GRATIS solo hasta el 4 de julio 2019: Libro de Sueños: Cuentos de Ciencia Ficción y Ficción Especulativa

Acabo de traducir del ingles original mi "Book of Dreams: Science Fiction and Speculative Fiction Short Stories" y, para celebrar el Día de la Independencia de E.E.U.U. lo pueden descargar gratis, pero solo hasta el 4 de julio de 2019 y solo por Smashwords. Lo pueden descargar en varios formatos para casi todos los lectores de libro electrónicos aquí: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/946298

De la pagina del web del libro en Smashwords:

¿Qué precio pagarías por volver a una encrucijada en tu vida cuando cometiste un error terrible que te cambió la vida? ¿Renunciarías a una vida no satisfecha por la posibilidad de felicidad virtual en una realidad alternativa generada por computadora? ¿Sacrificarías todo si pudieras alcanzar el conocimiento absoluto? Si es así, ¿podrías vivir con el conocimiento que pudieras obtener? Se dice que ninguna persona es una isla, pero ¿qué pasa si incluso el menos preciado entre nosotros es un dios por derecho propio? Si un visitante extranjero le ofreciera una vida de con perfecta salud y el regalo de la telepatía a cambio de un pequeño servicio, ¿aceptarías rápidamente? Si la conciencia utiliza solo una pequeña parte de nuestro cerebro, así como nos lo dice la ciencia medica hoy, ¿qué función cumple realmente la parte más grande, supuestamente no utilizada?

Estas son algunas de las preguntas exploradas en esta colección de relatos breves de ciencia ficción y ficción especulativa que investiga la interrelación entre los sueños y la realidad, la naturaleza de la realidad en sí misma, y el peligro que conlleva la búsqueda decidida del cumplimiento de deseos con sus inesperadas consecuencias. La mayoría de los relatos cortos publicados aquí se escribieron y revisaron durante un período de más de treinta años (1977-2011) y no se han publicado previamente en español. La traducción con cambios editoriales menores es del autor.

Víctor D. López es profesor catedrático titular de estudios jurídicos en el negocio en Hofstra University, Frank G. Zarb School of Business. Tiene un título de Juris Doctor de St. John's University School of Law, y un titulo B.A. en Ingles de Queens College, C.U.N.Y. (Programa de Honor en la Escritura). Es licenciado en derecho en Nueva York, miembro de la Asociación de Abogados de Nueva York (New York State Bar Association), la Academia de Estudios Jurídicos en Negocios (Academy of Legal Studies in Business (ALSB)) y la Academia Nororiental de Estudios Jurídicos en Negocios (North East Academy of Legal Studies in Business (NEALSB)). Ha sido académico mediante más de 25 años y, antes de unirse a la facultad de la Universidad Hofstra, se desempeñó como profesor titular de negocios, como decano de negocios y tecnología de informática (Dean of Business and Business Information Technologies), y como decano académico en instituciones académicas públicas y privadas.

El profesor López es autor de varios libros de texto y libros comerciales y ha escrito poesía y ficción a lo largo de la mayor parte de su vida, algunos de los cuales han sido publicados en antologías y revistas literarias.

Para mas informes a sobre los libros y artículos del autor pueden dirigirse a su pagina del web: http://victordlopez.com

The Grasshopper and the Ants - 21st Century Edition [El Saltamontes y las Hormigas - Version Siglo XXI])

The Grasshopper and the Ants – 21st Century Edition . . .

El Saltamontes y las Hormigas - Edición del siglo XXI. . .

THE GRASSHOPPER Y THE ANTS por Aesop (Edición en ingles de Proyecto Gutenberg, nueva traducción, http://www.gutenberg.org. La traducción al español es mía.)

Un buen día en invierno, algunas hormigas estaban ocupadas secando su almacén de maíz, que se había humedecido durante un largo período de lluvia. En ese momento apareció un saltamontes y les rogó que le otorgaran algunos granos. "Porque", dijo, "simplemente me muero de hambre". Las Hormigas dejaron de trabajar por un momento, aunque esto fuse en contra sus principios. "¿Podemos preguntar", dijeron ellas, "qué hiciste todo el verano pasado? ¿Por qué no recolectaste un almacén de alimentos para el invierno? "" El hecho es que ", respondió el Saltamontes," estuve tan ocupado cantando que no tuve tiempo ". " Si pasaste el verano cantando ", respondieron las hormigas, "no puedes hacer nada mejor que pasar el invierno bailando". Y ellas se echaron a reír y continuaron con su trabajo.

