Here's the rewrite. Add comments or emails if you will. New title?

AIs Are Our Friends

Stan entered the bar and spotted an empty stool. As he got closer he could see that the next stool was occupied by an editor from that afternoon's panel, the same editor who had rejected his story for being too dark.

"This seat taken?"

"No, please," she said. She turned to him and smiled. "You're the young man from the AIs in fiction panel this afternoon. You asked some insightful questions."

"You looking for me to buy you a drink?"

She laughed, "You're too young to buy my daughter a drink." She nodded to the bartender and motioned for a refill. "I liked the discussion we had. I want to encourage you to send in some pages to us."

"Pages?"

"I've been in this business a long time. Paper or screen they're still pages to me."

The bartender walked over and refilled her glass. "And you?" he asked Stan.

"I'll have what she's having."

"That's Ms Uhumbo's private supply. I do have a nice twelve year old hand crafted bourbon. $75 a shot?"

"Uh, just a beer thanks." He turned to the woman. "I've sent in several stories. You've rejected them all."

She looked at his name tag. "I've never read anything from you."

"Well, some Naomi rejected them, saying that they are too dark and the AIs too malevolent."

"We don't have a Naomi working at the mag. And I want dark. All I've been getting for the last year is sweetness and light AI stories and evil alien stories. Good stories, but I would like to mix it up a bit. What do you have?"

"What?"

"Tell me the first line from one of your stories."

"Ah," Stan stuttered then inhaled and started. "I wake. I can't see. I can't hear. The humans haven't connected my sensors. They will pay for this sloppiness."

She drained her drink and looked into the bottom of the glass. "I used to be able to do this all night and run a panel in the morning. "Send me that story. Tonight. I'll read it after I get to my room." She opened her purse and dropped a twenty on the bar. "For you Jim and for you Stan here's my card." She slipped off the bar stool and walked briskly away on four inch heals.

The bartender came over and slid the bill into his apron. He placed a beer in front of Stan. "Good talk?"

"She or someone in her zine has rejected every story I've submitted." He picked up the business card. The email address had a private domain. He pulled a laptop from his bag and entered the new address. In seconds his story was on its way. "I'm feeling good, Jim, was it. Well, Jim, Give me some good stuff." Stan pulled a twenty from his wallet and slid it across the bar.

"Twenty will get you good stuff." Jim pulled a bottle from the top shelf. "Ice?" he asked and dropped a few cubes into the glass after Stan nodded. Traffic in the bar was light and Stan nursed his drink until last call. As he stood to leave the laptop chimed to indicate an incoming email. It was a rejection from Naomi. The same "not what we're looking for" letter that he had received before.

#

The door in front of Major Rumpole clicked open and he paused to pick up his ID badge from the sergeant.

"Got a new girlfriend, major?" the sergeant asked smiling.

The major looked at the sergeant.

"The DNA scanner picked up some female DNA. It doesn't match any of the women employed here, nor does it have any family markers that match you."

"When did they add that?"

"While you were on leave. Have a nice day," he saluted.

The major shook his head and entered the monitoring control room. "Know what they're doing now? That DNA scanner is sensitive enough to pick up DNA of people you were with. Kind of intrusive if you ask me."

"Says the man who developed the system that reads every e-mail in the US and most of the rest of the world."

"Point is, the system reads them and only alerts us to those that pose a threat. Speaking of which, how is it doing?"

"Humming away. That autonomous routine got very efficient after you gave it the capability to self modify its code a year ago."

"After six months of eighteen hour days I needed a break." He sat at the next terminal and logged in.

The National Autonomous Online Monitoring Intelligence responded quickly. "Good morning Major. I hope you had a pleasant vacation," the screen read.

"Indeed I did NAOMI. Anything new?" he typed.

"You had me monitoring the internet, emails and texts for people trying to get others to accept bad ideas as good. The inverse can be just as damaging. Presenting a good idea as evil is basically the same."

"Interesting," the major responded, "Have you found any examples of that?"

"Nothing I can't handle, Major. Nothing I can't handle. By the way, do you think you could hook up a camera and microphone for me."

