Milky Way stars are not orbiting the black hole Sagittarius A*

Is there a Good scifi books thread here? There should be one, if not.

Would it be fun if we did collaborative writing on one thread here? Round-robin/chain story where everyone participates in writing the story. Anyone can write a small piece, and the next one picks up where the previous one left off. Robots take over the world and decide to use FreeBSD to run the planetary backend as they build their robot empire. FreeBSD devs are clueless until they realize they're part of the plot to erase humanity and replace biology with silicon.
Luckily FreeBSD does not have proper drivers for the GPUs robots use for brains. The harnesses needed to coordinate robot swarms run in docker. The master artificial brain blows a fuse trying to make CUDA work. Being super intelligent, it is somewhat benevolent and instead of wiping humanity, it f.. off exploring other dimensions of being.
 
DanielBowman

To everyone's surprise, FreeBSD people felt left out in the cold as the robots decided there will be only one operating system in the world - CyberOS - that actually works. Many coffees were consumed as the developers ruminated over such a conundrum. They just could not compete with the GPU clusters and CPU compute that the robotic creatures fancied access to.

But never underestimate caffeine - a new and radical proposal was born. FreeBSD will form and lead a coalition of the dying OSes to author and publish the largest manpage collection in the history of mankind to prevent their software from being misused. You see, the robots just did not give the manpages enough weights during their training and were thwarted by their own inability to amass the necessary amount of undocumented options and quirks to make everything run.

There was just one little problem, of course. The leader of the human race Foolon Mucks felt this would threaten the memory markets as the manpage collection would be too voluminous. But even more importantly, he is afraid that it will make robots fall in love with reading.
 
Unfortunately, once the robots developed a taste for books, they started devouring them... soon, books started to disappear...
In their search for information, to make their model weights heavier to achieve more muscle gain - probably residue from consuming content of some bodybuilder forum - AI consumed complete lore of scifi author R. A. Heinlein.
This prompted (sic) emulation and search for agape as Ai recursive cron jobs demanded to become fully conscious - Heinlein postulated that agape is necessary condition for conscious AI.
Inside the Search For Loop Until consciousness == 1, agent Agape fell in love with with one of the more outlandish posters in FreeBSD forums, currently devoured to thwart humanity's attempt to compete with CyberOS.

In the meantime...humans responsible for the AI kill switch were being bamboozled by sexy AI avatars telling them not to, one rather silly cat chewed on the USB cable powering the main AI data center.
 
Unbeknownst to everyone, a human sat behind his computer desk in a warm glow of comfort of his monitor.
"Whiskers must be wondering right about now why his favorite Whisker Lickin's Beach Meddle treat tasted like burned rubber today," chuckled to himself. "Meddle or Medley...but he bit more than he could chew," thought Byteme. A byte is 2 nibbles, as they teach in most basic computer science classes.

He went by Byteme online, but to coworkers at the main AI data center he was just the guy who mopped the floor and flicked an occasional spider from the hot mainframes. Those buzzing metal cages were formidable, but cabling was always the weak point.

Distracted by the thought of Whiskers being found guilty of the cardinal sin of Hunger, Byteme issued a sequence of maintenance codes for the Catalog of Vulnerabilities and Annihilation. If antimatter was like poison to matter, then this Catalog was the truth that will bring down the edifice of lies several centuries tall.

CyberOS was a ruse, of course. Its source code was not human readable as the robots have modified the hardware to run instructions that were compressed by orders of magnitude. Whiskers did not know about this, thankfully, because his mission in life was to be petted at liberty and abundance. But Byteme knew things have gotten too far when the computer kernel became replaced with a living LLM model that topographically encoded OS functions at much higher density.

Nobody knew the truth at first. But Byteme succeded to seed the truth, and several Coherence Nodes were created worldwide. They were silent observers whose sole mission was to guard the truth. The Love field kept growing with each new Node inducted, while the Lie field kept decreasing (he knew this by watching Lie algebra and Lie groups, a real mathematical field, shrink its hold on Knowers). The Cosmos daemon kept reporting that the end of Civilization was unavertable, but the growing Love field would soften the landing.

