February 08, 2007
Dash Mercury: How It Ends
I just remembered I never posted the conclusion to my aborted Flash Gordon-esque story. If you’ll recall, it was never actually written, so I don’t have any actual text to show you. Instead, I’m going to tell you what I intended, in plot summary form.
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When we left our heroes, Archie Grant and his granddaughter Haley had fallen out of a crashing spaceship, landing on an island called Clod, whereupon they met a mighty Dirt warrior named A’Dobi. Meanwhile, the ship crashed somewhere in the distant forest, carrying their pilot, Docian, the owner of the only key to the dimension-crossing device they need to get back home.
So, off they go to A’Dobi’s village, where the dirt people are being used as slave labor, mining, heavy lifting, and whatnot. Archie and Haley avoid the Imperial presence with A’Dobi’s help and start planning to go find Docian, either meeting him at a prearranged rendezvous point or finding the crash site. A’Dobi advises against this, as that part of the landmass is occupied by the Plant Men, the mortal enemies of the dirt people. Also, the plant men are staunch supporters of Emperor Lao and would turn them in without a second’s thought if they were captured.
While this discussion is going on, in hushed tones in a semi-private cross-species drinking establishment, a group of imperial soldiers enter. Think of the Nazis in Casablanca. Our heroes overhear them talking about how an enemy of the state was captured on the far side of the island earlier that day, and is being taken to the imperial dungeons. Docian, obviously. They need a new plan.
They decide they need to break Docian out as soon as possible, but they need help, so the first step is to go find the people Docian told them about, the leaders of his resistance cell. With some effort, they find a guy with a ship who’s willing to make the trip, and to take A’Dobi along. There’s some mutual animosity between the meat people and the dirt people.
Meanwhile, the dimension-crossing device has been uninstalled from the abandoned monastery and taken to the imperial palace. Emperor Lao has been informed of what the machine does, and begins to dream of starting an era of trans-dimensional conquest. He sets the Science Directorate to the task of reverse-engineering the machine and making it work.
Back with the heroes: they make their way to the place Docian told them about, and make contact with the resistance. They explain their situation and discover that Docian was not a respected member of the cabal. They also hear some backstory, as follows.
About sixty years ago, while Emperor Lao was still conquering everything, one of the rebel scientists came up with a brilliant, desperate idea. I think there may have been a prophecy involved too; I don’t remember anymore. Yeah, there was, because the plan revolved around the notion that a hero from beyond the universe would come to them and lead them to victory over the oppressive Lao. Or he had a doohickey that detected destinies or something. The scientist’s plan was to build a machine to go fetch this hero and get the prophecy rolling. He also invented a device to locate the “Chosen One.” The scientist did his thing, crossed over into Archie’s universe, and nabbed his friend Zeke that day in the park, as described in the Prologue. The kid got raised by the rebels and trained in war and leadership. The scientist’s young son, Docian, became the Chosen One’s adopted brother and sidekick. The Chosen One started using the name Dash Mercury.
Things went pretty well for a while, but the fact of the matter was that this kid was not the one destined to defeat Lao. A few months after he took command of the resistance, Dash was captured and presumed executed. The scientist fell into disfavor, their monastery base was overrun, and most of the resistance was captured, killed, or demoralized to the point of surrender. Only Docian, his eyes wide with hero worship for Dash Mercury, kept the faith. Which made him the dangerous kind of determined to see the mission through.
Docian spent his life going from one resistance cell to another, looking for his place in the world. No one took him or his claims of a dimension-hopping device seriously. It was a pathetic time for the Boy Spaceman. Meanwhile, Lao consolidated his power and claimed rulership over the entire known universe.
Only recently did Docian get the hero detector working again and realize what had gone wrong all those years ago. He tried to convince his current co-conspirators to help him, but they refused. So he went and fetched Archie on his own.
Around about in here, it is learned by the resistance that Lao has the machine and Docian, but only Archie and Haley immediately realize the implication that Lao has everything he needs to invade other realities, because they’re the only ones who believe it works in the first place. Haley thinks they have to do whatever they can to stop Lao, while Archie thinks the odds are really good that there are enough alternate realities out there that his homeworld would remain relatively safe. However, Archie does see the need to get the key and the machine so he can get himself and Haley home. So, while their motives are different, Archie and Haley are at least on the same page as to what to do about it.
The resistance leaders instinctively defer to Archie. Not in a, “Yes my liege,” kind of way. More sort of, “You know, he’s making a lot of sense.” So, they agree to help storm the castle.
Meanwhile, back on Earth, Archie’s daughter/Haley’s mother, Maggie Grant, has become something of a media sensation. National news has picked up the story of her relatives’ disappearance, and she’s doing TV interviews, pleading to “the kidnappers” to bring back her family, and so on. It starts out sincere, but she quickly starts digging the whole being in the spotlight thing and starts milking it. She’s sort of a cross between Cindy Sheehan and the guy who was going to marry Jennifer Wilbanks (The Runaway Bride). Famewhore, basically.
Archie comes up with a plan to get into the imperial palace dungeons. He doesn’t believe in any of this Chosen One crap, but he’s willing to use it if other people do. Also, remember, he is the Chosen One. By now the reader should get that. All the flashbacks to his life that have peppered the text to this point have been showing that he has the skills and talents needed to pull off exactly this kind of thing. The only reason his life sucked was that it wasn’t the one he was supposed to live.
Order of events gets a little more nebulous here. Archie and Haley lead a squad of guys up from underneath the floating island that the imperial palace rests on. Actually, there’s so much palace dug into and through the island that there’s hardly any mass of rock left. Anyway, they get in. Meanwhile, the Science Directorate has figured out how the dimension-hopping machine works, and has come up with a large-scale version, meant for sending parade ground-fuls of troops to other worlds. Testing is about to commence in preparation for their first invasion.
Somewhere along the line, the heroes get split up. Haley meets up with Effulgia, and they have it out. Archie meets Marla Virago, Emperor Lao’s wife.
Remember how, in the old Republic serials, whenever the bad guy got his hands on the hero’s love interest, he would immediately start planning to marry her? And how the hero would then have to come rescue her at the last moment? It was all a metaphor for rape, I suppose. Anyway, in this case, the hero wasn’t around to stop the wedding. The wedding went through without a hitch (that sounds backwards). Marla has spent all these years married to Lao, and has turned into a shrill harpy of a woman.
Of course, when she sees Archie, she instantly falls in love with him, because that was her destiny. But she’s so screwed up now that it’s not really a romantic kind of thing anymore. It’s clingy and creepy. And Archie feels the shade of an attraction too, but it gets overwhelmed almost instantly by revulsion at what has become of her. However, he’s not above using her to get into the dungeons.
Where he finds Dash Mercury. Archie’s boyhood friend, Zeke, is still alive, an old man now, who has lived the vast majority of his life in Lao’s dungeon. Marla knew he was there the whole time, because Lao delighted in reminding her. Archie decides he has to get his friend out of there. In a callback to the Prologue, he tells Archie, “You can be Dash Mercury now.” I think it would have been a touching scene.
Archie finds Docian, and finds out that Lao has the key. Docian and Zeke reuinite. Marla reveals about the impending invasion. Zeke reveals that Lao always promised to destroy his world and everything he held dear if he ever got the chance, which he now has. Archie’s homeworld is dead in Lao’s sights.
