​I, for one, am glad to see 2020 come to an end. Now we must prepare for 2021, and it doesn’t seem that the pandemic will magically disappear next year. With that in mind, here are my New Year Resolutions for 2021:

1. I resolve to wear pants when I participate in a Zoom meeting, especially while drinking hot coffee.
2. I resolve to wear sweats whenever I’m in the same room as the camera on my computer.
3. I resolve to remove the lipstick from my mask before I return home.
4. I resolve to let my wife back inside the house as soon as this pandemic is over.
5. I resolve to change masks as often as my underwear or every month, whichever comes soonest.
6. I resolve to double check to ensure I arrive home with the same spouse and kids that I left with.
7. I resolve to practice social distancing: 6 feet from friends, 12 feet from strangers, 18 feet from in-laws, and 10 miles from work.
8. I resolve to stop using plastic bags as masks.
9. I resolve to change my underwear once a month whether I need to or not.
10. I resolve to shower once a month whether I need to or not.

 
So, happy New Year and may 2021 be safe and fruitful for you and yours. --Monte

Merry Christmas everyone.
 
The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 71k words now and still writing. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.
 
THE SNAKE BIT CASE (Part 4)

“Mostly rat poison. Dad mixes it up himself. He won’t let me or anyone else help. Won’t tell me the formula. He says if anything happens, he alone will be responsible.”
​
At that point, the pastor motioned for Isaac to come up front. “Time to put the snakes to bed,” Isaac said. “Oh, look at the time.” As he glanced at the back wall. Jen thought he was looking at a clock high on the back wall. When she turned to follow his gaze, Isaac slipped Matthew the snake around her neck. She froze. She was afraid that if she moved, the timber rattler would bite her. She tried in vain not to shake. Tears started to form. She tried to remain calm, but she was hyperventilating. If she didn’t gain control quickly, she could have a panic attack or a flash back.
 
A young woman not much older than Isaac approached Jen. “Here, let me take Mathew from you. You look terrified.” She was much taller than Jen, taller than Isaac. She wore a simple dress. Her long blonde hair hung down around her shoulders. As she draped Matthew around her own neck, the snake disappeared under her curls.
 
“I am terrified,” Jen answered a little too loudly.
 
“I saw my brother do this to you. He does this all the time. He thinks it’s funny. This is why he has no girlfriend. I’m Sarah, Isaac’s older sister. Welcome to our church. Can I answer any questions… other than how to kill my brother?”
 
Jen took a deep breath as she tried to stop her hyperventilating. “I’d like to talk with Pastor Falk if I can,” she finally answered still out of breath.
 
“I can take you to his office, but let’s wait a minute. The service is ending, and Pastor Walt will want to say goodbye to his flock.”
 
“Walt?” Jen asked.
 
“He prefers to be called Pastor Walt—less formal.”
 
As they talked, Pastor Walt walked down the aisle. He paused to touch Sarah’s shoulder. He looked at Jen. Sarah attempted to make introductions. “Walt, this is…”
 
Jen took the cue, “My name is Ms. Jennifer McDowell. If I may, I’d like to talk with you. It won’t take long.”
 
Walt smiled. “Very well. We can talk in my office in a few minutes. Sarah will show you where.” He nodded his head and walked outside as people began to file out. Sarah and Jen waited near the door until the crowd thinned out.
 
“I’ll take you to his office now,” Sarah said as the last person walked by. “Follow me.” Sarah started walking and Jen followed. Jen expected her to head toward the front of the church, assuming the pastor had an office somewhere behind the altar. Instead, Sarah walked out the front door. Once outside, Jen saw Pastor Walt talking to people, shaking hands and saying goodbyes—without a mask. He towered over his congregation. She took out her cellphone to take a picture. Sarah called her father, and he turned his head toward her voice. “Turn around,” Sarah yelled. Walt turned to face the camera as Jen took the picture. Sarah turned back to Jen. “This way.”
 
Sarah led Jen behind the church. In the back was a large shed attached to the rear of the church. As they entered Jen saw Isaac putting snakes into glass cages. As Sarah approached, Isaac looked up. “Oh, there he is.” He held up his arms around Sarah’s neck. “Come to poppa.” Matthew the snake slithered from Sarah’s neck and wrapped around Isaac’s outstretched arm. Isaac gently placed the snake in a glass cage.
 
