15/04/2016 11:27:02 ¶ ●

## Episode 86 - Standing and Breathing

I believe the children are our future. They are also our past and our present. This is how children work in linear time.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Mayor Dana Cardinal announced that last night’s air raid sirens were nothing to be alarmed by. Nor are the missing street and highway signs, nor are the angry people who were assigned to hold the signs and wave them about, using the maritime telegraphic language of semaphore, and who are now standing around dumbfounded and empty-handed. Nor should we yet concern ourselves with mailboxes, which have all been filled with what postal workers hope is just hair gel.

Following a meeting with the sheriff and the City Council, Mayor Cardinal says she believes this all to be the work of pranksters – perhaps the return of the feral dogs, who once defaced several concrete walls with libertarian street art – but the mayor and the Secret Police are not ruling out more sinister activity.

Sheriff Sam added, while whittling a piece of balsa into a polar bear, that it’s “definitely these foreigners, moving here from Desert Bluffs.”

The City Council said nothing. They mostly stood around behind the press conference podium texting and giggling. All of them had fresh haircuts, crisp upturned polo collars, and manicures.

The mayor said she would work closely with Sheriff Sam to find the culprits, but in the meantime, there’s no need for alarm.

Sam added that there was a need to remove all the foreigners.

More on this story as it develops.

But first, an update on the trial of Hiram McDaniels. Unable to find a jury of peers for a literal five-headed dragon, the court agreed to create artificial intelligence to simulate what five-headed dragon peers would be like, and then place that A.I. on the jury. For this project, they hired expert computer programmer Melony Pennington, who joins us now by phone.

Welcome to my show, Melony!

Melony: Welcome to your show! I mean hi, hello. It turns out you welcomed me, it doesn’t make sense to welcome you. Sorry, my mind was, you know, the expanse. The vast. The out there. I mean my mind is elsewhere. My mind is everywhere.

Cecil: Wonderful! And how are you–

Melony: Do you ever look at the stars? The stars. You know, the stars. Not each star, but some of the stars. I mean every single one of the stars at once. I mean the whole night sky added up. Do you ever look at the sum of the stars? The night sky, as an equation? Beauty as a math problem? Which it is – everything beautiful is math. Everything beautiful is a problem.

What was your question?

Cecil: Umm, how are you doing?

Melony: Oh. I’m fine.

Cecil: Melony, you sound familiar.

Melony: Do I sound familiar? You just said that, so I guess I do. You must have met one of my programs…or not met, none of them are sentient. You can’t meet things that have no sentience. Well, I guess you could be like, “Hi there, pile of rocks, I’m Melony,” just to see what happens. I suppose there is no set dogma for social engagement.

Oh, I wish I had a dog.

Have you ever met a rock?

What’s your name again?

Cecil: Well, mmm…I'm–

Melony: What I’m saying is that I probably sound familiar because all of my programs have the same voice as me. That’s how computer programming works.

Cecil: Have you ever programmed a computer that broadcasts on a radio station, specifically one that recites random numbers?

Melony: Oh, yes! The local numbers station, WZZZ. Yes, that was one of my early programs. And those numbers and chimes aren’t random, they’re encoded messages to foreign spies. Also a few pudding recipes and a funny cryptology poem or two.

Cecil: So you designed Fey, the voice of WZZZ!

Melony: Oh, the WZZZ program has no name, and absolutely no sentience. Not every program is sentient. That WZZZ program only recites numbers and tones. That’s all it does, and all it ever will do. It doesn’t know it exists.

Cecil: About that…see, there was a thing that happened a couple years ago…

Melony: Ugh, listen to me babbling on. You had me on to talk about the trial.

Cecil: Yes. Well, I understand there has been some controversy around the ethics of making a jury of peers from artificial intelligence, rather than actual five-headed dragons.

Melony: Oh, there are a lot more problems than just ethics. What are ethics, even? How can you quantify what is right? I mean, let’s assign a number on how ethical a computerized jury is.

Cecil: I’m gonna say it’s a low number, like 1.5 or 2.

Melony: But let’s make it on a scale of 0 to 3. So that’s pretty good! Everything’s going fine! Ethically speaking, anyway. But the programming has been tough. Have you ever even tried to program a computer?

Cecil: I barely know how to turn one on. Say, as long as I have a real computer expert on, do you have some basic computer tips for me and our listeners?

Melony: Oh! A public service like that would be really ethical, like a 2.5 or even a 3 on the ethicability scale. What a good idea! Here are some basic tips for the computer novice who’s hoping to one day write code that advances us closer to the singularity.

