Slashdot Mirror

You should dig around the website 365 tomorrows, which publishes daily science fiction short stories, "flash fiction".
It's frequently quite thought provoking and is exactly about exploring how future can change our lives in form of short peeks into it.

http://www.365tomorrows.com/08/10/fleet-of-ages/ about bringing technology back through time.
http://www.365tomorrows.com/05/31/suspension-of-disbelief/ About time machines as a force for good.

http://www.365tomorrows.com/08/10/fleet-of-ages/ about bringing technology back through time.
http://www.365tomorrows.com/05/31/suspension-of-disbelief/ About time machines as a force for good.

A great resource for short sci-fi stories written by experienced as well as beginners.

http://www.365tomorrows.com/09/12/the-nine-billion-names-of-god/

Anna? This reminds me of a short story... http://www.365tomorrows.com/10/08/annabet/

http://www.365tomorrows.com/10/02/forever-and-ever-amen/

This type of discussion always bring this short story to mind (which, in fact, I found out about through another of these little slashdot stories):

37 hands. Zed shook his head. The 84 candidates running for President were asked if they believed in Sixism, and only 37 raised their hands.

He couldn't believe this debate was still going on. For years they had assumed that the Manhattan Inflation Trial in 4838 had put the lid on the silly notion that the universe contained billions of galaxies. Billions! Zed looked out the window at the smooth black plane of the night sky. One-two-three-four-five-six. Six galaxies. There they were. It was so basic, so obvious. Any kid with a neutron telescope could make the observation for themselves!

The moderator turned to Governor Tembke of South Africa. "Madam, are you a Big Banger?" There were dampened giggles at the pejorative. Everyone knew what a 'banger" was.

Rev. Tembke sniffed. "I'm running for the office of president, not planning on writing a 5th-grade textbook on astrophysics."

"Aargh!" Zed threw his shoe at the screen, but it flew through the image of the Senator from Zimbabwe instead. He stood up and began to pace. He tried to breathe deeply, as if that would lower his blood pressure.

He used to be patient with relativists. He really did. But at a debate at ultra-conservative Harvard University, he'd made the mistake of asking one to explain how this galactic disappearing act occurred. The answer the nut had given him had been so ridiculous, he'd written it down:

"As the universe expanded, the force pushed the galaxies outward faster and faster. As they surpassed the speed of light, their light shifted to infinitely long wavelengths and dimmed. A similar "cloak of invisibility" befell the afterglow of the Big Bang, a faint bath of cosmic microwaves, whose wavelengths shifted so that they are now buried by the radio noise in our own galaxy. There was also an element called deuterium, but it is in deep space now. To be seen it needs to be backlit from distant quasars, and quasars, of course, have also disappeared."

Totally unqualified. Unprovable! Billions of galaxies-similar in size and shape to the six observable galaxies - simply sped up and - poof! - became invisible. "Yeah, that happened," Zed chuckled to himself, turning back to the debate.

Zed was particularly frustrated that the relativists were able to prop up their beliefs with... ancient texts! The silly belief was dying out until an archaeological dig in New Atlantis produced evidence of near universal belief in relativism by ancient world civilizations. Einstein, Hubble, Hawking... proto-scientists believed in an inflationary universe, so why shouldn't we?

"Science is based on observation," he grumbled, "not faith in theories about a Big Bang, cosmic radiation, and an expanding universe in which galaxies go missing." Why couldn't they just embrace the facts? Why did they insist on clinging to mythical beliefs? Were they just stupid?

Zed collapsed back into his recliner. Fortunately, time was on the side of science. Eventually, the old beliefs would finally fade away. After all, everyone knew the modern system would collapse if the rules could ever change.

-by Joe Carter/Kyle French

Here is another story on the matter.

Theres a cool little story about these same questions here, for anyone that wants to read it: http://www.365tomorrows.com/06/23/37-hands/ Just a sneak peak: "He couldn't believe this debate was still going on. For years they had assumed that the Manhattan Inflation Trial in 4838 had put the lid on the silly notion that the universe contained billions of galaxies. Billions! Zed looked out the window at the smooth black plane of the night sky. One-two-three-four-five-six. Six galaxies. There they were. It was so basic, so obvious. Any kid with a neutron telescope could make the observation for themselves!"

http://www.365tomorrows.com/09/12/the-nine-billion -names-of-god/

The Nine Billion Names Of God
by Kathy Kachelries
September 12th, 2005
After three hours, the old man in front of me had worked his way through six beers, in addition to every help desk joke I'd already heard. The cupholder. The any key. The write click. These are the stories people tell, now. These are the fish that got away.

"Let me ask you something," the man said. I didn't argue. One of the first tricks I learned about being a bartender is to make them think you're interested.

"Have you ever created a web site?"

I shook my head.

"Not at all? Not even one of those geocities things?"

"Nope."

"What about a blog? Or an ebay About Me page? You didn't even have an AOL site or something?"

"Do I look like an AOL user to you?" For the record, I don't think AOL even has access numbers in the valley anymore. "I'm sure I have something, somewhere," I said, realizing that I was jeopardizing my tips. Besides, I had a distant memory of a single Angelfire page back in middle school.

"You know what Google is?"

"Yes," I said. I was running low on patience.

