Bubble Tea
(Bubble teas are the latest fad to hit the Asian tea industry. I hate bubble tea, really.)
3 ounces tapioca pearls
sugar syrup
1 cup brewed tea (Chinese black tea or lychee tea is good)
1 cup milk (or to taste)
Ice cubes
Directions
Prepare the sugar syrup for the tapioca pearls (see below).
Prepare the tapioca pearls (see below)
Place the tapioca pearls in the large glass jar
Allow the tea to cool to room temperature. Add the milk.
Add the sugar syrup, milk and tea mix, and the ice cubes to a cocktail shaker and shake well.
Pour the shaken mixture into the glass with the tapioca pearls. Serve with a thick straw.
Tapioca Pearls - these are the chief ingredient in Asian bubble teas.
Please note that the pearls expand considerably when cooked. Please ensure that you use a large pot.
1 part tapioca pearls
4 parts (or more) water
(as a rule, the more pearls cooked, the more water should be used: that is, the water to pearl ratio must be higher. For 3kgs of pearls, we recommend using as much as 6 times as much water)
Directions:
Boil the water. Add the pearls to the boiling water and boil for 30 minutes. Stir occasionally to make sure the pearls are not sticking to each other or to the pot. Turn off heat and let the pearls steep in the water for another 30 minutes with the lid of the cooking pot on.
Drain the tapioca pearls and rinse with cold water to cool them down. Place them in sugar syrup (sugar and water solution - see below). Make sure that the pearls are covered. Stir the pearls well.
Note: To prevent the pearls from sticking to each other and to the pot, there must be enough water and the pearls must be stirred.
Sugar Syrup
2 parts white sugar
1 part brown sugar
3 parts water
In a saucepan, bring the water to boil. Add the sugars. Reduce heat and heat until the sugar crystals are dissolved. Remove from heat.
Friday 26 October 2001
Tuesday 23 October 2001
The Power of Love
I´ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
Feels like fire
I'm so in love with you
Dreams are like angels
They keep bad at bay
Love is the light
Scaring darkness away
I'm so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on, burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
I'll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
When the chips are down I'll be around
With my undying, death-defying
Love for you
Envy will hurt itself
Let yourself be beautiful
Sparkling love, flowers
And pearls and pretty girls
Love is like an energy
Rushing inside of me
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
This time we go sublime
Lovers entwine, divine divine
Love is danger, love is pleasure
Love is pure, the only treasure
I'm so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
The power of love
A force from above
A sky-scraping dove
Flame on, burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
I'll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
(Frankie goes to Hollywood)
I´ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
Feels like fire
I'm so in love with you
Dreams are like angels
They keep bad at bay
Love is the light
Scaring darkness away
I'm so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on, burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
I'll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
When the chips are down I'll be around
With my undying, death-defying
Love for you
Envy will hurt itself
Let yourself be beautiful
Sparkling love, flowers
And pearls and pretty girls
Love is like an energy
Rushing inside of me
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
Flame on burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
This time we go sublime
Lovers entwine, divine divine
Love is danger, love is pleasure
Love is pure, the only treasure
I'm so in love with you
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
The power of love
A force from above
Cleaning my soul
The power of love
A force from above
A sky-scraping dove
Flame on, burn desire
Love with tongues of fire
Purge the soul
Make love, your goal
I'll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
(Frankie goes to Hollywood)
Maia
Maia read the letter in her hand, and for the first time in years, felt anger. Anger at her own stupidity, anger at his betrayal, anger at her insane waste of time.
She crumpled the letter and almost immediately, straightened it out again. Maia needed to read it again. And again.
It was nothing new, this letter. Again, he broke her heart with a few lines of meaningless words, callously thrown together to justify the umpteenth time her heart would be torn from her.
To Maia, this would be the last time she would ever fall into his trap again. Very, very last time. Oh, the foolish vows of one so spurned.
In half a year, all seemed forgotten. Maia was smiling again in his arms. She did not pause for a moment to wonder why. It was as if time had not existed for the last 6 months for her. Everything was inconsequential. Nothing mattered. But this was only for her, silly Maia.
In the last 6 months, he had fallen in love with someone else. He said he would never, but lies, all lies. For reasons known only to him, he disregarded Maia's already broken soul, and drew her in like a moth. Perhaps it was a flaw of men, to feel a need to possess all. Mercilessly, he possessed Maia.
As with all lies, the truth would prevail. Suddenly, Maia's eyes opened. And the pain of the years of betrayal poured down upon her without remorse. There was only so much pain her wrecked soul could take.
With a sigh, and but a single tear, Maia left him forever. He might never know she did, he might never know why. Maia needed to leave, to never again to be trapped. Her vows, oh foolish vows, must never be broken again.
Looking upon the horizon, Maia headed for the highest mountain. And there, she seeked refuge with a reknowned herbalist and devout nun. Maia's unwavering devotion to the art and the religion moved her mistress, and within a year, was a full fledged sister of the order.
Maia made her final vow in the name of the art, and this vow, she must never break.
Maia read the letter in her hand, and for the first time in years, felt anger. Anger at her own stupidity, anger at his betrayal, anger at her insane waste of time.
She crumpled the letter and almost immediately, straightened it out again. Maia needed to read it again. And again.
It was nothing new, this letter. Again, he broke her heart with a few lines of meaningless words, callously thrown together to justify the umpteenth time her heart would be torn from her.
To Maia, this would be the last time she would ever fall into his trap again. Very, very last time. Oh, the foolish vows of one so spurned.
In half a year, all seemed forgotten. Maia was smiling again in his arms. She did not pause for a moment to wonder why. It was as if time had not existed for the last 6 months for her. Everything was inconsequential. Nothing mattered. But this was only for her, silly Maia.