 Nueva versión del siglo XXI: El Saltamontes y las Hormigas ((C)Víctor D. López, fanático de las hormigas en todas partes del mundo y en todos los tiempos)

Un buen día en invierno, algunas hormigas estaban ocupadas secando su almacén de maíz que se había humedecido durante un largo período de lluvia. En ese momento llegó un saltamontes y exigió que le dieran una parte justa de su maíz almacenado. Las hormigas dejaron de trabajar por un momento, aunque esto fuese en contra de sus principios.

"¿Podemos preguntar", dijeron ellas, "qué hiciste todo el verano pasado? ¿Por qué no recolectaste un almacén de comida para el invierno? "

"El hecho es", respondió el Saltamontes, "Estaba ocupado con cosas más importantes, como abrazar árboles agarrado de las manos de personal con ideas compatibles y cantando “Cumba Ya”. Desafortunadamente, estas actividades no son apreciadas por las estúpidas élites que oprimen injustamente a las clases más bajas y tratan de explotarlas por medios tales como hacer que realicen trabajos mal pagados y sin sentido que están por debajo de su dignidad ".

“Si pasaste el verano cantando, agarrándote de las manos y abrazando árboles”, respondieron las hormigas, “cuando deberías haber estado planeando y construyendo tus tiendas para mantenerte a ti y a tu familia durante el invierno, no puedes hacerlo mejor que pasar el invierno bailando ”. Y se rieron y continuaron con su trabajo.

El saltamontes, que era un tipo de temperamento muy sensible, quedo profundamente ofendido por el egoísmo y la intransigencia de estas hormigas ricas que no estaban dispuestas a proporcionarle su parte justa para apoyar a los miembros menos afortunados de la comunidad, como él. “No construiste el maíz que cosechaste a través de tu avaricia en el verano, mientras que las personas más ilustres que tú trabajaron muy duro explorando su naturaleza sensual y artística. Ustedes no hicieron que lloviera, o que el sol brillara, o que las abejas polinizaran los cultivos nacientes. Simplemente cosecharon el beneficio de la generosidad de la naturaleza que pertenece a todos y tratan con avidez de conservar para ustedes una cosecha proporcionada no por su trabajo sino por la gracia de la madre tierra. Ustedes son ladrones, acaparadores y bestias egoístas que tomarán para sí mismos lo que la naturaleza proporciona a todos sus hijos en igual medida ”. Luego se marchó, mientras las hormigas sacudían la cabeza, sonriendo y regresaron a su trabajo.

Más tarde, ese mismo día, el saltamontes regresó con hordas de personas de ideas afines que hervían sobre la indignación y la falta de respeto que les mostraban estas hormiguillas egoístas, crueles y despiadadas. Cayeron sobre las mismas a golpes y patadas dejándolas a todas sin sentido. Luego tomaron la mayor parte de su cosecha y quemaron lo que no podían llevarse para enseñarles una lección a estas pequeñas hormigas malvadas, mientras cantaban: "Sí, podemos", "poder para la gente" "Si no hay justicia, no hay paz" y una serie de frases similares mientras golpeaban a las hormigas egoístas ya inconscientes, liberaban sus tiendas de alimentos y quemaban el que ya les sobraba. Fue un gran día para los saltamontes que bailaron día y noche alrededor de las hogueras de su victoria.

Ese invierno, las hormigas murieron de hambre, al igual que los saltamontes que pronto agotaron las tiendas liberadas de las hormigas egoístas en unos días de fiestas y orgias las veinticuatro horas del día. No pudieron encontrar ninguna ayuda de los otros espíritus libres en su pueblo ese invierno y, como su último acto, se reunieron, tomaron de las manos, abrazaron un árbol y cantaron al unísono su canción final: "Todo es culpa de las estúpidas hormigas que trajeron su destrucción sobre sus cabezas y las nuestras a través de su falta de voluntad y egoísmo en reusar compartir su generoso tesoro. Insignificante pequeñas hormigas estúpidas, egoístas, codiciosas. Todo es su culpa. Todo es su culpa. Si tan solo hubieran sido tan cultas como nosotros "

__________________

THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANTS by Aesop (Project Gutenberg, new translation, http://www.gutenberg.org)

One fine day in winter some Ants were busy drying their store of corn, which had got rather damp during a long spell of rain. Presently up came a Grasshopper and begged them to spare her a few grains, “For,” she said, “I’m simply starving.” The Ants stopped work for a moment, though this was against their principles. “May we ask,” said they, “what you were doing with yourself all last summer? Why didn’t you collect a store of food for the winter?” “The fact is,” replied the Grasshopper, “I was so busy singing that I hadn’t the time.” “If you spent the summer singing,” replied the Ants, “you can’t do better than spend the winter dancing.” And they chuckled and went on with their work.

