28
Jan
Reading science fiction
Rarely do I read fiction these days, since I tangled myself with the World Wide Web. I enjoy snooping on other people’s lives, especially when they post photographs on their blogs. Along with a normal working hours like the rest of the world, there isn’t much time for me to hit the books after work.
Therefore, I was piqued when I found a sci-fi newsletter featured on Boing Boing: I usually skip the recommendations for books and anything longer than one browser-screen’s length, but the title caught my eye.
“How Lonesome a Life Without Nerve Gas”
How creepy, clamouring for a live with nerve gas. Scientific fictional novels stretch the bounds of the human imagination, and the title was gnawing at my curiosity. I clicked through, and was deeply captured by the tantalising introduction:
The first thing I remember is my master, Mickey Halstrom, picking me up from the heap of other smart-helms. I activated at the first touch of human skin and imprinted within seconds to his genetic signature. A rough voice barked out a series of commands and Mickey pulled me over his head. I expanded to meet the shape of his skull and tightened my pads over the base of his neck. My filters hung like a beard over his chest.
Finally, active duty. A soldier who breathes is a soldier who lives, and it was my job to keep Mickey breathing no matter what foul toxins those spineless Martian rebels put in his way. Oh, the children of the empire are marching. . . .
I won’t spoil the rest of the novel; if you are into amateur science fiction, the story presents a compelling read: I couldn’t stop reading even way past bedtime. The plot promises a wonderful twist near the ending as the irony hits home.
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