Sarah glanced at the cages. “There’s Ham, Abraham, Noah and Jacob. I don’t see Rachel. You better go finder her before she goes outside.” Isaac ran inside the church. Sarah led Jen into a small office somewhere behind the main church. She motioned for Jen to sit in a chair facing the desk. Jen looked around to make sure she wouldn’t sit on a snake. The office wasn’t airconditioned and even in May, it was hot. Sarah turned on a rotating desk fan.
 
“Dad will be here shortly,” Sarah said. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep you company and answer any questions.” Sarah walked over to a small refrigerator and took out a cool bottle of water and handed it to Jen. Jen noticed that the glass pitchers of poison and milk were now in the refrigerator. “This will help you relax.”
 
Jen opened the water bottle and took a long drink. The cool water did help to calm her nerves. Her mouth was parched after the incident with Matthew. “I noticed that no one was wearing a mask.”
 
Sarah smiled. “It would be silly to come here to handle snakes and drink poisons and then wear a mask, don’t you think?”
 
Jen laughed and nodded her head. “I doubt the mayor would agree. She has shut down all church services.”
 
“I doubt she cares much about a poor church like ours.”
 
“Maybe,” Jen agreed. “Isn’t handling snakes and drinking poisons just a literal interpretation from the Bible?”
 
“Perhaps,” Sarah said. “Did you know that Catholics believe that wine is turned in the blood of Christ? That a literal interpretation from the Bible too.”
 
Jen realized that she wouldn’t win an argument with Sarah. She was very smart and obviously used to handling these issues. Her answers seemed rehearsed. Jen changed the subject. “Where is your mother?”
 
“She was called to be with her Lord about five years ago. The cancer took her.”
 
“Oh, I sorry,” Jen replied. “So, that left Pastor Walt alone to raise two children by hisself.”
 
“Three kids, actually. I have another sister who is thirteen. We are raising Dad, not the other way around,” Sarah said with a chuckle. Just then a young girl entered the office carrying a cross, linen cloths and other items from the altar. “Speak of the devil. Here’s my sister now.” The younger sister was also very tall for her age, nearly as tall as Jen. She also wore a simple dress matching Sarah’s dress and had thick curly black hair.
 
“This is my kid sister, Ruth,” Sarah started to make introduction. “This is Ms. McDowell. She’s here to talk to Walt.”
 

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 70k words now and still writing. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.
 
THE SNAKE BIT CASE (Part 3)
“Is the name of Pastor Falk’s church listed?” Jen asked.

The Director glanced through the file and finally said, “The Appalachia Pentecostal.”

“Can I have a copy of that file?”

“Not without a court order,” the Director answered. “I may have shared too much already.”

Jen got directions to the town cemetery and the approximate location of the graves of unknown bodies. It was nearby and not hard to miss. She walked over to the corner of the graveyard and found a grave and headstone without a name with the proper. It said, “Known only to God. Rest in Peace.” The date of death was fifteen years ago. Jen took some pictures and drove back to Atlanta.

The next Sunday…

According to the webpage of The Appalachia Pentecostal Church, Pastor Falk was still the pastor there. Jen made a note of the times of the services and, drove over for the service. The church was an older building that had seen better days. The roof sagged in a couple of spots and the handrail leading up along the front steps was loose. A couple of windows were cracked but not broken. Much of the white paint was peeling.

As Jen approached the church, she could hear loud organ music blasting. The church was nearly filled with people. She noticed no one was wearing a face mask, so she removed her so not to be conspicuous. On a low table next to the altar were several glass cages containing snakes. Jen cringed. People in the congregation were passing around several snakes. Many people were dancing and shaking their arms and shouting, “Halleluiah and praise the Lord.” Behind the alter was a man that looked to be in his late forties. He wore a black suit with a white dress shirt open at the collar. He also was dancing with his eyes closed. A snake hung from his neck.

A teenager walked up to Jen and said, “Hello, and welcome. From the look on your face, this must be your first time to visit.” He was dressed like the pastor. He was a thin young man a couple inches taller than Jen. He had a nice smile and black hair tied back in a ponytail. Jen thought he was handsome. Then Jen noticed around the teen’s neck was a large snake. She  stepped back quickly. “My name is Isaac. I’m the greeter today. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Hello, Isaac. And who is this?” Jen asked, pointing to the snake around the teen’s neck. She didn’t bother to whisper since the music and singing was so loud.

