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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)