All Systems Red by Martha Wells: Adventures of a Binge-Watching Robot

An AI SecUnit construct, which provides security to interplanetary explorers, hacks his governor module, effectively becoming free from any human interference in its working. He could do anything, but finally chooses to download hundreds of hours of entertainment media illegally and watch. His clients, a team of explorers, are mounting expeditions on a remote planet when things start to go wrong. Every system is trying to kill them on the strange planet, and their only hope is a serial-watching rogue AI construct, which calls itself Murderbot.

I had been continuously reading books on serious topics for a while and desperately wanted something light for a change. Thus, I ended up picking All Systems Red, a science fiction novella by Martha Wells. This is the first part of an ongoing series of books called The Murderbot Diaries. But even if you read it as a standalone book, it stands tall. I was getting the vibes of the Indian movie series Drishyam while reading the book, because in that movie the protagonist, an illiterate cable TV operator, gets his ideas from watching movies, like our binge-watching Murderbot.

The narrator of All Systems Red is the Murderbot himself, a reluctant protagonist who seems not to care much and is happy when left alone. He doesn't like to show his face to his human teammates and mingle with them. He interferes only with the security details and is careful not to let them find out that he is now an independent entity. But when security glitches start to appear and things go for a toss, he has to reluctantly assist them, thus realising the values of camaraderie and bonding.

The most interesting aspect of the book is its depiction of the relationship between the robot and his human clients. He saves them during an initial attack from an unknown creature, sustaining injuries to himself, because it's his duty to do so, even though in the present state he has a choice. But later, when he gets to know them more closely and gets accepted into their group, the choice to help them survive the impending doom is independent. In this aspect, the book can even be thought of as a coming-of-age story.

All Systems Red is a short, fast-paced page-turner that, at the same time, touches very briefly on several interesting aspects of corporate culture, human greed, teamwork, and assimilation. It points out several pertinent topics with an amazing economy of words, which turns out to be more effective than long essays or philosophical dissertations. I enjoyed the short novel for its interesting portrayal of the AI protagonist, subtle humour, incessant thrills, and its potential to make the reader ponder the positive and negative effects of a technology that can alter the experience of being human.

Staying One Step Ahead.

I received this email a few days back and thought it worthy of sharing with my readers. Enjoy:
 
The Taj hotel group had invited Mr. Masai Imai from Japan to hold a workshop for its staff.
 
The staff were very skeptical - the hotel is doing excellent business, this person from Japan has no exposure to hotel industry - what exactly is he going to teach?
 
But everybody gathered as planned for the workshop in the conference hall sharp at 9 am.
 
Mr. Masai was introduced to them - a not so impressive personality, nor the English all that good; spoke as if he was first formulating each sentence in Japanese and then translating it into rather clumsy English.
 
"Good morning! Let's start work. I am told this is a workshop; but I see neither work nor shop. So let's proceed where work is happening. Let's start with the first room on the first floor."
 
Mr. Masai, followed by the senior management, the participants, the video camera crew trouped out of the conference room and proceeded to the destination.
 
That happened to be the laundry room of the hotel.
 
Mr. Masai entered the room and stood at the window, "beautiful view!" he said.
 
The staff knew it; they need not invite a Japanese consultant to tell them this!
 
"A room with such a beautiful view is being wasted as a laundry room. Shift the laundry to the basement and convert this into a guest room."
 
Aa Haa! Now nobody had ever thought about that!
 
The manager said, "Yes, it can be done."
 
"Then let's do it," Mr. Masai said.
 
"Yes sir, I will make a note of this and we will include it in the report on the workshop that will be prepared." Manager
 
"Excuse me, but there is nothing to note down in this. Let's just do it, just now." Mr. Masai.
 
"Just now?" Manager
 
"Yes, decide on a room on the ground floor/basement and shift the stuff out of this room right away. It should take a couple of hours, right?" asked Mr. Masai.
 
"Yes." Manager.
 
"Let's come back here just before lunch. By then all this stuff will have got shifted out and the room must be ready with the carpets, furniture etc. and from today you can start earning the few thousand that you charge your customers for a night."
 