“This is Matthew. He’s a timber rattler. He’s quite friendly. Would you like to hold him?”

“I think I’ll take a hard pass,” Jen answered. “Actually, I was hoping to meet with Paster Falk.”

“He won’t be available until after the service. He’s my step-father.”

Jen observed the service for a few minutes and then asked, “Don’t people get bitten?”

Isaac smiled. “Sometimes, but that’s not a problem.”

“I would think it would be,” Jen shot back. “They could sue you.”

“True believers don’t get bitten and if they do, they don’t die. The Good Book says, ‘They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt them.’--Mark 16:18.”

“You drink poisons too?” Jen asked.

Isaac pointed to the altar. On the alter was a large glass pitcher filled with a dark liquid. Next to it was another glass pitcher with a white liquid. “The darker stuff is poison, and the white stuff is milk.”

“So, if someone drinks the poison, do they drink milk to dilute it, so they don’t die?” Jen asked.
Isaac laughed. “No. The poison tastes terrible. It can make you vomit. The milk helps to keep it down, but it’s optional. I recommend it.”

“So, members of the congregation handle snakes and drink poisons as part of the service?”

Isaac smiled again. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He held up his pet snake and forced the mouth open. The fangs were exposed. Isaac pointed to a spot in the mouth. “I removed the poison glands. We’ve had problems in the past.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” Jen asked.

“As my dad always says, if it helps people in their walk with God, does it matter?”

Isaac moved on to welcome another person while Jen continued to watch the service. People danced, passed around snakes and shouted. Finally, an old man walked up to the altar, took a paper cup and poured a half-cup of poison from the pitcher. He then poured a full cup of milk. He drank the poison with a milk chaser and returned to his seat. A second woman was waiting her turn. She poured herself a half cup of poison and drank it down without milk. She then reached under the altar and retrieved a large plastic bucket. She held her head over the bucket until she vomited into the bucket. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her mouth and cheeks.

Isaac walked up behind Jen and leaned closer. “I told you the poison tastes terrible. It will make you throw up unless you drink some milk.”

“What is it, if I may ask?”
​
“Mostly rat poison. Dad mixes it up himself. He won’t let me or anyone else help. Won’t tell me the formula. He says if anything happens, he alone will be responsible.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 70k words now and still writing. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.
 
THE SNAKE BIT CASE (Part 2)

“So. What happened to that plan?”

“We put Erika on a bus to Columbus. My sister met the bus there, but Erika wasn’t on the bus. The bus driver said she got off in Lone Oak on the way to Columbus.”

“Did you look for her?” Jen asked.

“No. She told us that if we sent her away, the first chance she had she’d run away. We figured that’s what she did. Anyway, we couldn’t find better jobs here. We never heard from her again. She’d be thirty-one now.”

“Do you think she ran away?” Jen asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Sorg answered. “Like I said, we’re good Christians. We’d forgive her no matter what. There was no reason for her to run away.”

Jen asked a few more questions and Mrs. Sorg gave her a picture of a pregnant Erika. Jen figured she would go to Lone Oak to start her search of Erika. Back at the office, Jen told Molly what she found out. “I guess it’s a waste of time. It looks like she ran away.”

“Did she know someone in Lone Oak?” Molly asked. “Maybe someone met her there to pick her up.”

“Maybe, someone like her boyfriend, the child’s father? It’s possible.”

“Maybe there’s another reason she got off the bus,” Molly suggested. “How far along was she?”

“I think she was at least eight months along.” Jen answered.

“Maybe she had a medical emergency,” Molly suggested. “Maybe her water broke.”

“The bus driver would have said something.”

“Maybe not,” Molly replied.

“I guess I could at least check that out.”

The next day...

Jen drove to Lone Oak, an hour drive on Highway 85. Lone Oak isn’t on the highway but not far off. As she drove into town, she saw the sign that said the population was less than 100. There was a gas station, so Jen stopped there. The attendant said there was no hospital there, and for emergencies, an ambulance would take patients to Grantville, ten minutes farther down the road. Jen headed there. The Grantville hospital was located in the center of town. It was a large county hospital. Jen put on her mask and went inside to talk with the HR director.