In the last 6 months, he had fallen in love with someone else. He said he would never, but lies, all lies. For reasons known only to him, he disregarded Maia's already broken soul, and drew her in like a moth. Perhaps it was a flaw of men, to feel a need to possess all. Mercilessly, he possessed Maia.
As with all lies, the truth would prevail. Suddenly, Maia's eyes opened. And the pain of the years of betrayal poured down upon her without remorse. There was only so much pain her wrecked soul could take.
With a sigh, and but a single tear, Maia left him forever. He might never know she did, he might never know why. Maia needed to leave, to never again to be trapped. Her vows, oh foolish vows, must never be broken again.
Looking upon the horizon, Maia headed for the highest mountain. And there, she seeked refuge with a reknowned herbalist and devout nun. Maia's unwavering devotion to the art and the religion moved her mistress, and within a year, was a full fledged sister of the order.
Maia made her final vow in the name of the art, and this vow, she must never break.
Friday 19 October 2001
Super-Toys Last All Summer Long
By Brian Aldiss
Wired magazine, Jan 1997
Though Brian Aldiss bristles at being pigeonholed as a sci-fi writer, the British author has won every major science fiction award. He has also sparked director Stanley Kubrick's imagination with the short story "Super-Toys Last All Summer Long." First published in Harper's Bazaar in 1969 and later anthologized, this tale of humanity in an age of intelligent machines and of the aching loneliness endemic in an overpopulated future is the inspiration behind Kubrick's ongoing AI project. Aldiss's story offers richly suggestive details that one hopes will make the cinematic cut. But just in case they don't, read the original.
In Mrs. Swinton's garden, it was always summer. The lovely almond trees stood about it in perpetual leaf. Monica Swinton plucked a saffron-colored rose and showed it to David.
"Isn't it lovely?" she said.
David looked up at her and grinned without replying. Seizing the flower, he ran with it across the lawn and disappeared behind the kennel where the mowervator crouched, ready to cut or sweep or roll when the moment dictated. She stood alone on her impeccable plastic gravel path.
She had tried to love him.
When she made up her mind to follow the boy, she found him in the courtyard floating the rose in his paddling pool. He stood in the pool engrossed, still wearing his sandals.
"David, darling, do you have to be so awful? Come in at once and change your shoes and socks."
He went with her without protest into the house, his dark head bobbing at the level of her waist. At the age of three, he showed no fear of the ultrasonic dryer in the kitchen. But before his mother could reach for a pair of slippers, he wriggled away and was gone into the silence of the house.
He would probably be looking for Teddy.
Monica Swinton, twenty-nine, of graceful shape and lambent eye, went and sat in her living room, arranging her limbs with taste. She began by sitting and thinking; soon she was just sitting. Time waited on her shoulder with the maniac slowth it reserves for children, the insane, and wives whose husbands are away improving the world. Almost by reflex, she reached out and changed the wavelength of her windows. The garden faded; in its place, the city center rose by her left hand, full of crowding people, blowboats, and buildings (but she kept the sound down). She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely.
The directors of Synthank were eating an enormous luncheon to celebrate the launching of their new product. Some of them wore the plastic face-masks popular at the time. All were elegantly slender, despite the rich food and drink they were putting away. Their wives were elegantly slender, despite the food and drink they too were putting away. An earlier and less sophisti- cated generation would have regarded them as beautiful people, apart from their eyes.
Henry Swinton, Managing Director of Synthank, was about to make a speech.
"I'm sorry your wife couldn't be with us to hear you," his neighbor said.
"Monica prefers to stay at home thinking beautiful thoughts," said Swinton, maintaining a smile.
"One would expect such a beautiful woman to have beautiful thoughts," said the neighbor.
Take your mind off my wife, you bastard, thought Swinton, still smiling.
He rose to make his speech amid applause.
After a couple of jokes, he said, "Today marks a real breakthrough for the company. It is now almost ten years since we put our first synthetic life-forms on the world market. You all know what a success they have been, particularly the miniature dinosaurs. But none of them had intelligence.
"It seems like a paradox that in this day and age we can create life but not intelligence. Our first selling line, the Crosswell Tape, sells best of all, and is the most stupid of all." Everyone laughed.
"Though three-quarters of the overcrowded world are starving, we are lucky here to have more than enough, thanks to population control. Obesity's our problem, not malnutrition. I guess there's nobody round this table who doesn't have a Crosswell working for him in the small intestine, a perfectly safe parasite tape-worm that enables its host to eat up to fifty percent more food and still keep his or her figure. Right?" General nods of agreement.
"Our miniature dinosaurs are almost equally stupid. Today, we launch an intelligent synthetic life-form - a full-size serving-man.
"Not only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his cranium.
"There have been mechanicals on the market with mini-computers for brains - plastic things without life, super-toys - but we have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with synthetic flesh."
David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.
"Teddy!" he said.
Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his master's voice activated him and he sat up.
"Teddy, I can't think what to say!"
Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to the boy's leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.
"What have you said so far?"
"I've said -" He picked up his letter and stared hard at it. "I've said, 'Dear Mummy, I hope you're well just now. I love you....'"
There was a long silence, until the bear said, "That sounds fine. Go downstairs and give it to her."
Another long silence.
"It isn't quite right. She won't understand."
Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its program of possibilities. "Why not do it again in crayon?"
When David did not answer, the bear repeated his suggestion. "Why not do it again in crayon?"
David was staring out of the window. "Teddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren't real things?"
The bear shuffled its alternatives. "Real things are good."
"I wonder if time is good.
I don't think Mummy likes time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?"
"Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial."
David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. "You and I are real, Teddy, aren't we?"
The bear's eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. "You and I are real, David." It specialized in comfort.
Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the Post Office number on the dial on her wrist but nothing came through. A few minutes more.
She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play with David....
She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.
"David!"
No answer. She called again and a third time.
"Teddy!" she called, in sharper tones.
"Yes, Mummy!" After a moment's pause, Teddy's head of golden fur appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Is David in his room, Teddy?"
"David went into the garden, Mummy."
"Come down here, Teddy!"
She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the living room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.
"Stand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you." She set him down on a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and open in the eternal gesture of embrace.
"Teddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the garden?"
The circuits of the bear's brain were too simple for artifice. "Yes, Mummy."
"So you lied to me."
"Yes, Mummy."
"Stop calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He's not afraid of me, is he?"
"No. He loves you."
"Why can't we communicate?"
"David's upstairs."
The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different quality of silence pouring out of every room. On the upper landing, something was moving very silently - David, trying to hide away from her....
He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting chamber, recording Henry's words and occasionally photographing him.
"Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer - for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturized computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course." Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.
"Amid all the triumphs of our civilization - yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too - it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them; he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.
"For the future, we plan more models, male and female - some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! - of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.
"Not only will they possess their own computer, capable of individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished forever!"
He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.
Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.
His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank; its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the garden.
At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment, David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his paws, he eventually got it open.
They looked at each other.
"I'm no good, Teddy. Let's run away!"
"You're a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you."
Slowly, he shook his head. "If she loved me, then why can't I talk to her?"
"You're being silly, David. Mummy's lonely. That's why she had you."
"She's got Daddy. I've got nobody 'cept you, and I'm lonely."
Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. "If you feel so bad, you'd better go to the psychiatrist again."
"I hate that old psychiatrist - he makes me feel I'm not real." He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.
Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.
Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside. Many of them were written in crayon in David's clumsy writing, with each letter picked out in a color different from the letter preceding it. None of the messages was finished.
"My dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much -"
"Dear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining -"
"Dear dear Mummy, Teddy's helping me write to you. I love you and Teddy -"
"Darling Mummy, I'm your one and only son and I love you so much that some times -"
"Dear Mummy, you're really my Mummy and I hate Teddy -"
"Darling Mummy, guess how much I love -"
"Dear Mummy, I'm your little boy not Teddy and I love you but Teddy -"
"Dear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how ever so much -"
Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their gay inaccurate colors, the letters fanned out and settled on the floor.
Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards.
The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a kilometer above the ground. Embedded in other apartments, their apartment had no windows to the outside; nobody wanted to see the overcrowded external world. Henry unlocked the door with his retina pattern-scanner and walked in, followed by the serving-man.
At once, Henry was sur-rounded by the friendly illusion of gardens set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to create huge mirages in small spaces. Behind its roses and wisteria stood their house; the deception was complete: a Georgian mansion appeared to welcome him.
"How do you like it?" he asked the serving-man.
"Roses occasionally suffer from black spot."
"These roses are guaranteed free from any imperfections."
"It is always advisable to purchase goods with guarantees, even if they cost slightly more."
"Thanks for the information," Henry said dryly. Synthetic life-forms were less than ten years old, the old android mechanicals less than sixteen; the faults of their systems were still being ironed out, year by year.
He opened the door and called to Monica.
She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was amazed.
Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so excited. Instinctively, he clasped her tighter.
"Darling, what's happened?"
"Henry, Henry - oh, my darling, I was in despair ... but I've just dialed the afternoon post and - you'll never believe it! Oh, it's wonderful!"
"For heaven's sake, woman, what's wonderful?"
He caught a glimpse of the heading on the photostat in her hand, still moist from the wall-receiver: Ministry of Population. He felt the color drain from his face in sudden shock and hope.
"Monica ... oh ... Don't tell me our number's come up!"
"Yes, my darling, yes, we've won this week's parenthood lottery! We can go ahead and conceive a child at once!"
He let out a yell of joy. They danced round the room. Pressure of population was such that reproduction had to be strict, controlled. Childbirth required government permission. For this moment, they had waited four years. Incoherently they cried their delight.
They paused at last, gasping, and stood in the middle of the room to laugh at each other's happiness. When she had come down from the nursery, Monica had de-opaqued the windows, so that they now revealed the vista of garden beyond. Artificial sunlight was growing long and golden across the lawn - and David and Teddy were staring through the window at them.
Seeing their faces, Henry and his wife grew serious.
"What do we do about them?" Henry asked.
"Teddy's no trouble. He works well."
"Is David malfunctioning?"
"His verbal communication-center is still giving trouble. I think he'll have to go back to the factory again."
"Okay. We'll see how he does before the baby's born. Which reminds me - I have a surprise for you: help just when help is needed! Come into the hall and see what I've got."
As the two adults disappeared from the room, boy and bear sat down beneath the standard roses.
"Teddy - I suppose Mummy and Daddy are real, aren't they?"
Teddy said, "You ask such silly questions, David. Nobody knows what 'real' really means. Let's go indoors."
"First I'm going to have another rose!" Plucking a bright pink flower, he carried it with him into the house. It could lie on the pillow as he went to sleep. Its beauty and softness reminded him of Mummy.
By Brian Aldiss
Wired magazine, Jan 1997
Though Brian Aldiss bristles at being pigeonholed as a sci-fi writer, the British author has won every major science fiction award. He has also sparked director Stanley Kubrick's imagination with the short story "Super-Toys Last All Summer Long." First published in Harper's Bazaar in 1969 and later anthologized, this tale of humanity in an age of intelligent machines and of the aching loneliness endemic in an overpopulated future is the inspiration behind Kubrick's ongoing AI project. Aldiss's story offers richly suggestive details that one hopes will make the cinematic cut. But just in case they don't, read the original.
