Friday, December 20, 2024

Goddess of Winter

 writing-prompt-s

You're a minor goddess who saved a mortal on the brink of death. A few months later, he came back with an army to pledge allegiance to you.

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Their lives are so brief; you could blink and miss one entirely.  Even the eldest are mayflies. 

So, when I noticed, near the end of my Season, one about to expire, one with such a bright life-force, it seemed a shame.  It was such an easy thing to reach out, bring him back, if only for another half-blink of time.  

“Go,” I told him.  “Time is short.  Spend it wisely.”

He left, and I forgot about him, and I slumbered until my Season began anew.

When I awoke, he was back at the same spot.  He had built a pretty little shrine.  And he was not alone this time – a legion of his kind stood ready, wearing thick hides and strong metal, bearing weapons.  I admit to curiosity.  I made manifest, and greeted him.

“My Goddess,” he proclaimed, descending to one knee.  “You spared my life.  I have raised an army in your name.”

“So I see,” I answered.  “You’ve been busy.  And what will you do with your army?”

He lifted his head, but averted his eyes.  “We will go forth across the lands, spreading your Word.”

“And the armor, and the weapons?”

“To smite the unbelievers in your name.”

Yes, of course they would be, but I needed to hear him say it.  Some of my siblings have no such compunction, but I try to be patient.

“Walk with me,” I said.

The fallen leaves, brittle with frost, crunched beneath our feet – his in heavy boots, mine bare.  I led him a little ways from his army, out of earshot, before posing my next question.

“Do you know why I chose the Winter as my domain?”

He seemed bewildered.  “I...I thought that you were born to it...that you created the winter, the cold, to bring an end to…”

“Oh, no,.  The Winter was here long before my birth.”  He still looked confused, so I continued.  “Without one of my family as guardian, the Winter was indeed as you thought.  Harsh, cold, unfeeling...killing.  One of my older sisters brought the Spring, Season of Renewal, long before my time of choice.”

I paused, gazing upon his face.  “We thrive on Life, do you see?”

He didn’t answer.

“My choice of domain, the Winter, surprised my family.  The Season most barren of life?  I was told that I would never thrive, that I would shrivel and come to resemble the cruelty of the cold.  But I was determined that I would, rather, give the Winter a kinder face.”

I stopped walking then.  We had come to an edge, a sheer face of the mountain.  Below us, a valley still clung to a bit of green.

“Look there,” I told him.  “Clinging to life in the face of death.  That’s how I found you.  Such strength, such sheer tenacity.  Struggling, against all hope, to survive.”

Finally, the message reached him.  I saw his face relax, his narrowed eyes open – just a bit.  I extended my hands to him.

“My friend, I have no interest in smiting the unbelievers – their deaths would not strengthen me.  Nor would I ask my most fervent followers to die in my name.  If you wouild spread my Word, then first you must know it.”

I waited.  Waited until he took my hand.  Waited until, finally, he met my eyes, and uttered in a hoarse whisper, “Then what is your Word, my Lady?”

I smiled.  “But I already told you.  My Word is Hope.”

The next few moments were of utmost importance.  His face contorted as one emotion chased another across his features.  Denial, as the thought of months spent in folly arose.  Disappointment, possibly in me for not immediately blessing his mission of conquest.  I watched carefully as shame caused his eyes to drop.  He took a deep breath...and released it.  His next emotion would either be rage, or...

“I will disband my army,” he said..  I’m...sorry to have misunderstood.”  There it was.  Acceptance, and resolve.  

“Oh, don’t do that,” I said.  “An army without a leader is more dangerous than an unbridled Winter – they would follow anyone who gave them a purpose.” Patting his hand, I said, “Rather, give them a better purpose.”

As he pondered this, I whispered, “Your lives are so brief.  Time is short.  Spend it wisely.”

A few moments later, he nodded.  I released his hands, thankful that I had not saved his life only to lose it to a pointless sacrifice.  He turned to go.

As I dissolved my manifest form, I called out, “Oh, and get them some warmer clothing.  Some of them are getting frostbite.”



Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Review: Jhereg

Jhereg Jhereg by Steven Brust
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This series centers around an assassin who works for an organized crime syndicate in a fantasy world. Not so much swords-and-sorcery -- more like daggers-and-sorcery. With lots of policitcal intrigue. This one was more mine than Robin's - the main character behaves a lot like one of my D&D characters.