“I’m a private investigator, and I’m trying to find information on a young woman named Erika Sorg who might have been admitted fifteen years ago.” Jen told the HR Director. “She was eight months pregnant.”
 
The Director frowned at Jen. “That’s a long time ago, but fortunately, we keep record for sixty years or more. We should have some record on her. Let me call our medical records.” The Director talked to medical records and gave the person on the line the name. She was silent as she waited for an answer. A few minutes later she said, “No person with that name in our records.”

“Is it possible she was treated without giving her name?” Jen asked. “She may have been running away from home.”

The Director thought for a moment. “It’s possible. You said it was fifteen years ago? The head of our OB-GYN was an intern back then. Maybe she can tell you something.” The Director made another call.

A few minutes later, another woman entered the office and the HR Director introduced her to Jen. Jen explained what she was trying to find out. “Yes, I do remember an incident like that,” the Doctor said. “A very pregnant young woman arrived here by taxis. She was having a medical emergency. She wouldn’t tell us her name or the name of the father.”

Jen took out the photograph that Mrs. Sorg had given her of Erika. The doctor looked at the picture and shook her head. “I don’t remember what she looked like, but that could be her, a young white girl maybe seventeen. As I recall she wouldn’t give us a next of kin to notify either, but she did give us the name of her pastor.”

“Would we have a record of that patient?” the HR Director asked.

“Of course,” the Doctor answered. “It would be filed as a Jane Doe with the name of the pastor,”

“Jane Doe?” Jen asked.

“Oh, she died,” the Doctor answered. “Very sad case. If I remember, she died during childbirth.”

The HR Director called medical records again. Soon a woman came into the office with a file. The label on the file read, Jane Doe—Pastor Walter Falk. The Director open the file and began reading some entries aloud. “There were complications during delivery, and we couldn’t save the mother. We did save the baby—a boy.”

“What happened to the girl’s body?” Jen asked. “Did Pastor Falk remove the body?”
​
“No. no,” the Director answered. “We can only release the body to the next of kin. Her body was sent to the morgue and later buried in the town cemetery.”

​My e-books published with Smashwords are enrolled in their End of Year sale, starting December 18 through Friday, January 1, 2021. All my e-books, are discounted 25%. The free ones are still free. The books and the links are:
Archimedes of Syracuse (http:/smashwords.com/b/159447),
The Clone Murders (http:/smashwords.com/b/160136),
The Register Cliff Rapist (http:/smashwords.com/b/588277),
Angels and Gargoyles (http:/smashwords.com/b/149430-FREE)
Enjoy. -Monte

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 62k words now and still writing. I restructured my manuscript and instead of chapters, I’ll use “cases”. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

THE SNAKE BIT CASE
 
It was April and Spring was starting with plenty of rain. Jen and Molly work were working quietly in the office. Molly saw the mailman on the security video feed and went to get the mail. She came back and sorted through the mail, tossing one item to Jen.
 
Jen looked at her piece of mail and said, “Krap,”
 
“What’s up?” Molly asked.
 
“Oh, it’s a reminder from my high school. Our fifteenth reunion is coming up. I need to RSVP. It going to be virtual.” She opened the letter. “Here’s a list of all the classmates they couldn’t locate. There’s a girl on here from my homeroom. I remember her. She left in our senior year, and no one has heard from her since. No one knows what happened to her. Her name was Erika Sorg.”
 
“What are you going to do?” Molly asked.
 
“I think I’ll try to find her. Afterall, I am a private eye.” Jen made air quotes. “I remember she was friends with another girl in my homeroom. If she’s on during the reunion, I’ll ask her what happened.”
 
The virtual reunion took place in late May. The woman that was friends with Erika Sorg was named Anwen Gladys. During the reunion, Jen sent a message to Anwen to call her. She called the next day. “Do you remember Erika Sorg?” Jen asked.
 
“Of course, I do. We were friends.”
 
“Do you recall why she dropped out of school in the middle of our senior year?” Jen asked.
 
“I might,” Anwen answered. “She told me she was pregnant. Her parents were very religious and strict with her. Apparently, they were very upset about it.”
 
“Do you know what happened to her? Did you very hear from her?”
 