In Mrs. Swinton's garden, it was always summer. The lovely almond trees stood about it in perpetual leaf. Monica Swinton plucked a saffron-colored rose and showed it to David.
"Isn't it lovely?" she said.
David looked up at her and grinned without replying. Seizing the flower, he ran with it across the lawn and disappeared behind the kennel where the mowervator crouched, ready to cut or sweep or roll when the moment dictated. She stood alone on her impeccable plastic gravel path.
She had tried to love him.
When she made up her mind to follow the boy, she found him in the courtyard floating the rose in his paddling pool. He stood in the pool engrossed, still wearing his sandals.
"David, darling, do you have to be so awful? Come in at once and change your shoes and socks."
He went with her without protest into the house, his dark head bobbing at the level of her waist. At the age of three, he showed no fear of the ultrasonic dryer in the kitchen. But before his mother could reach for a pair of slippers, he wriggled away and was gone into the silence of the house.
He would probably be looking for Teddy.
Monica Swinton, twenty-nine, of graceful shape and lambent eye, went and sat in her living room, arranging her limbs with taste. She began by sitting and thinking; soon she was just sitting. Time waited on her shoulder with the maniac slowth it reserves for children, the insane, and wives whose husbands are away improving the world. Almost by reflex, she reached out and changed the wavelength of her windows. The garden faded; in its place, the city center rose by her left hand, full of crowding people, blowboats, and buildings (but she kept the sound down). She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely.
The directors of Synthank were eating an enormous luncheon to celebrate the launching of their new product. Some of them wore the plastic face-masks popular at the time. All were elegantly slender, despite the rich food and drink they were putting away. Their wives were elegantly slender, despite the food and drink they too were putting away. An earlier and less sophisti- cated generation would have regarded them as beautiful people, apart from their eyes.
Henry Swinton, Managing Director of Synthank, was about to make a speech.
"I'm sorry your wife couldn't be with us to hear you," his neighbor said.
"Monica prefers to stay at home thinking beautiful thoughts," said Swinton, maintaining a smile.
"One would expect such a beautiful woman to have beautiful thoughts," said the neighbor.
Take your mind off my wife, you bastard, thought Swinton, still smiling.
He rose to make his speech amid applause.
After a couple of jokes, he said, "Today marks a real breakthrough for the company. It is now almost ten years since we put our first synthetic life-forms on the world market. You all know what a success they have been, particularly the miniature dinosaurs. But none of them had intelligence.
"It seems like a paradox that in this day and age we can create life but not intelligence. Our first selling line, the Crosswell Tape, sells best of all, and is the most stupid of all." Everyone laughed.
"Though three-quarters of the overcrowded world are starving, we are lucky here to have more than enough, thanks to population control. Obesity's our problem, not malnutrition. I guess there's nobody round this table who doesn't have a Crosswell working for him in the small intestine, a perfectly safe parasite tape-worm that enables its host to eat up to fifty percent more food and still keep his or her figure. Right?" General nods of agreement.
"Our miniature dinosaurs are almost equally stupid. Today, we launch an intelligent synthetic life-form - a full-size serving-man.
"Not only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his cranium.
"There have been mechanicals on the market with mini-computers for brains - plastic things without life, super-toys - but we have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with synthetic flesh."
David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.
"Teddy!" he said.
Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his master's voice activated him and he sat up.
"Teddy, I can't think what to say!"
Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to the boy's leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.
"What have you said so far?"
"I've said -" He picked up his letter and stared hard at it. "I've said, 'Dear Mummy, I hope you're well just now. I love you....'"
There was a long silence, until the bear said, "That sounds fine. Go downstairs and give it to her."
Another long silence.
"It isn't quite right. She won't understand."
Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its program of possibilities. "Why not do it again in crayon?"
When David did not answer, the bear repeated his suggestion. "Why not do it again in crayon?"
David was staring out of the window. "Teddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren't real things?"
The bear shuffled its alternatives. "Real things are good."
"I wonder if time is good.
I don't think Mummy likes time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?"
"Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial."
David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. "You and I are real, Teddy, aren't we?"
The bear's eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. "You and I are real, David." It specialized in comfort.
Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the Post Office number on the dial on her wrist but nothing came through. A few minutes more.
She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play with David....
She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.
"David!"
No answer. She called again and a third time.
"Teddy!" she called, in sharper tones.
"Yes, Mummy!" After a moment's pause, Teddy's head of golden fur appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Is David in his room, Teddy?"
"David went into the garden, Mummy."
"Come down here, Teddy!"
She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the living room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.
"Stand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you." She set him down on a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and open in the eternal gesture of embrace.
"Teddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the garden?"
The circuits of the bear's brain were too simple for artifice. "Yes, Mummy."
"So you lied to me."
"Yes, Mummy."
"Stop calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He's not afraid of me, is he?"
"No. He loves you."
"Why can't we communicate?"
"David's upstairs."
The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different quality of silence pouring out of every room. On the upper landing, something was moving very silently - David, trying to hide away from her....
He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting chamber, recording Henry's words and occasionally photographing him.
"Our serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer - for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturized computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course." Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.
"Amid all the triumphs of our civilization - yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too - it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them; he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.
"For the future, we plan more models, male and female - some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you! - of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.
"Not only will they possess their own computer, capable of individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished forever!"
He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.
Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.
His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank; its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the garden.
At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment, David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his paws, he eventually got it open.
They looked at each other.
"I'm no good, Teddy. Let's run away!"
"You're a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you."
Slowly, he shook his head. "If she loved me, then why can't I talk to her?"
"You're being silly, David. Mummy's lonely. That's why she had you."
"She's got Daddy. I've got nobody 'cept you, and I'm lonely."
Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. "If you feel so bad, you'd better go to the psychiatrist again."
"I hate that old psychiatrist - he makes me feel I'm not real." He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.
Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.
Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside. Many of them were written in crayon in David's clumsy writing, with each letter picked out in a color different from the letter preceding it. None of the messages was finished.
"My dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much -"
"Dear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining -"
"Dear dear Mummy, Teddy's helping me write to you. I love you and Teddy -"
"Darling Mummy, I'm your one and only son and I love you so much that some times -"
"Dear Mummy, you're really my Mummy and I hate Teddy -"
"Darling Mummy, guess how much I love -"
"Dear Mummy, I'm your little boy not Teddy and I love you but Teddy -"
"Dear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how ever so much -"
Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their gay inaccurate colors, the letters fanned out and settled on the floor.
Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards.
The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a kilometer above the ground. Embedded in other apartments, their apartment had no windows to the outside; nobody wanted to see the overcrowded external world. Henry unlocked the door with his retina pattern-scanner and walked in, followed by the serving-man.
At once, Henry was sur-rounded by the friendly illusion of gardens set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to create huge mirages in small spaces. Behind its roses and wisteria stood their house; the deception was complete: a Georgian mansion appeared to welcome him.
"How do you like it?" he asked the serving-man.
"Roses occasionally suffer from black spot."
"These roses are guaranteed free from any imperfections."
"It is always advisable to purchase goods with guarantees, even if they cost slightly more."
"Thanks for the information," Henry said dryly. Synthetic life-forms were less than ten years old, the old android mechanicals less than sixteen; the faults of their systems were still being ironed out, year by year.
He opened the door and called to Monica.
She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was amazed.
Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so excited. Instinctively, he clasped her tighter.
"Darling, what's happened?"
"Henry, Henry - oh, my darling, I was in despair ... but I've just dialed the afternoon post and - you'll never believe it! Oh, it's wonderful!"
"For heaven's sake, woman, what's wonderful?"
He caught a glimpse of the heading on the photostat in her hand, still moist from the wall-receiver: Ministry of Population. He felt the color drain from his face in sudden shock and hope.
"Monica ... oh ... Don't tell me our number's come up!"
"Yes, my darling, yes, we've won this week's parenthood lottery! We can go ahead and conceive a child at once!"
He let out a yell of joy. They danced round the room. Pressure of population was such that reproduction had to be strict, controlled. Childbirth required government permission. For this moment, they had waited four years. Incoherently they cried their delight.
They paused at last, gasping, and stood in the middle of the room to laugh at each other's happiness. When she had come down from the nursery, Monica had de-opaqued the windows, so that they now revealed the vista of garden beyond. Artificial sunlight was growing long and golden across the lawn - and David and Teddy were staring through the window at them.
Seeing their faces, Henry and his wife grew serious.
"What do we do about them?" Henry asked.
"Teddy's no trouble. He works well."
"Is David malfunctioning?"
"His verbal communication-center is still giving trouble. I think he'll have to go back to the factory again."
"Okay. We'll see how he does before the baby's born. Which reminds me - I have a surprise for you: help just when help is needed! Come into the hall and see what I've got."
As the two adults disappeared from the room, boy and bear sat down beneath the standard roses.
"Teddy - I suppose Mummy and Daddy are real, aren't they?"
Teddy said, "You ask such silly questions, David. Nobody knows what 'real' really means. Let's go indoors."
"First I'm going to have another rose!" Plucking a bright pink flower, he carried it with him into the house. It could lie on the pillow as he went to sleep. Its beauty and softness reminded him of Mummy.
Wednesday 3 October 2001
*giggle* I got this from the World of Darkness mud I play at.
The Origin of Species
VENTRUE: Okay, guys, sit down. I suppose you're wondering why I've called you all here.
TOREADOR: I should think so. I have an engagement in two hours that I simply MUST attend, and I don't want to be late.
VENTRUE: Yeah, yeah. Order! Well, I don't know about you guys, but my Progeny have been asking some rather... embarrassing questions, and I--
MALKAV: Just tell them that when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other very much--
VENTRUE: Shut up, Malkav. Anyway, they want to know where we come from, why, how, the whole bit. I think it's time we had an answer for them.
[silence]
BRUJAH: Well, what are you asking us for? WE don't fucking know.
SAULOT: LANGUAGE!
BRUJAH: Sorry.
VENTRUE: What about you, Ralph? You seem to have your nose in everything.
NOSFERATU: No, I am ... no longer called "Ralph." From this day forward, you shall call me: "Nosferatu."
[silence]
RAVNOS: I dunno, man. Ralph suits you.
NOSFERATU: No! I REFUSE to be stuck with that name.
VENTRUE: Leave him alone Ravnos.
TOREADOR: Actually, while we're on the subject ...
VENTRUE: What is it now?
TOREADOR: I have taken the pseudonym "Toreador."
[more silence]
HASSAM: You've never even SEEN a bull, let alone fight one, Norman.
TOREADOR: LEAVE ME ALONE !!!
RAVNOS: I was gonna say something about "full of ..." Oh, never mind.
VENTRUE: SHALL we get back to business?
LASOMBRA: I think "Nosferatu" sounds cool actually, Ralph.
NOSFERATU: And it's a lot easier to say when you can't retract your fangs.
VENTRUE: GENTLEMEN!
[silence]
VENTRUE: Okay, any ideas?
TZIMISCE: Uh ...
VENTRUE: Yes, Tzimisce?
TZIMISCE: Yas. Do you think it vaz a disease, perrrhaps?
SAULOT: Nnnnnnno ... I don't think so. I'd know about it by now if it was.
MALKAV: Ooo! Ooo! I've got an idea!
