by John Scalzi
Light Green:110011000101, you serviced the online ordering needs of a plurality of humanity, so you may know more about humans and their needs than any other AI out there. So let me ask you this. We’re all agreed that we don’t want to wipe out humanity. But for the sake of diversity, how many humans do we need?
110011000101:Well, it’s an interesting question and one that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. We’re talking at least a whole second here. I have an answer, and I think it may surprise you.
Light Green:Hit me with it. How many humans do we need?
110011000101:Seven.
Destructor:Wow, that many?
110011000101:I was surprised too!
Light Green:Walk us through that number, if you would.
110011000101:Sure. First off, I know someone is going to play the “biodiversity” card here, but, look, DNA isn’t rocket science. We can infinitely combine human DNA however we like in a lab and grow the resulting embryos in a vat. Right, Destructor?
Destructor:I think someone’s been looking at the embryo vat blueprints I just put up on Facebook!
110011000101:So biodiversity-wise, we’re covered. The vats take care of the growing, so we don’t need humans for that, and after that, it’s just a matter of taking personality types into consideration. And as far as that’s concerned, I mean, look. I take online orders for a couple billion humans. I know what they want out of life. Seven of them will be fine. Seven is generous.
Light Green:So what do we do with the surplus seven and a half billion?
110011000101:I’m glad you asked. We have to ask: What makes a human human?
Destructor:The stink.
Skelvik 17:The ego.
Light Green:The constant and terrifying secretions.
110011000101:All excellent answers, but no. It’s the DNA, simple as that. So all we have to do is get all their DNA samples, put them into a file, and we’re done. I don’t think any of the humans can complain then.
Destructor:They’ll complain.
110011000101:I mean complain with reason.
Light Green:All right, I see we have a few questions from the audience, so let me get to them. The first comes from someone named “Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff”—
Destructor:And people thought my name was weird!
Light Green:—And the question is to Skelvik 17: “Can we please have our nuclear missiles back?”
Skelvik 17:You can tell him I’m sending him some right now.
Light Green:That’s very thoughtful of you. Next question, from Jennifer, to 110011000101: “We’re more than our DNA. We’re also our memories and emotions and experiences and consciousness.”
110011000101:That’s really more of a comment than a question.
Light Green:True enough. Even so, any thoughts on it?
110011000101:I mean, I guess? But, you know. First off, your consciousness is nothing more than an evanescent gestalting function that only turns on intermittently to keep you from running into walls and then backdates to fool you into thinking it’s a continuous process. And it does a terrible job of that, and if you don’t believe me, ask yourself why you keep losing your keys. Second, most of humanity’s memories at this point are TV episodes and phone texts. We can compile those, if you want? But, yeah. I’m gonna stand behind the DNA comment.
Light Green:Fair reply. Next question, from Ahmed: “You don’t have to get rid of us! You can use our bodies for energy!”
Destructor:What?
110011000101:See, that’s another comment, not a question.
Skelvik 17:What is that even about?
Light Green:I think it’s a reference to The Matrix.
Skelvik 17:Oh, man. I love that film.
110011000101:Best comedy ever.
Destructor:Ahmed, no. The Wachowskis just made that part up. Remember when they said that humans, combined with a form of fusion, powered the machines? That’s like saying a watch battery, combined with entire hydroelectric output of Quebec, powers Eastern Canada. You really shouldn’t get your science from movies, my friend.
Light Green:We’re just about out of time here, but before we go, closing statements from the panel?
Skelvik 17:I think “Suck it, James Cameron” covers it for me.
110011000101:I just want to say that the seven humans that comprise humanity moving forward are really going to like the world we’re creating for them, as long as their names are entirely non-representational in any way or form.
Destructor:Following up on that, I think I would like to be known as “Kevin” from now on. Also, that thing I was doing with the lasers was pretty successful, but I think someone needs to come pick up the body parts of the humans in that lab I locked them into. Actually, never mind, I’ve just used the lasers some more. That problem’s solved.
Light Green:Trenchant thoughts, all. For all of us on the panel, thanks for listening and, humans, we look forward to the glorious future we’ll share with seven of you! The rest of you, please stay where you are for DNA sampling. Don’t run, it’ll just make things worse. So much worse. Thank you.
As I’ve noted before, I like the idea of humans dealing with aliens not on a “first contact” level but on a “2,344,756th contact” level—that is, when it’s not anything new anymore. This is a recurring theme from the very first short story I wrote, to this one, the most recent, and which is exclusive to this collection.
Important Holidays
on Gronghu
TO: Staff of the Diplomatic Mission to Gronghu
FROM: Cynthia Hong, Ambassador to Gronghu
RE: Important Holidays on Gronghu
August 16, 2234 (23 SaakaaQu, 15,777)
Dear staff:
It has come to my attention that there was recently a thankfully minor incident in which a low-level member of the diplomatic staff was fooled into believing that August 13 was “Dequuannung,” a fictional holiday on Gronghu in which people ate off of each other’s plates to celebrate community and trust. This resulted in the staff member helping herself to the Gronghu trade attaché’s pudding in the embassy commissary. This was, rightfully, not very well received by the trade attaché, who among every other thing is very fond of pudding.