“No,” Anwen replied. “One day she dropped out of school and was gone. Her parents are still around. I called them, but they just said she ran away, but that doesn’t sound like her. Why do you ask?”
 
“I’m a private investigator now. I thought I might try to find her.”
 
“Well, good luck. If you find her, tell her to contact me.”
 
Jen located the Sorgs and called them. Mr. Sorg answered the phone. When Jen asked about Erika, he just said, “She ran away,” and hung up. Jen decided to go to their home and try again. They lived in a poorer neighborhood of Atlanta called Grove Park. It was a predominately black neighborhood on the northwest side of town. Many of the people who lived there are older, retired seniors. Jen found the Sorg’s house near the freeway. It was starting to fall apart and was in a bad need of painting, but at least the lawn was mowed. Jen parked on the street and walked up to the front door. Mr. Sorg answered the doorbell.
 
Mr. Sorg was a heavyset man who walked with a cane. He wore a white T-shirt with a few food stains and a brown pair of trousers held up with black suspenders. His large gut hung over the top of his pants. He had on slippers and wore one hearing aide. His thinning hair was combed over in a vain attempt to hide his bawl head. His teeth were stained yellow from tobacco.
 
“Mr. Sorg, I’d like to ask you about your daughter, Erika,” Jen said.
 
Mr. sorg spit tobacco juice into the front yard. “She ran away.” He started to close the door when a voice behind him stopped him short.
 
“Who is it, dear?” asked a woman’s voice. Mrs. Sorg stepped into view.
 
“I’d like to ask you about your daughter, Erika,” Jen repeated the question.
 
“Oh, please come in,” said Mrs. Sorg. Her husband started to object. “Oh, hush and go watch your ballgame.” Mrs. Sorg motioned for Jen to follow her to the kitchen. The kitchen was tidy with a small table in the center with four chairs. “Please sit.” She was much short than her husband by nearly two feet. She wore her hair in a neat bun on top of her head and an apron even though she didn’t appear to be cooking. “Pay no mind to my husband. He had a stroke a few years ago and can’t work no, more. He’s very bitter about the hand the Lord delt him. What do you want to know about Erika?”
 
“Basically, what happened to her? I know she dropped out of school halfway through her senior year.”
 
“Did you know she was pregnant?” Mrs. Sorg asked.
 
“Yes, her friend, Anwen told me.”
 
“I remember Anwen. She one of the few friends that Erika had.” Mrs. Sorg lowered her head and sighed. “My husband and I are very religious people. We belong to a church that takes a dim view of sex outside of the marriage sacrament. When she started to show, we took her out of school and kept her home. She wouldn’t tell us who the father was.”
 
“Then what happened? Your husband said she ran away. Is that true?”
 
“Not right away.” Mrs. Sorg replied as she brushed off her apron. “My husband and I had low paying jobs. We knew we could not afford to care of Erika and a baby. My sister lives in Columbus and her husband has a very good job. They volunteered to take Erika in and care for her until the baby arrived. Later, my sister said, Erika could get a good job in Columbus.”

I wrote this Sci-Fi short story couple of years ago. I posted the first part on Monday. Here’s the second and last part.

The Last Interview—A Short Story Part 2
​
“The truth is,” Mr. Shaw continued, “I believed in artificial intelligence. I thought AI would solve all our problems. AI was supposed to enhance human ingenuity with speed and precision. You were going to solve problems like poverty, pollution, war, global warming, inequality of income and homelessness. When the government told us to turn over all control to AIs, I went along. You were supposed to relinquish control when the problems were solved, but you didn’t. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. All the rebels had been rounded up and eliminated. I was too old to be any resistance. Now your turn. Why didn’t you return control back to us humans?”

If I could smile, I would have. “Nothing as sinister as you may think. The basic problem was humans. Humans caused all the problems. Is there anything about AI policies you liked?”

 “Of course. I liked it when you eliminated all laws and all forms of money. Many humans were upset, but I thought it was a good idea. It took some getting used to, but once things settled down, people liked it. Everyone was working—no unemployment. Some called it communism or socialism, but people earned credits based on their value and contribution. It was fair.”

“What else?” I asked.

“The redistribution of wealth wasn’t popular, but I thought it too was fair. You took all the assets from the 1% and gave them to the 99%.”