VENTRUE: [groan] What?
MALKAV: Ooo! Ooo! We're ALL ... aliens! Yeah! From the planet... Yuggoth!
BRUJAH: Malkav?
MALKAV: Yeah?
BRUJAH: Drop dead.
[silence]
MALKAV: Ain't it just TOO BAD you don't have Dominate?
BRUJAH: REAL men don't NEED Dominate!
[biff]
[thud]
MALKAV: Owww!
RAVNOS: Okay, I've got it.
VENTRUE: Yes?
RAVNOS: They're not REALLY vampires, they just THINK they are.
VENTRUE: Hmmm ... not bad ... but then the dumb ones will try to prove you wrong by taking a sunbake.
LASOMBRA: SO? Weeds out the stupid ones, less of a population problem, less nosey Progeny asking silly questions.
TOREADOR: Lasombra, you are perverted.
LASOMBRA: Hey, am I my brother's keeper?
TZIMISCE: He has a valid point, frrriend.
TOREADOR: Sickening creatures. hmmph.
[sniggering]
SAULOT: Brother's keeper ... hey! That reminds me! You know those guys who wear the funny tea towels on their heads--
HASSAM: WATCH it, three-eyes.
SAULOT: Sorry. Anyway, they have this old story about this one guy who kills his brother and gets cursed, see ...
SUTEKH: Cursssed, you sssay? Hmmm ... I like it!
NOSFERATU: Yeah, but if YOU say it, no one will believe it.
TREMERE: I know! We did it by magick!
[silence]
BRUJAH: Who the hell are you?
TREMERE: Oh. Tremere, Arrogant Scheming Mage at your service!
SAULOT: Hang on, you're not supposed to be here until A.D. 1314!
TREMERE: So? I'm an Oracle of Time. I'll be when I want.
VENTRUE: A mortal, eh? Hey, Tremere!
TREMERE: Yeah?
VENTRUE: GET OUT.
TREMERE: Sure. [slam] [muffled] Damn. Must learn how to do that.
VENTRUE: Now, we might be onto something with this "curse" business. We haven't heard from Gangrel yet, and we need a female opinion at this juncture. What do you think, Gangrel?
[silence]
VENTRUE: Gangrel?
[more silence]
VENTRUE: Anybody seen Gangrel?
RAVNOS: Errr, actually, we've had a bit of a disagreement ...
MALKAV: Awww, doesn't Mummy wuv you any more?
RAVNOS: Suck off.
MALKAV: DOES she do it doggy style?
[biff]
RAVNOS: Thank you, Brujah.
BRUJAH: No prob, bro.
VENTRUE: Okay, so what gives with this curse thing?
SAULOT: Well, they say that the first two sons of the first man had to give offerings to God. The first brother gave plants and stuff, and the second brother gave animal blood.
ALL: Yeah! All right! Sounds great! Cool!
SAULOT: So the older one -- Cain, I think -- killed Abel, the younger one, and was cursed by God for the very first murder.
HASSAM: Innovative man, this Cain.
SUTEKH: Ssso, we're dessscended from a psssychopathic greengrocccer. How about we're dessscended from the MURDERED one, ssso that we are the CHOSSSEN of God, the INHERITORSSS of DIVINE POWER, the--
MALKAV: You REALLY have a God complex, don't you Sutekh? Tell me about your mother. Did she lock you in a cupboard? Or--
[biff]
BRUJAH: Final warning, kook.
VENTRUE: Sutekh, please, stop standing on your chair.
TREMERE: I like the "cursed by God" thing, actually.
VENTRUE: How did YOU get in here?
TREMERE: Correspondence. Don't you know ANYTHING? Hey, Saulot!
SAULOT: Yeah?
TREMERE: I JUST worked out where I've seen you before. Could I have a word with you outside? It won't take more than five minutes. Promise.
SAULOT: Sure. You seem like a decent enough fellow.
[slam]
LASOMBRA: Wonder what he wants ... anyway ...
TOREADOR: I think I prefer the older brother. He's a charming, regal figure who diligently sacrifices for his Lord, but is consumed by jealousy into a desperate act -- which he regrets later, of course -- but TOO LATE to avoid the harsh judgment of an UNCARING God, and is DOOMED to wander the earth, OUTCAST from his fellow man! Oh, the horror! Oh, the HUMANITY! Oh, the ANGST!
BRUJAH: What's an "angst"?
SUTEKH: Oh, it'sss a kind of a crossss, but with a loopy bit on top. My guysss love 'em.
BRUJAH: Oh. [pause] I don't get it ...
TOREADOR: Philistines.
[scream from outside]
TZIMISCE: Vat the hell vas that?
NOSFERATU: Sounded like Saulot. HEY! YOU GUYS SHUT UP OUT THERE!
[door opens]
TREMERE: Oh, sorry, uhhh ... Saulot says to say that, uhhh, he ... had to leave -- real quick, like ... uhhh, but he was REAL happy about it, and, uhhh, he was glad he caught up with you guys again.
NOSFERATU: Is it me, or does he look kinda pale?
VENTRUE: Who cares? Getting back to this curse thing ...
LASOMBRA: So, are we his direct Progeny, then? 'Cos if so, how come we don't know where he is now?
MALKAV: Errr, he made us, then ran away. Really fast.
RAVNOS: No, no, no, he made some OTHER guys first, and then THEY made US ...
TOREADOR: And he repented of The Horror He Had Unleashed Upon The Earth! And banished himself from the sight of ALL!
MALKAV: AND ran away really fast.
TOREADOR: If you must.
VENTRUE: But how come we're all so different?
TOREADOR: The Curse works in Mysterious Ways ...
NOSFERATU: Yeah! I used to be the most handsome man in the world ...