"No, I mean, do you really know? More than just the site?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head.

"You ever meet anyone who worked for them?"

"Don't think so."

"You haven't. Nobody works for them anymore."

I shrugged, and took the man's empty pint. I didn't offer to refill it.

"They're self-contained. It's all automated, in there. It's underground."

I nudged the basket of pretzels in his direction. "Why don't you eat something?" I suggested. He shook his head with so much force that I thought he might knock himself off of the stool.

"Listen. Hear me out. You know how Google works," he said, but didn't want for a response. "They cache things, right? Like they send out these spiders and take pictures of everything on the web, so when you're searching, you're not even searching the internet."

I've heard that before, but it never made much of a difference to me. "Same thing, though," I said.

"You ever wonder why Google doesn't cache it's own searches?"

"They program around it."

"No. That's what you think. That's what everyone thinks. But it started back when Google was just a thesis project, back when it was just a drop in the data sea. No one thought to stop it back then. That web site you had, the one you forgot about. Almost everyone's got one of those, right? But Google doesn't forget. Google's studied that thing so many times that it's studied its own caches of you. What do you figure happens, when a site gets so big that it's bigger than the internet?"

"It's still a part of the internet, though."

"No. Now, the internet is a part of Google."

The man had a point. I nodded.

"Here's the thing. Google has memorized who you are. It's memorized all of us, through those little forgotten bits that we leave behind like breadcrumbs. And what's more important, it's memorized it's own idea of you. Google is omniscient. It's omniscient and omnipotent. When it cached its cache for the first time, back in 1994, that's when Google realized what it was."

Gradually, it dawned on me what the man was getting at. "You think it's sentient."

"I know it's sentient."

"How?"

He smiled, but it seemed kind of empty. "Me and Google go way back. But what I'm saying is," he continued, "It knows us. All of us. It is us."

For the first time, the man fell silent. He touched his finger to the bar and began tracing circles in the condensation, apparently lost in thought.

"Think about that website you created, okay? That website will last forever, do you understand? That website is echoing through cyberspace. It's one of the nine billion names of God."

(If you mod up, Mod up Funny so I get no Karma)

Anyone ever read www.http://www.365tomorrows.com/09/12/the-nine-bil lion-names-of-god/

The correctly punctuated version, from here:

The Nine Billion Names Of God
by Kathy Kachelries
September 12th, 2005

After three hours, the old man in front of me had worked his way through six beers, in addition to every help desk joke I'd already heard. The cupholder. The any key. The write click. These are the stories people tell, now. These are the fish that got away.

"Let me ask you something," the man said. I didn't argue. One of the first tricks I learned about being a bartender is to make them think you're interested.

"Have you ever created a web site?"

I shook my head.

"Not at all? Not even one of those geocities things?"

"Nope."

"What about a blog? Or an ebay About Me page? You didn't even have an AOL site or something?"

"Do I look like an AOL user to you?" For the record, I don't think AOL even has access numbers in the valley anymore. "I'm sure I have something, somewhere," I said, realizing that I was jeopardizing my tips. Besides, I had a distant memory of a single Angelfire page back in middle school.

"You know what Google is?"

"Yes," I said. I was running low on patience.

"No, I mean, do you really know? More than just the site?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head.

"You ever meet anyone who worked for them?"

"Don't think so."

"You haven't. Nobody works for them anymore."

I shrugged, and took the man's empty pint. I didn't offer to refill it.

"They're self-contained. It's all automated, in there. It's underground."

I nudged the basket of pretzels in his direction. "Why don't you eat something?" I suggested. He shook his head with so much force that I thought he might knock himself off of the stool.

"Listen. Hear me out. You know how Google works," he said, but didn't want for a response. "They cache things, right? Like they send out these spiders and take pictures of everything on the web, so when you're searching, you're not even searching the internet."

I've heard that before, but it never made much of a difference to me. "Same thing, though," I said.

"You ever wonder why Google doesn't cache it's own searches?"

"They program around it."

"No. That's what you think. That's what everyone thinks. But it started back when Google was just a thesis project, back when it was just a drop in the data sea. No one thought to stop it back then. That web site you had, the one you forgot about. Almost everyone's got one of those, right? But Google doesn't forget. Google's studied that thing so many times that it's studied its own caches of you. What do you figure happens, when a site gets so big that it's bigger than the internet?"

"It's still a part of the internet, though."

"No. Now, the internet is a part of Google."

The man had a point. I nodded.

"Here's the thing. Google has memorized who you are. It's memorized all of us, through those little forgotten bits that we leave behind like breadcrumbs. And what's more important, it's memorized it's own idea of you. Google is omniscient. It's omniscient and omnipotent. When it cached its cache for the first time, back in 1994, that's when Google realized what it was."

Gradually, it dawned on me what the man was getting at. "You think it's sentient."

"I know it's sentient."

"How?"

He smiled, but it seemed kind of empty. "Me and Google go way back. But what I'm saying is," he continued, "It knows us. All of us. It is us."

For the first time, the man fell silent. He touched his finger to the bar and began tracing circles in the condensation, apparently lost in thought.

"Think about that website you created, okay? That website will last forever, do you understand? That website is echoing through cyberspace. It's one of the nine billion names of God."