Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
The Future is Now (so far)
The Future is Now
Philip Simondet
“Name?”
“Thomas Holt. I have a ten o’clock appointment.”
“Alright, Mr. Holt. Please have a seat and we’ll be right with you.” The receptionist quickly turned and disappeared into the back.
Thomas turned around. The waiting room was roughly square. With the check-in counter at his back, the entrance was only ten feet ahead. To his left was a closed door, and along the right wall were two metal folding chairs. He’d seen closets bigger than this.
He sat. On the wall opposite, beside the closed door, hung a poster, the only decoration in the sterile cube. It was an enlarged version of the magazine ad that that led him here. At the top was the name of the company, Tomorrow Time Travels. In the center was the silhouette of a man lying supine, with a swirl of vibrant colors twisting above him. The ad had been too small, but on the poster Thomas could see there were little drawings of flying cars and space ships swirling around among the broad strokes of neon.
At the bottom was the company’s slogan: The Future is Now.
The receptionist opened the door and took half a step into the room.
“Right this way, Mr. Holt.”
Thomas followed her into a narrow hallway with three doors. She looked to be about Thomas’ age, early twenties. She was sharply dressed in a crisp white blouse, black dress pants clinging to her firm little butt, and shiny black heels that made loud claps against the floor as she walked. He smiled a little to himself and thought that she looked like she ought to be working at a department store.
The door at the end of the hallway was heavy, and the receptionist had to lean her tiny frame into it to hold it open for him. Thomas noticed it was at least six inches thick. The room it led to was even smaller than the waiting room. There was enough room for two hospital gurneys, side by side, with an aisle between. The gurneys each had a small pillow and an IV stand. A tray attached to the gurney on the right held a couple of vials and bottles, and couple cotton swabs, some rubbing alcohol, a syringe, a couple of Dixie cups, a bottle of water, and a file. The walls and ceiling were covered in foam padding, pocked as if to hold hundreds of eggs. Even the floor squished below his feet.
“Please have a seat and remove your shoes.”
Thomas sat on the left gurney and began unlacing. The receptionist opened the file.
“Age?”
“Twenty four.”
“Weight?”
“About one eighty.”
“Height?”
“Five eight.”
She flipped through the file and traced some lines on a couple of charts. When she found their intersections she jotted down the numbers on a separate page.
“Do you have any medical conditions? Heart problems?”
“Nope.”
“Allergies?
“None.”
“Are you currently taking any medications?”
“Nope, nothing.”
“Ok. When was the last time you ate?”
“Um, well, I had some cereal a couple of hours ago.”
“Alright Mr. Holt, now if I could just get you to sign this,” she handed him a pen and a document. “It just states that Tomorrow Time Travels cannot be held responsible for any accidents that may happen during your trip, including injury or death, and that you agree to obey the directions of your guide and the rules of the company, namely that you will not travel into the past, nor bring any items back from the future or use the trip for personal gain. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Thomas said, signing the contract, “why don’t you allow trips to the past?”
“Because it’d be a fucking mess.” A man was standing in the doorway, leaning slightly into the heavy door.
“Mr. Holt, this is Brad. He’ll be your guide this morning.”
Brad was a lot younger than Thomas had expected his guide would be; late twenties. He had shaggy blond hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail down just past his shoulders. He’d obviously not shaved in days.
“Hi, I’m Thomas.” He extended a hand, but Brad ignored him.
“Time is like a river, and the present is the point where the delta begins. Behind us, the river traces the winding, snaky path that represents all the choices made so far that have led us to this point. The delta ahead, holds all the choices we will have to make in the future. You pick one path over another, and it leads to more possibilities, and they lead to even more options that are different than if you’d picked the other path to begin with.”
Brad plopped down on his own gurney, lying with his hands clasped behind his head.
“If you go into the past, you go back up the river to a fork time’s already passed through, and you might change the course of history so that it never passes through this version of the present. In fact, you would almost certainly would.”
Brad kicked off his sandals.
“Obviously there’s the possibility that you could do something stupid, like kill your father before you’re conceived, thereby causing you not to exist. Of course, if you cease to exist, you can’t go back in time and kill your father, so we’re not really sure how that would turn out, but it can’t be good, so we have no intention of finding out.
“Then there are the guys that want to be a hero and go back and assassinate Hitler before the Holocaust. If you kill Hitler, you’ll save thousands of lives, but you’ll never be recognized as a hero, because if you kill him before he’s done anything, you haven’t assassinated an evil, genocidal dictator, you’ve just murdered some German with a sweet moustache. You’re better off letting him slaughter a few thousand Jews first, then taking him out, so you can get the glory you’re looking for.
“But then, it doesn’t really matter because either way you’d alter history enough to negate the possibility of your existence.”
Thomas and the receptionist both stared at Brad, mouths slightly agape.
“And you don’t even have to do anything as drastic as murder to completely fuck everything up. The world is an incredibly interconnected place, and you wouldn’t believe how insignificant an event could completely change the world. You might swat a fly. No biggie, right? But what if that fly was supposed to wind up in Hermann Einstein’s soup, causing him to send it back, and it just so happens that he first meets his future wife as he leaves that restaurant. If there’s no fly to land in his soup, he’s done with lunch ten minutes sooner and is out the door well before the girl is on her way in, the pair don’t meet, so they can’t get married, and they never have a son named Albert. No fly, no theory of relativity.”
Brad turned to lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, to look at Thomas.
“People used to say time travel must not be possible because if it was, people from the future would have come back to change, or at least visit, all of the most famous historical events. But really, by the time we figured out time travel, sci-fi novelists had come up with enough horror stories about what could go wrong that we realized traveling to the past would be catastrophic.”
Brad rolled onto his back again and crossed one leg over the other.
“You can go fuck up whatever you want to in the future, though, because it doesn’t have any consequences on the present. Besides, it’s most likely that when time catches up to that point, things will have turned out differently anyhow.
“Oh, and as for that part about not using the trips for personal gains, Three T’s is just trying to cover their asses because in a couple of years a gambling addict is going to go to the future and collect the winners of every lottery, Superbowl, and horse race, then come back and make a fortune betting. The lottery gets shut down, of course, and it completely ruins sports, and most of the leagues dissolve. The ironic part is the guy ends up with all this money, an obsessive personality, and nothing to bet on to get his thrills, so he hits the drugs, hard, and burns himself out within a few months.”
Thomas and the receptionist stared blankly. Brad pretended not to notice. Finally, the receptionist snapped out of it.
“Alright, let’s get the two of you prepped. Last chance to use the bathroom, Mr. Holt. Do you need to go?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Alright then, please lie down.”
Thomas swung his socked feet up on the gurney and laid his head on the small pillow. The receptionist hooked both men up to their IVs, then consulted her notes and handed Thomas two small pills and a Dixie cup full of water.
“Take this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s just something to help the body relax and adjust to the traveling.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s wonderful, is what it is. Pure bliss. Hook me up, Amy.” Brad held is hand out towards the receptionist. She handed him two pills.
“Oh come on.” Brad kept his palm open and waited. She paused, then gave him two more. Brad raised an eyebrow and twitched his fingers a little in a come-hither fashion. Reluctantly, she dropped one more in his hand.
“Thank you, Amy,” he said, patronizingly. He swallowed them without water. Thomas took his pills as well.
Amy consulted her charts again, then injected some liquids into each IV.
“Alright, you’re all set. Mr. Holt, enjoy your trip.”
Amy left, the heavy door whooshing closed behind her. Two minutes later, the lights dimmed and music started playing softly through hidden speakers. The song was soothing and repetitive, with a slow tempo, chimes and organ.
“So, where’re we going, Tommy?”
“Thomas.”
“What?”
“I prefer Thomas.”
“Ok. Where are we going?”
“December 21st, 2012, at 6 am.”
“Ok, that’s when, but I said where.”
“Oh, well, anywhere, I guess. It doesn’t really matter.” The light was dim enough that Thomas didn’t feel the need to turn and face Brad as they spoke. He stared up at the padded ceiling.
“Oh, sure it doesn’t matter. You tourists think it’s all the same; the future’s the future. I had a guy last month that wanted to go to his daughter’s wedding. You see he was terminally ill, cancer or something, I don’t really remember, and the doctors gave him only a few weeks to live. Well, his daughter was engaged to get married in a couple of months. So he has me take him to the wedding day so he can walk her down the aisle and do the father/daughter dance and all that shit.
“Well, we get to the church, but no one’s there. Turns out after the guy dies, the daughter has to change the location because of mold in the church. By the time the guy got a hold of his widow and we took a taxi across town, we’d already missed most of it.
“The guy was pissed. He wanted a refund, and wanted to do the trip over, at the right place. I told him it wasn’t my fault. He kept calling and yelling and making a great big fuss, but he’s dead now, so it worked itself out.”
“Fine, New York then. Let’s go to New York. It really doesn’t matter.”
They lie without talking. The lights had dimmed so gradually Thomas had hardly noticed it was pitch black now. The music grew quiet so slowly it was nearly unperceivable. In time, Thomas could no longer feel the gurney underneath him. The room seemed to grow exponentially until it felt as though it overcame the constraints of physicality, and ceased to exist. He couldn’t feel his body, but he didn’t panic. It was the most euphoric sensation. If time still existed, he wanted it to stop, so he could dwell in this forever. He was nothing. There was nothing. Bliss.
Neon colors swirled.
“Get up.”
In a flash, everything came back, the gurney, the IV, the whole room. Thomas thought his eyes had been open, but one instant it was complete darkness, and the next moment the lights were back on and the music was playing.
Brad was sitting at the foot of his bed, slipping his sandals on. Thomas pulled the IV out of his arm, then sat up and put on his shoes.
“What happened? Didn’t it work?”
“Of course it worked. It always works. We’re there, New York City, December 21st, 2012. You weren’t very specific, so I had to choose an address myself. You said it didn’t matter.”
Thomas looked at him with a little glare, but didn’t say anything. Brad hopped off his gurney and opened the door wide with arm, as if it were light as a feather. Outside, the narrow hallway had been replaced with a city street. A gust of cold air filled the room, carrying with it the sounds of light traffic.
“After you. Tommy.”
Thomas stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was indeed in New York, on 2nd avenue, just north of 109th street. Snow lined the boulevard, but everything had been cleanly shoveled, and it was warmer than it looked. It was early and still dark, but taxis already crept along the streets, and a few early risers shuffled past him. He turned around. Brad stepped out and locked the door behind him. A small sign above the doorframe read, “TTT.”
The entrance was discretely tucked away so as to be easily overlooked, between a watch shop and a deli. The watch shop was called “Any Minute Now.” The window was covered in vintage posters from decades past. One had a cartoon of a man holding up a pocket watch with gears and springs popping out of it. It read, “When time stops, stop by Any Minute Now.” Another poster advertised a digital watch with a calculator function. Above all the posters hung a “Going Out of Business” banner. The deli advertised oven roasted turkey breast for $4.99 per pound.
“Fuck. I wish I’d read your file. I didn’t know we’d be going north for the winter. I’m not dressed for this shit.”
Thomas stepped away from the building and looked up. The sky was clear and beginning to turn sunrise pink.
“What time is it?” “Six in the morning, just like you said.”
“Good. Good.”
A skinny man in a faded neon green parka hurried by holding a picket sign that read, “The End is NOW!” in sloppy red paint. He muttered under his breath, but Thomas could only make out a few words.
“God-damn apocalypse… Hell… I won’t do it… Time… It’s time.”
Brad and Thomas watched the man pass. He had a slight limp, as if his left knee wouldn’t bend properly, but he was moving at a determined pace.
“Let’s follow him.”
“What? Why? He’s just some crazy old guy.”
“He’s not crazy; he’s right. It’s almost time. I want to know where he’s off to in such a hurry.”
“Damn it. It’s cold.”
Thomas took off after the guy, and Brad followed, complaining all the while. The guy headed south down 2nd, then turned right and crossed over to the park. On the corner, a couple dozen similarly dressed picketers had gathered and circled up with signs of their own. The group was making as much noise as they could.
“It’s the apocalypse!”
“Woe to man, for the end is here!”
“Repent! Now is your last chance! Repent!”
A little ways off, a small group of reporters lazily filmed the action. Brad and Thomas stayed across the street and watched.
“Oh, you’re one of those, Tommy.”
“Don’t call me Tommy. What time is it?” Thomas stopped a woman walking by. It was nine after six. The reporters primped their hair and got ready to go live. The group worked themselves into a frenzy, waving their signs and yelling louder.
“Hey, this is stupid, and I’m cold. I’ll be in that coffee shop over there when you’re ready to go back.”
“Fine, whatever.”
Brad went into the café, and Thomas crossed the street to listen to the reporters. He watched the sky. As he arrived, a cute brunette from a local station was just beginning her report.
“The hour has arrived. If you’re just joining us, today is December 21st, 2012, the day that the infamous Mayan calendar ends. Although it’s not entirely certain why the calendar ends on this date, astrologists tell us that the day marks the conjunction of the winter solstice sun with the path of our sun and the crossing point of the galactic equator, with is the equator of the Milky Way. The event will happen at precisely 11:11 am Greenwich Mean Time, which is 6:11 am here in New York,” she checked her watch, “and is just about a minute away. Some, like the demonstrators you see behind me, think that at that time, the world will end.
“We’ll stay with this story as it develops.”