RAVNOS: Yeah, right.
LASOMBRA: And I had a reflection!
BRUJAH: Can I have been a philosopher?
RAVNOS: And Toreador used to have taste ...
MALKAV: And I used to be insane!
[silence]
VENTRUE: I think we might be pushing our luck here.
SUTEKH: Any BETTER ideasss?
VENTRUE: Well, let's put it to a vote, then. Magick?
TREMERE: Aye.
VENTRUE: That's one.
[silence]
VENTRUE: Okay, aliens from the planet Yuggoth?
MALKAV: Twenty-three.
VENTRUE: Your multiple personalities don't count, Malkav.
MALKAV: Awww ...
VENTRUE: The chosen son of God? ... Sutekh, Lasombra, Tzimisce. Any others?
HASSAM: Aye.
VENTRUE: Okay, that's four. Cursed children of a psychopathic greengrocer? ... That's four, plus myself, five.
[groans]
LASOMBRA: Swinging the vote, you black-balling bureaucrat!
VENTRUE: If you don't like it, go and form your OWN group.
LASOMBRA: Maybe I will.
VENTRUE: Okay, then, I charge all of you to disperse this data to your Progeny, and I'll have MY people send out memos in triplicate to YOUR people before the start of the next fiscal year. Meeting adjourned! [banging noise, general muttering and shuffling] Drinks anyone?
MALKAV: I think Tremere just ate. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhh ...
TZIMISCE: Vy did you throw him out ze window, Brujah?
BRUJAH: I dunno, man, just something I had to do ... [sulking] none of you understand me, anyway ...
HASSAM: [whispered] Hey, Tremere!
TREMERE: What?
HASSAM: Saulot -- you did him in, didn't you? You snuffed him. Sucked him dry.
TREMERE: Uhhh ... yeah, I did.
[silence]
HASSAM: What's it like?
The Origin of Species
VENTRUE: Okay, guys, sit down. I suppose you're wondering why I've called you all here.
TOREADOR: I should think so. I have an engagement in two hours that I simply MUST attend, and I don't want to be late.
VENTRUE: Yeah, yeah. Order! Well, I don't know about you guys, but my Progeny have been asking some rather... embarrassing questions, and I--
MALKAV: Just tell them that when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other very much--
VENTRUE: Shut up, Malkav. Anyway, they want to know where we come from, why, how, the whole bit. I think it's time we had an answer for them.
[silence]
BRUJAH: Well, what are you asking us for? WE don't fucking know.
SAULOT: LANGUAGE!
BRUJAH: Sorry.
VENTRUE: What about you, Ralph? You seem to have your nose in everything.
NOSFERATU: No, I am ... no longer called "Ralph." From this day forward, you shall call me: "Nosferatu."
[silence]
RAVNOS: I dunno, man. Ralph suits you.
NOSFERATU: No! I REFUSE to be stuck with that name.
VENTRUE: Leave him alone Ravnos.
TOREADOR: Actually, while we're on the subject ...
VENTRUE: What is it now?
TOREADOR: I have taken the pseudonym "Toreador."
[more silence]
HASSAM: You've never even SEEN a bull, let alone fight one, Norman.
TOREADOR: LEAVE ME ALONE !!!
RAVNOS: I was gonna say something about "full of ..." Oh, never mind.
VENTRUE: SHALL we get back to business?
LASOMBRA: I think "Nosferatu" sounds cool actually, Ralph.
NOSFERATU: And it's a lot easier to say when you can't retract your fangs.
VENTRUE: GENTLEMEN!
[silence]
VENTRUE: Okay, any ideas?
TZIMISCE: Uh ...
VENTRUE: Yes, Tzimisce?
TZIMISCE: Yas. Do you think it vaz a disease, perrrhaps?
SAULOT: Nnnnnnno ... I don't think so. I'd know about it by now if it was.
MALKAV: Ooo! Ooo! I've got an idea!
VENTRUE: [groan] What?
MALKAV: Ooo! Ooo! We're ALL ... aliens! Yeah! From the planet... Yuggoth!
BRUJAH: Malkav?
MALKAV: Yeah?
BRUJAH: Drop dead.
[silence]
MALKAV: Ain't it just TOO BAD you don't have Dominate?
BRUJAH: REAL men don't NEED Dominate!
[biff]
[thud]
MALKAV: Owww!
RAVNOS: Okay, I've got it.
VENTRUE: Yes?
RAVNOS: They're not REALLY vampires, they just THINK they are.
VENTRUE: Hmmm ... not bad ... but then the dumb ones will try to prove you wrong by taking a sunbake.
LASOMBRA: SO? Weeds out the stupid ones, less of a population problem, less nosey Progeny asking silly questions.
TOREADOR: Lasombra, you are perverted.
LASOMBRA: Hey, am I my brother's keeper?
TZIMISCE: He has a valid point, frrriend.
TOREADOR: Sickening creatures. hmmph.
[sniggering]
SAULOT: Brother's keeper ... hey! That reminds me! You know those guys who wear the funny tea towels on their heads--
HASSAM: WATCH it, three-eyes.
SAULOT: Sorry. Anyway, they have this old story about this one guy who kills his brother and gets cursed, see ...
SUTEKH: Cursssed, you sssay? Hmmm ... I like it!
NOSFERATU: Yeah, but if YOU say it, no one will believe it.
TREMERE: I know! We did it by magick!
[silence]
BRUJAH: Who the hell are you?
TREMERE: Oh. Tremere, Arrogant Scheming Mage at your service!
SAULOT: Hang on, you're not supposed to be here until A.D. 1314!
TREMERE: So? I'm an Oracle of Time. I'll be when I want.
VENTRUE: A mortal, eh? Hey, Tremere!