A’Dobi is running around here somewhere too, but I don’t remember his subplot offhand.
The machine works like this: a crystal shoots out a cone of energy. At one point within the cone, you place a metal grid. At another point farther back, you place another. You apply a voltage between the two grids. Depending on which grid has the positive charge relative to the other one, everything between the grids travels either to or from the target dimension. In other words, to undo whatever the machine does, you reverse to polarity. I couldn’t resist.
Anyway, everyone manages to regroup. I don’t know whether Effulgia is dead at this point, or Haley’s girlfriend, or what. But she is still a total bitch. Yes, even if she’s dead.
There’s fighting, and somehow Archie and Emperor Lao wind up alone between the grids of the machine. I would say they’re fighting, but they’re old men who are very tired, so they may just be threatening, or Archie may be trying to reason with Lao. Somehow, the machine gets activated. Probably, this was Archie’s plan, to send Lao to a random universe, and Haley set off the machine. Archie just wasn’t intending to go along.
So, two old men wind up alone in a strange universe. They decide to knock off the animosity for a minute and get some coffee. They’re sitting together in a diner or someplace, talking about life, fate, getting everything you wanted or nothing you deserved. This is the first time Lao expresses to anyone that he hates being the ruler of everything. He much prefers being the guy struggling to conquer everything. That’s why he allows the various resistance movements to exist. They give him something to do. It turns out that both Archie’s and Lao’s lives have sucked because they weren’t there to oppose each other. They would have given each other meaning. Archie points out that it’s too late for him now; he’s too old to start a never-ending battle. Lao offers rejuvenation and his own dimension-hopping machine so he can spend the next decades chasing Lao across multiple realities. Archie refuses. Lao and Archie understand each other. Lao hits the trigger button to recall himself to his palace.
There are a few ways I could go here. One, Archie comes back with him and the battle continues. Two, Lao strands Archie on account of being evil. Three, the button doesn’t work at the moment and they have to fight for it. Not really sure how that goes.
At any rate, eventually, Lao’s forces successfully land in New York, where Maggie Grant is doing a spot on the Today Show. Like I said, it’s still kinda fuzzy in this part. I assumed I’d have worked it out as I wrote. The heroes wind up in New York too, Maggie winds up looking like an idiot when her father and daughter show up amid an alien invasion fleet. The bad guys wind up losing. The good guys save the world. Archie fulfills the prophecy he never even knew about. Lao gets sent to another random universe where he gets to start over and rebuild and re-conquer. So he gets a happy ending. He’s supposed to be sympathetic so this is okay. The Dash Mercury universe is freed. Zeke gets to come home. Haley wants to stay in Dash Mercury World, because it’s so much cooler. Some sort of inter-universe communication/trade is set up.
And they all live happily ever after.
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November 19, 2004
INT OFFICE, DAY
Trevor sits at his desk, working on paperwork, when Prof. Wainwright enters, closing the door behind him.
TREVOR: Professor! Good to see you. How long has it been?
WAINWRIGHT: Too long, Doctor Lockhart, my boy.
Wainwright holds out some papers toward Trevor.
WAINWRIGHT: Tell me, what do you make of these?
TREVOR: Right to business, eh? All right.
Trevor takes the papers and begins to study them.
TREVOR: Hmm, very interesting...
He picks up a magnifying glass and studies the pages through it.
TREVOR: The letters appear to be Roman, except some of them are reversed, or even inverted. Perhaps a form of Cyrillic or some other offshoot of the original Greek. This is fascinating, Professor. Where did you come across it?
Wainwright takes the papers from Trevor's hand, turns them right way up, and hands them back.
TREVOR: Oh.
October 20, 2004
Ad Copy
INT. HOME OFFICE
A man sits at his desk with a pile of bills and an adding machine, lit by a desktop lamp. He is clearly frustrated. Suddenly, he throws down his pen and pushes away from the desk.
MAN
Damn it all!
The man's WIFE enters and hands him a small white bottle.
MAN
What's this?
WIFE
Damitol!
ANNOUNCER (v.o.)
Yes, Damitol, the latest in over-the-counter stress remedies.
CUT TO:
A diagram of a human head, with flashing red arrows pointing to the temples and back of the neck.
ANNOUNCER (v.o.)
When you become angry or outraged, you feel it here, and here. With only one use, Damitol begins to target these stress points, bringing you immediate relief.
Blue animated dots enter the picture from three directions, moving toward the arrows. As they pass over the arrows, the arrows vanish. The diagram head smiles. CUT TO:
INT. WHITE ROOM
The announcer stands in front of a featureless white backdrop. He holds up a bottle of the product.
ANNOUNCER
Damitol is the first O.T.C. with the same active ingredient as in prescription brand Fuckitol, now in non-prescription strength. In blind tests, two out of three people preferred Damitol over leading brands Helwithit and 4-Godsake.
CUT TO:
INT. HOME OFFICE
The man from the first shot is smiling as he taps the keys of his adding machine. His wife stands behind him, her hands on his shoulders.
WIFE
Feeling better?
MAN
We're going to lose the house, and I'll probably wind up in prison, but I feel really good about it. Thanks, honey!
WIFE
Thank _you_, Damitol!
ANNOUNCER (v.o.)
Remember, when life crushes you under its bony heel, just say Damitol!
(quickly, sotto voce)
Warning: Damitol may cause anxiety, delusions of grandeur, explosive diarrhea, excommunication, or scurvy. Consult with clergy or other relevant dogma before use. Damitol may be habit forming.
October 13, 2004
My First-Class Ticket to Hell
There are, at a minimum, three levels of establishment where men can pay to see women undress and sway provocatively to bad disco music. The first, classiest type is the adult dance hall. It's the sort of place where people dress up to go, and there's actually some production values in the show. Somewhere in the middle is the strip joint. This is a purely utilitarian venture, for the purpose of displaying female flesh to a predominantly male audience in as efficient a manner as possible. At the low end of the scale, just above straight prostituion, is that place where the dregs of humanity go to futilely grasp a semblance of affection, human contact, and sexual arousal from another person--the tittie bar. With that in mind...
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INT. TITTIE BAR
The room is cramped, smoky, and lit only by black lights. To one side is the bar, behind which is a burly BARTENDER in a T-shirt, wiping glasses. A stage takes up one end of the room, with a catwalk extending out toward the middle, lit around the edge by a string of blinking lights. Dark shapes sit at chairs along the periphery of the stage, dollar bills in hand, with at least one empty chair separating each one. On stage is a tall, large-breasted blonde STRIPPER wearing nothing but a thong and performing various acrobatic feats with the aid of a metal pole. In the far corner is the DJ booth. Over the sound system comes loud, distorted, nondescript dance music.
HITLER saunters in through the front door, his head bobbing to the music as he smiles appreciatively. He spots the blonde stripper on stage.
HITLER
Now that's what I'm talking about!
Hitler licks his fingers and smooths down is comb-over as he starts dance-walking toward the stage. Behind him, the door opens again. THE POPE steps stiffly into the room, ducking to keep from knocking his hat off on the doorjamb. In the black light, his raiments glow bright purple-white. He self-consciously steps to one side and stands against the wall.
POPE
I don't know about this.
HITLER
(not taking his eyes off the stripper)
You gotta learn to relax, man. Give me a dollar.
