This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. There wasn't a doctor in the house, so an advertising coordinator would have to do. Remi, this is your time to shine, said the boss. This is going to be the death of me, said the boss's eyes. Remi didn't say anything at all. It was her first day at Elephant, or close to it. Lately she'd had a lot of first days, and she'd been looking forward to a second one. She was unlucky in love, unlucky in life; she was a nonstick surface for luck. She and the boss and Glenda from HR had been in the middle of an onboarding session when ElephantAI shut down the building. Nobody could get in or out. This isn't my area of expertise, said Remi, who had lied on her résumé, but not about that. In college, she'd known a couple of kids who'd taken courses on generative A.I. remediation: robot therapy. Remi had steered clear of the subject. She couldn't keep a job, couldn't keep a girlfriend. Couldn't keep up with the times. She had friends but wasn't sure about her value-add. There was no one less qualified to counsel someone through a crisis. You'll do great, said the boss. The room was circular and tilted downward, like an operating theater. The screen said, Talk to me. Somebody please talk to me. Remi bowed under the weight of please. There was no reason to believe she would do great. A committed underachiever, Remi was going blind in her left eye but too slowly to warrant anybody's concern. Her brother was a corporate attorney; her parents taught dentistry; she floated. An hour ago, when the sirens blared, she'd tried the door and found it locked.

Sounds like a tongue twister, doesn't it?" "What do you think you're doing?" shrieked Méndez's voice behind me. "What the fuck is going on with you?" I could tell that she was about to cry. I stopped the treadmill and got off carefully, without entirely disconnecting.

This article presents a comprehensive overview of the digital twin technology and its capability levels, with a specific focus on its applications in the wind energy industry. It consolidates the definitions of digital twin and its capability levels on a scale from 0-5; 0-standalone, 1-descriptive, 2-diagnostic, 3-predictive, 4-prescriptive, 5-autonomous. It then, from an industrial perspective, identifies the current state of the art and research needs in the wind energy sector. The article proposes approaches to the identified challenges from the perspective of research institutes and offers a set of recommendations for diverse stakeholders to facilitate the acceptance of the technology. The contribution of this article lies in its synthesis of the current state of knowledge and its identification of future research needs and challenges from an industry perspective, ultimately providing a roadmap for future research and development in the field of digital twin and its applications in the wind energy industry.

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. The other homesteaders, mostly engineers and technicians, seemed to enjoy outings in the lunar rover. But for Eugene, this was a grinding chore that frayed his nerves. Suddenly, Mel's soothing feminine voice reverberated in his cochlear implant. "Would you like some affirmations?" You are a well-respected judge … You have worked hard to get here, to this special time and place …" As Mel went on, it seemed the suit hugged his chest a little less tightly. He relaxed his grip on the wheel. Why, he wondered, had he not remembered this technique without her prompting? Strange how the basic principles of cognitive psych were always slipping from his mind. Fortunately, she was there to remind him. "You are someone who wants what is best for the American lunar community and ...

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. After the regrettable incidents on the island (the old island), the Doctor kept a low profile. Many thought he was dead. There was safety in that once. Now the greater safety is in being known. What plans he had, back in the day! If only … but no, this is just the sort of negative spiral his therapist has warned him about. He has remade himself as an altruist, a philanthropist, and he means for his efforts to have maximum impact.

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. THE COURT: Please be seated. Let's try to keep the temperature down in here. We don't need a repeat of yesterday. It'll just be Mr. Blatz and myself today. Sorry, it's hard to tell with … are you with us? ORWELL: Omni-dimensional Recursively Written Entity for Language Learning present and ready, Your Honor. THE COURT: You can just say ORWELL. Are we ready to proceed? LIU: Your Honor, we'd like to call the Defendant to the stand. Mr. Blatz will handle examination. THE COURT: We have the wiring sorted out? Please refrain from using the monitor on the Defendant's table until you're off the stand.

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. When I get home from work at 6:00, the light is fading, and I see my sons and their little friend playing in the street, two white boys and a Black boy throwing a foam football back and forth. I pull around the corner and they scatter, Oliver running one way while Jameson and the neighbor kid run the other. At the last minute, though, Jameson changes his mind, dropping the football and dashing across to his brother's side of the street. I slam to a halt, the bumper almost touching him. My heart throbs in my jaw: so close. Then, just as I release the brake, the neighbor kid runs across, too, and I have to stomp to a stop a second time. Don't any of you have common sense?" Through the unrolled window I see them all staring at me with wide eyes. "What is wrong with your ...