Thomas walked towards the group of sign-wavers, but kept a little distance. They were making a lot of noise, but since there was no organization, and everyone was proclaiming their own dooms, most of it was unintelligible. Sometimes individuals would break free and direct their rants at him.
“The sun will flip its polarity. It’s done it before, many times, long before life on earth. Recent solar flares have shown reverse polarity from every other flare recorded to date. The sun will flip its magnetic field, and cause unimaginable flooding and earthquakes here on earth.”
“Jesus is coming back today! He will judge the wicked and reward the just. Which side will you be on?”
“The Mayan’s were in tune with the earth. Mother Earth has had enough of man’s pollution and raping of her forests and coal mining and strange chemicals. She will rid herself of the human virus.”
Thomas was shocked by how few people were listening. People walking by across the street slowed down to read the signs, then kept walking. A lot of them didn’t even turn their heads. Some had headphones in their ears and didn’t seem to notice anything at all. He looked all around, and watched the sky, but nothing seemed to be happening. He strolled back over to the reporters.
“It’s now 6:15, and as you can see, the world has not ended. It seems that earth is safe to exist another day.” The reporter paused and concentrated on listening to the anchors back at the station through her earpiece. “That’s right, Darren, maybe they’ll get it right next time.”
Thomas crossed the street to the café. He found Brad at a table near the window, watching the news crews start packing their equipment. When he sat down across from him, Brad didn’t even turn his head.
“You thought the world was going to end, didn’t you?”
Thomas said nothing.
“You’ve been reading all those stupid sci-fi books and watching all those idiotic end-of-the world movies about the Mayan calendar ending and whatnot, and thought you’d come get a sneak preview of the apocalypse. What, did you think you could bring back some key piece of knowledge to save the world?”
Thomas held his silence.
“Well, let me tell you something: every calendar I ever had ended in December; it doesn’t mean shit. Did you expect them to keep writing dates to infinity? They ended up with a few thousand years written down that their civilization didn’t even get to live through, so they wasted enough effort on the thing as it is.”
Brad sipped his coffee. Thomas watched the reporters chatting amongst themselves, stealing glances at the demonstrators, who were still raising a ruckus, and laughing.
“Well, Tommy, that was a waste of a trip. If you wanted to know how the world ends, you could have just asked me.
“Well, you might as well enjoy your time in the future. Have some coffee. Everything’s pretty much the same, except now they have cappuccinos and whatever with energy drinks blended in, for extra energy.”
Thomas jerked his head and leaned towards Brad.
“Wait, you know how the world ends?”
“Of course I do. I’m a tour guide for a company that leads trips to the future. I’ve seen everything.”
“Well? How does it end?”
“What? Earth?”
“Yeah, Earth.”
Brad brought his cup up to his mouth, but then stopped and held it an inch from his face. He locked eyes with Thomas through the steam.
“Well, humans kill it, for the most part.”
Most of the reporters were gone now, and their leaving caused the sign-waving frenzy to halt. The demonstrators huddled in groups, checking the sky and their watches. Only half a dozen still shouted messages to passersby.
“Brad, have you really seen the end of the world?”
“Several times.”
“Could you show me?”
Brad leaned back in his chair and studied Thomas, hunched forward on the table, the most earnest look on his face.
“You can’t save the world. You can’t save anything.
“I can see it in your eyes. You think if you can see how it ends, you can learn from it. You think you can go back and stop it, convince people to change their ways, or at least prepare themselves to survive it. Do you think they’d believe you? Do you think they’d listen?”
“Yeah, I want to help.” Thomas threw his hands up. “What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re going to the hero, huh?” Brad raised his voice to sound like a damsel in distress. “Oh Tommy, my hero! You saved all of human kind!
“You’re no Superman. You’ve been brainwashed by all your teachers and parents growing up, who told you that you could do anything you put your mind to. Well that was just a bunch of hogwash to control you and get you to do your homework like a good little boy. It’s in the nature of human society to destroy itself, and you’re just one idealistic dreamer. You can’t stop shit.”
“I didn’t say I was going to be the hero, but I’d like to do my part.”
“Whatever.”
The group of demonstrators had shrunk considerably. A nearby wastebasket was stuffed with discarded signs. Four or five diehards remained, but they stood stoically, gazing at the sky.
Brad finished his drink and crushed the disposable cup into table. The remnant of the coffee spilled out the split side and bleed onto the wood. Brad wiped the splatter off his hand, then unfolded the napkin and laid it over the mangled cup corpse. Thomas stared so hard at the coffee crime scene, that when he looked up again, Brad was already walking out the door.
He caught up to him outside.
“Even if I can’t save everything, I still want to try. I still want to see how it happens. Will you please show me?”
They walked in silence. They were back on 2nd before Brad replied.
“Fine, I’ll take you. But don’t think you’re going to learn some way to save everything. I’m only taking you to show you that the world is unsavable.”
They found the door with the “TTT” sign above it. Thomas would have walked right past it if Brad hadn’t stopped. Brad unlocked it and they stepped inside.
Thomas sat on his gurney and began untying his shoes.
“Don’t bother with all that.” Brad shut the door, then immediately reopened it. In that moment the patch of sidewalk Thomas could see through the doorway changed. One moment it was snow-covered and dimly lit, and the next a bright midday sun illuminated a clean patch of cement. “Let’s go.”
They stepped out onto the street. While Brad locked the door again, Thomas noticed Any Minute Now had been replaced by a small cell phone shop. The phones displayed in the window each had a stand beside them listing a full page of features: battery lives of one to two weeks, full television and internet capabilities, video conferencing options, complete voice recognition and voice command, GPS, and dozens of things Thomas couldn’t even guess the significance of. Two models of each phone was displayed, one closed, half the size of a deck of cards, and one with the unfolded with the ten inch display screen fully displayed.
The deli, though the façade had been significantly updated, was still a deli. Cloned beef was priced at $2.99 per pound. “Natural” beef was $8.99.
“What year is this?”
“2032.”
Thomas looked around. For the most part, things looked pretty much the same, though a lot of the little details had changed. The street lights were replaced by LED lights mounted on the sides of buildings. The parked cars were smaller and rounder with clear plastic bubbles instead of roofs. They reminded Thomas of the old Pope-mobile. The city seemed somehow grayer, the air thicker.
“They don’t print newspapers anymore – Hell, they don’t print anything anymore – so we’ll have to go back to that coffee shop to get online.”
As they walked down 2nd, Thomas kept his head on a swivel, taking in all the changes he could. Brad just marched along, oblivious. Thomas couldn’t decided if he’d been to the future so much that he was used to all the great technology, or if everything was new to him too, but he just didn’t care.
A garbage truck pulled up to the curb ahead of them. It was larger than the trucks Thomas was used to, but recognizably a garbage truck. There was no one driving, indeed there wasn’t even a cab. An arm reached out, grabbed a can, and dumped it into the truck bed. As the arm set the can back, the truck crushed and condensed the waste. The truck then pulled ahead to the next cans, which Thomas realized were mounted on little stations set at equal distances.
Most of the people they passed on the street were talking out loud to no one in particular. It took Thomas a minute to realize that there was no need to hold the new phones up to your ear; you could just talk with them in your pocket. Outside of the café, a bum sat browsing away on his laptop.
They entered the café. The interior had been completely remodeled. All the tables had been replaced with booths, both lining the walls and in cubicle-like islands in the center. There was no counter.
They sat down in a booth. A tent-shaped projection in the center housed two touchscreen monitors, one facing either direction. Brad used his screen to order a coffee, then swiped his credit card. The computer beeped and told him his card had been rejected because it was passed the expiration date.
“Oh yeah.”
Brad pulled out a stack of cards from his wallet and searched through them until he found one for the proper year.
“Business expenses,” he said to Thomas. “Well, go ahead and browse around, catch up on the last couple of decades. We’ve got a couple of hours before the immortal convention.”
“Immortal convention?”
Brad ignored the question and pulled up a video game on his screen. A woman came by and set his coffee in front of him without a word. Thomas browsed. They were the only two in the café using the table computers. Everyone else was browsing on their cellphones.
One article announced the successful colonization of the moon. New space flight routes using the combined gravitational orbits of the earth, sun, and moon required one tenth as much fuel as previously used paths, making transportation feasible. Workers were currently transferring soil, plants and wildlife to populate the enormous biodome constructed there. Developers estimated the complex would be ready for human inhabitance within five years. The colonization of the planets, beginning with Mars, was scheduled to begin in the next decade.
Another article discussed the growing tension in the United Nations as the formerly third world countries grew in power. Other articles spoke of medical advances increasing lifespan, pollution and the measures taken to try, unsuccessfully, to cull it, and skyrocketing global population. Thomas could have read all day, but Brad told him they had to get going.
They stepped outside and Brad flagged down a taxi. It looked like giant egg with wheels, clear on top and yellow on bottom. Inside, there was enough room for the two of them to sit, but so close their legs were pressed against one another’s the entire trip. Brad entered the address on a touchscreen, swiped his credit card, and they were off. The engine was almost silent.
“Is this an electric car?”
“It’s got a lithium ion battery, the same thing they used to put in ipods before everything imaginable got incorporated into cell phones.”
Because the new cars were so much smaller than the autos the roads were originally engineered for, the number of driving lanes on every street doubled. The programs driving them communicated with the other cars wirelessly, allowing cars to squeeze closer together and make turns and mergers at speeds that would have made a human driver nervous. Thomas found it best not to watch.
“I can’t believe how fast technology has advanced.”
“Yeah, you know how it is. You build a few computers and machines, and then you use them to make better computers and machines, which you use to makes better versions and on and on. It lets you make everything faster, stronger, cheaper, more capable, and to do it in shorter and shorter amounts of time. At some point the computers won’t need the humans at all. They’ll just go on improving themselves better than we could have improved them anyhow.
“You give them enough time, the computers could become gods.”
The taxi pulled up in front of a giant, expensive looking hotel and they got out. They passed through the glass doors with gold handles into the marble coliseum that was the hotel’s lobby. Brad found a sign for the “Anderson Foundation’s Longevity and Immortality Convention” and led Thomas down the hallway to the ballroom.
The convention was well attended. The average age was probably about fifty. The majority of the crowd was dressed in inexpensive suits and dresses. Even if his clothes weren’t twenty years out of fashion, Thomas still would have felt terribly underdressed. Brad looked even more out of place, with his messy ponytail and sandals.
“Brad, are you sure we should be here? I feel like security’s going to kick us out.”
“Relax. This is open to the public, they want as many people to learn about it so they can expand their market and sell their products. The crowd is mostly upper crust because only these people have enough time and money to really pursue the treatments. Immortality is a rich old man’s game.”
There were booths set up all around the ballroom, and the handsomely dressed crowds milled between them. Brad and Thomas checked out a few booths. They learned about supplements, diets, exercise programs, and hormone injections designed to extend one’s life up to a hundred years. Thomas didn’t completely buy it.
“Why are we here? I don’t see the world ending.”
“You don’t? I do.”
“Come on, why are we here?”
“We’re here because I thought you should meet someone.”
“Who?”
Brad nodded his head towards a small stage in the back of the ballroom.
“That guy.”
Thomas spun around and looked. A man in a dark suit was approaching the podium. He had silver hair and a beard, both immaculately groomed. As he neared the podium, some of the crowd noticed and poked their neighbors. Before he had even turned on the microphone, the entire convention had become silent and turned to give him their full attention.
“Good afternoon everyone.”
The crowd responded with an explosive “good afternoon” in unison.
“I am Charles Anderson, and I want to welcome you to the Anderson Foundation’s Fifth Annual Longevity and Immortality Convention.”
The crowd roared. Charles took a step back and enjoyed the applause. He stepped back to the microphone, but had to wave his arms downward to quiet the crowd before he could continue.
“There are a lot of great kiosks again this year, a lot of great information and products to learn about and incorporate into your personal longevity programs, so I will try to keep this short so you can do that. I do, however, have an exciting announcement that I know you will want to hear.
First, though, a little background. I founded the Anderson Foundation ten years ago, after making a name for myself in real estate. At the time, I was fifty-four, and really starting to feel the steady approach of my impending death, as I’m sure you can all relate.”
The crowd murmured in consent.
“I had been very successful in business, and amassed a small fortune, but it was not enough. Money cannot buy you eternity… Yet. And I had had children, well, my wife Cynthia had the children, I just watched.”
The crowd chuckled. A woman standing off to the right of the stage, Cynthia Thomas supposed, gave a curtsy, causing the crowd to laugh even more.
“My wife and I raised two beautiful children, and now we have three wonderful grandchildren, and couldn’t be happier.”
The crowd swooned.
“Some people say that passing one’s genes on to your children is a type of immortality. Well, I don’t know about you, but I prefer the type of immortality where I don’t die, so I can stay youthful and play with my grandchildren, and my grandchildren’s grandchildren, and my grandchildren’s grandchildren’s grandchildren.”
The crown applauded.
“So I founded the Anderson Foundation and invested in longevity research. After only a couple of years, my scientists developed supplements with a more effective combination of vitamins and minerals for defying the aging process than any available at the time. Since then we’ve continued to improve our products and expend into every aspect of the market, from exercise regiments and diet supplements to nanobot blood cells and stem cell injections. I’m sure most of you are familiar with our ‘Eternity’ line?”
More cheering.
“I started this convention five years ago, not only to showcase all the wonderful products the Anderson Foundation has to offer, but also to gather this community - all of you, dedicated to longevity - to network and support one another.” Charles took a long pause and gathered himself before launching into the next bit.”