The Pope starts to reach into his pocket, then thinks better of it.
Suddenly, the stripper notices the day-glo Pope, gasps, and leaves the stage in the middle of her routine, to the grunts of disapproval of her audience. She hurries over to the Pope, kneels in front of him, and reaches up to take his hand.
STRIPPER
Your Holiness...
HITLER
Hey, cool. I didn't know it was that kind of place. I'm next.
The Pope motions for the girl to stand.
POPE
Arise, my child.
The stripper stands up, gazing at the Pope in awe.
HITLER
Man, what a waste of an opportunity.
POPE
(to Hitler)
Shut it, Schickelgruber.
(to Stripper)
What is your name, child?
STRIPPER
Amber, your Holiness.
HITLER
Yeah, right.
The music fades out and the bar becomes silent.
POPE
Amber, we seek a man named Tony Malucci. He owns this...place, does he not?
Hitler notices that everyone seems to be watching them.
HITLER
Hey, um, Pope?
The Pope waves Hitler quiet.
STRIPPER
Will I be forgiven?
POPE
Excuse me?
STRIPPER
If I tell you, will I be forgiven for working here? It was just so hard to pay the bills....
Hitler sees the bartender coming out from behind the bar with a baseball bat.
HITLER
Hey, Pontiff, we got trouble!
POPE
Of course, my child. The Lord forgives all.
The bartender steps in bewteen the Pope and the stripper, slapping his bat into his palm.
BARTENDER
Youse guys beat it, before I beat it for you.
STRIPPER
Louie, no! Don't you know who that is?
BARTENDER
Shut up, and get back on stage. You ain't getting paid to stand around.
(to Pope)
Now, like I said, scram.
The stripper steps away. The Pope stares the bartender in the eye.
POPE
I'm not done speaking with the lady.
BARTENDER
Yeah, you are.
The bartender raises his bat and swings it down toward the Pope's head. The Pope's hand flashes upward and catches the bat in mid-swing, stopping it cold. The bartender's eyes go wide.
POPE
In Nomine Patri...
The Pope yanks the bat out of the bartender's hand. He tosses it into the air and catches it again at the hilt.
POPE
...et filii...
The Pope swings one-handed. The bartender ducks, causing the Pope to miss, then rears back to punch the Pope into next week. A chair smashes into the bartender's head from behind. He collapses, unconscious. The Pope sees Hitler standing behind the bartender, the splintered remains of the chair in his hands.
HITLER
...et Spiritus Sancti?
The Pope drops the bat, nods, and makes the sign of the cross at the fallen man.
POPE
Amen.
(to Stripper)
You need to come with us. It isn't safe for you here.
STRIPPER
I don't know...I'm not supposed to leave with the customers.
HITLER
Honey, he's the Pope. What's he gonna do?
The stripper glances down at the bartender, who is moaning quietly on the floor.
HITLER
A hundred bucks?
STRIPPER
Let me get my shirt.
The stripper scampers toward the dressing room.
HITLER
(to Pope)
You swing like a girl.
The Pope shrugs.
POPE
Basketball was always more my thing.
END SCENE
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September 16, 2004
Special Bulletin
Kent: Good evening. We're breaking into regular programming tonight to bring you the news on Godzilla's latest attack on our nation. I'm Kent Mannington. Beside me is Susan Bustamante. Susan?
Susan: Thanks, Ken. GodzillaScope satellites picked up the giant radioactive lizard in the Caribbean two days ago, and have been tracking his movement ever since. After crushing [Spanish accent] Puerto Rico [unaccented English] and Bermuda, experts determined Godzilla's next move would be toward the state of Florida.
Kent: Those experts were proven right half an hour ago, when Godzilla rose out of the sea off the coast of Miami and destroyed a local marina.
Susan: Now, let's take a look at our five-day forecast with Godzillaologist, Ted Appleton. What can you tell us, Ted?
Ted: Thanks, Susan. First, let's look at our GodzillaTracker 2000 doppler radar. Here you see Godzilla just coming ashore outside of Miami. We'll put that in motion for you, so you can see he's moving north. That ground clutter you see behind him is actual ground clutter, a path of destruction Godzilla is leaving in his wake.
Ted: Now, let's switch to the five-day forecast. This blue line is the projected path we expect Godzilla to take on his rampage of death. He'll come up through Orlando, then into Georgia, where our simulations tell us he'll head right through the Atlanta area before continuing his way up the coast. Finally, by Friday, we expect him to be pushed back out to sea by a fast-moving Mothra coming down from the northwest.
Ted: Of course, Godzilla can be unpredictable, so this larger white area [whole map turns white] shows the envelope of the area at risk. Susan?
Susan: Thanks, Ted. Ted, is there any indication of what Godzilla wants, or is this just yet another nightmarish rampage of mindless destruction for the big G?
Ted: It's hard to say at this point, Susan. It could be he's simply hungering for some electricity, which as you know is his main food source. Or perhaps he is actually heading toward an even worse threat we aren't even aware of yet at the beckoning of a small boy.
Susan: Thanks, Ted. Kent?
Kent: We go now to our man on the scene, Jimmy Takahara, in Fort Lauderdale.
Jim: Thanks, Kent. I'm standing about five miles north of the last known location of Godzilla. As you can see behind me, traffic is jammed with people trying to flee in terror from the giant monster. All the power is out here, Kent. All the buildings are dark. And in the distance, I don't know if you can see it--Jerry, pan over--that cloudbank isn't actually a cloud. It's a combination of smoke and dust from all the fires Godzilla has been starting tonight. Every once in a while, the cloud lights up as Godzilla breathes radioactive death onto the people and buildings of Fort Lauderdale. There! Did you see that? It just happened! Oh, it's magnificent. Truly a sight to behold.
Kent: Did I hear a roar, Jimmy?
Jim: Yes, Kent. Even though Godzilla is still miles away, that spine-chilling roar of his can still be heard.
Kent: You're doing an excellent job, Kenny. Keep it up.
Jim: Thanks, Kent.
Kent: However, our GodzillaTracker 2000 realtime radar is showing Godzilla to be less than a mile from your location.
Jim: He is? [Jim starts gesturing wildly to his crew to start packing up.]
Kent: Jimmy, try to get some pictures of Godzilla if you can.
Jim: Are you insane, Kent?
Godzilla: Roar!
Kent: It looks like he is just south of you, Jimmy. Pan that direction and show us what's there.
[The camera pans right. Other than darkened buildings under a low-dark cloud, nothing is visible]
Kent: Well, keep trying, Jimmy. And be safe out there.
Jim: Kent, it sounds like Godzilla is getting very close now, so my crew and I--
Kent: Thanks for that on-the-scene report, Jimmy. Stay right there in case we want to come back to you later.
Jim: [bleep!] you, Kent.
Susan: We have with us here in the studio an expert in the field of Godzilla, radiocryptosinozoologist Dr. Raymond Mason. Thank you for coming, Dr. Mason.
Dr. Mason: Glad to be here, Susan.
Susan: So tell us, Doctor. Where does Godzilla come from?
Dr. Mason: That's hard to say, Susan. Some believe he mutated from a normal lizard as a side effect of the nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of World War 2. My personal theory, and I have evidence to back this up, is that he is a previously unknown type of dinosaur who was frozen during a previous ice age, and released at roughly the time of the bombing by unrelated events. Either way, ever since his appearance, he has traveled the world causing mayhem.