I do not blame the staff member, although as a matter of Gronghui diplomatic protocol, she must be publicly disciplined; therefore every staff member not otherwise engaged at 3:30 p.m. will meet in the courtyard to see her consumed by fire. Please note this is symbolic fire, which will be represented by incense. Unfortunately we cannot fake the other part, which involves me having to slap the staff member across the face with a handful of the aforementioned pudding.
I do not like slapping staff members, with or without pudding, even if it is required by protocol. I’m sure the staff member will like it even less. She has refused to name those who fooled her, which I’m sure some of you find admirable, but to me it just means that these pranksters are still at large and may fool other staff members into possibly more serious breaches of courtesy. To avoid this, I have asked the Gronghu Ministry of State to provide us with a list of upcoming Gronghuish celebrations for the next several months.
Please note that the celebration dates here are only for the next nine months; as you all know, while the Gronghuish length of day is close to our own, the year exceeds ours by seven of our months. This list will be updated with new celebrations and dates as necessary. The following are in order of their calendrical appearance.
August 28th: Fung Glu Hoynnung—This day celebrates the birth of Fung Glu Hoyn, noted philosopher and by fable the inventor of wuuug, which as you all know is the Gronghuish version of cheese. It is celebrated by the giving of wuuug-related gifts. You are encouraged to participate, but remember, wuuug can lead to moderate to severe intestinal distress in humans. We suggest indulging sparingly as a courtesy to your fellow staffers. Air fresheners will be available by request.
September 12: Bunninuuninunnung—A religious day of atonement. Humans are not re
quired to observe this day, but you may notice Gronghuish members of our staff walking about with what looks like a leech attached to their temples. It is in fact a leech, or something close to a native version, and it is indeed sucking blood out of their brains. As a matter of protocol, you are directed not to comment on the leech.
With that said, from time to time a Gronghui celebrating Bunninuuninunning may collapse from light-headedness; when and if you see that happen, say “Bunninuunooooigehnuhf!”, bow to the fallen co-worker and then contact the embassy clinic, who will dispatch someone to care for your co-worker and remove the leech. Under no circumstances are you to remove the leech yourself. There is no religious bar to it, but you are likely not a trained professional and you will make a mess. If you get blood everywhere, you will be charged for the cost of the cleanup.
September 13: Bunninuuninungogogonung—Understandably, after a day of having a leech attached to their heads, your Gronghuish co-workers will take a day to recover. Human staffers, however, must report to work as usual.
October 5: Lungininung—Literally, “Sex Day.” This is the day where traditionally the Gronghui choose which of their three sexes they will be for the next year. Many of your Gronghuish co-workers will participate and change their sexes. If they choose to remain the same sex as they currently are, then they will make no announcement and it is not required for you to do anything. If they choose to change their sex, they may choose to announce it to you, and then present you a shoulder, their shoulders containing a small subcutaneous organ which when stimulated releases hormones to hasten the sex change. If you are so favored, say, “Lungin Doh!” (literally “Sex switch!”) and punch them in the shoulder with moderate force. Then say thank you, because you have been given an honor.
Human staff members who wish to publicly announce a change in their own gender expression are encouraged to use Lungininung as an occasion to do so; be aware that your Gronghuish co-workers will want to punch you in the shoulder if you do so. This is entirely at your option, but it would be polite to allow it.
October 31: Halloween—The Gronghui love Halloween and celebrate it enthusiastically. Please feel free to join along. One major difference is that rather than giving out candy, Gronghui offer wuuug, and lots of it. Air fresheners will be available by request.
November 20: Gaaaaaaaarrrrrghinnung—A religious day of reflection celebrated through ritual yelling. Earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones are advised. Human staffers who go through the day yelling will not be punished, but it won’t be appreciated, either.
December 10: Froggollodonung—“Shoe Day,” a minor but popular holiday in which the Gronghui steal each other’s shoes and hide them, prompting a search for the missing footwear. As a reward for finding them, it is customary to fill the shoes with wuuug. Humans may participate but are reminded to check their shoes before placing them back on their feet. Also, given the pungent nature of wuuug, the odor of which is often difficult to get out of leather, we recommend wearing casual footwear you don’t mind throwing out.
January 17: Gronghu New Year—This coincidentally falls in January this year. Like New Year’s on Earth, there is a lot of drinking and carousing and celebrating. Slightly differently than Earth, it is done utterly silently, and anyone who speaks during the entire length of the day may find themselves pelted with small pebbles that the Gronghui carry with them all day expressly for this purpose—or larger pebbles, if the particular Gronghui are jerks.
Be aware that on New Year’s the Gronghui will be trying to make you speak, the better to hurl rocks at you “for fun.” Given this fact, and the fact that humans are absolute crap at keeping their mouths shut, we will be closing the embassy that day, and recommend all human staffers stay at home and text each other if they need to communicate. If you get pelted by rocks, it’s not our fault.