_________________________

21st Century Version of the Grasshopper and the Ants (by Victor D. Lopez, fan of ants everywhere and every when)

One fine day in winter some Ants were busy drying their store of corn, which had got rather damp during a long spell of rain. Presently up came a Grasshopper and demanded that they give him a fair share of their stores. The Ants stopped work for a moment, though this was against their principles.

“May we ask,” said they, “what you were doing with yourself all last summer? Why didn’t you collect a store of food for the winter?”

“The fact is,” replied the Grasshopper, “I was busy with more important things, like hugging trees, holding hands and singing Cumba Ya with like-minded people. Unfortunately, these activities are not not prized by the stupid elites that unfairly oppress the lower classes and try to exploit them by such means as having them do meaningless, underpaid work that is beneath their dignity.”

“If you spent the summer singing, holding hands and hugging trees” replied the Ants, “when you should have been planning for the winter and building up your stores to see you and your family through the winter, you can’t do better than spend the winter dancing.” And they chuckled and went on with their work.

The grasshopper, who was a very sensitive sort, was deeply offended by the selfishness and intransigence of these wealthy ants who were unwilling to provide their fair share to support the less fortunate members of the community, like himself. “You did not build the corn you reaped through your avariciousness over the summer while more enlightened people than you were hard at work exploring their sensual and artistic natures. You did not cause it to rain, or the sun to shine, or the bees to pollinate the nascent crops. You simply reaped the benefit of the bounty of nature that belongs to everyone and greedily attempted to keep for yourself a harvest provided not by your work but by the grace of mother earth. You are thieves, hoarders, and selfish beasts that would take for yourselves that which nature provides for all of her children in equal measure.” He then stormed off, while the ants shook their heads, smiled and returned to their work.

Later that day, the grasshopper returned with hoards of like-minded people seething about the outrage and disrespect shown them by the selfish, cruel, heartless ants. They fell upon the ants beating them senseless, took the greater part of their harvest and burned what they could not take to teach these evil little ants a lesson, all the while chanting:”Yes we can,” “power to the people,” “no justice no peace” and a range of similarly catchy phrases as they beat the selfish ants, liberated their food stores and burned the rest. It was a great day for grasshoppers who danced into the night around the bonfires of their victory.

That winter, the ants starved, as did the grasshoppers who had gorged themselves upon the liberated stores of the selfish ants in a few days of round-the-clock partying and soon exhausted them, and could find no succor from the other free spirits in their village. As their last act, they gathered, held hands, hugged a tree and sang in unison their final song: “It is all the fault of the stupid ants who brought their destruction upon their heads and ours through their selfish unwillingness to share their hoarded bounty. Stupid, selfish, egotistical, greedy little ants. All their fault. All their fault. If only they had been as enlightened as we.”

_________________ 

VICTOR D. LOPEZ [english version ORIGINALLY POSTED BY ME IN PUBLISHEDUTHORS.ORG a few years ago]

Complete short story "Justice" (C) 2011, 2019 from my Mindscapes speculative fiction collection

Justice

(C) 2011, 2019 Victor D. Lopez. All rights reserved.

Time: The all too near future

Place: A courtroom

Setting: Final sentencing of a prisoner convicted of the last remaining capital offense on the books of a kinder, gentler, fairer world in which equality is no longer a mere aspiration.

_____________________________

The prisoner stared impassively into the camera. The bright lights causing beads of sweat to form above his eyes and forcing him to squint, his perspiration-soaked thinning hair flattened unflatteringly against his forehead. No sound could be heard other than the faint hum of the air conditioning whose airflow was directed from the high ceiling above the high seats of the three judge panel, towards the three judged, keeping their immediate area comfortably cool. The camera trained on them remained a respectful distance away, and no harsh lights illuminated their somber countenances.

All three judges stared at the camera showing no emotion, their hands folded in front of them on the surface of their capacious bench on top of three equal, neat stacks of paper piled before each judge. Everywhere on earth citizens watched the unfolding drama over the neural net that provided a fully immersive experience indistinguishable from reality, effectively placing every citizen of earth in the courtroom as the Chief Judge began to speak in a deep, resonant, clear voice.

“The evidence against you has been examined. This tribunal finds you guilty of the charges against you by a unanimous vote. Have you anything you would like to add before we pass sentence?”

The camera changed back to the prisoner. The lights brighten around him and the heat rises perceptibly, adding fresh fuel to the trickle of sweat flowing down his flushed face, causing a bead of sweat to form at the end of his nose that he cannot swat away because his wrists are restrained by metal bands at the armrests of his chair, outside the viewing range of the camera which has a tight zoom on his face. “I am guilty of no crime,” the prisoner spoke in a low voice full of palpable weariness and resignation.

“You are guilty of the most heinous of crimes,” the Chief Judge contradicted. That is not open to debate. This is your final chance to make what amends you may to those whom you have harmed through your selfish, deviant act. It will have no effect on the sentencing by this Court.”