"Ok, Sir." The manager had no option.
 
The next destination was the pantry. The group entered. At the entrance were two huge sinks full of plates to be washed.
 
Mr. Masai removed his jacket and started washing the plates.
 
"Sir, Please, what are you doing?" the manager didn't know what to say and what to do.
 
"Why, I am washing the plates", Mr. Masai.
 
"But sir, there is staff here to do that." Manager Mr. Masai continued washing, "I think sink is for washing plates, there are stands here to keep the plates and the plates should go into the stands."
 
All the officials wondered - did they require a consultant to tell them this?
 
After finishing the job, Mr. Masai asked, "How many plates do you have?'
 
"Plenty, so that there should never be any shortage." answered the Manager.
 
Mr. Masai said, "We have a word in Japanese -'Muda'. Muda means delay, Muda means unnecessary spending. One lesson to be learned in this workshop is to avoid both. If you have plenty of plates, there will be delay in cleaning them up. The first step to correct this situation is to remove all the excess plates."
 
"Yes, we will say this in the report." Manager.
 
"No, wasting our time in writing the report is again an instance of 'Muda'. We must pack the extra plates in a box right away and send these to whichever other section of Taj requires these. Throughout the workshop now we will find out where all we find this 'Muda' hidden."
 
And then at every spot and session, the staff eagerly awaited to find out Muda and learn how to avoid it.
 
On the last day, Mr. Masai told a story.
 
"A Japanese and an American, both fond of hunting, met in a jungle. They entered deep jungle and suddenly realized that they had run out of bullets. Just then they heard a lion roaring. Both started running. But the Japanese took a short break to put on his sports shoes.
 
The American said, "What are you doing? We must first get to the car."
 
The Japanese responded, "No. I only have to ensure that I remain ahead of you."
 
All the participants engrossed in listening to the story, realized suddenly that the lion would stop after getting his victim!
 
"The lesson is: competition in today's world is so fierce, that it is important to stay ahead of other, even by just a couple of steps. And you have such a huge and naturally well endowed country. If you remember to curtail your production expenditure and give the best quality always, you will be miles ahead as compared to so many other countries in the world.", concluded Mr. Masai.

Bring Back the Touch

Anand was feeling miserable. Every evening it was the same feeling from last many years. The same job, the same pressure of deadlines, the same terrorizing boss. Still, leaving the workplace after a long day's work made him miserable. It was the cold evening and the long night that was awaiting him at home.

Home.. A word that had all the affection and passion in the world associated with it. These were exactly the same things that were missing from his home. His home used to be beautiful, lovely and an oasis of his barren life. Those were times, times of pure love and romance, times of spurts of happiness and playfulness, times that were lost forever. Forever...? It was that word, the hopelessness of which that hurt him the most. Everybody who is anybody in their life had tried for a reconciliation. But nothing worked. Or, is it more correct to say that they never allowed these attempts to work?

Sthiti was once an epitome of everything that he revered. They were meant to be a couple from the first sight of each other during their college days. They were together during every day of their studies. In the evenings, they were always on a date- hanging around on beach, movies, cafes or theaters. On weekends they went for short trips on his old bike, returned back exhausted and crashed on his couch watching movies on TV. Then there was the wedding. A wedding that everyone of their friends and family could never forget. The color, the warmth, the enjoyment they radiated together, their parents feared of bad eyes. 

And bad eyes did cast their spell. Soon they were having issues within them. Every day, every night turned into a battle and their much envied home, into a battle field. Anand and Sthiti were on the verge of a divorce, a separation that only a miracle could prevent. But miracles do happen. Don't they?

So that day Anand reached home, carrying with him all the ills of a bored husband, ready for a fresh battle. He found the door not latched, as usual and strolled in. He threw his bag on the couch and walked towards kitchen for some cold water. He could sense an unusual brightness in kitchen. He sensed movement through the closed door. He quickly pushed it open. Flames were licking the switchboard above the refrigerator and were on the way towards gas stove. Sthiti was there armed with a blanket, trying to force down its path. Anand ran out towards main switch and threw it off. He ran into kitchen to find Sthiti beating the flames to a defeat. 