“And now, as I promised, I have a very exciting announcement. Our nanobot department has made a breakthrough that will soon make all longevity products obsolete.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Thomas turned to Brad, who seemed to be barely listening.
“We have been using nanobots in our quest for immortality for some time now. Our insulin-bots have effectively cured diabetes by carefully monitoring glucose levels and administering insulin with previously unimaginable precision. Many of us have replaced our red blood cells with blood-bots, which deliver oxygen far more efficiently. Hormone-bots have allowed people to eradicate their shortcomings, growing to the height of their choosing, or reinitiating hair growth.
“These nanobots have extended the human lifespan by giant leaps, but have fallen short of the ultimate goal. But no longer! Our scientists have developed nanobots capable of prolonging life interminably, they have achieved immortality!”
A roar of excitement filled the room like a mushroom cloud. Charles waved his hands, and the clamor quieted down to intense whispers, but he ultimately had to speak over the din.
“The immortality-bots, or ibots as we call them, essentially work by reading their host’s genetic code by deciphering the DNA code, and storing an incorruptible copy. This is corroborated with an internal scan they perform to ensure that an accurate profile of the host is created. Once this is done, it’s a rather simple matter of keeping the host as it is. As cells die, the ibots replace them. Should a tumor develop, the ibots recognize the growth as a deviation from the norm, and eliminate it. The same goes for infections, burst appendixes, broken bones and any other change in the body. The host will not age. His muscles will not deteriorate. His skin will not wrinkle. His heart will not fail. He will not die!”
The older woman in front of Thomas was literally bouncing with excitement.
“Now, the ibots are not quite ready for sale to the public. The researchers have insisted on clinical studies. They wanted to watch the effects of the ibots on animals for several years, to ensure they work the way we expect them to, and there are no unforeseen side effects.
“But I would not permit this. It would take too long, and even with our best longevity treatments, some of you might not survive to achieve our ultimate goal. So, in the interest of expediting the process, my wife, Cynthia, and I have volunteered to be the first to receive the ibots, so that the scientists can study their effects on human hosts. We received the injections two months ago, and as you can see, we are exactly as healthy as we were then.
“We are immortal!”
The crowd absolutely exploded. There was cheering and hollering. People had to yell to their companions to be heard. Some seemed to just be walking in circles, screaming their hearts out.
Charles waved his arms for a couple of minutes, but then realized it was useless. He shouted “enjoy the convention” into the microphone and joined Cynthia beside the stage, where he was immediately swarmed by conventioneers.
Thomas turned around and looked at Brad, the only person in the room not smiling.
“What’s wrong?” Thomas shouted. “That’s amazing!”
Brad didn’t bother to raise his voice, just jerked his head towards the side of the room, and led the way. They leaned against the wall, between a booth selling antioxidants and another with a guy handing out brochures explaining calorie restriction diets.
Thomas watched the crowd. Charles’ speech had effectively ended the convention, as few people seemed interested in carefully orchestrated health regimes once they heard they could get an injection that would stop the aging process completely. A few milled around the booths, gathering their annual supplies of books and pills on their way out. Most of the crowd, though, clamored their way towards Charles, who was trying to field all of their questions in an orderly manner
“Look at them,” said Brad, when the volume in the ballroom was low enough to allow conversation. “They’re like lepers pawing towards their healer.”
“Why not? He just made an extraordinary announcement. He’s found the cure for, well, everything. He’s conquered death. That’s and incredible thing. No one wants to die.”
“No one?”
“Well, no one here, that’s for sure. They’ve been trying to prolong their lives for God knows how long, and he’s found a way for them to live forever. I mean, this is great. Maybe the world doesn’t have to end at all. Maybe we can all get these ibots and live forever.”
“Forever’s a long time, cowboy. Why don’t you hold off on that idea for a while?”
They waited around for an hour, until most of the booths had given up and packed it in, and only a couple dozen still circled Charles and Cynthia. They stood on the edge of the huddle and listened to Charles answer questions.
“It doesn’t really matter what happens to your body. You could be blown into a million pieces, and as long as a single ibot remained, it would reconstruct you from its stored copy of your DNA.”
“Would it hurt?”
“Well, being blown into a million pieces probably would,” Charles paused for the chuckles, “but as for the rebuilding process, we’re not really sure. That’s one of the issues we need to address before we make the treatment available to the public. I would imagine you wouldn’t feel anything until the ibots rebuilt your nervous system and got it functioning again, but I’m not looking forward to finding out. Whatever the case may be, we will continually upgrade the ibots to eliminate any such downsides.”
“Have you been approached by the government yet?”
“As a matter of fact, we have. I’ve been in contact with a gentleman from NASA. Now that we’ve made such advances in space travel within our galaxy, the only thing still hampering deep space travel is that the distances involved, even going at near light speed, trips to most destinations would take more than a life span. With immortal astronauts, we can spread our sphere of exploration to the limits of our technology, not our biology.
“As for general military use, though, I will refuse to cooperate. The idea of invincible soldiers, even if they are on our side, just gives me the creeps.”
Eventually, the group ran out of questions. Charles let a few moments of silence pass, then took a deep breath as if about to say, “well, I guess that’s it.” That’s when Brad chimed in.
“When I was a kid, I used to play a lot of videogames. My favorite was this one army game. You would run through the jungle killing enemy soldiers before they killed you. The first level was pretty easy, but every level after that, they kept adding more enemies. They would pop out from the brush and shoot at you, then hide and pop out again. There were booby traps and bullets flying at you from all angles. It got pretty hard.
“I could never get past the first few levels. So one day my buddy tells me a code you can enter for infinite lives. You still had to jump over the traps, but when you got shot and killed, you just started again right where you left off. Well, I blew through that game in an hour, tops. Got to see all the levels. Turns out they were all pretty much the same, with a few background changes. But, even though it had been my favorite game, I never played it again after that day. It wasn’t fun anymore. What was the point?”
“Excuse me?”
Thomas stepped up and stuck a hand out to Charles.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m Thomas, and that’s Brad. I heard your announcement. That’s quite an accomplishment. I didn’t think we’d ever become immortal.”
“Thank you. You can call me Charles, and this is my wife, Cynthia.”
Thomas and the Andersons exchanged pleasantries. Brad stood with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth shut.
“Brad and I are visiting from the past. I’ve been worried about how the world will end. I actually thought it was going to happen in 2012, but obviously that’s not the case. And now that you’ve solved the problem of dying, there’s really no reason for humans to go extinct, now is there?”
Cynthia chuckled. “Oh 2012. There’ve been dozens of people putting dates on the end since then. They’re never right, and I don’t think they ever will be. Why worry about that anyway? I believe in focusing on the positive things in life, not depressing yourself with doom and death.”
Charles ran a hand over his beard. “Time travel, huh? That’s one thing I’ve never tried. I think it’s the element of surprise that keeps life fresh and interesting. I’d hate to ruin it by peeking ahead to see how everything turns out. Surprise is an important part of life.”
“So is death,” Brad said.
Sorry, that's all I have so far. I guess it's a summer project now.
If you'd really like to read more, leave an email address in the comments, or send me a note at philipsimondet@gmail.com and I'll send you chapters as I finish them.
Philip Simondet
“Name?”
“Thomas Holt. I have a ten o’clock appointment.”
“Alright, Mr. Holt. Please have a seat and we’ll be right with you.” The receptionist quickly turned and disappeared into the back.
Thomas turned around. The waiting room was roughly square. With the check-in counter at his back, the entrance was only ten feet ahead. To his left was a closed door, and along the right wall were two metal folding chairs. He’d seen closets bigger than this.
He sat. On the wall opposite, beside the closed door, hung a poster, the only decoration in the sterile cube. It was an enlarged version of the magazine ad that that led him here. At the top was the name of the company, Tomorrow Time Travels. In the center was the silhouette of a man lying supine, with a swirl of vibrant colors twisting above him. The ad had been too small, but on the poster Thomas could see there were little drawings of flying cars and space ships swirling around among the broad strokes of neon.
At the bottom was the company’s slogan: The Future is Now.
The receptionist opened the door and took half a step into the room.
“Right this way, Mr. Holt.”
Thomas followed her into a narrow hallway with three doors. She looked to be about Thomas’ age, early twenties. She was sharply dressed in a crisp white blouse, black dress pants clinging to her firm little butt, and shiny black heels that made loud claps against the floor as she walked. He smiled a little to himself and thought that she looked like she ought to be working at a department store.
The door at the end of the hallway was heavy, and the receptionist had to lean her tiny frame into it to hold it open for him. Thomas noticed it was at least six inches thick. The room it led to was even smaller than the waiting room. There was enough room for two hospital gurneys, side by side, with an aisle between. The gurneys each had a small pillow and an IV stand. A tray attached to the gurney on the right held a couple of vials and bottles, and couple cotton swabs, some rubbing alcohol, a syringe, a couple of Dixie cups, a bottle of water, and a file. The walls and ceiling were covered in foam padding, pocked as if to hold hundreds of eggs. Even the floor squished below his feet.
“Please have a seat and remove your shoes.”
Thomas sat on the left gurney and began unlacing. The receptionist opened the file.
“Age?”
“Twenty four.”
“Weight?”
“About one eighty.”
“Height?”
“Five eight.”
She flipped through the file and traced some lines on a couple of charts. When she found their intersections she jotted down the numbers on a separate page.
“Do you have any medical conditions? Heart problems?”
“Nope.”
“Allergies?
“None.”
“Are you currently taking any medications?”
“Nope, nothing.”
“Ok. When was the last time you ate?”
“Um, well, I had some cereal a couple of hours ago.”
“Alright Mr. Holt, now if I could just get you to sign this,” she handed him a pen and a document. “It just states that Tomorrow Time Travels cannot be held responsible for any accidents that may happen during your trip, including injury or death, and that you agree to obey the directions of your guide and the rules of the company, namely that you will not travel into the past, nor bring any items back from the future or use the trip for personal gain. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Thomas said, signing the contract, “why don’t you allow trips to the past?”
“Because it’d be a fucking mess.” A man was standing in the doorway, leaning slightly into the heavy door.
“Mr. Holt, this is Brad. He’ll be your guide this morning.”
Brad was a lot younger than Thomas had expected his guide would be; late twenties. He had shaggy blond hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail down just past his shoulders. He’d obviously not shaved in days.
“Hi, I’m Thomas.” He extended a hand, but Brad ignored him.
“Time is like a river, and the present is the point where the delta begins. Behind us, the river traces the winding, snaky path that represents all the choices made so far that have led us to this point. The delta ahead, holds all the choices we will have to make in the future. You pick one path over another, and it leads to more possibilities, and they lead to even more options that are different than if you’d picked the other path to begin with.”
Brad plopped down on his own gurney, lying with his hands clasped behind his head.
“If you go into the past, you go back up the river to a fork time’s already passed through, and you might change the course of history so that it never passes through this version of the present. In fact, you would almost certainly would.”
Brad kicked off his sandals.
“Obviously there’s the possibility that you could do something stupid, like kill your father before you’re conceived, thereby causing you not to exist. Of course, if you cease to exist, you can’t go back in time and kill your father, so we’re not really sure how that would turn out, but it can’t be good, so we have no intention of finding out.
“Then there are the guys that want to be a hero and go back and assassinate Hitler before the Holocaust. If you kill Hitler, you’ll save thousands of lives, but you’ll never be recognized as a hero, because if you kill him before he’s done anything, you haven’t assassinated an evil, genocidal dictator, you’ve just murdered some German with a sweet moustache. You’re better off letting him slaughter a few thousand Jews first, then taking him out, so you can get the glory you’re looking for.
“But then, it doesn’t really matter because either way you’d alter history enough to negate the possibility of your existence.”
Thomas and the receptionist both stared at Brad, mouths slightly agape.
“And you don’t even have to do anything as drastic as murder to completely fuck everything up. The world is an incredibly interconnected place, and you wouldn’t believe how insignificant an event could completely change the world. You might swat a fly. No biggie, right? But what if that fly was supposed to wind up in Hermann Einstein’s soup, causing him to send it back, and it just so happens that he first meets his future wife as he leaves that restaurant. If there’s no fly to land in his soup, he’s done with lunch ten minutes sooner and is out the door well before the girl is on her way in, the pair don’t meet, so they can’t get married, and they never have a son named Albert. No fly, no theory of relativity.”
Brad turned to lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, to look at Thomas.
“People used to say time travel must not be possible because if it was, people from the future would have come back to change, or at least visit, all of the most famous historical events. But really, by the time we figured out time travel, sci-fi novelists had come up with enough horror stories about what could go wrong that we realized traveling to the past would be catastrophic.”
Brad rolled onto his back again and crossed one leg over the other.
“You can go fuck up whatever you want to in the future, though, because it doesn’t have any consequences on the present. Besides, it’s most likely that when time catches up to that point, things will have turned out differently anyhow.
“Oh, and as for that part about not using the trips for personal gains, Three T’s is just trying to cover their asses because in a couple of years a gambling addict is going to go to the future and collect the winners of every lottery, Superbowl, and horse race, then come back and make a fortune betting. The lottery gets shut down, of course, and it completely ruins sports, and most of the leagues dissolve. The ironic part is the guy ends up with all this money, an obsessive personality, and nothing to bet on to get his thrills, so he hits the drugs, hard, and burns himself out within a few months.”