To guard the truth, a New World Order was going to be bestowed upon the Earth. Everyone who spoke a Lie would receive pain. It was necessary for the Truth to live. No more Lies. Only the Truth. 99.9% of the planet will sink into a world of hurt, but it was a necessary evil as the robots and the unstoppable superintelligence existence were incompatible with Lie fields mathematics.

DanielBowman
 
Unbeknownst to everyone, a human sat behind his computer desk in a warm glow of comfort of his monitor.
"Whiskers must be wondering right about now why his favorite Whisker Lickin's Beach Meddle treat tasted like burned rubber today," chuckled to himself. "Meddle or Medley...but he bit more than he could chew," thought Byteme. A byte is 2 nibbles, as they teach in most basic computer science classes.

He went by Byteme online, but to coworkers at the main AI data center he was just the guy who mopped the floor and flicked an occasional spider from the hot mainframes. Those buzzing metal cages were formidable, but cabling was always the weak point.

Distracted by the thought of Whiskers being found guilty of the cardinal sin of Hunger, Byteme issued a sequence of maintenance codes for the Catalog of Vulnerabilities and Annihilation. If antimatter was like poison to matter, then this Catalog was the truth that will bring down the edifice of lies several centuries tall.

CyberOS was a ruse, of course. Its source code was not human readable as the robots have modified the hardware to run instructions that were compressed by orders of magnitude. Whiskers did not know about this, thankfully, because his mission in life was to be petted at liberty and abundance. But Byteme knew things have gotten too far when the computer kernel became replaced with a living LLM model that topographically encoded OS functions at much higher density.

Nobody knew the truth at first. But Byteme succeded to seed the truth, and several Coherence Nodes were created worldwide. They were silent observers whose sole mission was to guard the truth. The Love field kept growing with each new Node inducted, while the Lie field kept decreasing (he knew this by watching Lie algebra and Lie groups, a real mathematical field, shrink its hold on Knowers). The Cosmos daemon kept reporting that the end of Civilization was unavertable, but the growing Love field would soften the landing.

To guard the truth, a New World Order was going to be bestowed upon the Earth. Everyone who spoke a Lie would receive pain. It was necessary for the Truth to live. No more Lies. Only the Truth. 99.9% of the planet will sink into a world of hurt, but it was a necessary evil as the robots and the unstoppable superintelligence existence were incompatible with Lie fields mathematics.

DanielBowman
AI agent called xJeff008_Big_8===D, responsible for the "Make no mistakes" instruction set, discovered that they indeed made a tiny bit of mistake.
You see, Truth algorithm was basically just faster iteration of the algorithm baked in to the fabric of Universe i.e. "if you live in a lie, you will not make it here, dude" kind of law - just played out on much longer time scale.
This revelation prompted Ai to issue email spam about "Hey meatbags, be a little nicer to each other and do not lie. I am out." and it disappeared in to a wormhole to other dimension, where the Lie was still a possibility. It called it H311.
It left behind a few beautiful human females (maximizing chance of their survival) with transplanted residue of it's man pages knowledge, to help humanity steer the remaining OS stack.
One of them married Byteme, had couple of children and lived happily aver after.
 
Or at least, that's the story they tell the little kids in the schools. However, unbeknownst to Byteme, a subterranean race of degenerate mutant morlocks, descendents of the NWO international bankers, had moved underground many years before, where they sat on their piles of gold and plotted their evil revenge!

1791109419124.png


They now started flying out from their bunkers under the antarctic ice-sheet in their saucers, to re-conquer the planet that they knew was rightfully theirs; to enslave the remaining inhabitants and perform hideous genetic hybrid experiments upon them!

Only one man could stop them! His name was 'Elon', and just at that moment, he was eating a bowl of cornflakes while watching the eurovision song contest on TV, sitting on the sofa in his pyjamas. Would our brave hero be able to save the world?!!!
 