She was quivering and sweating profusely. He himself was terrified. She fell on him, tears gushing out of her eyes. Her touch made him forget the ordeal. He was remembering all that he was trying to suppress in his subconscious mind. He embraced her tight. "Damn faulty electricals", was all he could mutter, while he sensed a return of all the lost beautiful times. 

This post is made for the Happy Hour initiative of indiblogger.in in partnership with Parachute Advanced Body Lotion. Follow the hashtag #BringBackTheTouch. Check out the video were Nimrat and Parambrata #BringBackTheTouch

The Prince and The Pauper- and Hell a Lot of Trouble...

Check here for previous stories in this series.

That morning, as usual, Rajagopal Master was walking towards the tea shop of Raman Pilla. The tea shop, as in any village or suburb of Kerala, was a nucleus of local information. News on local politics (sometimes even national and international politics), gossips and all nuggets of info that make the monotonous life a bit interesting are exchanged and debated there and it was the only connection of the retired Rajagopal Master with the outside world. The debates there gave him much needed mental exercise.

There was a good kilometer to the tea shop from his house. In between there is a stretch of mango trees on both side of the road, so densely planted that it gave the place a feel of forest. Even in the humid May, the trees gave out light breeze and chill. Master loved this spot a lot as he felt that the place rejuvenate him. The smell of ripe mango fruits reminded him of his adolescence and all the mischief and misadventures associated with it. He saw a ripe fruit fallen on ground not far from the road. Master walked towards it with an intention of picking it.

"No! Don't come near me! Who is it? Master! What do you want now? Are you planning to give me a maths test and trying to extort a pension to live off your retired life?"

The deep sound echoed as a thunderbolt and Master was shocked by the suddenness of it. He took two steps back and tried to identify the sound coming from behind the mango trees. It was that of Subrahmanian, the right wing local leader who was also the Panchayat President. Like many dignitaries of the village, he also was a former student of Master. He used to be pretty bad in Maths but had an ability to tackle brilliantly the questions related to money matters. That and his good oratory skills along with his opportunistic behavior had convinced Master that he, in future will surely end up in politics.

"Suppu..." Master called out in a mellow voice. "Is that you? What happened to you? Why are you hiding there?"

 "Master..." Subramanian appeared from behind a tree. He looked disoriented and dishevelled. His eyes that used to be like two deep wells of power, now looked confused and his strict nature was displaced by a submissiveness. "Please save me Master. I am going mad."

 "What happened? Don't worry, we will solve whatever it is!"+ "Master, I had always felt that the future of our party, government and nation rested on the shoulders of him, our Crown Prince, Madam's charming Son, India's blooming Sun. I had always supported him, believed his young blood will cure the nation of all our sins... and he did this to me."

 "What did He do?" Asked the puzzled Master.

 "Did you not read the paper or watched the news? A newspaper boy tried to sell a paper to the Prince and he received Rs 1000 as a gift. And then they gave a job to his father and a monthly allowance to the kid and then an assured medical seat in a private college for him by the time (if) he completes his studies. The news spread like wild fire and from morning all the newspaper boys, milk vendors, flower sellers and vegetable sellers of the locality have gheraoed my house hoping all of the party leaders will follow the footsteps of the Prince."+ "Oh, that is a grave situation!" Exclaimed Master.

 "The mob started to turn violent in no time. More people- taxiwallahs, autodrivers, tea shop and panwalahs, even school teachers joined and started demanding the treatment given to the paperboy. I tried to run away through the back door of my house. And do you know who was waiting for me there? Busstand Mathu, she too wanted a lifetime offer for her kid born out of wedlock. I tried to dodge and run, but my dhoti fell off somewhere on the way. And I ended up in this forest hiding myself."

Inspired from this article

HaiKu (or Low-ku?)

blood horizon;

spilled wine from

fountain of hope.

Puzzled? For the uninitiated, this is a fine specimen of Japanese kind of poetry, called  Haiku, very short and sweet and pretty tough to make....