Thomas and the receptionist stared blankly. Brad pretended not to notice. Finally, the receptionist snapped out of it.
“Alright, let’s get the two of you prepped. Last chance to use the bathroom, Mr. Holt. Do you need to go?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Alright then, please lie down.”
Thomas swung his socked feet up on the gurney and laid his head on the small pillow. The receptionist hooked both men up to their IVs, then consulted her notes and handed Thomas two small pills and a Dixie cup full of water.
“Take this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s just something to help the body relax and adjust to the traveling.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s wonderful, is what it is. Pure bliss. Hook me up, Amy.” Brad held is hand out towards the receptionist. She handed him two pills.
“Oh come on.” Brad kept his palm open and waited. She paused, then gave him two more. Brad raised an eyebrow and twitched his fingers a little in a come-hither fashion. Reluctantly, she dropped one more in his hand.
“Thank you, Amy,” he said, patronizingly. He swallowed them without water. Thomas took his pills as well.
Amy consulted her charts again, then injected some liquids into each IV.
“Alright, you’re all set. Mr. Holt, enjoy your trip.”
Amy left, the heavy door whooshing closed behind her. Two minutes later, the lights dimmed and music started playing softly through hidden speakers. The song was soothing and repetitive, with a slow tempo, chimes and organ.
“So, where’re we going, Tommy?”
“Thomas.”
“What?”
“I prefer Thomas.”
“Ok. Where are we going?”
“December 21st, 2012, at 6 am.”
“Ok, that’s when, but I said where.”
“Oh, well, anywhere, I guess. It doesn’t really matter.” The light was dim enough that Thomas didn’t feel the need to turn and face Brad as they spoke. He stared up at the padded ceiling.
“Oh, sure it doesn’t matter. You tourists think it’s all the same; the future’s the future. I had a guy last month that wanted to go to his daughter’s wedding. You see he was terminally ill, cancer or something, I don’t really remember, and the doctors gave him only a few weeks to live. Well, his daughter was engaged to get married in a couple of months. So he has me take him to the wedding day so he can walk her down the aisle and do the father/daughter dance and all that shit.
“Well, we get to the church, but no one’s there. Turns out after the guy dies, the daughter has to change the location because of mold in the church. By the time the guy got a hold of his widow and we took a taxi across town, we’d already missed most of it.
“The guy was pissed. He wanted a refund, and wanted to do the trip over, at the right place. I told him it wasn’t my fault. He kept calling and yelling and making a great big fuss, but he’s dead now, so it worked itself out.”
“Fine, New York then. Let’s go to New York. It really doesn’t matter.”
They lie without talking. The lights had dimmed so gradually Thomas had hardly noticed it was pitch black now. The music grew quiet so slowly it was nearly unperceivable. In time, Thomas could no longer feel the gurney underneath him. The room seemed to grow exponentially until it felt as though it overcame the constraints of physicality, and ceased to exist. He couldn’t feel his body, but he didn’t panic. It was the most euphoric sensation. If time still existed, he wanted it to stop, so he could dwell in this forever. He was nothing. There was nothing. Bliss.
Neon colors swirled.
“Get up.”
In a flash, everything came back, the gurney, the IV, the whole room. Thomas thought his eyes had been open, but one instant it was complete darkness, and the next moment the lights were back on and the music was playing.
Brad was sitting at the foot of his bed, slipping his sandals on. Thomas pulled the IV out of his arm, then sat up and put on his shoes.
“What happened? Didn’t it work?”
“Of course it worked. It always works. We’re there, New York City, December 21st, 2012. You weren’t very specific, so I had to choose an address myself. You said it didn’t matter.”
Thomas looked at him with a little glare, but didn’t say anything. Brad hopped off his gurney and opened the door wide with arm, as if it were light as a feather. Outside, the narrow hallway had been replaced with a city street. A gust of cold air filled the room, carrying with it the sounds of light traffic.
“After you. Tommy.”
Thomas stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was indeed in New York, on 2nd avenue, just north of 109th street. Snow lined the boulevard, but everything had been cleanly shoveled, and it was warmer than it looked. It was early and still dark, but taxis already crept along the streets, and a few early risers shuffled past him. He turned around. Brad stepped out and locked the door behind him. A small sign above the doorframe read, “TTT.”
The entrance was discretely tucked away so as to be easily overlooked, between a watch shop and a deli. The watch shop was called “Any Minute Now.” The window was covered in vintage posters from decades past. One had a cartoon of a man holding up a pocket watch with gears and springs popping out of it. It read, “When time stops, stop by Any Minute Now.” Another poster advertised a digital watch with a calculator function. Above all the posters hung a “Going Out of Business” banner. The deli advertised oven roasted turkey breast for $4.99 per pound.
“Fuck. I wish I’d read your file. I didn’t know we’d be going north for the winter. I’m not dressed for this shit.”
Thomas stepped away from the building and looked up. The sky was clear and beginning to turn sunrise pink.
“What time is it?” “Six in the morning, just like you said.”
“Good. Good.”
A skinny man in a faded neon green parka hurried by holding a picket sign that read, “The End is NOW!” in sloppy red paint. He muttered under his breath, but Thomas could only make out a few words.
“God-damn apocalypse… Hell… I won’t do it… Time… It’s time.”
Brad and Thomas watched the man pass. He had a slight limp, as if his left knee wouldn’t bend properly, but he was moving at a determined pace.
“Let’s follow him.”
“What? Why? He’s just some crazy old guy.”
“He’s not crazy; he’s right. It’s almost time. I want to know where he’s off to in such a hurry.”
“Damn it. It’s cold.”
Thomas took off after the guy, and Brad followed, complaining all the while. The guy headed south down 2nd, then turned right and crossed over to the park. On the corner, a couple dozen similarly dressed picketers had gathered and circled up with signs of their own. The group was making as much noise as they could.
“It’s the apocalypse!”
“Woe to man, for the end is here!”
“Repent! Now is your last chance! Repent!”
A little ways off, a small group of reporters lazily filmed the action. Brad and Thomas stayed across the street and watched.
“Oh, you’re one of those, Tommy.”
“Don’t call me Tommy. What time is it?” Thomas stopped a woman walking by. It was nine after six. The reporters primped their hair and got ready to go live. The group worked themselves into a frenzy, waving their signs and yelling louder.
“Hey, this is stupid, and I’m cold. I’ll be in that coffee shop over there when you’re ready to go back.”
“Fine, whatever.”
Brad went into the café, and Thomas crossed the street to listen to the reporters. He watched the sky. As he arrived, a cute brunette from a local station was just beginning her report.
“The hour has arrived. If you’re just joining us, today is December 21st, 2012, the day that the infamous Mayan calendar ends. Although it’s not entirely certain why the calendar ends on this date, astrologists tell us that the day marks the conjunction of the winter solstice sun with the path of our sun and the crossing point of the galactic equator, with is the equator of the Milky Way. The event will happen at precisely 11:11 am Greenwich Mean Time, which is 6:11 am here in New York,” she checked her watch, “and is just about a minute away. Some, like the demonstrators you see behind me, think that at that time, the world will end.
“We’ll stay with this story as it develops.”
Thomas walked towards the group of sign-wavers, but kept a little distance. They were making a lot of noise, but since there was no organization, and everyone was proclaiming their own dooms, most of it was unintelligible. Sometimes individuals would break free and direct their rants at him.
“The sun will flip its polarity. It’s done it before, many times, long before life on earth. Recent solar flares have shown reverse polarity from every other flare recorded to date. The sun will flip its magnetic field, and cause unimaginable flooding and earthquakes here on earth.”
“Jesus is coming back today! He will judge the wicked and reward the just. Which side will you be on?”
“The Mayan’s were in tune with the earth. Mother Earth has had enough of man’s pollution and raping of her forests and coal mining and strange chemicals. She will rid herself of the human virus.”
Thomas was shocked by how few people were listening. People walking by across the street slowed down to read the signs, then kept walking. A lot of them didn’t even turn their heads. Some had headphones in their ears and didn’t seem to notice anything at all. He looked all around, and watched the sky, but nothing seemed to be happening. He strolled back over to the reporters.
“It’s now 6:15, and as you can see, the world has not ended. It seems that earth is safe to exist another day.” The reporter paused and concentrated on listening to the anchors back at the station through her earpiece. “That’s right, Darren, maybe they’ll get it right next time.”
Thomas crossed the street to the café. He found Brad at a table near the window, watching the news crews start packing their equipment. When he sat down across from him, Brad didn’t even turn his head.
“You thought the world was going to end, didn’t you?”
Thomas said nothing.
“You’ve been reading all those stupid sci-fi books and watching all those idiotic end-of-the world movies about the Mayan calendar ending and whatnot, and thought you’d come get a sneak preview of the apocalypse. What, did you think you could bring back some key piece of knowledge to save the world?”
Thomas held his silence.
“Well, let me tell you something: every calendar I ever had ended in December; it doesn’t mean shit. Did you expect them to keep writing dates to infinity? They ended up with a few thousand years written down that their civilization didn’t even get to live through, so they wasted enough effort on the thing as it is.”
Brad sipped his coffee. Thomas watched the reporters chatting amongst themselves, stealing glances at the demonstrators, who were still raising a ruckus, and laughing.
“Well, Tommy, that was a waste of a trip. If you wanted to know how the world ends, you could have just asked me.
“Well, you might as well enjoy your time in the future. Have some coffee. Everything’s pretty much the same, except now they have cappuccinos and whatever with energy drinks blended in, for extra energy.”
Thomas jerked his head and leaned towards Brad.
“Wait, you know how the world ends?”
“Of course I do. I’m a tour guide for a company that leads trips to the future. I’ve seen everything.”
“Well? How does it end?”
“What? Earth?”
“Yeah, Earth.”
Brad brought his cup up to his mouth, but then stopped and held it an inch from his face. He locked eyes with Thomas through the steam.
“Well, humans kill it, for the most part.”
Most of the reporters were gone now, and their leaving caused the sign-waving frenzy to halt. The demonstrators huddled in groups, checking the sky and their watches. Only half a dozen still shouted messages to passersby.
“Brad, have you really seen the end of the world?”
“Several times.”
“Could you show me?”
Brad leaned back in his chair and studied Thomas, hunched forward on the table, the most earnest look on his face.
“You can’t save the world. You can’t save anything.
“I can see it in your eyes. You think if you can see how it ends, you can learn from it. You think you can go back and stop it, convince people to change their ways, or at least prepare themselves to survive it. Do you think they’d believe you? Do you think they’d listen?”
“Yeah, I want to help.” Thomas threw his hands up. “What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re going to the hero, huh?” Brad raised his voice to sound like a damsel in distress. “Oh Tommy, my hero! You saved all of human kind!
“You’re no Superman. You’ve been brainwashed by all your teachers and parents growing up, who told you that you could do anything you put your mind to. Well that was just a bunch of hogwash to control you and get you to do your homework like a good little boy. It’s in the nature of human society to destroy itself, and you’re just one idealistic dreamer. You can’t stop shit.”
“I didn’t say I was going to be the hero, but I’d like to do my part.”
“Whatever.”
The group of demonstrators had shrunk considerably. A nearby wastebasket was stuffed with discarded signs. Four or five diehards remained, but they stood stoically, gazing at the sky.
Brad finished his drink and crushed the disposable cup into table. The remnant of the coffee spilled out the split side and bleed onto the wood. Brad wiped the splatter off his hand, then unfolded the napkin and laid it over the mangled cup corpse. Thomas stared so hard at the coffee crime scene, that when he looked up again, Brad was already walking out the door.
He caught up to him outside.
“Even if I can’t save everything, I still want to try. I still want to see how it happens. Will you please show me?”
They walked in silence. They were back on 2nd before Brad replied.
“Fine, I’ll take you. But don’t think you’re going to learn some way to save everything. I’m only taking you to show you that the world is unsavable.”
They found the door with the “TTT” sign above it. Thomas would have walked right past it if Brad hadn’t stopped. Brad unlocked it and they stepped inside.
Thomas sat on his gurney and began untying his shoes.
“Don’t bother with all that.” Brad shut the door, then immediately reopened it. In that moment the patch of sidewalk Thomas could see through the doorway changed. One moment it was snow-covered and dimly lit, and the next a bright midday sun illuminated a clean patch of cement. “Let’s go.”
They stepped out onto the street. While Brad locked the door again, Thomas noticed Any Minute Now had been replaced by a small cell phone shop. The phones displayed in the window each had a stand beside them listing a full page of features: battery lives of one to two weeks, full television and internet capabilities, video conferencing options, complete voice recognition and voice command, GPS, and dozens of things Thomas couldn’t even guess the significance of. Two models of each phone was displayed, one closed, half the size of a deck of cards, and one with the unfolded with the ten inch display screen fully displayed.
The deli, though the façade had been significantly updated, was still a deli. Cloned beef was priced at $2.99 per pound. “Natural” beef was $8.99.
“What year is this?”
“2032.”
Thomas looked around. For the most part, things looked pretty much the same, though a lot of the little details had changed. The street lights were replaced by LED lights mounted on the sides of buildings. The parked cars were smaller and rounder with clear plastic bubbles instead of roofs. They reminded Thomas of the old Pope-mobile. The city seemed somehow grayer, the air thicker.
“They don’t print newspapers anymore – Hell, they don’t print anything anymore – so we’ll have to go back to that coffee shop to get online.”
