Plink, Plink, goes the submarine under the water.
“Sir we are on approach to where we believe the robot base to be.”
“Very well.” Says the captain.
“Sir, we have reached maximum depth, we can not dive any lower.”
“How much farther down is their base?”
“2.4 kilometers, Sir!.”
“I see. Will our torpedos reach that far down?”
“We don’t know, they may implode.”
“Why don’t they just hide in the Mariana Trench is they like it so deep? Those
“Sir, the sonar shows something on approach. It may be a large squid.”
“A squid, at these depths? Let me see.” The captain strides over and they watch
a small dot grow closer to them. “Are we just moving towards it, or is it also
moving towards us?”
“I’m not sure sir, but it seems to be coming in a couple knots faster than the
Tink, Tink, a metal contact sounds in the hull, it repeats a few more timis.
“Who was that? Why aren’t they reporting in. Don’t they know we are on high
Bur-gi-ni-brup, bur-gu-nu-brip, the sound continues.
“Uh, Sir, I think we’ve made contact.”
“The’re on the hull.”
Bjjj, bjip, bjjjj, bjip, plip the hull continues to vibrate.
The radio crackles, a robotic voice sounds. “Your ship is ours now, turn around,
or your life will become more difficult.”
“Who was that? We’re too deep for radio contact.”
“They must have latched within range of the antenna.”
On the surface of the hull a robot of the Hmik clan hangs on with two circular
magnets. One a speaker, one a microphone. Tink, Tink, another groupie arrives,
Tink, Tink, another, Tink, Tink, and another. The submarine is surrounded,
all sounds can be quadrangulated.
“Bur-gi-ni-brup, bur-gu-nu-brip”, they map the contents of the submarine. Each
unit now has an up to date map of the interior and all the people in it.
“Bjjj, bjip, bjjjj, bjip, plip”, familiar with the model of torpedos, they find
the fuse resonance and force it till it cracks. Torpedos disabled.
Top rider comms the humans aboard, to give them the choice to go home, without
The submarine continues going forward.
“Please, we’re not scared of a few burps. Fire the torpedos! That’ll keep them
busy.” The captain raps his fingers on a nearby rail. He waits. “Well, what’s
the matter? Fire them already.”
“Uh, sir, it seems the torpedos are all duds. They all failed to deploy.”
“The torpedos are broken.”
“What else do we have?”
“We can get a better reading of where the robot base for future expeditions,
or we might be able to paint them for an air strike.”
“Okay, go ahead”
Bjiu, bjiu, bjiu, bjiu, bjiu, the sound grows deafening, several men faint.
“Sir! We’re under attack!”
“I can see that!”
Crackle, static, crackle, static “that was a small taste yes. Would you like
more, or did you want to turn back?”
“Sir, I intend to turn us around.”
“No, keep on, we have to do something. How are those sonar reports coming, do we
The man that was at the sonar had fainted, “Sir, I intend to help move the
bodies to sick bay.” someone stands pickup up the sonar man and starts to move
“Sir, I intend to take over the sonar.”
“Very well.” the captain answers.
BJJJJJJJJUUUUUUP, splat. The skull of the man that was about to go for the sonar
and his brains paint the walls, the crew and the captain.
“Turn back at once!” The captain proclaims.
crackle, crackle, “Wise choice, Captian. You were next, wink.”
Outside the bottom robot snickers, popcorn people, he thinks. The robots stay
latached until the submarine leaves their territory, then they silently detach
and drift back to their patrols.
This book was partially inspired by the book “Turn the ship around” by David
Marquet, and partially by the ancient sound technology involved in the building
of the pyramids. Something that certainly submarine robot cities would be able
to employ in order to protect themselves.
This story is CC-BY-SA, so feel free to share and expand upon it, or to reuse
The boy dusty and disheveled, salty tears encrusted on his lips, rubbed his eyes and looked at the sign. His mother had taught him to read something everyday. There was not much to read in the cage he lived in with many other children. He walked around reading name tags and signs. And now he found a place that had more than a couple of words. It had a picture of the bad man, that had taken moma and popa away and made him cry. He began to read the sign,”Sometimes by losing a battle”
* * *
Sweat dripped down his elbow and sizzled on the floor. His gear was heavy, the Texan desert heat rose in waves from the cracked asphalt. On screen he could see his scuttle-bot was making progress towards the senators house.
Hundreds like it, all around the country, going for the houses of congressmen, senators and other republican politicians. The fat red elephants were big, but the slim blue donkeys more cunning.
The scuttlebot hid under a leafy plant as a drone scout passed overhead. Drone flight pattern analysis and security system scanners put up a hologram of potential scuttle vectors. Few were any good.
Sensing his predicament his personal assistant queried the donkey fighter darknet. a bidding war ensued for who would get to help. Rodriguez won out, he had the answer.
The man’s laugh shook the table, half his face made of metal, the chains binding him to the interrogation chair clinked.
“What’s so funny Gringo?” Rodriguez said through clenched his teeth. They had picked up this MIC agent tailing another donkey pack on the run.
“Don’t you see? We don’t care how many people you kill, or how much damage you cause. All of it is just dollar to line our pockets. ” The agent continued laughing, his expression becoming increasingly distorted. “You’re just cannon fodder, useless eaters, worthless scumbags.”
Rodriguez had enough and pointed a gun at the agents head. To which it seemed he only thought even more hilarious. “You can’t kill us, every bullet is a nickle in our pocket, we’re all backed up in our Deep Underground Military Bases, when you vermin finish blowing up the last of the surface environment, we will have won.
The hack came in from the darknet, Rodriguez had malware for some of the IoT devices in the security system, suddenly many of the red lines turned to green, the scuttlebot danced forward, jumped and burrowed under the house. The sweaty man took cover. The blast and hundreds like it, painted the red elephants with blood.
“You find a new way to win the war”
The boy looked at the green lawn under the White House.
He wanted some fresh air, and to feel the grass beneath his feet.
The beginning of someone’s journal from a future corporate culture based on intentional communities. About 840 words or a 4 minute read.
A robot speaks about why he’s better than humans. About 600 words or a 3 minute read.
On a trip to the dump for supplies a robot sponsors a fellow alcoholic. About 1,000 words or a 5 minute read.