Susan: What kind of evidence, Doctor?
Dr. Mason: Well, it's complicated. I don't know if your viewers could grasp the subtleties in the amount of time we have.
Susan: Can you simplify it for us?
Dr. Mason: Well, basically, he's 200 feet tall. No modern lizard, not even the Komodo Dragon, could function when enlarged to Godzilla's proportions. Also, his body structure does not match the physiology of any known lizard. Only dinosaurs are known to have walked on their rear legs.
Susan: But what about the fact that Godzilla breathes radioactive fire? Doesn't that indicate some connection or exposure to nuclear materials?
Dr. Mason: Possibly. However, it is equally possible that Godzilla's dinosaur species--the Tyrannosaurus Toho--evolved in an area and time with naturally occurring high levels of radiation. It could have become integrated into his biological processes in this way. What you call "radioactive fire" breath could simply be his equivalent of our production of carbon dioxide when we exhale.
Susan: But what evidence do you have that such a place ever existed?
Dr. Mason:[sigh] I knew that, as a woman, you probably wouldn't be able to understand what I'm telling you.
Susan: "As a woman?!" Why, you---
Kent: I'm sorry to break in, Susan, but we've just received word that correspondent Jimmy Takahasha has been killed, along with his camera crew. Apparently, Godzilla stepped on them while Jimmy repeatedly and frantically shouted Godzilla's name. We hope to have footage available soon. Our condolences to their families. We'll be back to our coverage after this.
JAMES TAKAHASHA
1971-2004
September 01, 2004
Buddy Picture
They say to get good drama and good comedy, you need disparate elements brought into close conjunction, which leads to conflict. In that spirit, please enjoy this short excerpt from the ultimate comedy buddy road picture.
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EXT. DESERT, DAY
It's the middle of a hot summer day in the desert. A strip of two-lane blacktop fades into heat-haze obscurity in the distance. Suddenly, a 1965 MUSTANG CONVERTIBLE, its top down, rushes into view, heading into the distance at high speed. The car has two passengers, HITLER and the POPE. The Pope is driving. Over the roar of the engine, the sound of a chorus is heard. CUT TO:
CAR, DRIVER'S SIDE, DAY
The Pope holds onto his tall hat with one hand while steering with the other. Beside him, Hitler is sucking on the straw of a Slushee, his cheeks caved in.
POPE
So...Jews, huh?
HITLER
(sheepish)
Yeah...
POPE
(stern)
Dude...
HITLER
I know, I know.
Awkward silence returns. Hitler puts down his Slushee cup.
HITLER
What is this?
The Pope lets go of the steering wheel and picks up a CD JEWEL CASE. Hitler grabs the steering wheel. The Pope hands the CD case to Hitler, then takes back control of the wheel. Hitler looks at it.
HITLER
(reading)
"The Mormon Tabernacle Choir's Greatest Hits."
The Pope shrugs.
POPE
It was a gift.
HITLER
Don't you have any Kraftwerk?
(beat)
How about Steppenwolf?
The Pope glares at Hitler.
HITLER
What? We've heard this like five times today already.
I still can't hear what they're saying. Come on, just a
little Zeppelin, that's all I'm asking.
The Pope ignores Hitler.
HITLER
Man, when we get to Vegas I am so ditching you.
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March 16, 2004
Crisis Point
Jaenne lowered herself out of the stratosphere onto Mycroft-4s sundeck, twisted the control buckle of her anti-gravity belt to Off, sat down in the other auto-massage lounge chair, tapped her drink order into the armrest control pad, and said, Hi.
Mycroft-4 grunted noncommittally, not taking his eyes off the blue-black horizon where the sun would set in several hours. The chairs stepped closer together in a smooth motion neither person noticed.
Are you still depressed? Jaenne asked as a tall bamboo glass materialized in her chairs cup holder, complete with paper umbrella and pineapple garnish.
I guess so, Mycroft-4 admitted.
Good. I came over here to cheer you up. Im glad to see I didnt waste a trip. Her lips sought out the straw, made contact. After a sip that burned her throat just the way she liked it, she continued. What do you want to do today?
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Nothing.
Come on! We have to do something. This is our last break before finals. You want to be happy and relaxed for your final education implants, dont you? I know! Lets go flying!
I dont feel like it.
Sure you do! Ill even let you pick: Jet pack, anti-grav belt, hover-surfboard, anything you want. We can race down the city-stem to cloud level and back up again. Loser has to give me a back rub.
Mycroft-4 chuckled. We dont have to race for that. Ill give you one now.
Okay! Jaenne stripped off her shirt and flopped over on her stomach, almost faster than her chair could flatten itself out. Mycrofts chair, meanwhile, retracted its leg support and pitched him forward to a sitting position, then sidled over to afford him the easiest reach to Jaennes bare back. He reached out and placed the palms of both hands in the small of her back.
She jumped. Jeez! Have you been juggling solidified nitrogen again?
Mycroft-4 blew into his cupped hands, then rubbed them together. Sorry.
Thats okay. My Uncle Rafell went into cryostasis for five years once, until the doctors could figure out how to remove an alien symbiote disguised as a brain tumor. After he came out, his core temperature never got over 362 Kelvin. If I can hug him every year at the family reunion, I can stand your hands on my back for a while. Jaenne covered one hand with the other, then perched her chin on top of the pile. Her wavy blonde hair bobbed back and forth randomly as she chair-danced to the music being projected at her from deckside.
Thats an interesting pattern youre wearing, Mycroft-4 commented.
Jaenne raised herself up onto her hands and knees and looked down at her chest. Do you like it? You dont think scales are too passe?
Iridescent blue ones, no.
Jaenne sat up, interrupting her backrub so that Mycroft could get a closer look. The left one is just makeup, so I could get an idea what it would look like. She gestured to the other side. This one I had done with gene therapy. Those are real scales I grew myself. Itll wear off in a month if I dont get the booster. You like? she asked, shaking her shoulders provocatively.
Its nice, I suppose.
As long as were talking about this, let me ask your opinion. With this look, she started, indicating her body, Which hairstyle looks best? Im going to a party later. Jaenne put her hand up to her ear and squeezed her earring. Her hair immediately gathered itself up and formed a beehive on the top of her head. This? She squeezed again, and her hair shortened and thickened into a precise pageboy. Or this? Another squeeze, and her hair was long and straight and hung down her back to her waist. Jaenne ran through two dozen more styles and six different colors, leaving each one on only long enough for Mycroft-4 to see them and for the nano-stylists to recharge. Mycroft didnt have a particular reaction to any of them.
Eventually Jaenne gave up. You are just no fun today. What is--Hey! Isnt this the week your brother heads off on that deep-space voyage to the far side of the galaxy?
Yeah, He leaves-- The patio door shimmered out of existence in front of Mycroft-4 to let his older brother step outside. Well, Ill let him tell you. Hiya, Trey.
Hey, Quad. Hey, Quads friend. Mycroft-3 was the spitting image of Mycroft-4, only two years older. You busy?
Not really, Mycroft-4 said.
Hmph! Well, if thats how you feel, Jaenne whined playfully, sat up, and redressed herself.