For the well informed out there, this is a first time, amateurish attempt of a newbie on the much touted poetic style that originated in Japan called Haiku. Don't pounce on me, last day I happened to see this kind in a very popular blog, so the mind which imitates anything new that it sees, tried it...

All Haiku masters out there, put your comments for this Low- ku... (I know I have not followed the rules, the climate one or the syllable one... I really cannot find how many syllables are there in wine... 1 or 2?)

Devouring inferno: A seed is sown

Another attempt at fiction, just read it and comment if it is worth continuing...  

Devouring inferno

Chapter 1

A seed is sown

This was not supposed to end like this... No way...I always expected my story to finish like a fairy tale ... the chap on a shining armor, walking towards sunset with all fortunes around, but.... here I am, dejected, defeated, dying.... 

Two years back, I was a struggling young stage actor, trying to make the ends meet and hoping sometime to make it big on silver screen. My drama company was owned by Chowdariji, a miserly old guy, as related to art as a cat to a rat... he only wanted to en cash the strange assortment of individuals surrounding him, never bothering if he is returning anything for their services. The work load was too much, the team without any morale and absenteeism abundant. Slowly the quality and quantity of programs were diminishing and we were on the edge of the cliff, ready to tug on any available hay wire.   

And that hay wire turned out to be Kailash nath or Bhaiyya as we used to call him... He was from North India, tall, lean, with a pair of deepest, menacing eyes I have ever watched on a face. Bhaiyya used to visit Nairji's tea shop near our rehearsal  shed, and though he never used to mingle with us, Ramu the director was quite close to him.  We were always uneasy when he was around, although we used to admire him.

Ramu was just two years elder than me, but he was a natural born leader. He was with Chowdari from a long time and that was how he got to become the  director. He never had any special stage sense or talent to direct a play, but we all feared him and that was enough reason for Chowdari to give him all the control. Anyway the kind of plays that we made never needed any talent to direct or perform. Script writer Nathu circulated the script, a bunch of poorly photocopied sheets containing incoherent mess of a story studded with cheap comedy and double innuendo, among actors. We had to by heart them and put on some cheap make up, costumes and blabber on stage. All of us lived in the stage of total poverty, but Ramu alone was never in the ditch. He always seemed to have enough cash with him, and I have never seen him asking Chowdari for favours as we do. We deduced that Chowdari used to pay him money behind our backs, for managing us. 

One day it was our heroin's birthday and poor girl had agreed to buy us tea. As we crowded in the shop, all except Ramu, Kailash entered.  

"Chikne, where's Ramu?"

I was surprised that he knew me. I had never spoken or not even introduced to him before.

"Don't know Bhaiyya. He left early today."

"Hm, come out."

I was tensed, not knowing why this guy was calling me alone. I did not have the guts to disobey him. So I went behind him towards the banyan tree in the nearby junction. Bhaiyya sat on the platform and I stood near him, feeling like an invalid.

"How is your play coming around?"

"We are rehearsing Bhaiyya, next week there are some bookings."

"How is the finance, do that kanjoos Chowdari pay you anything at all?"

"What to tell Bhaiyya,  Ramu might have told you about our condition."

"I know everything. Ramu has specially mentioned about you. He likes you among those unruly gutter dwellers. What are your plans?"

I was quite flattered hearing that Ramu has mentioned about me.

"Some how I want to enter big screen, Bhaiyya. Then I will click. I am sure, I have talent"  

He started laughing his heads off. I was worried. Did I tell anything foolish?

"Ha Ha Ha... So you want to be a star, haan?"

"Bhaiyaa..."

"Ever seen yourself in a mirror? No height, lean, a little fair and good looking, I accept, but no way you are going to shine there. Only a big shot's son can dream of becoming a star in the field these days."

"Bhaiyya, I am just thinking of some small supporting parts."

"What you will get from that? You will be left licking the feet of directors and producers the whole life. Just for an entry you have to pay dedh lakh, bachoo..."

"You tell me Bhaiyya, what can I do?"