TREMERE: Yeah?
VENTRUE: GET OUT.
TREMERE: Sure. [slam] [muffled] Damn. Must learn how to do that.
VENTRUE: Now, we might be onto something with this "curse" business. We haven't heard from Gangrel yet, and we need a female opinion at this juncture. What do you think, Gangrel?
[silence]
VENTRUE: Gangrel?
[more silence]
VENTRUE: Anybody seen Gangrel?
RAVNOS: Errr, actually, we've had a bit of a disagreement ...
MALKAV: Awww, doesn't Mummy wuv you any more?
RAVNOS: Suck off.
MALKAV: DOES she do it doggy style?
[biff]
RAVNOS: Thank you, Brujah.
BRUJAH: No prob, bro.
VENTRUE: Okay, so what gives with this curse thing?
SAULOT: Well, they say that the first two sons of the first man had to give offerings to God. The first brother gave plants and stuff, and the second brother gave animal blood.
ALL: Yeah! All right! Sounds great! Cool!
SAULOT: So the older one -- Cain, I think -- killed Abel, the younger one, and was cursed by God for the very first murder.
HASSAM: Innovative man, this Cain.
SUTEKH: Ssso, we're dessscended from a psssychopathic greengrocccer. How about we're dessscended from the MURDERED one, ssso that we are the CHOSSSEN of God, the INHERITORSSS of DIVINE POWER, the--
MALKAV: You REALLY have a God complex, don't you Sutekh? Tell me about your mother. Did she lock you in a cupboard? Or--
[biff]
BRUJAH: Final warning, kook.
VENTRUE: Sutekh, please, stop standing on your chair.
TREMERE: I like the "cursed by God" thing, actually.
VENTRUE: How did YOU get in here?
TREMERE: Correspondence. Don't you know ANYTHING? Hey, Saulot!
SAULOT: Yeah?
TREMERE: I JUST worked out where I've seen you before. Could I have a word with you outside? It won't take more than five minutes. Promise.
SAULOT: Sure. You seem like a decent enough fellow.
[slam]
LASOMBRA: Wonder what he wants ... anyway ...
TOREADOR: I think I prefer the older brother. He's a charming, regal figure who diligently sacrifices for his Lord, but is consumed by jealousy into a desperate act -- which he regrets later, of course -- but TOO LATE to avoid the harsh judgment of an UNCARING God, and is DOOMED to wander the earth, OUTCAST from his fellow man! Oh, the horror! Oh, the HUMANITY! Oh, the ANGST!
BRUJAH: What's an "angst"?
SUTEKH: Oh, it'sss a kind of a crossss, but with a loopy bit on top. My guysss love 'em.
BRUJAH: Oh. [pause] I don't get it ...
TOREADOR: Philistines.
[scream from outside]
TZIMISCE: Vat the hell vas that?
NOSFERATU: Sounded like Saulot. HEY! YOU GUYS SHUT UP OUT THERE!
[door opens]
TREMERE: Oh, sorry, uhhh ... Saulot says to say that, uhhh, he ... had to leave -- real quick, like ... uhhh, but he was REAL happy about it, and, uhhh, he was glad he caught up with you guys again.
NOSFERATU: Is it me, or does he look kinda pale?
VENTRUE: Who cares? Getting back to this curse thing ...
LASOMBRA: So, are we his direct Progeny, then? 'Cos if so, how come we don't know where he is now?
MALKAV: Errr, he made us, then ran away. Really fast.
RAVNOS: No, no, no, he made some OTHER guys first, and then THEY made US ...
TOREADOR: And he repented of The Horror He Had Unleashed Upon The Earth! And banished himself from the sight of ALL!
MALKAV: AND ran away really fast.
TOREADOR: If you must.
VENTRUE: But how come we're all so different?
TOREADOR: The Curse works in Mysterious Ways ...
NOSFERATU: Yeah! I used to be the most handsome man in the world ...
RAVNOS: Yeah, right.
LASOMBRA: And I had a reflection!
BRUJAH: Can I have been a philosopher?
RAVNOS: And Toreador used to have taste ...
MALKAV: And I used to be insane!
[silence]
VENTRUE: I think we might be pushing our luck here.
SUTEKH: Any BETTER ideasss?
VENTRUE: Well, let's put it to a vote, then. Magick?
TREMERE: Aye.
VENTRUE: That's one.
[silence]
VENTRUE: Okay, aliens from the planet Yuggoth?
MALKAV: Twenty-three.
VENTRUE: Your multiple personalities don't count, Malkav.
MALKAV: Awww ...
VENTRUE: The chosen son of God? ... Sutekh, Lasombra, Tzimisce. Any others?
HASSAM: Aye.
VENTRUE: Okay, that's four. Cursed children of a psychopathic greengrocer? ... That's four, plus myself, five.
[groans]
LASOMBRA: Swinging the vote, you black-balling bureaucrat!
VENTRUE: If you don't like it, go and form your OWN group.
LASOMBRA: Maybe I will.
VENTRUE: Okay, then, I charge all of you to disperse this data to your Progeny, and I'll have MY people send out memos in triplicate to YOUR people before the start of the next fiscal year. Meeting adjourned! [banging noise, general muttering and shuffling] Drinks anyone?
MALKAV: I think Tremere just ate. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhh ...
TZIMISCE: Vy did you throw him out ze window, Brujah?
BRUJAH: I dunno, man, just something I had to do ... [sulking] none of you understand me, anyway ...
HASSAM: [whispered] Hey, Tremere!
TREMERE: What?
HASSAM: Saulot -- you did him in, didn't you? You snuffed him. Sucked him dry.
TREMERE: Uhhh ... yeah, I did.
[silence]
HASSAM: What's it like?
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