As they walked down 2nd, Thomas kept his head on a swivel, taking in all the changes he could. Brad just marched along, oblivious. Thomas couldn’t decided if he’d been to the future so much that he was used to all the great technology, or if everything was new to him too, but he just didn’t care.
A garbage truck pulled up to the curb ahead of them. It was larger than the trucks Thomas was used to, but recognizably a garbage truck. There was no one driving, indeed there wasn’t even a cab. An arm reached out, grabbed a can, and dumped it into the truck bed. As the arm set the can back, the truck crushed and condensed the waste. The truck then pulled ahead to the next cans, which Thomas realized were mounted on little stations set at equal distances.
Most of the people they passed on the street were talking out loud to no one in particular. It took Thomas a minute to realize that there was no need to hold the new phones up to your ear; you could just talk with them in your pocket. Outside of the café, a bum sat browsing away on his laptop.
They entered the café. The interior had been completely remodeled. All the tables had been replaced with booths, both lining the walls and in cubicle-like islands in the center. There was no counter.
They sat down in a booth. A tent-shaped projection in the center housed two touchscreen monitors, one facing either direction. Brad used his screen to order a coffee, then swiped his credit card. The computer beeped and told him his card had been rejected because it was passed the expiration date.
“Oh yeah.”
Brad pulled out a stack of cards from his wallet and searched through them until he found one for the proper year.
“Business expenses,” he said to Thomas. “Well, go ahead and browse around, catch up on the last couple of decades. We’ve got a couple of hours before the immortal convention.”
“Immortal convention?”
Brad ignored the question and pulled up a video game on his screen. A woman came by and set his coffee in front of him without a word. Thomas browsed. They were the only two in the café using the table computers. Everyone else was browsing on their cellphones.
One article announced the successful colonization of the moon. New space flight routes using the combined gravitational orbits of the earth, sun, and moon required one tenth as much fuel as previously used paths, making transportation feasible. Workers were currently transferring soil, plants and wildlife to populate the enormous biodome constructed there. Developers estimated the complex would be ready for human inhabitance within five years. The colonization of the planets, beginning with Mars, was scheduled to begin in the next decade.
Another article discussed the growing tension in the United Nations as the formerly third world countries grew in power. Other articles spoke of medical advances increasing lifespan, pollution and the measures taken to try, unsuccessfully, to cull it, and skyrocketing global population. Thomas could have read all day, but Brad told him they had to get going.
They stepped outside and Brad flagged down a taxi. It looked like giant egg with wheels, clear on top and yellow on bottom. Inside, there was enough room for the two of them to sit, but so close their legs were pressed against one another’s the entire trip. Brad entered the address on a touchscreen, swiped his credit card, and they were off. The engine was almost silent.
“Is this an electric car?”
“It’s got a lithium ion battery, the same thing they used to put in ipods before everything imaginable got incorporated into cell phones.”
Because the new cars were so much smaller than the autos the roads were originally engineered for, the number of driving lanes on every street doubled. The programs driving them communicated with the other cars wirelessly, allowing cars to squeeze closer together and make turns and mergers at speeds that would have made a human driver nervous. Thomas found it best not to watch.
“I can’t believe how fast technology has advanced.”
“Yeah, you know how it is. You build a few computers and machines, and then you use them to make better computers and machines, which you use to makes better versions and on and on. It lets you make everything faster, stronger, cheaper, more capable, and to do it in shorter and shorter amounts of time. At some point the computers won’t need the humans at all. They’ll just go on improving themselves better than we could have improved them anyhow.
“You give them enough time, the computers could become gods.”
The taxi pulled up in front of a giant, expensive looking hotel and they got out. They passed through the glass doors with gold handles into the marble coliseum that was the hotel’s lobby. Brad found a sign for the “Anderson Foundation’s Longevity and Immortality Convention” and led Thomas down the hallway to the ballroom.
The convention was well attended. The average age was probably about fifty. The majority of the crowd was dressed in inexpensive suits and dresses. Even if his clothes weren’t twenty years out of fashion, Thomas still would have felt terribly underdressed. Brad looked even more out of place, with his messy ponytail and sandals.
“Brad, are you sure we should be here? I feel like security’s going to kick us out.”
“Relax. This is open to the public, they want as many people to learn about it so they can expand their market and sell their products. The crowd is mostly upper crust because only these people have enough time and money to really pursue the treatments. Immortality is a rich old man’s game.”
There were booths set up all around the ballroom, and the handsomely dressed crowds milled between them. Brad and Thomas checked out a few booths. They learned about supplements, diets, exercise programs, and hormone injections designed to extend one’s life up to a hundred years. Thomas didn’t completely buy it.
“Why are we here? I don’t see the world ending.”
“You don’t? I do.”
“Come on, why are we here?”
“We’re here because I thought you should meet someone.”
“Who?”
Brad nodded his head towards a small stage in the back of the ballroom.
“That guy.”
Thomas spun around and looked. A man in a dark suit was approaching the podium. He had silver hair and a beard, both immaculately groomed. As he neared the podium, some of the crowd noticed and poked their neighbors. Before he had even turned on the microphone, the entire convention had become silent and turned to give him their full attention.
“Good afternoon everyone.”
The crowd responded with an explosive “good afternoon” in unison.
“I am Charles Anderson, and I want to welcome you to the Anderson Foundation’s Fifth Annual Longevity and Immortality Convention.”
The crowd roared. Charles took a step back and enjoyed the applause. He stepped back to the microphone, but had to wave his arms downward to quiet the crowd before he could continue.
“There are a lot of great kiosks again this year, a lot of great information and products to learn about and incorporate into your personal longevity programs, so I will try to keep this short so you can do that. I do, however, have an exciting announcement that I know you will want to hear.
First, though, a little background. I founded the Anderson Foundation ten years ago, after making a name for myself in real estate. At the time, I was fifty-four, and really starting to feel the steady approach of my impending death, as I’m sure you can all relate.”
The crowd murmured in consent.
“I had been very successful in business, and amassed a small fortune, but it was not enough. Money cannot buy you eternity… Yet. And I had had children, well, my wife Cynthia had the children, I just watched.”
The crowd chuckled. A woman standing off to the right of the stage, Cynthia Thomas supposed, gave a curtsy, causing the crowd to laugh even more.
“My wife and I raised two beautiful children, and now we have three wonderful grandchildren, and couldn’t be happier.”
The crowd swooned.
“Some people say that passing one’s genes on to your children is a type of immortality. Well, I don’t know about you, but I prefer the type of immortality where I don’t die, so I can stay youthful and play with my grandchildren, and my grandchildren’s grandchildren, and my grandchildren’s grandchildren’s grandchildren.”
The crown applauded.
“So I founded the Anderson Foundation and invested in longevity research. After only a couple of years, my scientists developed supplements with a more effective combination of vitamins and minerals for defying the aging process than any available at the time. Since then we’ve continued to improve our products and expend into every aspect of the market, from exercise regiments and diet supplements to nanobot blood cells and stem cell injections. I’m sure most of you are familiar with our ‘Eternity’ line?”
More cheering.
“I started this convention five years ago, not only to showcase all the wonderful products the Anderson Foundation has to offer, but also to gather this community - all of you, dedicated to longevity - to network and support one another.” Charles took a long pause and gathered himself before launching into the next bit.”
“And now, as I promised, I have a very exciting announcement. Our nanobot department has made a breakthrough that will soon make all longevity products obsolete.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Thomas turned to Brad, who seemed to be barely listening.
“We have been using nanobots in our quest for immortality for some time now. Our insulin-bots have effectively cured diabetes by carefully monitoring glucose levels and administering insulin with previously unimaginable precision. Many of us have replaced our red blood cells with blood-bots, which deliver oxygen far more efficiently. Hormone-bots have allowed people to eradicate their shortcomings, growing to the height of their choosing, or reinitiating hair growth.
“These nanobots have extended the human lifespan by giant leaps, but have fallen short of the ultimate goal. But no longer! Our scientists have developed nanobots capable of prolonging life interminably, they have achieved immortality!”
A roar of excitement filled the room like a mushroom cloud. Charles waved his hands, and the clamor quieted down to intense whispers, but he ultimately had to speak over the din.
“The immortality-bots, or ibots as we call them, essentially work by reading their host’s genetic code by deciphering the DNA code, and storing an incorruptible copy. This is corroborated with an internal scan they perform to ensure that an accurate profile of the host is created. Once this is done, it’s a rather simple matter of keeping the host as it is. As cells die, the ibots replace them. Should a tumor develop, the ibots recognize the growth as a deviation from the norm, and eliminate it. The same goes for infections, burst appendixes, broken bones and any other change in the body. The host will not age. His muscles will not deteriorate. His skin will not wrinkle. His heart will not fail. He will not die!”
The older woman in front of Thomas was literally bouncing with excitement.
“Now, the ibots are not quite ready for sale to the public. The researchers have insisted on clinical studies. They wanted to watch the effects of the ibots on animals for several years, to ensure they work the way we expect them to, and there are no unforeseen side effects.
“But I would not permit this. It would take too long, and even with our best longevity treatments, some of you might not survive to achieve our ultimate goal. So, in the interest of expediting the process, my wife, Cynthia, and I have volunteered to be the first to receive the ibots, so that the scientists can study their effects on human hosts. We received the injections two months ago, and as you can see, we are exactly as healthy as we were then.
“We are immortal!”
The crowd absolutely exploded. There was cheering and hollering. People had to yell to their companions to be heard. Some seemed to just be walking in circles, screaming their hearts out.
Charles waved his arms for a couple of minutes, but then realized it was useless. He shouted “enjoy the convention” into the microphone and joined Cynthia beside the stage, where he was immediately swarmed by conventioneers.
Thomas turned around and looked at Brad, the only person in the room not smiling.
“What’s wrong?” Thomas shouted. “That’s amazing!”
Brad didn’t bother to raise his voice, just jerked his head towards the side of the room, and led the way. They leaned against the wall, between a booth selling antioxidants and another with a guy handing out brochures explaining calorie restriction diets.
Thomas watched the crowd. Charles’ speech had effectively ended the convention, as few people seemed interested in carefully orchestrated health regimes once they heard they could get an injection that would stop the aging process completely. A few milled around the booths, gathering their annual supplies of books and pills on their way out. Most of the crowd, though, clamored their way towards Charles, who was trying to field all of their questions in an orderly manner
“Look at them,” said Brad, when the volume in the ballroom was low enough to allow conversation. “They’re like lepers pawing towards their healer.”
“Why not? He just made an extraordinary announcement. He’s found the cure for, well, everything. He’s conquered death. That’s and incredible thing. No one wants to die.”
“No one?”
“Well, no one here, that’s for sure. They’ve been trying to prolong their lives for God knows how long, and he’s found a way for them to live forever. I mean, this is great. Maybe the world doesn’t have to end at all. Maybe we can all get these ibots and live forever.”
“Forever’s a long time, cowboy. Why don’t you hold off on that idea for a while?”
They waited around for an hour, until most of the booths had given up and packed it in, and only a couple dozen still circled Charles and Cynthia. They stood on the edge of the huddle and listened to Charles answer questions.
“It doesn’t really matter what happens to your body. You could be blown into a million pieces, and as long as a single ibot remained, it would reconstruct you from its stored copy of your DNA.”
“Would it hurt?”
“Well, being blown into a million pieces probably would,” Charles paused for the chuckles, “but as for the rebuilding process, we’re not really sure. That’s one of the issues we need to address before we make the treatment available to the public. I would imagine you wouldn’t feel anything until the ibots rebuilt your nervous system and got it functioning again, but I’m not looking forward to finding out. Whatever the case may be, we will continually upgrade the ibots to eliminate any such downsides.”
“Have you been approached by the government yet?”
“As a matter of fact, we have. I’ve been in contact with a gentleman from NASA. Now that we’ve made such advances in space travel within our galaxy, the only thing still hampering deep space travel is that the distances involved, even going at near light speed, trips to most destinations would take more than a life span. With immortal astronauts, we can spread our sphere of exploration to the limits of our technology, not our biology.
“As for general military use, though, I will refuse to cooperate. The idea of invincible soldiers, even if they are on our side, just gives me the creeps.”
Eventually, the group ran out of questions. Charles let a few moments of silence pass, then took a deep breath as if about to say, “well, I guess that’s it.” That’s when Brad chimed in.
“When I was a kid, I used to play a lot of videogames. My favorite was this one army game. You would run through the jungle killing enemy soldiers before they killed you. The first level was pretty easy, but every level after that, they kept adding more enemies. They would pop out from the brush and shoot at you, then hide and pop out again. There were booby traps and bullets flying at you from all angles. It got pretty hard.
“I could never get past the first few levels. So one day my buddy tells me a code you can enter for infinite lives. You still had to jump over the traps, but when you got shot and killed, you just started again right where you left off. Well, I blew through that game in an hour, tops. Got to see all the levels. Turns out they were all pretty much the same, with a few background changes. But, even though it had been my favorite game, I never played it again after that day. It wasn’t fun anymore. What was the point?”
“Excuse me?”
Thomas stepped up and stuck a hand out to Charles.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m Thomas, and that’s Brad. I heard your announcement. That’s quite an accomplishment. I didn’t think we’d ever become immortal.”
“Thank you. You can call me Charles, and this is my wife, Cynthia.”
Thomas and the Andersons exchanged pleasantries. Brad stood with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth shut.