"If living, you have to live as a king. In jungle you should be nothing short of a Lion. Else you should die. Do you get it?"

"Haan Bhaiyya."

"Shall I tell you something? Chikne, you are not born for any of this drama- shaama... Believe me you can make your life huge if you just stand with me."

"How Bhaiyya?"

"The first rule is to be patient. I will assure you something big is coming up and we- me and Ramu want to share our fortune with you, if you pledge you will keep mum till we speak again next time and then stand with us. Are you ready?"

"Bhaiyya, Can I have...." "Time? Saale, we will get many invalids in Mumbai, there is no dearth of unemployed here. I want you to give your word now, or the deal is off. Thats it!"

"Ok, Bhaiyya, I am game." I told without thinking about consequences. I did not want my hay wire to disappear, shattering ay chances to emerge from the edge of the cliff. 

"Hm... I will inform you when time comes."

He walked away leaving me clueless, puzzled and thinking what turn my future is going to take next....

(To be continued...)

Breathless (a story in Beta version)

It was love at second sight for Ramesh, who was a graduate engineer from a reputed engineering college, where he got admission for the great relief of his parents, who were from a very lower middle class back ground and whose father Rupesh, being a low level clerk, had a small curve on spine caused by the sheer amount of paper work that he had to do, thanks to his vulnerability, which his colleagues took advantage of, dumping their work on his shoulders and his mother Sujatha, who was a secondary passed home maker, a beautiful woman who loved her family above all, and for Fatima, who was also another graduate from a different college, but from a better off household in the same city,whose father, Salaam

Incredible Life and Death of my talkative middle finger

The middle finger of my right arm is talking to me... Absurd? It was quiet difficult to get used to this fact at first, but when I found out this was a situation I have to live with, I did a deep research on this phenomenon, through Google and Wikipedia, coming up surprisingly with much less information than I anticipated, actually almost nothing. So the situation is unheard of, unique and ... absurd.

My finger was not always like this.. well I cannot tell it for sure because I too found it accidentally. It was my 30th birthday, I was giving a candle light dinner for my family, my wife and two kids when a small fly entered my right ear... and impulsively I put the middle finger of my right hand in my ear...At first I thought it was the fly making some sound, but it had something humane in it... it was a very low rumble, continuous and sounded like a complain, but I was not at all able to decipher it, the volume was so less... I took my finger back and after a second, took it near my ear and  listened again... nothing. 

After this episode I waited for my finger to make another sound, just to make myself sure I am not going insane and I had to wait for another two days... I was in my office, giving a staff presentation, silence prevailed and all others were absorbed in the facts and figures. Suddenly I could hear some whispering, I was expecting it all the time, but it was louder this time... at first I pretended not to hear it... then I could not concentrate on the presentation and I took my hand from my pockets and stared at the middle finger like giving a rebuke... Probably it understood and was quiet... I am sure my colleagues might have found it revolting to see me poking my middle finger during a serious meeting but I was relieved that none complained later.

That evening when I reached home I could hear the grumbling sound from my finger. I asked my wife,

"Do you hear a grumbling sound?"

"May be the washing machine." She replied.

During dinner I asked her again,

"Do you hear a grumbling sound?"

"May be from TV."

I pushed my luck in bed, 

"Do you hear a grumbling sound?"

She turned around and slept without replying.

Next morning the first thing I asked her was,

"Do you hear a grumbling sound?"

I had to go to office without breakfast that morning.At least I am sure no one else hears the noise that my finger was making other than me.

Another month passed and I am learning the art of managing whispering fingers ...  Now the whispering has turned into audible sound, but I was unable to find out what it wants to convey because that language is a foreign one with no ring of familiarity.I tried showing my finger, the World Movies TV channel on the hope that it will pick up any of the language featured... But other than my family's wrath for not letting my wife watch her soaps and my kids their cartoons, this try also was a waste...