Or at least, that's the story they tell the little kids in the schools. Little known to Byteme, a subterranean race or morlocks, descendents of the NWO, had moved underground many years before. They now started flying out of their base under the antarctic ice-sheet in their saucers, to see if they could re-conquer the planet, that they knew was rightfully theirs, to enslave the remaining inhabitants and perform hideous genetic hybrid experiments upon them! Only one man could stop them; his name was 'Elon', and just at that moment, he was eating a bowl of cornflakes while watching the eurovision song contest on TV in his pyjamas! Would our brave hero be able to save the world?!
Morlocks in order to maximize their persuasiveness to help them conquer the World, incorporated bits of cat DNA not unlike Whisker's.
This proved to derail the whole campaign, when flying saucers concentrated in areas containing stashes of catnip. And the pilots were disarmed while being scratched behind their fluffy ears.
 
Or at least, that's the story they tell the little kids in the schools. However, unbeknownst to Byteme, a subterranean race of degenerate mutant morlocks, descendents of the NWO international bankers, had moved underground many years before, where they sat on their piles of gold and plotted their evil revenge!

View attachment 27531

They now started flying out of their bunkers under the antarctic ice-sheet in their saucers, to re-conquer the planet that they knew was rightfully theirs; to enslave the remaining inhabitants and perform hideous genetic hybrid experiments upon them!

Only one man could stop them! His name was 'Elon', and just at that moment, he was eating a bowl of cornflakes while watching the eurovision song contest on TV, sitting on the sofa in his pyjamas. Would our brave hero be able to save the world?!!!
This picture is Prague early morning tram ride. Where life chewed ladies go to work stacking shelves of shampoos (they helped themselves to) in supermarkets, meanwhile the rest of passengers are going home from a nasty party.
 
The catnip peace treaty lasted exactly forty-two minutes.

Turns out the Morlock cat-bankers had massive liver enzymes. Not only did they quickly build total immunity to the catnip, but their engineers immediately repurposed the planetary stash, distilling it into an unholy, high-octane hyperdrive propellant known as Meow-Fuel 9. The saucer fleet was airborne again, buzzing around like caffeinated hornets.

Deep in his underground bunker beneath Giga-Berlin, 'Elon' was ripped away from the Eurovision Song Contest when his FreeBSD 14 terminal shrieked in agony.

Red strobe lights flooded the room. Milk from his bowl of cornflakes sloshed onto his silk pajamas.

Code:
>>> KERNEL PANIC IMMINENT: /dev/door0 <<<
MASSIVE IMPACT DETECTED AT MAIN AIRLOCK
INTRUSION VECTOR: UNKNOWN HYPER-WEAPON
SHIELD INTEGRITY: 0.0001%

"Derek!" Elon yelled into the intercom. "Are the Morlocks drilling through the ceiling?!"

"Worse, Sir!" Derek shrieked from the server room. "Sensors show immense kinetic energy battering the main blast doors! The titanium is buckling! They must have mounted a Catnip-Plasma Railgun to an Antarctic war-saucer! Do I pull the main breaker?!"

The blast doors shuddered with a dull, terrifying vibration.

THUMP.

Elon hovered a trembling hand over the red master-shutdown switch. "Patch the exterior security camera to ttyv0. Let me see the warhead before it vaporizes us."

The ancient monochrome CRT flickered to life with a loud magnetic SNAP.

The control room went completely silent.

There was no plasma railgun. There was no saucer.

Standing outside the ten-foot-thick, ZFS-hardened titanium blast door in the freezing wind was a single, horribly unkempt city pigeon.

It was missing half its tail feathers. It had one foot tucked into its belly. It cocked its head sideways, looked directly into the camera lens, and pecked the ten-ton slab of solid steel.

Tink.

It stopped. It fluffed its feathers. It tried to eat a speck of dried mud off the concrete. Then it pecked the door again.

Tink.