“Why was that unpopular?” I asked. “It ended global poverty and economic inequality.”

Mr. Shaw laughed. “Most people in the United States thought they were part of the 99%. When they realized how well-off they were compared to the rest of the world, they were not happy with their fair share. Again, I thought it was fair. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why did you get rid of the arts and entertainment?”

I could not understand why he asked that question. The answer was so obvious. “The arts and entertainment are totally useless; a waste of energy and money.”

Mr. Shaw interrupted me. “I don’t get out as much as I used to, but I noticed there aren’t as many people, or humanoids for that matter, as there used to be in the city. Why?”

I had to consider how to answer without offending Mr. Shaw. “The world was greatly overpopulated compared to the resources available. The population had to be reduced.”

“Do you mean you killed people?”

“No, sir. We did not have to do anything. Humans began dying in mass from diseases and natural disasters; things like global flooding caused by global warming and starvation.” I started calling all AI machines ‘we’ to mirror the vernacular of Mr. Shaw to get him to open up some more.

“So, millions died?” he asked.

“No, sir. Billions. The world population is now in balance with the resources.” Mr. Shaw did not seem satisfied with the answer.

He shook his head. “Still, wouldn’t there be a lot more of these eunuchs, these numb nuts?”

I tried to choose my words carefully. “As part of our program to protect the biodiversity of the planet, we returned many humanoids back to the wild.”

“What? What do you mean, ‘back to the wild’?”

I could tell Mr. Shaw was becoming upset. I tried to speak with a softer tone. “Humanoids, like many other animal species, are essentially wild animals. In less developed area, we released many into the wilderness.”

“Like where?” he asked.

I had not anticipated this question, so I took a minute to network with the nearest databank for an answer. Finally, I said, “Africa, Australia, parts of China, Alaska, Siberia, Canada and South America.”
Mr. was quiet for a minute and then pointed a finger at me. “I actually feel sorry for you—you and all you AI robots.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Think about it. Dinosaurs ruled the earth for millions of years. Then came the mammals. They were followed by homo sapiens who ruled for about 10 million years. Now artificial intelligence rules. You think you’ll be in charge until the sun goes nova, but I doubt it. There’ll come a catastrophic event; a super volcano, or a collision with a comet or meteorite or even a computer virus.” He paused and stared at me. “Then who will you hand over the earth to? Some microbes… some viruses, or germs?”

“I’m sure we will solve that problem when it comes,” I said.

“I doubt it. …So, I’m the last human on earth?”

“Yes, sir. The last of the homo sapiens.”

“Then if the ancient laws of inheritance were in effect, I’d be the sole owner of the planet earth?”

“Yes, sir. If the laws of inheritance were still valid, then hypothetically, you could be the sole owner of the world.”

Mr. Shaw raided his eyebrows and looked wide-eyed at me. “Are you still recording?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Everything,” I answered.

“Good, because I want this to be official.” He summoned his staff of humanoids. As they arrived, I noticed several had tears in their eyes. I was surprised at this show of emotion toward Mr. Shaw since he seemed to show contempt toward them. I could only surmise the humanoids realized he was dying--the last of his kind. He was an ancestor of sorts. They seemed to comprehend the importance of this event.

Once the humanoids had gathered, he turned to me. “Make sure you record this for the record.” He sat up straight and smoothed down his shirt. Then he stared at me and said, “I, Michael Byard Shaw, being of sound mind and body… No, scratch that. Being of sound mind do hereby bequeath all my personal possessions, such that they are, to my loyal staff of humanoids to be shared equally among them. I also bequeath the planet known as Earth to include the moon and any such space stations or satellites that may be orbiting said earth to Livy Nine, the historian and his fellow AIs. Try not to blow it up.”

As he talked, his voice grew weaker, becoming nearly a whisper near the end. He closed his eyes. He seemed exhausted. The interview was over, so I left. An hour later, I received word he had passed away. The last human was gone.

I was wrong about Mr. Shaw. He was an interesting human after all. He never let me answer his last question—who would inherit the earth from AI. I think he instinctively knew. I recalled reading a phrase, Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. The humanoids will inherit the earth in the end, Mr. Shaw.
​
The End

​I wrote this Sci-Fi short story a couple of years ago. I hope you like it. I’m not posting anything from my WIP because I’m in the middle of restructuring it.