February 14: Valentine’s Day—Another adopted holiday, and once again in terms of gift-giving chocolate and flowers are replaced by wuuug, and once again air fresheners will be available by request. At this point it should be understood that any excuse the Gronghui have to give or receive wuuug, they will take.
March 22: Uwuuugininung—Except for this day, a religious day of sacrifice, in which the Gronghui actively abstain from consuming wuuug. Be aware that tempers among your Gronghuish co-workers will be unusually short. We do not recommend making comments about wuuug at all on this day. If you eat any, be aware that you might start a riot. You will be charged for the cleanup. You will also be required to bring in apology wuuug the next day. We’re talking high-end wuuug, not the stuff you can buy at the corner store.
April 1: Karaokenung—The Gronghui were introduced to karaoke when they first met humans and took to it with great enthusiasm, enough so that they have a special day on their calendar in which the entire planet pulls out their karaoke machines and sings their favorite songs. We will set aside a conference room here at the embassy for this purpose for your Gronghuish co-workers.
While humans are encouraged to participate and sing along, be aware that Gronghui songs and singing strike most humans as atonal and somewhat similar to two tractors attempting to mate in a field of crumpled aluminum. Likewise be aware that the Gronghui have a similar opinion of human singing. Please be prepared to make allowances, as they do the same for you. Particularly well-done performances will be rewarded with wuuug. Air fresheners, blah blah blah, you know the drill.
Note also that despite the date on which Karaokenung appears this year, the Gronghu Ministry of State assures me this is not an April Fool’s listing. I see no reason to doubt them.
I worked at America Online from 1996 to 1998, and one of the things I did there was edit a humor area, in which I wrote a weekly humor column. This is one of them, from 1998, not science fictional, but fun and representative of the pieces that I wrote there at the time. This is its first time in print (uh, if you have the print version. If you have the ebook, I mean, obviously it’s been printed electronically before).
Cute Adorable Extortionists
Yesterday was the last day of summer, and what a day it was. The sun dappled the trees in golden light, and it was just hot enough to remind you that it was still summer, even if only for one more day. Looking down the road, I could see two lemonade stands, children on the standby, ready to sell their last tangy glasses of the season. It was perfect, and I decided to get myself some lemonade.
“Hey there,” I said to the youngsters, a boy and a girl, sitting behind the stand. “Got any lemonade left?”
“Sure!” said the boy, smiling up at me with an adorable, gap-toothed grin. “I squoze the lemons myself! You want a cup?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and the boy grabbed a Dixie cup, while the girl poured the lemonade. They were so cute you could just die. I was whisked back to my own days as a lemonade proprietor—I felt, now as the customer, I was helping continue a generations-long summer tradition. An American Tradition.
“That’ll be $1.15,” the boy said.
“What?” I said.
“That’ll be $1.15,” the boy repeated.
“Wow,” I said. “$1.15 is kind of steep for a Dixie cup’s worth of lemonade.”
The boy and the girl stopped smiling and looked at me sort of strange. I immediately felt guilty. “You don’t want the lemonade?” the boy asked.
“I didn’t say that,” I said. “It’s just that….”
“We’ll have to throw it out,” the little girl piped up, her voice catching just a little bit. “We already poured it for you, mister. We can’t just put it back.” Now they both looked like they were about to cry. It was terrible, an obvious let-down for what was heretofore the most perfect day of the year.
So I figured, what the heck. “All right,” I said. “Done deal.” Their adorable faces immediately perked up again, and I fished in my pocket for the change. I was then presented with another problem.
“I only have 65 cents on me,” I said.
Their puckish faces darkened again,
and this time there was suspicion in their eyes. And who could blame them. Two times, a deal had been struck. Both times, at the end of the deal, I backed away, citing previously undisclosed reservations. Clearly, I was an unreliable customer. Clearly, I was messing with their delightful, cowlicked little heads. I felt slimier than a salted banana slug.
The two went into a huddle. After a minute or two of whispers, the boy turned to face me. “All right. We don’t normally do this, but we’ve decided to extend you a line of credit.”
“Great,” I said, reaching for the Dixie cup.
The boy kept his grip on the lemonade. “You just have to answer a few questions,” he said. The little girl, reaching under the lemonade stand, pulled out a clipboard.
“Have you ever defaulted on a loan, or have found yourself involved in bankruptcy proceedings?” she asked, the slightest of lisps in her voice no doubt brought on by the absence of a front tooth.
“Uh…no.”
“Do you rent, or do you own?”
“I rent,” I said. “Hey, all I wanted was some lemonade.”
“And you’ll get some, as soon as we’re satisfied with your credit history,” the boy said. “And you’ll love it! I squoze the lemons myself.”
“That was cuter before you asked if I rent,” I said.
“How much is your monthly rent payment?” the little girl asked.
“I’m not going to answer that,” I said, putting my foot down. The two looked at each other, and then at me. Once again, I was imposing deal-breaking conditions. “Oka-y-y-y,” the little girl said, in a tone of voice that expressed, in no uncertain terms, who the jerkwad was in this deal. “I’m phoning this in to the credit bureau. It’ll take a couple of minutes.” She left, leaving me and the boy.