Tip 1: Computers can make you angry. Anything can make you angry. Computers are anything.
Tip 2: Is your computer plugged in? That’s probably illegal. You need a license to plug in a computer.
Tip 3: Computer programs are a lot like humans. They’re full of bugs – mostly theoretical, and invented by overly caffeinated lonely people in dark rooms.
Tip 4: Did I say that thing about the stars already?

Cecil: Yes, I…

Melony: Oh, good!

Tip 5: Create a strong password. The most secure password possible is (you’ll never guess this!) where the O is replaced with a zero, and the Ls are replaced with zeros, and all of the other letters are replaced with zeros. A string of 19 zeros is the most secure password.

Cecil: I added an exclamation point at the end of my password.

Melony: Exclamation points are impossible to hack! You are very secure.

Tip 6: There are two main types of computers. The first are PCs, or persona computers. Personal computers know your name, and things about your life, and are casual and friendly. Sometimes they’re overly personal and you end up having to say, “This is all too much. Back off, computer.” The second type of computer is the house cat. These are ambulant robotic quadrupeds used by the Secret Police to monitor our domestic behavior and try to understand why people like to stroke robots and talk in high voices to them.

Cecil: This has been very helpful!

Melony: Ah! Thank you for saying that! I love to be helpful! This trial has been so challenging, and everyone is upset. These days, I don’t feel helpful. These days I feel kind of useless and it gets me down.

Cecil: Aww. I know that feeling. You know, sometimes when I’m sad, I like to sing old hymns to myself.

Melony: Me too! Which one’s your favorite?

Cecil: ♫ I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter ♫

Cecil and Melony singing together: ♪ Dancin’ through the fire, ‘cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar! ♪

Cecil: Oh!

Melony: Whoo! That’s my favorite passage from the Old Testament! [Sigh] I feel better already.

Cecil: Aww, thanks, Melony.

Melony: I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Goodbye!

Cecil: The mayor’s office reports that perhaps their earlier call for not being alarmed was a bit premature, and that we could all stand to be a little more alarmed. Several dead animals have been found all over town – on sidewalks, in trees and fields, animal corpses everywhere.

This has happened before, listeners. Many of you remember the glowing cloud (all hail) that passed through Night Vale years ago, dropping dead animals on all of us. And since that first terrifying and bloody visit, the Glow Cloud (all bow before the mighty Cloud) has since settled down as a citizen of this town, even joining the school board, as the Glow Cloud’s child attends Night Vale Elementary.

It’s hard to believe that the Glow Cloud (all praise the malevolent Cloud who rules my every puny desire, et cetera, et cetera) would return to such dreadful acts of violence against animals…and rooftops. But again, it’s hard to know why anyone does anything.

John Peters – you know, the farmer? – standing out in his freshly-sown field of imaginary corn near his pastures said he saw a couple of mangled squirrels and expired possums.

He added, “I seen them strangers too, the ones what don’t move 'cept for their breathin’? Just breathin’ and breathin’ and sometimes getting a little closer than you think they were a second ago, despite not lookin’ like they were even movin’.”

He also said he finally received a card from his brother Jim, who left town nearly 40 years ago to fight in the Blood Space War. The message inside simply read, “Happy 12th birthday, little brother! Only three months into my mission, and I am already missing you something fierce, Johnny!”

John covered his face and pointed to one of the strangers out on the edge of the corn field.

“Yeah, it’s definitely them strangers what’s killin’ these animals.”

John then began weeping and clutching the birthday card – on it, a farmer caricature holding balloons, and a caption reading, “I love you, 'cows’ you’re my brother” – tightly to his heaving chest.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Today’s show is brought to you by Papa John’s. At Papa John’s we make pizza with only the freshest ingredients, using old-world recipes passed down from our family’s many generations of pizza makers. Nearly all of these pizza makers are still alive, making pizza and passing down recipes. They live in the back. We’re running out of room for them.

We’ve long given up on thinking they’d eventually die. Why don’t they die? I mean, we love them, but there are close to 50 people in our family dating back to at least the 1800s, their bodies aging and failing, but never…you know…dying.

Perhaps it’s our secret recipes causing that.

You’d think so, but it’s not. Because a few members of our family have actually passed away…although, now that we’re thinking about it, those were public executions for treason back during the first World War. And another couple were car accidents.

Maybe it is the sauce?

Either way, visit your local Papa John’s. Order a delicious pizza. How hard can it be? Immortality, we mean.

Papa John’s. It’ll be fine.

And now, a look at traffic.

They met through a mutual acquaintance. They shook hands and met eyes. Over food and drinks, and among friends, they laughed and told stories.

Occasionally their eyes lingered. Occasionally one looked away first. They shared a brief but quiet and private moment on the front porch. It was getting late. People were leaving. It was a new moon that night. Neither would remember that part.