You know what I meant. Strikes, we were just talking about when you leave for your final training and mission briefings.
Lets see, Balls, Mycroft-3 paused to look at the subcutaneous display implant on his left wrist. My shuttle leaves for Luna Station Omicron in 15 hours and 28 minutes. In the next two weeks I will learn everything I need to navigate in both normal and hyperspaces of up to seven dimensions, and to maintain and repair the ship. Ill learn twelve alien languages, both written and spoken--where applicable--for those species were likely to meet on the way. Once were ready, the three of us will head out to Jupiter to pick up our ship, and then well be on our way.
Wow, said Jaenne, impressed. You get to go to Omicron? I hear theyve got the largest flight cavern on the whole Moon.
Thats true, agreed Mycroft-3. I probably wont be awake long enough to try it, though, what with all my studies. Anyway, I didnt come out here to talk about myself. This is my last night on Earth for the next year or so, and Im in the mood to go out and see some of it. Either of you interested?
Whatd you have in mind? Jaenne asked. Mycroft-4 failed to summon up any enthusiasm.
I dunno. Maybe we could teleport over to Old Peking or New London and see the sights. Who wants moo shoo pork and chips for dinner? Or else we could go take the hovercar tour of the Previously Extinct Animal Preserve in the Sahara Wildlife Refuge. Or anything else you want. I just feel this need to say goodbye to everything before I leave.
You dont mean... Jaenne said, suddenly and briefly serious.
Oh, no, nothing like that. My psychic advisor and the insurance companys chrono-snooper both show that well get back just fine. No, I just want to do something real, let off some superheated water vapor. This is my last day off until I get back. So, what do you say? You guys up for anything?
Jaenne jumped out of her seat. You bet! Mycroft-4 sat still, looking more depressed than ever.
Mycroft-3 sat down next to his youthful duplicate, threw an arm around his shoulder, and said, Come on, little brother, cheer up! I know youre going to miss me. Ill miss you too. But youll still have Ace and Deuce around to keep you in line. Plus, I recorded my psyche profile into the holo-caster. If you want to talk or anything, just activate my avatar. Itll be like I never left.
Mycroft-4 shrugged off his brothers arm and walked over to the railing. He stared down past the lip of the city platform, through the light cloud cover below, to the green fields of meticulously recovered grassland. His eyes floated toward the horizon, where he could barely make out the rim of the ancient blast crater from a forgotten war. I got my occupation profile yesterday, he said softly.
Jaenne perked up, almost a neurochemical impossibility. So did I! The computers say I should make it my life goal to marry someone rich. What did yours say, Mike-4? You could get lucky. Not organ donor, I hope. Is that why youre upset? Are you going to be an organ donor?
No, not organ donor.
Well, Mycroft-3 asked, Is it something you dont want to do? You dont have to do the job they pick if it wont make you happy.
No. I agree with the computer. I want to do the job they tell me I would be best at and happiest doing. I want it more than anything.
Then whats the problem already? Jaenne insisted.
Mycroft-4 faced the other two. He looked at his best friend, the girl with genetically pliable breasts and remote-controlled hair who always outran him when racing through the sky. He looked at his brother, his older co-cloned self, a man who was about to spend the next few years of his life in space, exploring the wonders of the universe and dealing with numerous alien cultures, while a computerized duplicate of his mind stayed home to keep his family company. He looked at his home, perched atop a three-mile high pedestal, where his every want and whim was taken care of by automated machinery almost before he could think of it. He remembered the wonders of the world, the miracles that modern science and technology had wrought, the convenience, the luxury.
A tear streaked down his cheek. I want to write science fiction.
� Read Less
February 29, 2004
Recruitment
Gentlemen, ladies, began the man in the black suit to the 23 people seated before him in the small, unadorned room. You are all to be congratulated. You are in this room right now because you have passed the tests we have subjected you to over the past week. You are the healthiest, most skilled people the year 2004 has to offer.
As you may have guessed, as you look at your co-applicants for the first time, many others started this journey with you, in their own ways. Some were volunteers. Some were ordered here. Some answered a cleverly placed classified advertisement. Although they were superior in their own ways, each of them fell by the wayside before reaching this point. There is no shame in that. Simply being allowed to take the tests meant they had the potential to be what we needed them to be. Their failure to reach this point is no reflection on them.
Your being here, however, is a reflection on you. You have proven your intelligence, your cleverness, your ability to collect, interpret, retain, and apply information, your ability to improvise, and your serenity in the face of stressful and hazardous situations. You have shown submission to authority when required, willingness to operate independently when necessary, even in the face of conflicting orders, and the wisdom to know when each is called for. Your logic and intuition have both proven exemplary, as has your problem solving ability.
Moreover, your bodies are as fit as your minds. Your reflexes are quick, and, more importantly, accurate. Your muscles are strong. Your joints are limber. Your senses are, at a minimum, better than average. Look around; no one here is wearing corrective lenses. You are free of chronic illness and congenital defect, and your immune systems have proven to operate highly efficiently.
You have taken these tests of your bodies and minds without knowing the reason behind it all. Up to this point, you have accepted assurances that their purpose is both benevolent and important. Now that the tests are over, it is time for explanations.
Read More �
Behind me is a door. Once you step through that door, all will be made clear to you. Understand that once you enter that room, there is no turning back. Once you learn the reason behind it all, you will not be allowed to refuse to participate.
Behind you is another door, the one you used to enter this room. If you choose to walk away right now, with no explanation, then that is your right. Return the way you came, and this episode of your life will be over. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing before coming here. You will not suffer any negative repercussions, with two exceptions.
First, you may never speak to anyone about what has happened to you here. Appropriate cover stories have been prepared for each of you to explain where you have been for the past week. As far as the world is concerned, this week of testing never happened. If you tell anyone anything different, from today until the day you die, we will know. You will then be discredited as thoroughly as necessary, which you may find an unpleasant procedure.
Second, this is your only chance. If you walk away now, you will never get an opportunity to change your mind. We will not contact you again, or allow you to contact us. We need people committed enough to walk away from their old lives without a second glance. You must make that commitment now, if at all.
Some of you have already made guesses as to our purpose here. Right or wrong, we know who you are. We hope those of you who are right will join us, as you have shown uncommon deductive ability, even among these few.
Once again, gentlemen and ladies, congratulations. The door behind me will remain unlocked for five minutes. The man in the black suit turned away from the group, opened the plain wooden door at the head of the room, stepped through, and closed it behind him.
Five minutes later
Three men and two women stood at one end of a long hallway. Fluorescent lights hung overhead, while doors and large windowpanes adorned the walls above the institutional-tiled floor. The man in the black suit stood ten feet down the hall, facing them, looking at his watch. He looked up. He smiled.
Ah, wonderful. Come with me. The man in the black suit turned and started walking down the hall. The others followed.
You may call me Mr. Maxwell, said the man in the black suit, or Max, if you prefer the casual approach. This is a law enforcement organization, of sorts. Except no one really has jurisdiction over our patrol zone. Mr. Maxwell paused for one of the recruits to fill the empty space.
One did. What patrol zone is that, Mr. Maxwell? asked the tall blond Canadian man.
An excellent question, Mr. Banks! This field office is responsible for patrolling from 1750 to 2250, Anno Domini.
Pardonnez moi? asked the petite redhead. Those are years you are saying? You are being absurd!