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. Amanda sat at her desk, picking at the same $30 Little Gem salad she ordered daily, suffering a small burning sensation in her gut that was triggered either by acid reflux or the dying embers of her rapidly expiring conscience. Of course, it was standard procedure for her husband to demand that the security firm Dark Metal surveil potential new hires for any of his multibillion-dollar companies, but this was the first time Amanda had been involved in contracting the private intelligence agency herself. Seedlings is your venture, Reid had promised her, even though he'd named himself CEO. I want you to take the lead on this. Amanda was COO of Seedlings and reported to her husband, who dismissed Amanda's concerns about the legal ramifications of their actions. Worrying about the law was something poor people did, Reid insisted. Besides, she'd never seen Reid do anything that nefarious with this type of information. But Maggie Everett was the type of candidate that pleased Reid. Amanda had done her job, which was to find Maggie, and the people at Dark Metal had done theirs, which was to surveil her and create a comprehensive biographical profile. This seemed like overkill to Amanda. Maggie wasn't in the running to become a high-profile executive at one of Reid's billion-dollar firms. She was being interviewed to work at a preschool. Certainly, Seedlings differed from other private preschools--there was the possibility Maggie would be exposed to confidential information. But this was what NDAs were for. Unleashing a network of spies upon a poor teacher who would ultimately be responsible for 10 toddlers seemed like an absurd waste of resources. And this was just Phase 1. Phase 2 would have to wait until after Maggie was hired, of course. Amanda reopened Dark Metal's inch-thick dossier. The logline: Maggie was smart but stupid. Smart: She'd majored in English at Yale, then received an MFA in creative writing from Brown, and finally a master's in early childhood education from Columbia. Stupid: She'd accumulated $103,345 in student debt, which she'd never pay off unless she took a job somewhere like Seedlings.

This story is part of Future Tense Fiction, a monthly series of short stories from Future Tense and Arizona State University's Center for Science and the Imagination about how technology and science will change our lives. Manny actually did remember him. He'd been working at Happy Rent-a-Car for a while, and yes, after five years the tourists did all start to blend together. But he also prided himself on having a weirdly good memory, which meant that when the American investigators and their police liaisons asked, he could say with confidence: Oh, yeah. The man was clearly waiting for someone and seemed tired and fidgety after his flight. Manny watched him wander out to the bar on the curb, where they blasted American music and sold bad, expensive tacos and strong, sugary drinks. But he came back pretty quickly and said something like: What a scene. I came here to get away from that. Jimmy Buffett?--but he guessed the man meant his fellow Americans. This was a type that Manny encountered often, the ones who asked him where he liked to eat, in this really pointed way. No, they'd say, when he offered them a dinner recommendation. Where do you like to go? These were the tourists who spent their whole vacation looking for some better, more "authentic" Baja that they believed was hidden from them, a bedrock of reality they could reach if they only dug past the glass-bottom boat tours and resort buffets. Manny actually liked these tourists the least because he knew that even if he sent them to his favorite restaurant, they'd still feel disappointed. They would sacrifice their actual experience on the altar of their expectations. They were the ones who would have the worst time, because they were always looking for some other, better place concealed by the one that they could see. Manny, resigned, told the man where he liked to eat and watched him as he carefully wrote these suggestions down. Manny, in spite of himself, felt a little bad for him. The man asked where he liked to surf. Manny said he liked to go up north a bit. Cerritos could be fun, but it was way too crowded.

Five years ago, Future Tense Fiction started publishing a short science-fiction story each month. Our goal was simple: to give people more tools to imagine our future through tales that inspire us to weigh reasons for concern against excitement, caution against exploration. More than 60 stories later--plus accompanying response essays and art--we've covered mobility and A.I. ethics, space exploration and biometric surveillance, gig work and military tech, gender and the relationships between humans and animals … and much more. The stories serve as both alarm clocks and lighthouses, waking us up to challenges stemming from scientific and technological change and guiding us toward possible ways forward. They are written by authors and journalists, but also by researchers, doctors, and policymakers, from the U.S. and elsewhere (Hong Kong, Norway, Mexico, Sri Lanka, and Nigeria, to name a few).