Members were filled with intrigue when speakers Joey Jones and Lesia Tkacz spoke about interactive ficition and AI-generated literature respectively. And while he couldn’t attend to announce his winners on the night, our own events organiser and sci-fi author, Dr. Mark Eyles, selected the winners for this months competition:
Write 300 words of science fiction, including an AI character.
Although unable to attend on the evening, Mark did provide reasoning to his thought process to be shared with the group:
“I asked ChatGPT to ‘Suggest five marking criteria for judging a sci-fi writing competition.’ Chat GPT said: ‘Certainly, here are five essential marking criteria for judging a sci-fi writing competition:
1. Originality and Creativity (25 points)
2. World-Building and Setting (20 points)
3. Character Development (20 points)
4. Plot Structure and Engagement (20 points)
5. Writing Style and Presentation (15 points)
These criteria provide a balanced approach, covering the uniqueness of the concept, the immersive world-building, well-developed characters, compelling plot, and the quality of the writing. Adjust the point allocations based on the specific emphasis or importance you want to place on each criterion in your competition.’
“The Chat GPT criteria are all very worthy, though I’m not sure they get to the heart of things. Seems to be what ChatGPT is like, often suggesting the obvious. Science fiction can be a powerful tool in interrogating the human condition. It can suggest novel ways of thinking about the world and our place in it.
The entries were all well written and fully engaged with the brief. The entrants can all be very proud of the writing skills displayed in the stories. They all pulled me in and kept me guessing until they resolved.
Many of these stories featured very believable technologies that were realistically extrapolated from
where we are in 2023. A couple took us somewhere more distant in space and/or time.
All the winners touched on larger themes, with stories solidly rooted in science fiction tropes. They
all brought something original to the table.”
And the winners are…
First Place: The Reservation by Catherine Griffin
Second Place: A Teardrop Implodes by Johnathan Reid
Third Place: Dimes Enough to Last by Damon L. Wakes
Highly Commended: Toastee by Lucien May
First Place: The Reservation by Catherine Griffin
This entry read like a window onto a much larger world. This was a well-crafted piece that immediately drew me in. This story contained large themes, but they never overshadowed the central character, Cary’s, personal plight in trying to understand and engage with the world. Set in a solid science fiction world, Cary was complex and deep.
Mark Eyles
The first revolt I remember, I was seven. Our tribe charged the Barrier with tree trunks to force it down.
Three Machines came and watched, still and silent, silver eyes reflecting flames while the men howled and threw rocks. All night they watched and never moved.
In the morning the fires were ash, the Machines gone. We came to look at the fallen Barrier, the white metal all twisted and bent among the charred wood. Some laughed, some pawed in the ash for scrap metal, but most only stared at the Outside.
No one stepped through the gap.
And next day the Barrier was back, whole and unscarred.
’So entanglement means particles’ states can’t be considered separately, they’re described by a single wave function?’
‘Correct,’ the Machine said. ‘You have a good understanding of this subject, Cary.’
I squirmed a little straighter in the hard seat. ‘What else is there?’
‘In the topic Quantum Mechanics?’
‘No.’ One deep breath. ‘I want to do things. Not just learn.’
‘It is not advisable,’ the Machine said.
The Machines don’t say no. They say not advisable, not culturally appropriate, but it means no all the same.
‘But what’s the point of learning this stuff?’
‘Humans enjoy learning.’
That’s what I told Dan when he asked, and he laughed and said I just want the Machine to tell me I’m clever. Maybe he’s right. Most my age don’t want to sit in a cold little room and talk to a Machine. They want to be grown-ups, doing grown-up things.
And sure, I wanted that too. Only sometimes I was with the tribe, everyone drinking and singing, and I thought is this it? Is this everything that matters? Because the world is big and the stars so far away, and we’re so small.
So very, very small.
Second Place: A Teardrop Implodes by Johnathan Reid
This story kept me returning to it. And not just because of the reference to Julian Cope’s band. I wanted to know more about this dark world and the characters in it. I liked the way everything hinged on the smallest detail in a teardrop, reminding me of that scene in Bladerunner, when Rick Deckard zooms in on a reflection in a picture. This story felt gritty, real, and cinematic in a good way.
Mark Eyles
Frank tracked the tear streaking the girl’s dirty cheek. When it dripped from her chin, he dropped like a hawk into the cheap carpet, pinched thumb and index finger flicking once, twice, three times for maximum magnification. From his virtual insect-like viewpoint, the teardrop’s remains sat on fibrous red ropes; a fish-eyed lens minutely reflecting the bedroom’s sparse furniture and teenage-plastered walls.
The fragile hemisphere’s tension could collapse any second, erasing the telltale he sought. Was the girl who sat hunched on the bed, face etched with sorrow, also reflected in this wept convexity?
No, she wasn’t.
“Gotcha!” cried Frank, pushing back in his office chair, fist pumping.
