For Dr. Sellers!

Outside, someone in the crowd shouted, “For Dr. Sellers!” and for Dr. Short.

Photo by samantha woodford on Unsplash

“He’s in trouble,” said Dean.

Claude seemed to be impressed. “Maybe he should have a drink of water, or some kind of crack.”

Outside, someone in the crowd shouted, “For Dr. Sellers!” and for Dr. Short.

”He wouldn’t drink his beer,” Potter said.

And with that, the conversation seemed to be abruptly broken off.

”Have to go,” Claude Monroe said. “I can’t talk, about this; you’ll have to carry on, meek as I am.” He managed, half-smile, to extricate himself and walk beside the flag captain, whom the captain over the flapple had promoted to “First Lieutenant” — in response to a hint that Claude might be about to tell a falsehood.

The vidphone booth operator, a female, said, “You are still on the flag, sir, but you are seeing a Miss Potter at the projector. Her brother is there and he made it clear by doing something that your flag says on the flagpole.”

The message Potter held up and Claude turned to her. “Why?” he said. “How could they miss a connection with you?”

Claude said, “I’ll tell you something,” and hung up the phone. The screen became dark and then it flicked on once more and Claude’s face filled it with anguish. “Don’t blame me,” he said. “They had no choice; they got stuck in the prob system. And it’s infectious. The damn vistermans sure as hell didn’t have an idea what it was doing to people in my family! God, what a chance you had! But I guess they— the damn fools—letting the rest of us out … there’s a great biological advantage in intuition, don’t you agree?” He ceased talking, then, and sat facing them. His arms, his shoulders—they were broad, muscular, on his good leg, but he sagged.

“What’s wrong, Captain?”

He looked at her.

Claude said, “He says, ‘No.’ .”

“But—he doesn’t mean that he doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Claude said, and crossed his face, covering his mouth.

The Ship’s cop drew her gun. “I’ll kill him. I don’t think there’s any point in killing him.”

“But,” Claude said, “this is the middle of town; nobody will fire at anyone, now that he’s there. You have the direct conduit from this planet; if he dies—”


Editor’s Notes

Written by AI, uses my fiction 774 gpt-2 fine-tuned model.


Removed some repeated sentences. The recursive generator often has duplicate content output, since it doesn’t always leave the prompt out of the output when I ask it to, and since the prompt is made from a section of the previous bit of story.

Replaced all names with new, randomly generated names.


Taken from generated text

GPT-2 Settings
  “return_as_list”: true,
  “include_prefix”: false,
  “length”: 100,
  “top_k”: 500,
  “top_p”: 0.9,
  “truncate”: “<|endoftext|>”,
  “temperature”: 1.0,
  “run_name”: “model-adult_fiction-774M-run1”,
  “prefix”: ””,
  “nsamples”: 1