“But I have done nothing wrong,” the man emphatically repeated, the perspiration rolling down his neck deepening the growing ring of sweat absorbed by his bright orange jumper, staining a dark collar of moisture around his neck.

“Silence!” the Chief Judge hissed. “The record will show that the prisoner is unrepentant. This Court finds that the prisoner willfully, maliciously and without justification removed his neural connector with the purpose and effect of disconnecting himself from the Net. We further find that the motivating factor for this egregious, willful and repugnant crime was the attempt to abandon the Common Consciousness and establish his individuality separate and apart from the Communal Mind. We further find that the subject is in full possession of his legal faculties and capable of understanding the criminal nature of his acts, and, perhaps most tragically, that he fails to see the enormity of his crime.” The Chief Justice faltered slightly, delivering the final words of the Courts sentence with a slight tremor in his voice. After stopping a moment to compose himself as his learned colleagues looked on impassively, he continued. “It is, therefore, the judgment of this Court that you will forever remain disconnected from the nets from this day forward.”

Upon hearing the Judge’s words the prisoner’s eyes opened wider, attempting to digest their import. Could it be? Could he finally be allowed the freedom to regain his humanity? The unalienable right to be an individual for the first time in his life? The opportunity to live in a world in which he could have original thoughts, genuine emotions, and the opportunity to be different from everyone else? The joy in these words nearly made him faint with relief and unbridled joy, allowing him for the first time in his life the possibility of hope as tears welled in his eyes. He found he could not speak, could not express even the simple words “thank you” to the Court. It was as though he were emerging from a life-long nightmare, as if . . .

“The prisoner’s IP address, 999.999.999.999, shall be erased from the Nets,” the Judge continued as the prisoner’s tears flowed freely. His existence shall be forever stricken from the Collective Consciousness lest it germinate there and once again grow sedition in our midst.” The prisoner wept openly now while smiling broadly. “The death sentence for this most heinous of crimes is hereby commuted so that the prisoner may be allowed the individuality he craved for the rest of his natural life, devoid of the comfort of humanity or the distracting influences of life.”

The Chief Judge then paused and took a deep breath. “It is further ordered by this Court that the prisoner shall have his eyes, eardrums, tongue and olfactory organs surgically removed that he may not see, hear, taste, or speak with any other human being for the rest of his natural life. thereafter, he is to be remanded to a hospital where he shall be restrained to a bed and tended to by robotic life support aids. The sentence of this Court shall be carried out immediately and shall be witnessed by all Citizens of Earth as partial reparation for this most heinous of crimes against humanity.”

The prisoner’s screams lasted only a few moments as an anesthetic was administered and the cameras were re-arranged in preparation for justice to be carried out.

Mi Canto - Spanish original poem with English translation

Hoy yo volví a cantar,
Algo mas alto que un llanto,
Que aun no puedo evitar
Pero lo puedo soportar,
Envuelto en mi como un manto.

La música sabe llamar,
A lo que ya se a perdido,
Y por no saber amar,
O no querer destacar,
Se enterró en el olvido.

Por profunda la fisura,
Siempre se puede surgir,
La tiniebla mas oscura,
Con una luz blanca y pura,
Se puede sobrevivir.

Unas notas en cadenas,
Empreñan una melodía,
Y en cenizas y arenas,
Crece esperanza en las venas,
Y da luz a la alegría.

Mi madre en su tristeza,
Lloraba lagrimas de canto,
Lo hacia con gran destreza,
Y dolorosa belleza,
Música su diario llanto.

Mi canto es mi poesía,
Sin tono, dolorosa, impura,
No es un canto de alegría,
Pero la tristeza expía,
Y la esperanza perdura.


Mi Song

Today I began to sing again,
Somewhat louder than the cry,
That I still cannot avoid,
But can now bear,
Wrapped around me like a cloak.

Music knows how to call back,
That which lost,
Through not knowing how to love,
Or not wanting to stand out,
And was buried in oblivion.

No fissure is too deep,
For us to climb out of,
The deepest darkness,
Can with a pure white light,
Be pierced and endured.

A few notes linked together,
impregnate a melody,
And out of ashes and sand,
Shoots of hope can grow,
That can give birth to joy.

My mother in her sadness,
Cried tears of song,
With great skill,
And painful beauty,
Music her daily lament.

My song is my poetry,
Toneless, painful, and impure,
It is not a song of joy,
But sadness provides release,
And hope endures.

Read a wide sampling of my new poems as well as poems from my first book collection, Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems, at the following two free poetry sites:

https://hellopoetry.com/VictorDLopez/ and 
https://allpoetry.com/Victor_D._L%C3%B3pez