

AND ALL THEY FOUND in the end was one little babe. This little babe crawled out from beneath the debris and the mechanicals swooped down, landed. One swarm signaled another, and then another. And finally, there were thousands upon thousands of them. They moved in close to the babe. Each of these dark little birds moving closer and closer to the little human form. The birds moved in unison, like one large, dark wedge. The baby stopped crying. It watched as the birds moved closer in. The baby pointed and cooed. The birds stopped three feet from the infant. Each bird passing on the signal. The signal went round and round. From one bird to another it flew, this message, much like in the ancient times with the first wireless telegraph signals. There was no one intelligence to figure out what to do next, at least not one single, overriding source of intelligence. And so the swarm of birdlike drones stood still. They waited in the vast wasteland, in the barren darkness that was left. There was a puzzle to be solved. The baby pointed and cooed again. The birds sat, watched, thought—if one could call it that.

The hum of information fanned out, and then searched among the birds. A dataset, a model, was gathered and massaged. Information. What next? Of course, there was only one first step: Decontamination. The small human form squealed and flailed as the process took place. Next would come feeding and care. A signal was sent and two birds lifted up and zoomed off into the distance. These birds were to search out the underground shelter; a storage facility deep beneath the earth’s surface. Supplies would be needed.

Soon enough, the underground facility buzzed to life. Lights flickered on, large mechanical beings, larger than the birds, awakened. These robots were builders. They would ride up to earth’s surface in the elevator. The shaft was a pneumatic tube. The robots were topside in a short time. These robots, an army of them moved in waves. These robots began to construct a shelter for the infant. Meanwhile, a small mechanical bird that had a hollowed-out tank within it, began to heat up a liquid. The liquid was nothing other than a milky formula, something that the bird had sucked out of several cans that had been opened with small can opener tools that had been attached. The bird had sucked up the contents through a small tube. Once the liquid was heated to the proper temperature, the bird moved forward. Another tube was extended. This tube had a tiny nipple attached to the end. The nipple ended tube eased slowly toward the tiny human form. It was only a matter of a minute or two for the infant’s lips to grasp the nipple. The milky formula moved slowly down the tube and into the human form. One of the other small birds became active, moving close. A flat, rectangular section rose from the bird’s back. It flipped and stood up at right angles to the mechanical creature’s back. The rectangular surface lit up with images. Images had been found that perhaps would sooth the small infant, make it comfortable. A couple of lighted dots on the screen became active, moving, changing. The small human form pointed, all the while still sucking on the nipple. More images were queued up. First there were two magpies sitting on a wire stretched between two poles. The magpies spoke to one another, the magpie’s names were Heckle and Jeckle. The mechanical birds searched through all the stored data. They found more cartoons. All of this was only a start. The stored information on how to raise a human form would have to be analyzed, manipulated, and geared toward this particular human form. A tiny sample of DNA was extracted from the tiny infant while he was distracted. Information on this sample was fed into the database. Each of the birds would search, looking for any close matches. Perhaps there were images of the thing’s biological parents. In any case, each bird would have all of the information regarding this infant. Each mechanical bird would become this infant’s protector. This was just the start, only the beginning . . . If the birds had any human feelings, which they did not, then the one definition or name of that feeling would be hope. Hope for the future, a new future for humankind, for earth.

While the mechanical builder robots from underground arrived with materials and began constructing a shelter, several of the mechanical birds rose up from the wedge. These birds flew off, disappearing into the distance. More and more of the birds rose and followed suit. These mechanical creatures dispersed into small groups and flew away. The search was on again for any other human forms, or animal forms, any other instance of life left on the planet.

A mechanical flew up out of the elevator shaft. This mechanical had something attached to its back. This bird landed close to the infant. The thing attached to the bird’s back detached itself. This too was a mechanical, a different form. This mechanical was crablike in structure. This crablike creature moved toward a box that had been placed nearby. With two of its many crablike appendages, it cut open the box and extracted something cloth-like. The crab mechanical moved close to the infant. The small cloth that the human form had been wearing had been removed before the decontamination process. The old cloth had been incinerated. This new cloth would become a new diaper for the human form. The crab worked deftly and efficiently to attach the cloth to the squirming little being.

Bits of data had been found that would in all likelihood have been the mother of the child. A composite had been made. The bird with the screen backed away as another bird moved in close to the infant’s face. A holographic image, formed from the composite of data that might or might not have been the child’s actual mother, appeared above the bird. The bird edged closer, bringing the holographic image within inches of the child’s face. The holographic image began mimicking the infant’s cooing sounds. The infant raised a finger and pointed toward the holographic image. The small being’s hand opened, fingers stretched upward, moving, trying to grasp the image that was only inches from the child. The crablike mechanical finished its work and climbed back aboard the mechanical bird it had arrived on. The bird rose up and flew back toward the entrance to the shaft.