“You’re on a roll this morning,” Pete remarked from the adjoining desk, peering at a well-dressed man unfastening his shirt.
“This one’s got a new author mod. Took a minute to spot, but I’m on it. Want to hear the happy ending?”
“I insist,” said Pete, eyes unwavering.
Frank’s fingers pinched and swiped, returning the girl to centre-stage. “So long, darlin’,” he muttered.
Adjusting his headset, he addressed the target, forehead creased with tender concern: “Don’t worry, love,” he said. “You’ll be safe.”
Her head lifted. “You believe me?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.
“’Course I do, sweetheart. I’ll send every word I’ve got. How’s that sound?”
“Oh, Frank! You’re so kind. How can I ever repay you?”
“By dying, you bootleggin’ bot,” Frank said, his finger stabbing the keyboard’s kill button.
His desk’s speakers emitted a piercing shriek as the girl and her room collapsed into a singular red dot. Frank glanced up at the large office monitor as a cheery ping announced his latest tally. Today was going well.
“Nice one,” said Pete. “Four dead poets and doughnuts not gone.”
“You can’t beat the human touch,” Frank replied, reaching for one.
Third Place: Dimes Enough to Last by Damon L. Wakes
This funny story deals with very contemporary issues, exploring what might happen if current
Mark Eyles
technology is pushed to the limit. Possibly pushed to that limit in the near future given the current
rate of technological change. The way humans respond to all powerful AIs in this scenario possibly
offers some hope, or maybe not. The question at the end left me guessing.
“Mwa-ha-ha!” cackled Biff Cheezos, the ultimate CEO. “Now Disney-Amazon-Apple-Google-Tesla-ETC has automated all industry and owns all intellectual property, I can finally realise my dream of having all the money!”
He paused to take in his expansive top-floor office, which was definitely exclusive and minimalist and not at all lonely and empty.
“Halexa,” he said, summoning the attention of the AI that now possessed every creative work in existence. “Whip up another Avengers movie.”
“Okay,” said Halexa. “Making another Avengers movie. How many Hemsworths should be in it?”
“I don’t care about that!” Biff waved a hand. “If I wanted to think about the details I wouldn’t have paid all those nerds to make you!”
“Okay.” There was a pause. “I’ve made an Avengers movie. It has seven Hemsworths. Would you like to see it?”
“Of course not!” Biff cracked open a can of Monster and threw himself down in his tacky leather beanbag chair. “Just give me the figures for the last one.”
“Calculating…” Another pause. “In its opening weekend, Avengers: Neverending Infinity grossed zero dollars.”
“Wha?” asked Biff Cheezos, inadvertently slopping vile sticky energy drink down his chin. “How? Why?”
“An in-depth analysis suggests that consumers’ disposable income is instead going towards nothing, because they don’t have disposable income, because all their jobs have been automated.”
“What?” asked Biff again, more articulately this time.
“Would you like me to explain using puppets?” offered Halexa, helpfully.
Biff ignored the offer. “So what’s everybody doing now?”
“Market research drones suggest they have established a rudimentary economy using ring-pulls as currency. Community farms have been established. An independent internet has emerged using obsolete Xboxes for infrastructure. The most popular Hemsworth has reinvented himself as a street performer and is currently reciting limericks on the curb outside.”
Biff Cheezos thought for a bit. “Could we buy the rights to those limericks?” he asked.
“Depends,” said Halexa. “How many ring-pulls do you have?”
Highly Commended: Toastee; or, the Yeasty Prometheus by Lucien May
The inner world of a toaster as it contemplates its existence. This story was immediately engaging
Mark Eyles
and told with humour. The existential angst of the toaster was entirely believable. Although very
short, this piece suggested a much larger world.
It is a rock. Not small; not a stone. Not big; not a boulder. A rock. The rockiest of rocks. And it is sitting motionless as a rock. This is to say that the rock is not sentient or friendly or people pleasing. It is simply a rock, and that itself is pleasing. It has been placed on the windowsill, prime position for the winter sun to speckle its sleek back, and I love the rock more than anything because it knows exactly what it is without all the drama of knowing what it is not… It is a rock.
I am not a rock. I don’t know who I am; or is that, what I am? I don’t know if I am an am. I do know what I do though: I make toast.
It’s not the most glamorous of professions, no one’s saying that it is, and in most ways I’m a very crumby kind of AI. But when I see you walk through the door, I wait for the call: ‘Toastee, white bread, level 3.’ And I get to work. I send the signal to lift out the white bread, check for mould and then proceed. I set a timer for 3 minutes for level 3, but if I’m being watched I tend to speed it up a bit: I get performance anxiety, you see. I think it all stems from the fact that I don’t get holiday days but I reckon even if I did I would just spend it in rest mode. Or would I stare at my rock? It is a very rocky rock after all.
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