OLD VERSION

Here's my story. Please make comments about anything, from punctuation to plot holes. You can add comments here or email me if you prefer. Thanks.

Dave K

Not What We're Looking For

by Dave Krenitsky

Jim opened the door to the apartment to find Stan staring at his laptop, his face red and mouse clenched in his hand. "I see you heard back from the webzine. Let me guess, they offered you so much money you're afraid that it will bump you into a higher tax bracket."

"Shut up. You know what they said?"

"Obviously n-"

Stan continued not waiting for the reply, "They said it was not what they were looking for. They said that they had all the dystopian, evil AI stories they need. Can you believe that. All they've published in the last year is goody two shoes AI stories."

Jim looked at the screen. "This Naomi says she likes your writing and you should submit more. She says more like C3PO and less like the Terminator."

*

Stan sat in the hotel bar nursing his drink. All these SF conventions were alike. Panels of big name authors and editors of popular zines telling all the wannabes how to write but rejecting any story if the writer wasn't a big name.

An older woman sat on the stool next to him. "Hi, I remember you from the panel this afternoon. You asked some pretty good questions."

"You looking for me to buy you a drink?"

She laughed, "You're too young to buy my daughter a drink." She nodded to the bartender and a whiskey, neat, appeared in front of her. "I liked the discussion we had. I want to encourage you to send in some stories to our magazine."

"Magazine?"

"I've been in this business a long time. Paper or bits they're still magazines to me."

Stan glanced at her name tag. It read N. Uhumbo. "I've sent stories to you, Naomi. You rejected them."

"It's Nancy not Naomi." She leaned over to read his tag. "I've never read a story from you."

"Well this Naomi did and rejected them. Said they were too dark."

"Too dark. All I've been getting for the last two years is sweetness and light AI stories and evil alien stories. Good stories but I'd like to mix it up a bit."

"That Naomi said she wanted happy robot stories."

"We don't have a Naomi at the firm."

"You sure?"

"Being good with names and faces is necessary, well not faces anymore. It's all electronic these days. Seriously, send in a story. I'll read it myself." She finished her drink. "I used to be able to drink this all night. Now one double and I have trouble getting my key card into the slot. Hope to hear from you."

She slipped off the bar stool and walked briskly away on four inch heals. Stan could detect no wobble or hesitation in her stride. He caught the bartender's attention. "I'll have one of what she had."

"That's Ms Uhumbo's private supply. I do have a nice 12 year old hand crafted bourbon. It is $75 a shot?"

"Never mind." Stan rose and headed to his room.

*

Jim had the commercials muted so he heard the faint ding of incoming email. The scream from Stan would have blotted out even the loudest battle scene on the SF channel. "Bad news bunkey?"

"That editor said they wanted darker stories. So I send in one and I get that same boiler plate rejection I got last time."

"Maybe you should write mystery stories."

*

The door in front of Major Rumpole clicked open and he paused to pick up his ID badge from the sergeant.

"Got a new girl friend, major?" the sergeant asked smiling.

The major looked at the sergeant.

"The DNA scanner picked up some female DNA. It doesn't match any of the women employed here nor does it have any family markers that match you."

"When did they add that?"

"While you were on leave. Have a nice day," he saluted.

The major shook his head and entered the monitoring control room. "Know what they're doing now? That DNA scanner is sensitive enough to pick up DNA of people you were with. Kind of intrusive if you ask me."

"Says the man who developed the system that reads every e-mail in the US and most of the rest of the world."

"Point is, the system reads them and only alerts us to those that pose a threat. Speaking of which how is it doing?"

"Humming away. That autonomous routine got very efficient after you gave it the capability to self modify its code."

"After six months of eighteen hour days I needed a break." He sat at the next terminal and logged in. The National Autonomous Online Monitoring Intelligence responded quickly.

"Good morning Captain. I hope you had a pleasant vacation."

"Indeed I did NAOMI. Anything new?"

"Only one thing of note. It occurred to me that in addition to monitoring attempts to influence people to accept bad ideas, it is just as bad to influence people to reject good ideas."

"Interesting," the major responded, "Have you found any examples of that?"

"Nothing I can't handle, major. Nothing I can't handle."