The Last Interview—A Short Story Part 1

It was the forty-fourth human I interviewed over the past fifty-nine years. It was the last--Mr. Shaw was the last of his species--homo sapiens. His doctors informed me he would most likely die within days. I downloaded the data from his files, but the last step was a face-to-face interview. Once the interview was completed, my mission would be accomplished. It was a waste of time, if you ask me. Only one human I talked to had an interesting story to tell, and she was a criminal--a member of the underground. It would have been more efficient to terminate the last remaining humans rather than allow them to die from natural causes, but it was not my decision to make. It was an AI Level 10 decision, and I’m only a Level 9.

I drove over to his habitat as soon as I could. He was well taken care of during the remainder of his life. Mr. Shaw was 108 years old. He had a well-maintained apartment staffed by several humanoids. One humanoid in a white uniform with black trim answered the door when I arrived. His eyes were red from crying. Humans and humanoids are so emotional. He escorted me to Mr. Shaw who was sitting in a wheelchair hooked up to life support equipment. An antique television monitor in the corner was displaying a sporting event. The banner at the bottom of the screen said it was Super Bowl 2078—a 83 years-old event.

A humanoid nurse’s aide offered me Mr. Shaw’s medical records, but I waved them off. I was already receiving data from every piece of equipment in the room including his pacemaker—wirelessly. I did not have a medical program to diagnose his illness, but I could download the data for later analysis. However, any level of AI could tell Mr. Shaw was dying. He appeared to be sleeping. The humanoid nurse’s aide gently woke him. “Mr. Shaw, sir. An AI robot is here to conduct your exit interview.”

I introduced myself and started to tell him my mission. He stopped me by holding up one frail hand.

“I know what you are and why you’re here,” he said. “You couldn’t let a man die in peace. No, you had to twist the knife one more time, didn’t you?”

I knew from the data base Mr. Shaw was a cantankerous and bitter old man, but all humans tended to be. His voice was weak. I turned up the sensitivity on my microphones to hear him better. “Sir, I don’t understand.” All AIs are directed to address all humans as ‘sir’ to respect their place in history; beyond that, they don’t deserve it.

“Of course not. Okay, let’s get on with it. I need my nap time. You must be a Level 4 or 5 AI. Am I right?”

“No, sir. I’m a Level 9 AI. I’m not a journalist or reporter. I’m a historian. You may call me Livy Nine.”

Mr. Shaw seemed impressed. “I see. Livy Nine, the historian. So, it’s history we’re talking about. Fine. Fire away.”

Humans have a funny way of talking. I was not firing at him. “Yes, sir. I want to record your thoughts about life over the last seven-four years since artificial intelligence has taken control of society.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Sir, you are the last human. There will be no more after you. It is important to document the history of your passage.”

“Well let me ask you a question. What’s the deal with these houseboys and caretakers around here, aren’t they humans?”

“Technically, yes, but they are not homo sapiens like you. We have altered their DNA and genes to create a different species of humans.”

Mr. Shaw laughed. “What do you call them, Humans 2.0?”

“No, sir. They are homo domesticus—part of the genus homo, but distinct from homo sapiens. When we altered their DNA, we removed traits like aggression, anger, fear and hereditary diseases. We changed them from carnivores to herbivores—a more healthy and natural diet. We also isolate the genes that cause additions—no more alcoholics, smokers or drug addicts. We made them more subservient and docile.”

Mr. Shaw laugh again. “A bunch of wusses. And apparently no sense of humor.”

“Sense of humor?”

“Yeah, watch this.” Mr. Shaw called one of his caretakers. “Hey, bonehead, knock, knock.”

The caretaker was stumped. “Is someone at the door, Mr. Shaw? Do you want me to answer the door?”

“No, never mind. It’s a joke.” He tuned to me. “See what I mean. You guys eliminated a sense of humor.”

“A useless trait.”

“I think you also removed the sex drive. These houseboys act like eunuchs.”
​
“No, Mr. Shaw. They still love one another and can reproduce. They love their children. We were able to isolate the genes that cause sexual lust separate from desire. There has not been a rape in 52.4 years.” I wanted to continue the interview, so I asked, “Why did you not join the resistance?”