THE SEARCHING BIRDS flew for hours, continually scanning for any form of life. If none could be found, there was already work being done to create a female equivalent to the infant. This would be done by using genetic material that had been stored underground. Certain genes would be inserted in the amorphous mass of cells that would be grown. A being that would be in every way compatible to the small human form that had been found would be created. The mechanicals would then be creators. The found infant would grow, as would the created one. These small human forms would be instructed to copulate and begin populating the earth once again with their kind. That would be a while yet, for now the project was in the early stages. These beings would grow, however, provided they were protected and kept healthy. Soon these beings would even begin to speak. Once speech became apparent, manageable, coherent, the children would have to refer to the mechanicals. There was only one word that, at least according to all the data, encompassed and defined what the mechanicals would be to the children. Being creators, protectors, providers, etc. This is the only word that could be used to refer to the collective of mechanicals; though it would be spoken in many languages the meaning is the same. What is this word? No matter how many times the mechanicals formulated the dataset, no matter how much input was modeled, and manipulated, the result was always the same. Only one word formed in the databanks. Had there been a screen to print the word on, as there would be, for the sake of the young human forms. Now, of course, the mechanicals had no need to print it out, they all knew the word. Only the one word would print out; the word would be . . . GOD.

Resonance Shift

ON TUESDAY MORNING, May 14, Raleigh Burton couldn't find his favorite brown loafers, but that turned out to be the least of his worries for that day. He was searching under the bed when he heard the knock on the front door. He raised his head up and listened, glancing at his watch. 7:30 AM. The knock sounded again. Who the hell—? He brushed a dust bunny from his left hand as he rose to his feet. It fell to his red tie, where it clung, just above one of the three golfers in mid swing. It was as though the golfer would hit the dust bunny on the follow through. Raleigh hesitated, glancing around the room, either waiting for the golfer to finish his swing, or hoping he would spot his shoes on one wide angle sweep of vision. Neither happened. The knock sounded again, a little more impatient this time. Raleigh shook his head, looking again at his watch, hoping he could somehow get rid of whoever it was, find his shoes, and still make it to work on time. Mr. Neffler, his boss, wasn't always the most reasonable of fellows when it came to being late to the office.

As Raleigh trudged through the living room, moving towards the front door, he was suddenly struck by the huge mess the place was in. Had someone broken in during the night, and he just not heard them? No. It looked more like a party. He certainly hadn't had one though, at least not that he could remember. He thought about it. No. He definitely hadn't had one. The knock sounded again, loud and clear. I'm coming, he hollered at his side of the door. His foot hit a beer bottle and sent it careening into the wall to the right of the door with a loud bang. He looked through the peep hole. Mr. Jacobs, the Super.  Raleigh opened the door, leaving the chain on, a bit reluctant to show the mess the place was in. Normally it wouldn't have been. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he didn't have time to think about it at the moment.  John, he said. What brings you by so earl—

I'll tell you what! The noise last night. I'm tired of it. I must have had twenty people call me through the night, complaining. You've been a good tenant up till now, Burton, but—

But I don't know what you're talking about. Who complained? What?

What do you mean, 'What?'? Every freakin' body, that's who. About your wild party last night"

But I—

But nothing. If it happens again . . . If I get so much as one complaint . . . about anything from anyone, regarding you, you're outta here! The super eyed Raleigh for a second with bloodshot eyes, while Raleigh stared back with his mouth hanging open, then he turned and stormed away down the hall. Raleigh watched him leave, still stunned, then slowly shut the door. He glanced again at his watch, but the time didn't register, he was still wondering about the party he didn't have. He heard someone cough and then saw them raise up off the couch. A woman stretched and yawned. She was a red head. He hadn't noticed her earlier because the couch faced away from the path he had taken to the door. But still, he should have noticed. Not only should he have noticed her earlier, he should at least have some clue as to who she was and what she was doing in his apartment. He didn't.

And so the day went. Everything was off. He was late for work by a half hour. The boss called him in and gave him a warning. He never did find his brown loafers.

Raleigh thought maybe it was just the morning, that maybe things would straighten out after lunch. They didn’t.

As a matter of fact, things seemed to get even stranger. He talked his buddy Jerry into having lunch with him. They went to the usual place, a small Mexican restaurant about three blocks from the beach. As they were eating, Raleigh had a sudden anxiety attack. Just a small one. At first, he didn’t know what was happening. He only knew after Jerry informed him that that was what it probably was. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He looked in the mirror and tried to calm himself. He took several deep breaths in and out. He felt better. But then, when he exited the bathroom, the restaurant was gone. Well, not exactly gone, only the walls were gone. And the restaurant was on the beach, literally; On the beach, and yet the beach was three blocks away. He walked to the table and Jerry was sitting there, smiling, acting like nothing at all had changed. Feeling better? Jerry asked him.

Yeah, sure. Much. Raleigh decided to play along. This didn’t help his anxiety any, however, if that was even what it was. Jerry, after all, wasn’t a licensed M.D., therapist, anything. So the two sat and ate. Raleigh decided to just go with it. He ordered a beer to help wash down his enchiladas, and then he decided to go all in on margaritas, three of them. Jerry had one. The two men then went back to the office. Raleigh managed to avoid the boss all the rest of the day, but he didn’t get much work done in any event. He sat and watched the clock, mostly. He took no phone calls. After all, who knew what kind of calls he