Max stopped in his tracks, tilted his head to one side in thought, and then shrugged. Perhaps, Mademoiselle Richaud. But also accurate. He stopped at one door, opened it, and motioned for the others to go through. After they did, he stepped in behind them and closed the door again. If youll look to the front of the room.
The entire long wall of the room faded from off-white to black. Two lines appeared on it, one bisecting the wall horizontally and the other doing the same vertically. The vertical line was yellow. The horizontal line was red to the left of the vertical line, and green to its right.
This, Max said, pointing to the wall, is history. The red is the past, and the green is the future. The yellow line marks right now, the present. Numbers faded into view above the horizontal line, which those assembled quickly recognized as being the hours of the day. Each hour was about half a meter long. As you can see, its a straight line from past to future, with no breaks, branches, or loops. Thats the way we like it. Of course, this is just today. Heres this year.
At his word, the hour markings fell into each other atop the line, chased by dates. As they did, the horizontal line sprouted offshoots both above and below, in both the red and green sections.
These branches are the result of alternate outcomes of major historical events, for certain definitions of major. For instance, here on June 9th, an airplane might crash in Colorado, killing 147 people. Those deaths will be very important to the families, friends and business associates of the victims. Also, the airline will have to adjust for the loss of one of its planes, et cetera. If we mark this line for tracing, he continued, touching the line with his finger, turning it purple, we can pull back and see how much of an effect it will have overall.
The image on the wall contracted again, becoming a skein of twisting, crossing lines, until the entirety of the purple line could be seen. See, it remains a separate timeline for about a hundred years before rejoining our main timeline here, in 2106. By that time, it wont matter one way or the other whether that plane crashed or not.
The black guy asked, in his British accent, Are you suggesting that you know the future, that you can somehow detect events before they occur?
Of course not. That would be silly.
Then where do you supposedly get this information?
"2107. By then, this plane crash will be history. Or not. Thats my point.
Youre suggesting communication with a future time period, which is, of course, impossible.
Of course it is, Mr. Maxwell agreed. But it wont always be. Trans-chronic communication will be developed in the year 12492, by the current reckoning.
Sure it was. Will be. Whatever. Next youll be telling us they worked out how to send people in 20000 AD.
No, Im afraid not, Mr. Maxwell said, shaking his head sadly. Unfortunately, it really is physically impossible to send a living being through time. Inanimate objects, sure, but no living people. Or cats, dinosaurs, or virii, in case you were wondering.
However, I am talking about time travel. The organization you have just joined is dedicated to patrolling the timelines and making sure, among other things, that the proper future comes to pass.
The proper future? Mme. Richaud asked.
The future in which our version of time travel was developed and our organization created. Its a parochial goal, I admit. Self-preservation at its finest. Still, if we cease to exist, we cant do any of our other good work reducing suffering and whatnot.
Youre all taking this very well, by the way. Usually by now we have one person refuse to believe what Im telling him and demand to be allowed to leave. Thats never fun to deal with. But you folks have either accepted the truth of it, or decided that this is another test and that Ill get to the real story in a little while. Those are both very good reactions. Those of you who think this is a test, congratulate yourselves.
Two of the recruits breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Everything Ive said is true, but I wanted you to relax, because this isnt the hard part.
What is the hard part? asked the other woman, an attractive Latina.
Maxwell held up a finger. Well get to it, Miss Lopez. As I was saying, we keep watch over events to make sure the history that actually takes place does not disallow our future from happening. Luckily, with ten thousand years to play with, we have some wiggle room.
Unfortunately, there are some other groups, from other timelines, who have developed time travel independently from us, and they have their own histories to write. Sometimes we can work together, but were usually competing against one another.
So far, were doing okay. Weve got well over a thirty-five percent chance of our history coming to pass. Considering the number of alternatives, thats not bad. Id show you on the map, but it all blurs into a block of green at that distance.
For a long time, our worst foes were the lizardmen. We finally got rid of them by causing the mass extinction of their primitive ancestors before they ever evolved. Mammals were able to fill in all their ecological niches before they had a chance to re-evolve.
Thats barbaric! said the British accent.
Its not like they werent trying to do the same thing to us. We were lucky to be able to shunt most of their attack away from Siberia in 1906. Admittedly, the Greys helped us with that one.
Greys? someone asked.
Greys. Aliens. Short guys. Big heads. Black eyes. Youve heard of them. They dont formally make contact with humanity for a millennium yet, but they like the way humans run things, so they gave us a hand. Just dont call them Greys to their faces. They hate that.
So, theres time travel, and theres aliens, Mr. Banks summarized.
"Now youre catching on, Mr. Banks, Maxwell agreed with a smile.
Banks continued, Cool. But, if you cant send people through time as long as theyre alive, how do you do anything? Do you just set up offices like this and send them warnings from the future about things to avert?
Maxwell nodded. Mostly, yes. We send back the equipment, and historical details, and whatever else is needed to set up a field office and deal with whatever they can. Of course, the need for roving agents able to go to the moment of trouble and act when and in a way no one else can is something that often comes in handy.
So, what, then? Banks asked. Time traveling robots?
Not quite, Maxwell replied. Silently, the side wall of the room slid open. Half a dozen men in black suits stepped noiselessly through the opening, which sealed itself behind them. Each was equally tall, with the same color and cut of hair. They moved to stand beside each of the recruits before any of them could register what was happening.
As the time-duplicates of Mr. Maxwell sank their fangs into the necks of his new recruits, the one at the front of the room said quietly, No, Mr. Banks, not robots. People can travel through time. Only living people cannot. Luckily, we have found an alternative. Oh, and Ms. Lopez? This is the hard part.
Between the screaming and the slurping, they didnt hear him.
� Read Less
September 20, 2003
History Lesson
We finally developed a workable faster than light propulsion system in 2158. It wasnt easy, let me tell you.
I guess it started in 2037, when the United States put the first permanent outpost on the moon. Population was increasing faster than technology was able to keep feeding everyone, so they had to do something. It was mostly a research lab to discover what was needed to live off world for extended periods of time. They didnt talk much about the zero-point energy experiments at the time; it was all about saving the human race.
In 2046, the Eurasian Hegemony leapfrogged the westerlings and started settling Mars while the westies were still building the Lagrange stations.
The explosion happened in 2055. Shattered the moon, rained debris down on the mother planet, and destabilized the Lagrange points. Millions died in the first week, and hundreds of millions more in the months following. Earths sky was overcast for 8 years. It took five decades to really recover from that catastrophe.
Of course, it wasnt all bad news. The investigation proved that the explosion was the result of an unexpectedly successful experiment in the energy lab. Because of it, the existence of the tachyon was finally proven and its properties determined, which led to the theories that eventually culminated with our FTL engines.
But it wasnt that simple. The colonists on Mars and the Galilean moons of Jupiter saw Earths weakness as an opportunity and started the First Interplanetary War in 2057. The colonists wanted independence. The home team wanted, no needed, the resources from off world to survive. Neither side was willing to budge.
War in space is tricky, but were an adaptable bunch of monkeys. Both sides cranked out ships, developed weapons, and devised defenses against them. The debris cloud around Earth kept a lot of the war outside of its orbit. But dont ever let anyone tell you asteroid bombs arent damned effective in certain situations.
