Skip to content

Can Androids Cope with Tiny Goats?

Intergalactic teleportation & organic robots

Eleanor Konik
Written by Eleanor Konik

I write stories & articles inspired by all eras of history & science... so I wind up putting notetaking software like Obsidian & Readwise thru their paces.

5 min read.
Can Androids Cope with Tiny Goats?
📗
This month's (inaugral!) Fourth Friday Flash is one of my rare science fiction pieces. Check out the Afterword at the bottom for more information about the research that went into writing it.

The first night Ollie stood watch over the teleporter's bio-printer, white-backed vultures destroyed the latrines in their quest for settler shit. Ollie spent the next morning weaving protective nets out of river reeds and cursing her predecessor, who’d had the privilege of standing to pee.

The second night, one of the erstwhile university professors got dizzy-drunk off the impromptu colony's last box of plum wine and declared that Gliese was too imprecise a name for the planet they’d fled to. “Gliese is a catalogue of stars,” Dr. Jackson shouted, “You can’t name a planet Gliese!”

The cook, Andrea, declared herself sick of pedantic engineers and tossed Jackson into the river. The splash scared the local storks, who got tangled in the nets, which collapsed on Ollie. Ollie made the cook help cut a replacement fence for the latrines. As revenge, Andrea left feathers in her stork meat stew.

On the third night of standing watch at base camp, the teleporter started beeping during Ollie's midnight dump. She hoisted up her pants, wishing — and not for the first time — that her Colonel had chosen to stay on Earth and defend the technocracy. At least then maybe she’d be able to shit in peace.

The teleporter clanked and whirred as it maneuvered molecules into place; it must be working on something big, like maybe a rhino. The Colonel said the planet had been terraformed into sort of reserve for endangered animals; like geneticists, he'd said grimly. Hoping for an Exmoor pony instead, or maybe one last refugee — and not, say, a battalion of Luddite rebels — Ollie stood ready with her lasso and a makeshift spear.

Unlock full access to Obsidian Iceberg and see the entire library of members-only content.

Sign up to view this content

Already have an account? Log in

Check out one of these related posts
Members Public
📗 Spite

When AI is so wrong it's actually helpful

grimdark ritual altar in a scandinavian bog with drums & acolytes created by midjourney AI bot
Members Public
📗 One Barbarian Boy

On the ethics of quitting pain to embrace joy

a child on a swingset in the Andean mountains
Members Public
📗 Marsh Rat

A long slow decline of a stable world

a wooden canoe tied to a tree in a cypress swamp