H_O_M_O_ R_A_T_I_O_N_A_L_I_S_(SCIENCE FICTION)Chris MYRSKI, Sofia, Bulgaria ?1979 ... 2023— — — — —
— — — — — CONTENTS Foreword The recruit It sounds logical The discovery of professor Kolossov The stimulator of Peter MacGreeves The clover The marriage proposal Right of choice Homo Rationalis The tunnel The cannibals Biological partner The order The sixth day Homo Retarded Nights and days of a young robo-mother What else if not afterlife? Afterword — — — — — P A R T O N E — excerpts!FOREWORD Forewords to collections of short stories are usually not written, but in this case some phrases are probably necessary, because the author is Bulgarian, as well also new one (not that he is young but is unknown), so that the readers may not be able to orient themselves good. This is science fiction, but not of adventure or action kind. It would have been more correctly to use the a bit outdated and chiefly German term "utopian" stories, what says that they are again some inventions, i.e. fiction, and differ from the real world today, though who knows, maybe such ideas will be possible to realize in some utopian future? And how it is usual for an utopia the main problems are social, describing situations and relations between people, but not conflict situations between personages. In these utopias the conflicts are, up to some extent, already solved, though there can be argued about this, is the concrete decision correct, or it is of dubious value. In this sense the majority of stories are some (different) models of the future. However, as far as they inspire thoughts, and the meaning of the author is that in the near future the main problems in the society of, more or less, general prosperity will be chiefly social, i.e. not how people have to earn their living but how to make their life interesting enough, we suppose that these stories will find their circle of readers, at least between people with some inclination to philosophical perception of life. On the other hand, the stories are quite different in their character and are written over many years, even in totalitarian time, and moreover, some of them are still less like science fiction but have something in common with the known from the antiquity dialogues of Plato, or, rather, with some conversations at a table with a glass in hand, as is said. Well, in this case simply fill your glass, make yourself comfortable, and read the stories in this book. They are light and pleasant, and during the narration you may learn also some curious linguistic details, which you will not find even in specialized literature. It can be added also that they were written with some sense of humour, or rather slight irony, because of the low quality human material, with which the evolution is performed. In addition to this they are also up to certain extent sexy, what, according to the author, is also to their advantage. Only that, let us remind you, this does not mean erotics but quite ordinary "classical" sex, or at least talks about it. So that, if you are not prejudiced against Bulgarian literature — and, as a matter of fact, the very author was quite prejudiced, before it did not emerge the insipid Western wave of mass "tickling of basest human instincts", if we want to express ourselves in some degree cultured, which has convinced him that by the others is also bad — so that if you are not prejudiced against Bulgarian attempts, then you can "taste" a portion of this science fiction. 2001, Sofia, Bulgaria Chris Myrski — — — — — THE RECRUIT The light jazz music scattered gradually the remainders of sleepiness and the consciousness of Septimius Joyce awakened for the experiences of the new day. The clock on the wall showed twelve to seven, what was his usual time for getting up, after the alarm clock switched on at six-thirty, and he fought for about a quarter of an hour with the clutches of sleep. Today, however, he allowed himself to wallow for another ten minutes in the bed, because this was special day for him. He had to put on his most formal suit, which he has not used for more than an year, to seal finally his testament and carry it to the Court, to set his home computer in regime of prolonged absence, not forgetting by this to throw away the perishable products from the fridge and leave something only in the freezer, to correct here and there the program for watering of the plants, for heating and for ventilation of the air, to change the cipher of entrance door and to report it only to his possible heirs, to take a walk in the "Memorial of Patriots", where is also the plate with the name of his father, and to lay a carnation before the Goddess of Victory, to call by Joe and David, and meet also with Morrison, and to be at five precisely for a small feast with his colleagues, that they have organized to see off the next recruit — this time him — somewhere in the system RN327-5, where is the new front in this year. It will not be easy for him, but in recompense he had a nice day before him ... — Yes, it's me — answered Septimius, after he passed his fingers through his disheveled from the sleep hair and touched with an elbow the videophone button. — And who, you thought, sleeps in my bed, Flo? — asked he, sending an absentminded air kiss to the left corner of the room, where was the receiving video camera. Florance Joyce, his wife, with whom in the last years they lived in different flats, has succeeded to finish already her morning toilet and leaning back in the chair drank slowly coffee from the cup. With an apologetic smile she murmured: — You are still rolling in bed, ah, dormouse? I thought that you have maybe forgotten that in two days you have to be already on board of the "Recruit-215" on the way of glory, and have decided to sleep through your star moment. ... July 1998 — — — — — |
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