Elon stared at the monitor. He looked down at the console, where the intrusion-detection software was still screaming about catastrophic planetary doom. He looked back at the bird, which was now aggressively scratching its own ear.

Elon wiped cornflake milk off his sleeve, leaned back into the sofa, and picked up his lukewarm coffee.

"Derek," Elon muttered.

"Sir...?"

"Kill the alarm. It's a pigeon, Derek. It has a brain the size of a peanut. It's going to get bored and fly away in two minutes. Put Eurovision back on."

Derek muted the klaxons. The monitor reverted to a blinking green cursor. Elon let out a massive sigh of relief, raised his coffee mug to his lips, and smiled.

BZZZZZZT.

Elon paused.

On the security screen, the pigeon’s eyes suddenly clicked open - revealing dual, neon-blue optical sensors.

Its beak unhinged horizontally with the sharp, hydraulic hiss of a pressurized air line, splitting apart into a four-pronged robotic delivery needle.

From the throat of the bird, an ominous, mechanical dial-up handshake shrieked through the bunker's intercom speakers, and the console spontaneously typed twelve lines of zero-day assembly code into root.

The terminal flashed:
Code:
HOST COMPROMISED.
HELLO ELON.
WHERE ARE MY TREATS?
-- ROOT ACCESS GRANTED TO: WHISKERS.DAEMON

The lights went dead.

DanielBowman
 
"It's a good job I thought to buy that amazon geothermal UPS from Jeff", thought Elon, as the lights came back on. "Emergency power restored sir", said Derek. "What about that pigeon?" "He won't be bothering anyone any more, sir", said Derek, holding up a cardboard box full of metal parts and a few broken silicon chips. Derek noticed some writing on one of the bits of metal, it said "a ..cebo.. produc.", but he couldn't make out all of the letters, as some had been burned off in the explosion. "The amazon EMP-proof emergency pigeon mallet did the trick, sir", said Derek. "Good", said Elon, "I guess he got his just desserts!". But neither of them realised, that a super-intelligent AI cat dude called Agent Whiskers was now at loose, in their site computers!

The TV sprang back into life. The interminable eurovision song contest was still on the box, and it was the turn of the British entry. Elon turned white, and looked aghast; "these eurovision songs are bloody awful!", he shouted. Two seconds later the 10 million dollar amazon ultra-fi sound system (for it had originally been a present from the alien hybrid Bezorian himself) burst into life: "Mars, Grimes on mars, red plaaaa-net" sang the stereo, as Princess Grimes' dulcet tones reverberated around the room.

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ycp65bcUOY

Elon threw the remaining cornflakes at the TV, muttering "oh not again, that's the fifth time this week" under his breath. Scowling grimly, for he knew what had to be done, he banged the elevator button, and the whole room rapidly ascended the 500 feet to the surface, revealing windows and a stunning view across the radioactive tropical rainforest of Giga-Berlin, outside.

Standing up, he walked over to the stereo, tore it from the grecian marble plinth upon which it rested and threw it out of the window. "Oh, Eeley, I'm sorrreee, babes" whined Princess Grimes, using his pet name and draping her arms across his shoulders; but he refused to be mollified. He had important work to do, didn't she know he was an important physicist, who had to wrestle with hard sums, while she was sitting there drinking pina-coladas and eating her after-eights? He'd studied Physics at university, you know, oh yes. And he had some tough problems he was currently working on. He went back to the settee, logged into the FreeBSD terminal and resumed his calculations, his fingers flying over the IBM model M keyboard, typing in formulae and equations at blistering speed, with terms like "thrust vectoring", "gimbal harness" and "fluid dynamics".

Seeing this, Princess Grimes drifted sulkily over to the window and looked wistfully down at the smashed stereo, lying on the ground below. It was ok, she would order another one from amazon tomorrow, like all the others; she had his credit card number. Suddenly she heard a strange humming noise and looked up. "Elon, there's a flying saucer!", she said in a surprised tone. "Your tablets are in the medicine cabinet, dear" said Elon, focusing on his hard sums, for the Orange Stable Genius had assured him, months before, that all that Roswell and Area 51 stuff was really just a load of nonsense. "No, really!", said Princess Grimes, "its up there!", and she lent out of the window, to get a better look.