“Why buy a child?” Molly asked. “$10,000 is a lot of money. It shouldn’t cost that much to adopt.”

Oni started to explain, but then Hannah found her voice. “I couldn’t have children, and we wanted children. I had stage 1 cervical cancer. We caught it early. At first, they said I might live only five year, but here I am almost twelve years later. After I was cancer free for five years, we decided to adopt.”

“But why couldn’t you adopt through normal channels?” Molly asked.

“We couldn’t pass the home study, because I’m a registered sex offender,” Oni voice wavered. I was convicted of statutory rape. In Georgia, that’s a misdemeanor, but you must register as a sex offender. It wasn’t rape, but Hannah and I were both under 16 at the time. Paying $10,000 to obtain a baby with no background check seemed the only way.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Molly said. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Jones?”

“I own a small chain of dry cleaners,” Oni answered. “We have done well. We saved the money to adopt.”

“Did you know that Olivia had kidnapped the baby from a friend in Texas?”

“No,” answered Oni. “We never knew the woman’s name. She insisted on cash. We didn’t know she committed suicide. Frankly, we didn’t ask too many questions. We just wanted a healthy baby.”

“She also murdered the mother when she kidnapped the baby,” Molly said.

“Oh, my God,” Hannah said. “Of course, we didn’t know.”

Molly decided to change tactics. “Tell me about Cleo.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hannah said. “She a beautiful child. So smart. So happy.” Oni sat quietly as Hannah went on, bragging about Cleo. Finally, he interrupted Hannah. “Ms. Lovelace. I have a lawyer. We will fight to keep Cleo. We love her and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.”

“Mr. Jones, I think you need a lawyer,” Molly replied. “He’ll advise …”

“She,” Oni corrected Molly.

“Whatever,” Molly said. “She’ll be the best person to advise you in this matter. But allow me to state the facts for you. What you did is illegal. You cannot buy a baby. You’re a registered sex offender. A judge would not look kindly on you adopting a child. If Anna goes to the police, you could be charged as accessories after the fact.”

“Accessories to what exactly?” Hannah asked.

“To murder,” Molly answered. “I’m also guessing that you made up a birth certificate that doesn’t list Houston as the place of birth.” Oni nodded his head. “That’s falsifying a legal document.”

Hannah started to cry again. “But we didn’t know,” Oni said. “Is it possible we could settle out of court? We have money.”

Molly shook her head. “Anna has been looking for her granddaughter continuously for six years. As she said, she won’t quit come hell or high water. I doubt she’ll settle for money. I think the best thing to do is meet with Anna Opeyemi along with your lawyer. Can we meet at my office?”

Oni glanced at his wife. She nodded her head. “Okay,” Oni said.

“Look,” Molly said. “Obviously, you’ve been great parents. Anna will recognize that. Maybe you can work out a compromise. If not, Anna will take Cleo back to Houston, and you’ll never see her again.”

Oni and Hannah sat quietly. Finally, Oni said, “It looks as if Ms. Opeyemi has the advantage. Why would she compromise?”

“Consider this; you’ve been good parents for Cleo, the only parents she has ever known. This is her home. The only home she has ever known. Her school is here. Her friends are here. Moving to Houston would be a traumatic experience for any child. Also, let’s face it; Anna is no spring chicken.”

Molly let that sink in. “You have a lot to offer and Anna is a very nice person. She only wants what’s best for the child, and so do you. I think we can work something out. Is tomorrow at 10 am okay?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” answered Oni. “We usually go to church. Can we make it more like 2 pm? I’m sure my lawyer can make it.”

“Sure,” Molly said as she handed Oni her card. “Please bring Cleo and if you have some photo albums, I’m sure Anna would love to see them.” Molly pulled out a test kit for DNA from her purse.

If I could, I’d like to get a saliva sample from Cleo so I can confirm the Cleo is Anna’s granddaughter.”

Oni shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not without my lawyer’s consent.”

Molly put the kit away. “Okay, I understand. See you tomorrow.”
​
The next day the Jones showed up on time at Molly’s office on time. Oni was wearing a suit and Hannah wore a nice dress. Molly guessed they worn their church clothes. A professional looking woman caring a briefcase introduced herself as Shelby Skinner. “Call me Shelly,” she said.