One of them said goodbye as they headed to their car. The other said goodbye back. They hugged, both thinking in that short embrace about the other’s body against their own, about the topography of forgiveness, and the geography of tomorrow.

“See you again soon, I hope.”

“Yes, you too.”

They parted as the one drove away. Later, the other drove away. It was a fun party with good friends, good food and drinks. They would remember the laughing and the stories. They would not remember the moon or the name of the other. It wouldn’t come up again.

They later met other people, and still other people. Later, they would drive home, and drive home. They never met again. They both lived meaningful lives: laughing drinking, eating, and driving home.

This has been traffic.

While officers from the Sheriff’s Secret Police are now responding to a series of power outages and broken water mains, witnesses have reported a strange sight at the city’s Dog Park. Hooded figures, which are sometimes glimpsed inside the Dog Park, were all lined up outside the Dog Park, as if standing guard. A long row of dark cloaks and hoods, humming and chanting.

Witnesses kept a great distance from this scene, simply noting the hooded figures were all of equal height and imposing stature, spaced evenly around the forbidden municipal park.

The sidewalks in front of them were empty, except for one young couple – and their dog – who walked slowly past the sentries, unperturbed by the presence of these eldritch figures, emanating a crescendo of white noise. Witnesses watched the couple stroll past the park, turn a corner, and disappear from sight.

The witnesses reported that just around that corner, where the couple had walked, was a different person – a stranger, staring right back at the witnesses. They did not recognize the person, for the person had no noticeable features.

The stranger did not appear to move, except for its steady breathing.

No single witness saw the stranger move, but suddenly it was closer to the crowd of onlookers, merely feet away from them.

One of the witnesses said, “We should run away.”

Another agreed, “Yes, let’s run away.”

They did not go anywhere.

And now, let’s check in on the weather.

[“Well Dressed” by Hop Along]

If you can hear me, Night Vale, it is because you are one of those still with electricity, or whose home is not on fire.

Oh, breaking news, there are a bunch of fires across town. They are spreading from home to home. Fire chief Ramona Encarnación said that she believes the fires were started by the neglect of common but dangerous things like kitchen ranges, candles, cigarettes, and blood stones.

Encarnación said these strangers are appearing at doorways, and in windows, and inside showers, and from behind refrigerators, just staring and breathing and otherwise not moving. Upon seeing these strangers, the residents of those homes became frozen in fear, and thus incapable of tending to their flammable items.

“Never leave a blood stone unattended, Night Vale!” Encarnación cautioned.

Mayor Dana Cardinal finally relented to the sheriff’s request to try to round up the strangers. Sheriff Sam responded with a jumping heel click, and a “You won’t be sorry, mayor!” as they ran out to start making arrests.

Sam has long held that the strangers are just troublemakers who’ve moved here from the collapsed town of Desert Bluffs, our former neighbors. But upon arriving at several of the burning homes, Sam began to have a change of mind…or belief.

These strangers were not from Desert Bluffs at all. These strangers, Sam now believes, are something else.

“They are not from here,” Sam said. “Not here meaning Night Vale, but…HERE.” Sam then indicated the broadness of the term 'here’ by swinging their arm slowly to indicate the entirety of the tangible world we all pretend to know and understand.

The Secret Police, instead of arresting or detaining or…even getting near the strangers, began to move the petrified residents of each of these homes safely away to an undisclosed location. Which, I assume, means the same thing as a safe location, since the Secret Police are law enforcement professionals…?

The strangers never moved, other than their steady breaths, even when they sometimes appeared dramatically closer than they were before.

“The strangers seemed to have no goal other than to threaten our well-being, Night Vale,” Sam explained wordlessly, using only a long ribbon and floor dance routine to express the dire situation we are all facing. “My Secret Police and I will to serve and protect you. Secretly, of course. This is off the record. In the meantime, stay in your homes, and lock your doors. If you see a stranger, keep moving, and call us. We’re an unlisted number, actually, so…maybe email,” Sam said with a flick of their ribbon and a double somersault.

Night Vale, I…I think back to the words of Little League coach and ghost Lucia Tereschenko. “They’re no longer coming. They’re here. And we cannot stop something that wants nothing.”

And I think of the image of that young couple and their dog, blithely passing the row of fearful hooded figures. No doubt it was Maureen, and that boy, and that beagle. Maureen is such a good kid! And that beagle? So, so cute! So CUTE! Ugh. But I fear for whatever it is she and that boy and that dog are involved in.

Heed our sheriff tonight, Night Vale. Stay safe in your home. Get away fast of you see one of them.

Stay tuned next for words, ordered intentionally and confidently, saying something, understanding nothing.

And, as always, goodnight, Night Vale.

Ooh! Maybe lock those windows, too.

Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Call me old fashioned, but I believe there should be only one continent.