“Brad and I are visiting from the past. I’ve been worried about how the world will end. I actually thought it was going to happen in 2012, but obviously that’s not the case. And now that you’ve solved the problem of dying, there’s really no reason for humans to go extinct, now is there?”
Cynthia chuckled. “Oh 2012. There’ve been dozens of people putting dates on the end since then. They’re never right, and I don’t think they ever will be. Why worry about that anyway? I believe in focusing on the positive things in life, not depressing yourself with doom and death.”
Charles ran a hand over his beard. “Time travel, huh? That’s one thing I’ve never tried. I think it’s the element of surprise that keeps life fresh and interesting. I’d hate to ruin it by peeking ahead to see how everything turns out. Surprise is an important part of life.”
“So is death,” Brad said.
Sorry, that's all I have so far. I guess it's a summer project now.
If you'd really like to read more, leave an email address in the comments, or send me a note at philipsimondet@gmail.com and I'll send you chapters as I finish them.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Comic Books
I was never into comic books. At school, the kids I knew who read comics were the same that liked heavy metal, magic and role playing. They drew swords and monsters in their notebooks and debated which would win in a fight; a griffin or a sphinx. Though I’d never read any comics, given the polarity of our interests, I assumed they were for “them,” not for me.
I watched the cartoons, Batman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men, without even realizing there was a comic book form for these heroes. I received some hand me down X-Men comic books and trading cards from an older boy in the neighborhood. My brother and I gleamed enough of the books to figure out what each character’s special powers were, then held epic battles using the trading cards as if they were action figures.
Comics always seemed like an icon of my father’s youth. Along with wooden spinning tops, toy trains, newspaper sailboats, and those hoops you push with a stick, comic books seemed to be seemed to be another common answer to the question, “what do little boys like?” which I had never actually owned, or even imagined I would enjoy. They seemed dated and ancient. I sort of figured they’d all been drawn in the fifties and weren’t printed anymore.
When Hollywood couldn’t thank of anymore ways to remake Shakespeare and started adapting comics into film, I didn’t know who half the superheroes were. The Watchmen trailers looked badass, but I expected just a lot of well-choreographed violence and expensive special effects. When I saw the movie, I wasn’t prepared for the psychological complexity and intense ethics of it.
Of course, I was used to directors’ take on action heroes, I still wasn’t sure how the books themselves would hold up. Reading Kingdom Come, I was impressed with the beauty of the graphics, and between the Book of Revelation story frame and the avant-garde nature of the superheroes questioning their own relevance, I approved. I knew enough about the main characters, like Superman and Batman, to have a firm basis, and I had at least heard of some of the supporting cast, but for the majority of the characters I was completely out of the loop. I’m sure there are plenty of nuances and references that I missed because of my unfamiliarity.
In written form, the Watchmen, I was glad to learn, was pretty much exactly as the movie said it was. Better even. Rorschach was even more psychotic and unbendingly moral than the filmmakers were apparently comfortable portraying. I loved the essays and excerpts between chapters giving more in-depth insight into their world. The hundreds of connections, events mirrored in the pirate comic, minor characters interacting with each other on the street, references to Veidt products, different perspectives on the same events by different characters, none of that came across as well in the movie as they did in the book. It’s complex. It’s enlightening. It’s literature.
Who knew?
I watched the cartoons, Batman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men, without even realizing there was a comic book form for these heroes. I received some hand me down X-Men comic books and trading cards from an older boy in the neighborhood. My brother and I gleamed enough of the books to figure out what each character’s special powers were, then held epic battles using the trading cards as if they were action figures.
Comics always seemed like an icon of my father’s youth. Along with wooden spinning tops, toy trains, newspaper sailboats, and those hoops you push with a stick, comic books seemed to be seemed to be another common answer to the question, “what do little boys like?” which I had never actually owned, or even imagined I would enjoy. They seemed dated and ancient. I sort of figured they’d all been drawn in the fifties and weren’t printed anymore.
When Hollywood couldn’t thank of anymore ways to remake Shakespeare and started adapting comics into film, I didn’t know who half the superheroes were. The Watchmen trailers looked badass, but I expected just a lot of well-choreographed violence and expensive special effects. When I saw the movie, I wasn’t prepared for the psychological complexity and intense ethics of it.
Of course, I was used to directors’ take on action heroes, I still wasn’t sure how the books themselves would hold up. Reading Kingdom Come, I was impressed with the beauty of the graphics, and between the Book of Revelation story frame and the avant-garde nature of the superheroes questioning their own relevance, I approved. I knew enough about the main characters, like Superman and Batman, to have a firm basis, and I had at least heard of some of the supporting cast, but for the majority of the characters I was completely out of the loop. I’m sure there are plenty of nuances and references that I missed because of my unfamiliarity.
In written form, the Watchmen, I was glad to learn, was pretty much exactly as the movie said it was. Better even. Rorschach was even more psychotic and unbendingly moral than the filmmakers were apparently comfortable portraying. I loved the essays and excerpts between chapters giving more in-depth insight into their world. The hundreds of connections, events mirrored in the pirate comic, minor characters interacting with each other on the street, references to Veidt products, different perspectives on the same events by different characters, none of that came across as well in the movie as they did in the book. It’s complex. It’s enlightening. It’s literature.
Who knew?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Algernon For Flowers
April 2nd, 2009.
My girlfriend bought me this journal as a birthday gift. I’ve never been one to keep a journal, but I figure I might as well give it a try. Okay, where do I begin?
Well, I work as a security guard for Syntech Laboratories. It’s a pretty sweet job. I don’t really have to do much, and I get free room and board. Me and the other guards take shifts at the guard booth at the front and rear gates, but really it seems that there are a lot more guards than necessary. No one ever tries to get in and steal formulas or whatever. Sometime the other guards and I joke that we’re not really here to make sure no one gets in, but to make sure nothing gets out.
My buddy Bill got me this job. We’ve been friends since high school. He was always smart, and now he’s one of the top research scientists here at Syntech. I’ve never done very well in school, but he got me this guard position, and I’m grateful.
I don’t really know what Bill and the other scientists do here. I think they’re inventing some new drug that makes people live longer or something. Bill says the tests on the rats have gone remarkably well, and now they’re beginning human trails. While I was in the guard booth yesterday, one of the head researchers brought two vans full of volunteers through the gates to the dormitories.
April 5th.
You know, this is a nice little journal Amanda bought me. There’s something appealing about the bright red cover. If it were on a bookshelf full of other books, this is the one I would pick out randomly to leaf through, because it just seems to stick out for some reason. I’ll probably just leave it lying on my bed though, or better yet, just open on my desk.
I had lunch with Bill today. He was upset about the research. Apparently the rats have started acting strangely. He said they never sleep anymore, and are always hungry for meat. He seemed a little worried about the drug and said Syntech shouldn’t have started human trials so quickly. I told him a big company like Syntech must know what they’re doing.
April 7th.
There was a riot today in the dormitories. The volunteers all started going crazy. They started moaning and trying to bite and claw at people. A code red was called, and all of us security guards had to run down there to handle the situation. It was quite a fight, though. Those volunteers had a deranged look in their eyes. We told them to stop, but it didn’t seem like they even heard us. They just kept moaning and walking towards us slowly. We had to push them back and lock them in the dormitory building. It wasn’t easy though, a few guards and scientists got bitten in the process. What the hell? Who bites?
We got all the volunteers trapped in the dormitories, but Syntech didn’t seem to think that was enough. They completely closed off the complex. No one is allowed in or out. They even cut all the phone lines. Amanda’s going to be worried sick about me. I wish I could at least let her know what’s going on.
April 8th.
I had lunch with Bill today. He seemed really worried. One of the volunteers had bitten him on the arm yesterday. He showed it to me. It looked all purple and puss-filled, but he told me not to tell anyone about it. I tried to tell him that he should go to the medic, and it would be alright, but he scoffed at me and said I had no idea what’s really going on here.
April 9th.
It’s been pretty boring around here lately, since we can’t leave the complex or even talk to the outside world. The volunteers are still locked in their dormitory. If you go near the doors or windows, you can hear them moaning and dragging their feet around. I tried hanging out with Bill, but he just wants to sit around in his room.
Out of boredom, I went back and read the past entries I’ve written in this journal. You’d think I’d have more intimate things to write about, like my dreams and desires, or perspectives on society. Maybe I would write about my relationship with Amanda, strained by the separation imposed by Syntech. But no, even though a journal is supposed to be an exploration of my innermost thoughts, so far all I have deemed worthy to write about are a couple of random incidents which I see no connection between. Hmm, strange. Maybe if someone were to find this journal after I’m dead they would be able to make some sense of the events told within it.
April 10th.
I saw Bill in the cafeteria today, but when I said “hi” he completely ignored me. I wonder if he’s mad at me. People are really sick of being locked in the complex. Some of the guards and scientists are starting to gather together and groan about how much it sucks, but Syntech has people outside the perimeter making sure none of us try to escape.
I’m really starting to wonder what Syntech is… Wait, what’s that? There’s a pounding at my door. It sounds like someone’s trying to claw their way in. Oh my God, someone just smashed my door in. It’s Bill! He’s walking towards me with his arms held out. Why am I still writing in my journal? Shouldn’t I be defending myself in some way?
Oh God, that was crazy. Bill just broke down my door and came after me. I asked him what he was doing, but it was like he wasn’t even there. He was like an animal. I told him to stop but he kept coming. I held out my arms to stop him, and he bit my hand. I pushed him back and told him to stop but he kept coming. I shot him in the leg, but it didn’t even phase him. Finally I had to shot him in the head, twice. I dragged his body into the hall and barricaded myself in my room by pushing all of my furniture in front of the doorway. What the Hell is going on here?
April 11th.
I’ve been locked away alone in my room all day. I’ve heard the sounds of people shuffling past in the hallway, but no one’s tried to come in my room yet. I really miss Amanda. I want to get out of here. I was hungry this morning, but as the day went on I’ve found myself less and less interested in food, though some fresh meat would be nice.
It’s been a long day, and I’ve been wondering whether Bill and the volunteers represent the fear that outsiders will ruin my sheltered sense of reality, or that my own community will deteriorate when stressed. On the one hand, everything seemed to be going fine until they brought in those vans full of volunteers, but on the other hand, I’ve known Bill for a long time and he totally flipped out when the shit hit the fan. But then, who really cares? I’m trapped not only within this complex, but also shut off in my room because everyone’s gone crazy, and this bite mark on my hand really looks infected. This sucks.
April 12th.
I’m lonely. Meat sounds really good. I want meat. Uuuungh. Meeeat. Give me meeeeat.
What is happening to me? I just want meat. Fresh meeeat. I would literally eat a horse right now. I wouldn’t even cook it. I would just take bites out of it while it was still alive. Yummmm. Meeeat.
April 13th.
So lonely. So hungry. Meeeat. Braaaains. Why do I still write? Shouldn’t I be unable to by now? Uuungh.
April 14th.
Uuungh. Braaains.
My girlfriend bought me this journal as a birthday gift. I’ve never been one to keep a journal, but I figure I might as well give it a try. Okay, where do I begin?
Well, I work as a security guard for Syntech Laboratories. It’s a pretty sweet job. I don’t really have to do much, and I get free room and board. Me and the other guards take shifts at the guard booth at the front and rear gates, but really it seems that there are a lot more guards than necessary. No one ever tries to get in and steal formulas or whatever. Sometime the other guards and I joke that we’re not really here to make sure no one gets in, but to make sure nothing gets out.
My buddy Bill got me this job. We’ve been friends since high school. He was always smart, and now he’s one of the top research scientists here at Syntech. I’ve never done very well in school, but he got me this guard position, and I’m grateful.
I don’t really know what Bill and the other scientists do here. I think they’re inventing some new drug that makes people live longer or something. Bill says the tests on the rats have gone remarkably well, and now they’re beginning human trails. While I was in the guard booth yesterday, one of the head researchers brought two vans full of volunteers through the gates to the dormitories.
April 5th.
You know, this is a nice little journal Amanda bought me. There’s something appealing about the bright red cover. If it were on a bookshelf full of other books, this is the one I would pick out randomly to leaf through, because it just seems to stick out for some reason. I’ll probably just leave it lying on my bed though, or better yet, just open on my desk.
I had lunch with Bill today. He was upset about the research. Apparently the rats have started acting strangely. He said they never sleep anymore, and are always hungry for meat. He seemed a little worried about the drug and said Syntech shouldn’t have started human trials so quickly. I told him a big company like Syntech must know what they’re doing.
April 7th.
There was a riot today in the dormitories. The volunteers all started going crazy. They started moaning and trying to bite and claw at people. A code red was called, and all of us security guards had to run down there to handle the situation. It was quite a fight, though. Those volunteers had a deranged look in their eyes. We told them to stop, but it didn’t seem like they even heard us. They just kept moaning and walking towards us slowly. We had to push them back and lock them in the dormitory building. It wasn’t easy though, a few guards and scientists got bitten in the process. What the hell? Who bites?
We got all the volunteers trapped in the dormitories, but Syntech didn’t seem to think that was enough. They completely closed off the complex. No one is allowed in or out. They even cut all the phone lines. Amanda’s going to be worried sick about me. I wish I could at least let her know what’s going on.
April 8th.
I had lunch with Bill today. He seemed really worried. One of the volunteers had bitten him on the arm yesterday. He showed it to me. It looked all purple and puss-filled, but he told me not to tell anyone about it. I tried to tell him that he should go to the medic, and it would be alright, but he scoffed at me and said I had no idea what’s really going on here.