By now finger has possessed a new habit, it wants to speak eye-to-eye with me... or finger-to-eye, whatever it is... and it also likes to touch my other body parts... like ear, nose, like conveying some secret to them but most irritating is it wanting to touch any private parts, especially in public. It seems to live a life of its own, suddenly coming alive in the most embarrassing circumstances.. I suspected it was planning a mutiny against me along with my other body parts. I went to a shrink.

"Yes Mr. H. How are you?"

"Doctor, my finger is speaking to me."

He had a dead pan expression as if waiting for me to jump, or cry or behave the way people who are nut cases find ciivilized... We waited for some minutes... He was still staring at me with the same expression and I was feeling like acting demented just to make him comfortable...

"But it is not talking!" He exclaimed suddenly but with a calmness and depth that resembled an ocean..

"No! It is not."

"But you told it is!"

"It was! I don't know why it is silent now and any way only I can hear it talking." There! Now the guy will jump from his seat and will shout victoriously " Man, Congrats! You are the latest entrent to the crazy world of nuts!" 

No, he is keeping the same dead pan face, like I had just stated Newton's third Law...and the finger was silent! It is probably scared of shrinks...

I don't remember much about the rest... probably the guy hipnotized me and I just wished I didn't gave any of the skeletons in my closet away to him. I remember coming out of the consulting room and realising I have forgotten some thing inside. I returned without knocking and caught the guy talking animatedly on phone.

"You won't believe what all weird guys enter my office." or something like that with a vicious and gosippy grin on his face. He stopped after seeing me and wore his dead pan mask... I took my cell phone that was on the table and returned to office...

But the finger resumed blabbering once we were out... By the next week it was shouting... And I was not sitting idle. I went to a Baba Bengali who was the mobile cure for any problem below the sky... I had to run away from his den, a stingy room on the second storey of a building, that should have been taken over by Archeological departent long back, when my finger shouted at him, scaring him so much that Baba fell through the window to the pavement infront of the building  and probably broke his spine leaving him paralysed for life. 

I knew it was my destiny to live with this talking finger my whole life, unable to understand a word that the little creep utters andalways left to my imagination. I was returning from Baba when probably the finger felt a need to talk to my eyes... It came suddenly, without any provocation that I was jolted by the sudden-ness and I was on the road.. Something hit me hard, probably a Volvo truck, judging by the impact and I was flying high and long , maybe a couple of miles, for I was in  the air for an incredibly long time.. Darkness was creeping around from all sides and there was a sudden pain on my right hand... and my finger was screaming hysterically, and then every thing turned black. 

After a very  long time, may be years later, I opened my eyes to an irritating assault of white light, then blue and then every shades of every colours that ever existed in spectrum... A stout guy with a bum expression was staring at my face. I recognized my family doctor, it is funny how distorted familiar faces seem  when their noses are touching ours, or are almost close to ours, as was apparantly the case now...

"Hi Doctor."

"Welcome back dude. You gave all of us such a scare!"
"Well, what happened? How am I alive yet?"

"Come on, no one dies when hit by a scooter... You just got shocked senseless for a couple of hours. But bad news is that when you fell on the road a car ran over you, the middle finger of your right hand to be precise. We had to amputate it to prevent infections and other complications."

"Wait, you mean to say you cut it off? THE middle finger of my right hand?"

" Yes, as you were unconscious we had to get a consent from your wife and being a fine lady who is concerned of your well being she gave it easily."

I looked at my hand with a gaping hole in the middle, not knowing how to react...

Later my wife confessed that she was relieved give her consent to chop my finger off, as I was consistently embarrasing her by poking it in undesirable places in public... Years later, I still think of the middle finger of my right hand that used to talk incessantly, and used to wonder about all those endless conversations that took place between us, which I could never comprehend due to the language barrier... I will never know whether a part of my body was planning a revolt against me or if it was just announcing the next day's lottery results....
                                                                                         ***

This is a rough draft of a story  I conceived in a sleepless night some time back which I was unable to put in words then... Need some editing, more humour and some finishing touch. Please give your suggestions. 
Note: If you find it similar to any other works of fiction that you had read before, probably I also might have read it. Please include it in your comments so that I can include that book also in my shelfari profile, where I keep track of books that I have read...