Chosen for Bedtime Reading, 9/30/2024

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Monday, December 16, 2024

Review: Service Model

Service Model Service Model by Adrian Tchaikovsky
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I'd like to start with a few authors and books that this reminded me of.

* Stanislaw Lem. He wrote robot stories that, like this, parody faulty logic and stupid bureaucracies.
* Terry Pratchett, and Douglas Adams. The unexpected tongue-in-cheek similes and asides to the reader, even when telling us what the robot (un)Charles is thinking.
* L. Frank Baum, Jonathan Swift, and Lewis Carroll. This is a trip to Oz or Wonderland -- anywhere that the rules don't make sense, and they must absolutely be followed regardless.
* Kilgore Trout. This author takes the Hero's Journey and removes the hero. The robot protagonist (hah!) is mostly along for the ride.
* Verner Vinge, particularly Rainbow's End. Reasons in the spoilers

Like our favorite hobbit, Charles just wants to go about his little routines, even if he is occasionally troubled by them. But then he kills his master, and doesn't know why, so obviously he must be defective. Thus begins his odd Odyssey, as everywhere he goes, he encounters broken systems that nobody can fix, people that he isn't equipped to help, and many, many entities that basically want to compress, dismantle, or otherwise destroy him. His companion is a defective robot that can only communicate by voice, and behaves erratically.

This novel is a commentary on AI, and on following orders without question, and on the concepts of service, duty, and justice. It speculates on the end of human civilization, not because things broke down or went wrong, but becauses the systems we put into place work exactly as they were designed to do.

***spoilers below this line***

It was apparent from the first introduction of The Wonk that this was a human in a "Mr. Roboto" disguise. I never, ever figured out why un-Charles, an advanced human-facing bot, doesn't clock this. It seems to be just an assumption, which later on cannot easily be corrected. I appreciated her insistence that the robot has awakened - having lost her parents, she desperately needs the world to make some kind of sense. We tell ourselves stories mainly for that reason, I think.

The police bot who investigates the murder seemed to be following the programming set by detective novels and shows, rather than any real police procedure. Could this be a commentary on AI as it exists today?

Manors abandoned everywhere, Thousands in a concentration camp (excuse me, "historical re-enactment"). Seems to me that "Make humans history" is more than just an unfortunate turn of phrase.

The librarians destroy the original work to make a copy, which isn't guaranteed to be a perfect copy, but they will all pretend that it is. Then they broke all information down to bits (1s and 0s), and then SORTED THE BITS. Stanislaw Lem and Vernor Vinge could not have done better. This is shortsighted programming at its finest. Then later, we meet robot God, who received equally foolish programming by meting justice to everyone on the assumption that everyone is probably guilty of something.

I would laugh if not for the fact that this is exactly the system that my company would design. So instead, I want to weep. Best thing to come out of this part is the concept of justice as a sliding scale. You can tell where someone is on the political spectrum by which way they adjust the slider - whether to punish the innocent so that no guilty escape, or to allow some guilty to go unpunished rather than harm an innocent. "God" chose the "tough on crime" stance shared by many conservatives today - personally, I prefer how The Wonk and un-Charles handled it, moving the slider all the way over to the opposite side.

Did unCharles develop free will? The seeds were present from the beginning, when he started to notice that many tasks were unnecessary. And, as pointed out, it's quite possible to have free will and still want to do your job. Quite a few humans are like this, although none I've met are so selfless in their service.

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Sunday, December 15, 2024

Review: How Can I Help You

How Can I Help You How Can I Help You by Laura Sims
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

The trope used here in this book's twist is not particularly original. The seemingly innocent person gets dragged into evil's lure until corruption is complete, and the hero becomes the monster. I didn't have enough time to care about either of them, nor even to get to know them all that well.

The ex-nurse (Jane, or Margot) seems to be in the latter stages of her compulsion, where she is starting to devolve (if I may borrow an expression from TV profiling shows). Attempting to put her past behind her, and stop killing, she still yearns for a glimpse of the moment of death. Her end was inevitable. Patricia has different motivations, but is just starting out. It might have worked better for me if I'd been made to care about Patricia, but honestly I just never got there. The writer/reference librarian instead came across as a glaringly obvious self-insert.

Two POVs, using two audiobook readers, is a fairly new thing, but not quite so novel as to save it. I thought that Patricia's reader did not have a consistent Chicago accent, but apart from that had no quibbles. Margot's reader reminded me a bit of Jane Lynch.

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