April 9th.
It’s been pretty boring around here lately, since we can’t leave the complex or even talk to the outside world. The volunteers are still locked in their dormitory. If you go near the doors or windows, you can hear them moaning and dragging their feet around. I tried hanging out with Bill, but he just wants to sit around in his room.
Out of boredom, I went back and read the past entries I’ve written in this journal. You’d think I’d have more intimate things to write about, like my dreams and desires, or perspectives on society. Maybe I would write about my relationship with Amanda, strained by the separation imposed by Syntech. But no, even though a journal is supposed to be an exploration of my innermost thoughts, so far all I have deemed worthy to write about are a couple of random incidents which I see no connection between. Hmm, strange. Maybe if someone were to find this journal after I’m dead they would be able to make some sense of the events told within it.
April 10th.
I saw Bill in the cafeteria today, but when I said “hi” he completely ignored me. I wonder if he’s mad at me. People are really sick of being locked in the complex. Some of the guards and scientists are starting to gather together and groan about how much it sucks, but Syntech has people outside the perimeter making sure none of us try to escape.
I’m really starting to wonder what Syntech is… Wait, what’s that? There’s a pounding at my door. It sounds like someone’s trying to claw their way in. Oh my God, someone just smashed my door in. It’s Bill! He’s walking towards me with his arms held out. Why am I still writing in my journal? Shouldn’t I be defending myself in some way?
Oh God, that was crazy. Bill just broke down my door and came after me. I asked him what he was doing, but it was like he wasn’t even there. He was like an animal. I told him to stop but he kept coming. I held out my arms to stop him, and he bit my hand. I pushed him back and told him to stop but he kept coming. I shot him in the leg, but it didn’t even phase him. Finally I had to shot him in the head, twice. I dragged his body into the hall and barricaded myself in my room by pushing all of my furniture in front of the doorway. What the Hell is going on here?
April 11th.
I’ve been locked away alone in my room all day. I’ve heard the sounds of people shuffling past in the hallway, but no one’s tried to come in my room yet. I really miss Amanda. I want to get out of here. I was hungry this morning, but as the day went on I’ve found myself less and less interested in food, though some fresh meat would be nice.
It’s been a long day, and I’ve been wondering whether Bill and the volunteers represent the fear that outsiders will ruin my sheltered sense of reality, or that my own community will deteriorate when stressed. On the one hand, everything seemed to be going fine until they brought in those vans full of volunteers, but on the other hand, I’ve known Bill for a long time and he totally flipped out when the shit hit the fan. But then, who really cares? I’m trapped not only within this complex, but also shut off in my room because everyone’s gone crazy, and this bite mark on my hand really looks infected. This sucks.
April 12th.
I’m lonely. Meat sounds really good. I want meat. Uuuungh. Meeeat. Give me meeeeat.
What is happening to me? I just want meat. Fresh meeeat. I would literally eat a horse right now. I wouldn’t even cook it. I would just take bites out of it while it was still alive. Yummmm. Meeeat.
April 13th.
So lonely. So hungry. Meeeat. Braaaains. Why do I still write? Shouldn’t I be unable to by now? Uuungh.
April 14th.
Uuungh. Braaains.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Anthropic Principal
When Anthony Prock was conceived, his mother was in the midst of an affair with Jerome, the soda jerk at the A&W where all the high school kids gathered in the afternoon. When her husband, Samuel, a traveling salesman, was away on business trips, she entertained Jerome in the two bedroom rambler Sam had bought shortly before their wedding. She broke off the affair when she realized she was pregnant.
Anthony came out looking a lot like his mother, so she could never really tell who the father was. Samuel never found out about his wife’s tryst with Jerome, so there was never any need to settle the argument. Sometimes she would stare into Anthony’s eyes and she would be certain that he was Sam’s son, but then he would break out in that grin of his that reminded her so much of Jerome.
As a boy, Anthony wanted to be all kinds of things. He dreamt of being an astronaut, a fighter pilot, an architect. When the neighbor’s house caught fire, he spent a month with the garden hose, putting out imaginary fires. When his dog, Dee, got sick, he told his mother that he would become a veterinarian so no one would ever have to lose a pet. In the back of his heart, he always kept the option of rock star open, though he’d only been able to learn four chords on the guitar he got for Christmas.
In middle school, Anthony wasn’t popular. He was shorter than most of his class and not very good at sports. The girls didn’t completely ignore him, but it seemed that when he talked to them they had a tendency to look at each other and giggle.
One day he resolved to work up all his nerve and talk to Suzie Orman, the cute girl that sat in front of him in geography class. She was one of the popular girls, but Anthony convinced himself that she was nicer than the rest of them. She had picked up his pencil case for him when it slipped off his stack of textbooks, and when Tommy pulled his pants down after school after the fieldtrip to the museum she didn’t laugh. The two of them had made eye contact, and she looked sympathetic. By holding her stare, he was able to block out the laughs and jeers of his classmates.
He spent the entire forty-five minutes of geography class that day planning out what he would say to her. He would walk up to her during lunch. She would be talking to her friends, but as he approached they would fall silent and look at him. He would tell Suzie about the deep connection he felt with her, how he knew that the two of them could understand each other the way no one else could, how they were meant for each other. Her friends would swoon over how romantic it was, and be intensely jealous. Suzie would stand up and they would kiss.
After geometry was history, and then lunch. Anthony watched Suzie eat her sandwich, and fruit cocktail, and drink her juice box. He watched her talk and laugh with her friends. He kept watching for the right moment to walk over there, but it never felt quite right. Eventually the bell rang, and Anthony filed out of the cafeteria, having chickened out once again.
In elementary school, Anthony was one of the smartest in his class, and his friends were all A students. The summer before he started high school, though, his father took a job in another city, and the Procks moved to the east coast. At the new school Anthony was free to be whoever he wanted to be. When one of the boys at the bus stop offered him a cigarette, he smoked it, trying to act as though he’d smoked a hundred before. The boy’s name was David, and he became Anthony’s new best friend.
David and Anthony, or Tony, as he preferred to be called, got into all the usual trouble. They skipped class to get sodas at the store down the street from the high school, they stole alcohol from Tony’s parents’ liquor cabinet, and egged the houses of all the teachers they hated. The school’s student counselor told Tony that she thought he could accomplish a lot more if he put his mind to it. She told his parents the same thing, but he didn’t listen.
Sophomore year Tony started dating Sandra Sigworth. The two ran into each other in the hallway near the art room while he was skipping Spanish class and she was ditching Health. They ducked into a rarely used supply room and spent the rest of the day talking. Neither went to any of their classes.
Tony was amazed by how much he and Sandra had in common. Both had fathers who were salesmen. Both had sandboxes in their backyards growing up. Neither had siblings, though both thought it would have been nice to have a brother or sister to play with growing up. They both were dragged to church every Sunday, though neither got anything out of it or even supposed there really was a God watching them.
Tony’s grades dropped a full letter on average, but when his mother broached the subject of his spending too much time with Sandra, he stormed off and locked himself in his room. He’d call Sandra on the phone and talk to her until the wee hours of the night. He said that no one understood him the way she did, and she said the same about him. They were soul mates, and nothing could tear them apart.
For three years they were each other’s worlds. They decided to go to the same collage, the State University because Sandra couldn’t get into the private schools they liked. Though his grade point average was low, Tony tested well, and could have gone to any of the schools they applied, but resigned himself to State to be with Sandra.
Tony’s dad told him that computers were the future, and advised him to pursue a career in programming, but Tony didn’t want anything to do with it. He declared himself a psychology major. He figured he could open his own practice and study patients at a psych ward on the side. After a few years he could come up with a drug or a therapy to cure manic depression or something, and then focus his energies on obsessive compulsive disorder or schizophrenia.
Half way through their first semester, Sandra told Tony that she didn’t know what she wanted anymore, and maybe they should see other people. Tony was devastated. He spent hours in the lounge across from Sandra’s dorm room, waiting to catch a glimpse of her with whatever new guy she was seeing. He drank most nights and slept through his morning classes. The school put him on academic probation and then threatened expulsion. His father threatened to whip his ass if he didn’t shape up. By second semester, Tony declared himself a history major because it seemed to be the only subject he could pass.
The next year his grades improved greatly. He put Sandra out of his mind and focused on his studies. He met Emily through a common friend in the history department, though she was an English major. She understood when he told her he felt like his father never fully accepted him. She knew what he meant when he said the world seemed too perfect to be some grand coincidence. They both liked Leonard Cohen. They played a game where they would guess what color the other was thinking, and were right three time out of five.
Tony, well actually Anthony now, graduated with good grades and got his teaching license. He was lucky enough to get a job teaching high school history in Emily’s hometown. They married the summer after graduation, and bought a little two bedroom rambler on the edge of town. Emily worked as a receptionist to make ends meet.
The first couple of years were wonderful. They made fast friends with the neighbors, and Anthony’s fellow teachers seemed to respect him. He found a way to appeal to his students so they would see him as young and cool while still respecting his authority. Emily liked the people in her office, and made friends she would keep the rest of her life. In the summers they were able to take long vacations in Europe.
Their eldest daughter, Susan, was born three days after their third anniversary, and Alison was born fifteen months later. Emily had to quit her job to care for the children. Anthony took any extra jobs the school had to offer to earn the extra income. He supervised field trips, he coached women’s tennis, he became supervisor of transportation and detention. He dreamt he was a juggler, and kept juggling more and more knives. Then the knives were chainsaws, and then snakes.
Anthony had worked his way up to assistant principal when he was offered the superintendent job a couple of states to the north. He was thrilled when he received the offer, but when he told the good news to Emily, she was less than thrilled. She had a large extended family in the area, and thought the girls should stay near their aunts and cousins. Anthony had to turn down the superintendent job. He dreamt that he was drowning in the ocean, and everyone kept throwing him flotation devices, but they threw so many that they covered the surface of the water and he couldn’t push through to breath. A few years later he was made principal.
By this time, Anthony was disappointed with his life. The teachers at work no longer came to his barbeques. He was well aware that the students referred to him as Principal Prick. He had nightmares in which everyone he knew grew to twice their size, but he stayed the same. Sex with Emily had dwindled down to a monthly occurrence. His daughters thought he was dull and out of touch, and they weren’t even teenagers yet. Even the pet dog seemed to ignore him.
It was at this time that Anthony had one of those midlife crises so common to men in their forties. After working late organizing a fund raiser for the sports programs, he went to a bar instead of going home, even though it was a school night. The bar was mostly empty, and he sat down at on a stool and starting putting away rum and cokes.
For the first hour or two he was lost in his thoughts. He hated being a principal. He missed the days when the students liked and respected him. He was sick of this town. He could have taken that superintendent job. It could have been a fresh start. For that matter, he could have stayed focused in school and become a psychologist like he wanted to. If only he could go back and do it right. He could have made more of himself.
If he’d practiced his guitar more he could have been the next Jimi Hendrix. Hell, he thought, he could have married Suzie Orman. They could have opened a chain of restaurants and sold the franchising rights. He could be retired already, just living off the dividends.
When he came back to reality, he noticed a blond down at the other end of the bar looking at him. He bought her a drink and she came over to sit with him.
“Hi, I’m Aimee.”
“Anthony.”
They got to talking, and soon learned that they went to the same collage, though Aimee graduated a couple of years after Anthony. She named a few of her friends she still kept in touch with, but none of the names seemed familiar to him.
Aimee was a divorcee. She said he ex-husband cheated on her a lot.
“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. I think there’s just one person out there for everyone, and James wasn’t it. I thought he was for a long time, but if it isn’t in the stars, what can you do? I mean, there are receptors in the brain that only bond with one specific hormone or neurotransmitter or whatever, so I don’t think it’s such a stretch that every person has one specific person that matches them perfectly, like soul mates. I guess you just have to keep looking until you find the key that fits the lock.”
Aimee and Anthony talked for a long time, and they found a lot in common. Anthony felt an excitement he thought he’d outgrown. They flirted shamelessly. He wondered what would have happened if he had met Aimee before Emily. When he glanced at his watch it was after midnight.
When Aimee suggested they go back to her place for coffee, Anthony snapped out of his stupor. This was getting out of hand. He had a wife, and daughters, and he couldn’t do this. He said a quick goodbye and left the bar. He was still a little buzzed, but he drove home anyway.
Emily was waiting up for him, pacing the living room in her aqua robe. She’d been worried and wanted to know where he’d been and why he didn’t call.
Anthony sat her down on the sofa. He told her he’d been thinking about his life. Things hadn’t turned out the way he ever expected them to, but they were alright. He wasn’t an architect or a rock star, but he had a steady job that provided a comfortable living. He had two beautiful daughters and a wife who loved him enough to stay up and worry about him when he didn’t come straight home from work. His life may have been a little better, but it sure as Hell could have been a lot worse. Whatever the possibilities, his life was the way it was, and he might as well be happy with it.
He hugged Emily and led her upstairs. That night he slept contentedly.
Anthony came out looking a lot like his mother, so she could never really tell who the father was. Samuel never found out about his wife’s tryst with Jerome, so there was never any need to settle the argument. Sometimes she would stare into Anthony’s eyes and she would be certain that he was Sam’s son, but then he would break out in that grin of his that reminded her so much of Jerome.