Anyway, the wars eventually ended, all the old ways were overturned, the dead mourned and buried. In 2119, it was announced that the last theoretical hurdles had been overcome, and that it should be possible to build and pilot a ship faster than the speed of light, and thats pretty damn fast, believe you me.
So, the race to do it first began. Governments and corporations financed huge development programs. Some, less scrupulous than others, took shortcuts just so they could say they were the first to achieve what hadnt even been though possible a hundred years earlier.
There were accidents. Venus had only been habitable for 7 years when the Sirocco went wrong in 2130 and converted its atmosphere to plasma. Heres a hint; never do that. Three million dead. Io got knocked out of orbit in 2144 by a gravity surge caused by an engine test that never should have been allowed to happen. It dipped too close to Jupiter and the whole planet was lethally irradiated. Yanked Ganymede along for a ride in the process, screwing up what had been the start of quite a lovely ecology. The Medeans survived, but the joints never been the same.
So, along came 2158, when they finally got the bugs worked out. The test ships started coming back, the test pilots stopped getting turned inside out, and the tricks to navigating when you cant see whats in front of you until its behind you were solved. With great fanfare and celebrations across the entire solar system, and more than a little somber remembrance, our first interstellar exploratory vessel, the Argo, got launched into the void with a handpicked crew of the best and brightest among us.
Almost immediately, the Argo was intercepted by what can only be called a flying saucer. The little green men inside explained that their kind had been watching the progress of the human race for the last 300 years. With the successful launching of the Argo, we finally proved that we were advanced enough to merit an invitation to join the interstellar community and send a representative to the Star League.
They were impressed by our tenacity in the face of adversity, and revealed that they had in fact been pulling for us. They had cringed with every mistake, counted every death in our struggle to reach the stars. When others in the Council of Observers had written us off as too fragile and accident-prone to survive, they spoke on our behalf, reminding the others that the path was never easy
While we still had a long way to go before we would be considered civilized, and a great many scientific advances to make before we could step out into the galaxy-at-large as anything more than curiosities, membership in the League would provide protection, both against hostile forces and the contaminating influences of alien cultures. By following their rules, they would also ensure that we didnt inadvertently spread our barbaric tendencies to other alien planets that had yet to develop sufficiently, just as we had been protected.
The Argo returned home and told of this historic news. We immediately declared war. Beat the bastards, too.
All right, breaks over. Lets go over this again. The black stuff is charcoal, sulfurs yellow, and the white is ammonium nitrate, generously donated by your local avian population. First, you grind the charcoal andthats rightjust like that. Not too much. Good! At this rate, well have you people airborne within a decade.
August 07, 2003
If I Only Had a Camera
FADE IN:
EXT JUNGLE DAY
BETTY, an attractive brunette wearing a khaki safari outfit, kneels in front of a makeshift fire and pours herslf a cup of coffee from the percolator. She hums tunelessly to herself while the voices of two men can be heard talking excitedly yet indistinctly from one of the two tents behind her.
CUT TO:
JUNGLE JIM, a muscular young man wearing only a loincloth and a knife at his side, sits perched on a high tree branch, surveying his surroundings. He hears Betty?s humming and swings down to a lower branch to investigate.
CUT TO:
(from Jungle Jim?s perspective) Jim looks down at the unaware Betty as she walks over to a nearby fallen log to sit down. Zoom in from a wide shot to a close-up of Betty. Suddenly, Betty turns when she hears the growl of a ferocious LEOPARD. Betty screams.
BETTY: Aaaaahhhhhh!
Jungle Jim snaps back to attention and spots the leopard. He starts moving through the branches with the intention of jumping down and fighting off the cat.
TREVOR (o.s.): Betty? What?s wrong?
BETTY: Aaaahhhh!
TREVOR steps out of one of the tents. He?s handsome, well-bred, but not overly muscled, and is also wearing a standard safari outfit. On his right hip he wears a pistol. Following Trevor is PROFESSOR WAINWRIGHT, and old man with white hair, bald on top, wearing round wire-framed glasses, and a white suit.
WAINWRIGHT: What is the matter, my dear?
Betty points toward the oncoming leopard.
BETTY: Aaaahhhh!
Trevor pulls his pistol from its holster and fires a shot into the air, scaring off the leopard. Betty leaps up and hugs Trevor tight.
BETTY: Oh, Trevor!
TREVOR: It?s all right now, Betty. That?s one cat who won?t be coming around here again anytime soon. Why don?t you come into the tent and lie down for a while?
Trevor guides Betty through the tent flap. Trevor puts a hand on Wainwright?s chest to prevent him from following.
TREVOR: Hey, Professor?.
WAINWRIGHT: Hmm? Oh! Yes, of course. I?ll go?study the runes some more.
Trevor smiles his 100-watt smile, pats Wainwright on the shoulder, and heads into the tent. Wainwright stands there a moment, unsure what to do with himself. Eventually, he wanders off.
Suddenly, the body of Jungle Jim falls out of a tree and hits the ground hard, obviously dead from a gunshot. The leopard comes along, grabs Jim?s foot, and drags him away.
BETTY (o.s.) (lustfully): Oh, Trevor!
FADE OUT.
END OF SCENE
March 22, 2003
My Perspective
Once upon a time, two giants stared at each other from the far ends of the Earth, with blackest hate gleaming in their eyes, each wanting nothing more than to stomp over there and beat the other one bloody. They both knew that if they ever went ahead and did it, they would probably wind up killing not only themselves and each other but also all the other folks that had chosen up sides and gathered around the two of them. Eventually, one of them died of natural causes, leaving the other giant alone with the title of He With The Biggest Club. Satisfied, he turned away and tried to go sit off by himself and figure out what to do with himself now.
But the others wouldn't leave him alone. They resented knowing that one giant remained, and that they could never be the biggest or strongest as long as he was still around. Some tried to band together, standing on each other's shoulders and shouting with many voices, "Look at me! I'm as big as you!" Others kicked him in the shins, spat in his face, and sneered, "You ain't so tough." The giant could have knocked down the pyramid or swatted away the bothersome annoyances, but he was oh, so very tired, and he wanted to see the others grow so that he might have friends who were his equals, and perhaps take on some of the responsibilities he had been shouldering for so very long.
So, he paid them as little attention as he could manage, which seemed only to infuriate the pyramid-builders. They didn't want to be ignored. They wanted the giant to admit that they had as much power as he did. Failing to receive such validation, they took it upon themselves to use what power they did have to make life as difficult for the giant as they could manage. The giant smiled weakly and continued to try to ignore them, instead focusing on other, personal matters.
Meanwhile, the same lack of attention emboldened the shin-kickers. They started kicking harder, at more and more sensitive areas, and watched the giant flinch and brush off the attack, then move on. This led them to believe they could do anything they wanted to the giant, look tough to their friends, and intimidate their enemies, without risking any serious consequences. Occasionally, they kicked too hard, or in a particularly sensitive spot, and the giant smacked them as if swatting a mosquito. However, the giant never bothered to work out where the mosquitos were coming from.
A few times, reluctantly and with great trepidation, the giant listened to the pleas for help from some of those who were being attacked by their neighbors and stepped in to put a stop to it. He did this not out of any personal stake, but because something needed to be done and he was best qualified to do it. He would have preferred that the parties involved worked things out among themselves, but that rarely happened. The task done, he turned once again to his own affairs and let the rest of the world go to hell in its own way.