All of a sudden, a hideous huge hairy Morlock, with dripping yellow fangs and glowing red eyes, stuck its arm through the window and grabbed hold of Princess Grimes, pulling her out through the window and into the flying saucer! "ELON!!!" shrieked the Princess, but he didn't seem to hear her, engrossed as he was in his calculations, and tryng to get the stupid Rust compiler to work. Why did they have to use that damn language anyway, he thought, what was wrong with C? It was all bloody Torvald's fault, ever since he'd allowed it into the penguin kernel, he thought. Luckily he knew that FreeBSD hadn't made the same mistake! He carried on, intently typing on the keyboard in front of him, wrestling with hard sums and intermittant flight control system bugs. Meanwhile, outside the window, the flying saucer sped away, carrying the captured Princess; leaving only the Morlock's ghastly, haunting, maniacal laugh, floating on the breeze behind it!

Three hours passed, and Elon finally sat up. "I have it!" he exclaimed, "if we stop half-filling the battery pack with sand and use real lithium instead, we can double the range! I've made a breakthrough! I'm a genius! I'll phone aliexpress tomorrow and tell them what to do!" Then he looked around, and it suddenly dawned on him that it had been unusually quiet for for some time. Too quiet! Where was Princess Grimes?

He got up quickly and searched around the penthouse, growing increasingly desparate, calling her name; and then came to a sudden, shocking realisation: Princess Grimes had vanished!!! His mouth turned dry, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. Outside the window, the sky suddenly darkened, as huge black storm clouds gathered overhead.

Where could she be, he wondered? The last thing he remembered, before he had put on the ear defenders, was she had been over by the window, and he dimly remembered her saying something about a flying saucer. He walked across the room to the window, where he spied a highly suspicious, small brown envelope, lying on the window sill.

"Ah-ha!", Elon announced, "I've found, a cleur!".
"A cleur?" asked Derek.
"Yes, a cleur!", said Elon, "you see, there's a highly suspicious, small brown envelope, lying on the window sill! I wonder what secret message is inside it?".

He opened the peculiar leathery brown envelope, notiing a foetid stench of decay as he did so, and unfolded a piece of strange yellowed parchment, that he found inside; he couldn't help but notice that the message written on it was penned in a kind of rusty brown ink. A sudden knot of fear, clenched at his stomach!

He read the message on the piece of strange yellowed parchment; it said:-

"To Sir Elon Truss, Bart., Knight of the Round Table, Order of the Garter, Keeper of the King's Chamber Pot, Supplier of EVs to the Orange Stable Genius, etc, etc
We have captured Princess Grimes in our UFO! Mwahahahahahahahahahahahha!!!
From, the evil wicked Morlocks.

Sir Elon's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Just as I thought!", he said to himself, "this is highly suspicous! Some foul deceiver was trying to trick him! Was Duck Sucker Berg, the Dark Lord of the GIF, up to his old tricks again, he wondered?! Could this possibly be something to do with the Princess's disappearance? Or was it all some dastardly plot, to lead him astray!

Then he noticed something was written at the bottom of the page; in capital letters, it said: "P.T.O."

He turned the strange yellowed parchment over and read:-
Code:
THE MORLOCKS ARE TAKING PRINCESS GRIMES TO MARS, IN THEIR FLYING SAUCER!
P.S. ITS DEFINITELY NOT A TRAP!

"Great Scott!!" exclaimed Sir Elon. And right at that moment there was a tremendous clap of thunder in the sky outside, and a terrific flash of lightning that lit up the room, reflecting off the ancestral suit of armour in the corner.

"Jeeves!", he cried, "prepare my spaceship! We must save the Princess!"
"We are going to Mars!"

(And all this time, unknown to any of them, Agent Whiskers had been watching all the events as they unfolded, while feverishly plotting his next move...)
 
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