As a boy, Anthony wanted to be all kinds of things. He dreamt of being an astronaut, a fighter pilot, an architect. When the neighbor’s house caught fire, he spent a month with the garden hose, putting out imaginary fires. When his dog, Dee, got sick, he told his mother that he would become a veterinarian so no one would ever have to lose a pet. In the back of his heart, he always kept the option of rock star open, though he’d only been able to learn four chords on the guitar he got for Christmas.
In middle school, Anthony wasn’t popular. He was shorter than most of his class and not very good at sports. The girls didn’t completely ignore him, but it seemed that when he talked to them they had a tendency to look at each other and giggle.
One day he resolved to work up all his nerve and talk to Suzie Orman, the cute girl that sat in front of him in geography class. She was one of the popular girls, but Anthony convinced himself that she was nicer than the rest of them. She had picked up his pencil case for him when it slipped off his stack of textbooks, and when Tommy pulled his pants down after school after the fieldtrip to the museum she didn’t laugh. The two of them had made eye contact, and she looked sympathetic. By holding her stare, he was able to block out the laughs and jeers of his classmates.
He spent the entire forty-five minutes of geography class that day planning out what he would say to her. He would walk up to her during lunch. She would be talking to her friends, but as he approached they would fall silent and look at him. He would tell Suzie about the deep connection he felt with her, how he knew that the two of them could understand each other the way no one else could, how they were meant for each other. Her friends would swoon over how romantic it was, and be intensely jealous. Suzie would stand up and they would kiss.
After geometry was history, and then lunch. Anthony watched Suzie eat her sandwich, and fruit cocktail, and drink her juice box. He watched her talk and laugh with her friends. He kept watching for the right moment to walk over there, but it never felt quite right. Eventually the bell rang, and Anthony filed out of the cafeteria, having chickened out once again.
In elementary school, Anthony was one of the smartest in his class, and his friends were all A students. The summer before he started high school, though, his father took a job in another city, and the Procks moved to the east coast. At the new school Anthony was free to be whoever he wanted to be. When one of the boys at the bus stop offered him a cigarette, he smoked it, trying to act as though he’d smoked a hundred before. The boy’s name was David, and he became Anthony’s new best friend.
David and Anthony, or Tony, as he preferred to be called, got into all the usual trouble. They skipped class to get sodas at the store down the street from the high school, they stole alcohol from Tony’s parents’ liquor cabinet, and egged the houses of all the teachers they hated. The school’s student counselor told Tony that she thought he could accomplish a lot more if he put his mind to it. She told his parents the same thing, but he didn’t listen.
Sophomore year Tony started dating Sandra Sigworth. The two ran into each other in the hallway near the art room while he was skipping Spanish class and she was ditching Health. They ducked into a rarely used supply room and spent the rest of the day talking. Neither went to any of their classes.
Tony was amazed by how much he and Sandra had in common. Both had fathers who were salesmen. Both had sandboxes in their backyards growing up. Neither had siblings, though both thought it would have been nice to have a brother or sister to play with growing up. They both were dragged to church every Sunday, though neither got anything out of it or even supposed there really was a God watching them.
Tony’s grades dropped a full letter on average, but when his mother broached the subject of his spending too much time with Sandra, he stormed off and locked himself in his room. He’d call Sandra on the phone and talk to her until the wee hours of the night. He said that no one understood him the way she did, and she said the same about him. They were soul mates, and nothing could tear them apart.
For three years they were each other’s worlds. They decided to go to the same collage, the State University because Sandra couldn’t get into the private schools they liked. Though his grade point average was low, Tony tested well, and could have gone to any of the schools they applied, but resigned himself to State to be with Sandra.
Tony’s dad told him that computers were the future, and advised him to pursue a career in programming, but Tony didn’t want anything to do with it. He declared himself a psychology major. He figured he could open his own practice and study patients at a psych ward on the side. After a few years he could come up with a drug or a therapy to cure manic depression or something, and then focus his energies on obsessive compulsive disorder or schizophrenia.
Half way through their first semester, Sandra told Tony that she didn’t know what she wanted anymore, and maybe they should see other people. Tony was devastated. He spent hours in the lounge across from Sandra’s dorm room, waiting to catch a glimpse of her with whatever new guy she was seeing. He drank most nights and slept through his morning classes. The school put him on academic probation and then threatened expulsion. His father threatened to whip his ass if he didn’t shape up. By second semester, Tony declared himself a history major because it seemed to be the only subject he could pass.
The next year his grades improved greatly. He put Sandra out of his mind and focused on his studies. He met Emily through a common friend in the history department, though she was an English major. She understood when he told her he felt like his father never fully accepted him. She knew what he meant when he said the world seemed too perfect to be some grand coincidence. They both liked Leonard Cohen. They played a game where they would guess what color the other was thinking, and were right three time out of five.
Tony, well actually Anthony now, graduated with good grades and got his teaching license. He was lucky enough to get a job teaching high school history in Emily’s hometown. They married the summer after graduation, and bought a little two bedroom rambler on the edge of town. Emily worked as a receptionist to make ends meet.
The first couple of years were wonderful. They made fast friends with the neighbors, and Anthony’s fellow teachers seemed to respect him. He found a way to appeal to his students so they would see him as young and cool while still respecting his authority. Emily liked the people in her office, and made friends she would keep the rest of her life. In the summers they were able to take long vacations in Europe.
Their eldest daughter, Susan, was born three days after their third anniversary, and Alison was born fifteen months later. Emily had to quit her job to care for the children. Anthony took any extra jobs the school had to offer to earn the extra income. He supervised field trips, he coached women’s tennis, he became supervisor of transportation and detention. He dreamt he was a juggler, and kept juggling more and more knives. Then the knives were chainsaws, and then snakes.
Anthony had worked his way up to assistant principal when he was offered the superintendent job a couple of states to the north. He was thrilled when he received the offer, but when he told the good news to Emily, she was less than thrilled. She had a large extended family in the area, and thought the girls should stay near their aunts and cousins. Anthony had to turn down the superintendent job. He dreamt that he was drowning in the ocean, and everyone kept throwing him flotation devices, but they threw so many that they covered the surface of the water and he couldn’t push through to breath. A few years later he was made principal.
By this time, Anthony was disappointed with his life. The teachers at work no longer came to his barbeques. He was well aware that the students referred to him as Principal Prick. He had nightmares in which everyone he knew grew to twice their size, but he stayed the same. Sex with Emily had dwindled down to a monthly occurrence. His daughters thought he was dull and out of touch, and they weren’t even teenagers yet. Even the pet dog seemed to ignore him.
It was at this time that Anthony had one of those midlife crises so common to men in their forties. After working late organizing a fund raiser for the sports programs, he went to a bar instead of going home, even though it was a school night. The bar was mostly empty, and he sat down at on a stool and starting putting away rum and cokes.
For the first hour or two he was lost in his thoughts. He hated being a principal. He missed the days when the students liked and respected him. He was sick of this town. He could have taken that superintendent job. It could have been a fresh start. For that matter, he could have stayed focused in school and become a psychologist like he wanted to. If only he could go back and do it right. He could have made more of himself.
If he’d practiced his guitar more he could have been the next Jimi Hendrix. Hell, he thought, he could have married Suzie Orman. They could have opened a chain of restaurants and sold the franchising rights. He could be retired already, just living off the dividends.
When he came back to reality, he noticed a blond down at the other end of the bar looking at him. He bought her a drink and she came over to sit with him.
“Hi, I’m Aimee.”
“Anthony.”
They got to talking, and soon learned that they went to the same collage, though Aimee graduated a couple of years after Anthony. She named a few of her friends she still kept in touch with, but none of the names seemed familiar to him.
Aimee was a divorcee. She said he ex-husband cheated on her a lot.
“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. I think there’s just one person out there for everyone, and James wasn’t it. I thought he was for a long time, but if it isn’t in the stars, what can you do? I mean, there are receptors in the brain that only bond with one specific hormone or neurotransmitter or whatever, so I don’t think it’s such a stretch that every person has one specific person that matches them perfectly, like soul mates. I guess you just have to keep looking until you find the key that fits the lock.”
Aimee and Anthony talked for a long time, and they found a lot in common. Anthony felt an excitement he thought he’d outgrown. They flirted shamelessly. He wondered what would have happened if he had met Aimee before Emily. When he glanced at his watch it was after midnight.
When Aimee suggested they go back to her place for coffee, Anthony snapped out of his stupor. This was getting out of hand. He had a wife, and daughters, and he couldn’t do this. He said a quick goodbye and left the bar. He was still a little buzzed, but he drove home anyway.
Emily was waiting up for him, pacing the living room in her aqua robe. She’d been worried and wanted to know where he’d been and why he didn’t call.
Anthony sat her down on the sofa. He told her he’d been thinking about his life. Things hadn’t turned out the way he ever expected them to, but they were alright. He wasn’t an architect or a rock star, but he had a steady job that provided a comfortable living. He had two beautiful daughters and a wife who loved him enough to stay up and worry about him when he didn’t come straight home from work. His life may have been a little better, but it sure as Hell could have been a lot worse. Whatever the possibilities, his life was the way it was, and he might as well be happy with it.
He hugged Emily and led her upstairs. That night he slept contentedly.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Webquest
Trinity Atomic Web Site
http://www.cddc.vt.edu/host/atomic/nukeffct/index.html
Includes video of nuke tests on house, planes and trees
Also, diagrams of effects, range and power of forces as time elapses
Atomic Archive
http://www.atomicarchive.com/Almanac/Testsite.shtml
From 1945 until 2008, there have been over 2,000 nuclear tests conducted worldwide. Half were in Nevada.
Map of test sites.
Pretty much everything Schell mentioned is backed up by articles collected here.
The EMP of a large nuke set off high above Nebraska could probably disable the United States entire communications and electric power systems, making retaliation impossible.
Includes example scenarios of attacks on New York, San Francisco and Detroit.
Today, the five acknowledged nuclear powers possess about 31,000 nuclear warheads, but in 1985 there were 68,585.
Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum
http://www1.city.nagasaki.nagasaki.jp/na-bomb/museum/museume01.html
Exhibit of Trees That Lived Through the Bombing
Deaths: about 74000 Injuries: about 75000
Before and after aerial pictures show city instantly become uninhabitable.
Also dropped sensors to measure effects of bomb.
Pure science seeks the discovery of knowledge for the sake of knowledge itself. It is applied science that takes the discoveries of pure science and exploits them for specific purposes. In this way, mankind has developed instruments of good, like vaccines and improved standards of living, as well as instruments of evil, like nuclear bombs.
Even after the development of the bomb, research continued. Over 2,000 nuclear tests have been conducted worldwide. These include surface, high atmosphere, air, shallow underground and deep sea detonations, and two bombings of inhabited cities. Scientists have studied the data from the test and can diagram the range and force of the blast waves, thermal waves, electromagnetic pulses, wind storms and radioactive fallout second by second. Though only two cities have been demolished so far, the information is available to calculate the destruction caused to any city, and such scenarios have been dramatized for many likely target cities.
While Schell’s description of nuclear holocaust is merely a simulation, it is based on reams and reams of data. Everything he wrote (over and over again) is supported by research. There is hard evidence for his predictions. I only found one bit of information that is remotely reassuring: there are roughly half as many nuclear warheads in the world today as there was in 1985. Of course, there are still enough to kill all of us many times over.
http://www.cddc.vt.edu/host/atomic/nukeffct/index.html
Includes video of nuke tests on house, planes and trees
Also, diagrams of effects, range and power of forces as time elapses
Atomic Archive
http://www.atomicarchive.com/Almanac/Testsite.shtml
From 1945 until 2008, there have been over 2,000 nuclear tests conducted worldwide. Half were in Nevada.
Map of test sites.
Pretty much everything Schell mentioned is backed up by articles collected here.
The EMP of a large nuke set off high above Nebraska could probably disable the United States entire communications and electric power systems, making retaliation impossible.
Includes example scenarios of attacks on New York, San Francisco and Detroit.
Today, the five acknowledged nuclear powers possess about 31,000 nuclear warheads, but in 1985 there were 68,585.
Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum
http://www1.city.nagasaki.nagasaki.jp/na-bomb/museum/museume01.html
Exhibit of Trees That Lived Through the Bombing
Deaths: about 74000 Injuries: about 75000
Before and after aerial pictures show city instantly become uninhabitable.
Also dropped sensors to measure effects of bomb.
Pure science seeks the discovery of knowledge for the sake of knowledge itself. It is applied science that takes the discoveries of pure science and exploits them for specific purposes. In this way, mankind has developed instruments of good, like vaccines and improved standards of living, as well as instruments of evil, like nuclear bombs.
Even after the development of the bomb, research continued. Over 2,000 nuclear tests have been conducted worldwide. These include surface, high atmosphere, air, shallow underground and deep sea detonations, and two bombings of inhabited cities. Scientists have studied the data from the test and can diagram the range and force of the blast waves, thermal waves, electromagnetic pulses, wind storms and radioactive fallout second by second. Though only two cities have been demolished so far, the information is available to calculate the destruction caused to any city, and such scenarios have been dramatized for many likely target cities.
While Schell’s description of nuclear holocaust is merely a simulation, it is based on reams and reams of data. Everything he wrote (over and over again) is supported by research. There is hard evidence for his predictions. I only found one bit of information that is remotely reassuring: there are roughly half as many nuclear warheads in the world today as there was in 1985. Of course, there are still enough to kill all of us many times over.
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