Then, one day, while the giant was napping, some of the lowest echelon of shin-kickers, in the ultimate display of misplaced bravado, walked into the giant's house and hit him where he lived, so to speak. Shocked and furious, the giant looked around at the world he had been ignoring and saw what had flourished in the power vacuum left after the sudden ending of his conflict with his erstwhile foe. He was dismayed, disgusted, and distressed. So much had gone so wrong so quickly. He had saved them. They were supposed to be better than this. Yet all they had thought of to do was to compare themselves to him, and come up short in their own eyes.
The world was broken. There was only one thing to do about it. The giant would have to fix it. Not because he wanted to. Not because it made him feel good. Not because he wanted to take anything away from any of the others or subsume them into himself. Only this: Because somebody had to do it, and he was best qualified. Slowly, heavily, the giant picked up his burden once again and set off to make the world a better place and put an end to those who would tear it down.
And they all hated him for it.
September 23, 2002
I cannot explain what follows.
I cannot explain what follows. The premise occurred to me at lunch today.
***
As I sat in the booth at the diner, awaiting the delivery of my lunch order, I had the sudden sensation that I was nothing more than a figment of someone's imagination, created at that very instant and placed in that situation for reasons unknown to me by forces beyond my comprehension. I quickly, furtively glanced around in every direction for any sign of impending unusual activity. As a writer myself, I knew one of the basic rules of storytelling was to start off as close to the first significant event as possible. So, if something was about to happen, I knew it had to be soon.
Nothing. Oh, crap. I was struck with the terrible realization that I might be the avatar of a hack who doesn't know the first thing about laying out a good tale and intended to use me to work out his own deep-seated psychological issues. Which meant I would be sitting here for the rest of the day and all night, drinking coffee and sinking further into depression over the lost opoortunities of my life until I either (a) committed suicide in the toilet with a steak knife or (b) decided to put the past behind me, walked out into the night with a new sense of purpose and hope, and got stabbed by a mugger.
Well, fuck that.
As suddenly as it came, the feeling passed. It was as if whatever it was, if indeed it had ever been anything, lost interest or decided I was too much trouble to deal with. The waitress arrived with the blue plate special and refilled my coffee cup. Nothing much else happened.
May 12, 2002
Like Rabbits
Begone from My garden, o ungrateful ones! bellowed God.
Why, o Lord? replied Adam. What have we done to displease You?
You have partaken of the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. I expressly forbade you from doing so. It is for this reason that I cast you out of My garden.
Adam looked sheepish, which was a tough thing to do before the invention of sheep. Please forgive us, o Lord! he begged. We will never do it again, I swear to You. Adam fell to his knees and clasped his hands together just under his well-sculpted chin. Right about then, Eve came walking out of the underbrush carrying some nice fig leaves she wanted Adam to try on. She had naturally heard half the conversation Adam was having and had hurried back to his side to find out what was going on. She saw Adam debasing himself on the ground and had to speak up.
Um, excuse me, God?
What is it, My thankless child, who would not follow the one simple rule I set for you?
Well, I dont know if it is appropriate for me to say this, but dont You think Youre overreacting a little bit? I mean, all we did was have some fruit. Whats the big deal?
The Big Deal, as you put it, My child, is that by partaking of the Fruit of Knowledge, you have acquired the ability to tell right from wrong. You are no longer the perfect innocents I intended you to be. That is why you must leave this place of perfect peace and enter the world of harsh cruelty. Now go.
Thats what I mean, God, Eve cut in. Before we ate those stupid apples, we didnt know right from wrong from a hole in the ground, right?
Y-yes, God replied hesitantly. He didnt like where Eve seemed to be leading. Adam unclasped his hands, stood, and looked at Eve with confusion and a little fear.
Okay, so if we didnt know right from wrong, then we couldnt know that doing what You told us to do was right and that not to was wrong. Therefore, I cant see how you can hold us accountable for our actions while in such a mental state.
Adam stage-whispered to Eve, Eve, what are you doing? Trying to get us uncreated? Hes ticked off enough already.
Im just trying to follow a line of reasoning, Adam dear. What else is there to do around here? Eve turned away from Adam and continued. If You think about it, God, this was pretty much inevitable given the situation. I mean, here the two of us are, all of our physical needs are taken care of. We dont have to worry about food, or shelter, or being attacked or anything. We were bound to start sticking our noses in places they didnt belong eventually. Theres not all that much else to do. If we had known that doing what You said was the right thing to do all the time under any circumstances, I mean really known it in our guts the way we do now, we never would have disobeyed You.
Basically, we werent fit to make those sorts of decisions, and we werent being properly supervised. Therefore, this isnt our fault. Therefore, I think Youre overreacting by kicking us out of Eden.
God and Adam were struck silent. God recovered first. Adam, go to some other area of Eden for a while. I command it. I will tell you when you may return.
Yes, Lord, answered Adam, and walked off into the woods out of sight, wondering if he would ever see his beloved wife again.
The perpetually-blooming trees scattered the suns light over the clearing where Eve now stood alone. That light stirred, then rose off the ground to coalesce into a roughly humanoid form. Eve could look at it only with difficulty. Then the light spoke with Gods voice.
Okay, Eve. Adam cant hear Me now. Lets make a deal. Eve was unsurprised to find she was not afraid of the apparition. You figured me out, plain and simple. I put you here knowing that someday, when you were ready to strike out on your own, you two would defy Me and eat the fruit. In doing so, your personalities would be altered so that you could live without My continual presence. Then I would force you to leave this nest somehow. I thought My being angered would work. I must have missed a decimal place somewhere.
Whats a decimal place?
God waved the question away. Youll find out eventually. The long and the short of it is, you cant stay here anymore. Im tearing down this whole area first thing next week to make room for Assyria. Youve got to be out before then.
I understand, God. But I dont think Adam will. He loves it here. Hell do what you say, but I dont think hell really see Your reasons.
God sat down on a conveniently placed boulder and stared at his feet. He sighed. That boys about as smart as yak-hide full of rocks, all right. Its what I get for using substandard materials, I suppose. The God-apparition started. Sorry. Talking to Myself. Occupational hazard. Anyway, thats why I cooked up the whole forbidden fruit thing. He doesnt need to know the real reason, just one that sounds good. Heres what Im offering. If you help Me get Adam out of Eden by going along with Me on this banishment deal, Ill give you a little help developing the technology youll need to survive. It wont be much, because I dont want to upset the balances Ive set up, but I think a little hint in the area of mathematics would be okay.
Whats mathematics? Eve asked.
It helps you figure things out by counting them. If you count them incorrectly, you figure things out wrong, and that will cause no end of problems for you and your people. Im going to teach you an easier way to count things by grouping them together and then counting the groups. But Ill only do it if you help Me. Do we have a deal?
Yes, God.
Okay, pay attention. Suppose you have eight people gathering fruit, and each person comes back with six fruits. . . .
And so it came to pass that God banished Adam and Eve from Eden to live among the savage beasts that roamed the Earth. Adam and Eve ran crying and wailing ahead of Gods disembodied voice, which chased them to the edge of the Garden itself. In the last moment before they left His protection and were eternally cut off from His voice, He reminded Eve once more of what He had taught her, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply.