Happiness

Happiness

                “We’ve tested the new memory replacement technology and it works!” The researcher said to his  associate. “Now adults can come into our clinic and sit down at the operating table. This device (he pointed to a machine at the foot of the operating table) can be attached to the patient’s brain and send in artificial but happy memories of a childhood previously viewed as traumatic by the patient. With the help of a government grant the first one hundred patients are free. We will be a charitable lab, well at least for the first one hundred. But even after that we shouldn’t need to charge much for the procedure, it’s relatively simple, the instrument has already been paid for.” Said the researcher.

                A woman woke up on an operating table and looked around. Behind her was a strange, tall instrument with lots of wires and tubes coming off of it. She looked around the room and didn’t see anyone else.

                “Where am I?” She said as she stumbled to her feet. She left the room, then the building. No one came to tell her why she was there, or what happened to her.

                A few days later she received a letter in the mail instructing her to return to the facility for a follow up appointment. “Memory replacement department?” She asked herself as she read the letter. “That’s where I must have gone earlier this week.” The woman recalled the procedure and her treatment. “I do remember volunteering for it but I didn’t realize it would leave me with amnesia and a constant feeling of longing and bewilderment about my past.” The procedure replaced her traumatic childhood memories with generic, happy memories. The only problem was the generic memories seemed too fake. They were memories like riding a bike for the first time with her parents, but her parents faces were blurred out. In fact, every interaction with her parents had their faces blurred out. “What good are happy memories when they aren’t yours?” There was one bonus, however, her post traumatic stress disorder was gone. She was no longer depressed too. She went back to the facility later that day. She waited in the room on the operating table which she laid down on earlier that week. In came a man in a white coat and glasses.

                “Before you say anything, I want my memories back, even the bad ones. They make me feel like myself. I can deal with them now, I’ve had therapy and am prescribed wonderful little pills to help me with my symptoms.” She pleaded to the researcher.         

“I’m sorry miss, but it’s not that simple. When you signed the contract you gave us permission to replace your old memories. Everything horrible from your childhood would be replaced with good, wholesome memories. You agreed to this. There is no way to get those memories back. They are gone forever.” Said the researcher.

                “You must find a way to give them back. My life feels like one big simulation now. I can’t go on with these generic memories. They don’t feel like reality. Please find a way to give them back. I have the power to deal with them now.” She helplessly pleaded.

                “Hmm, maybe we could reverse the procedure. We’ll do our best to return the memories to you. You will have your life back.” Said the researcher.   

The Creator

The Creator

                I swing my arm to the right, mountains form. I swing my arm to the left, rivers flow. This is my life, the job of the creator. I stand atop of a celestial fortress the wind is at my knees. My every command creates life and environments, and then I think what is my life? My sole existence is to create the lives of others. Am I just a birthing mother set on this planet to create others? Can I not create my own happiness? Then I determine, I cannot. This is not my job. Maybe I exaggerated a little. I cannot create mountains or rivers.

                I create the plane for which the slug roams. A fertile expanse slimed by the very being. The organic matter under the organism that is coated by it. I wonder, is this my best work? A slug, a pest to the common gardener.

                But I think, this must be my duty in life. I have been assigned the job of the creator, I must fulfill this task. The bat roams in a cave, but what type of cave? Is it damp or dry? Who can I ask these questions? Was I created? If so, by whom? So many questions. They must apparently go unanswered.

                 M y life is boring. I spend my day in a cubicle, the plastic confines that embrace me, give me a hug to support my job. I have a desk mate, Carl. He is loud, but fun. His jokes keep me occupied. I have been working for the same corporation for twenty years and with a rare promotion. I was told my performance was sub par.  The job of a creator was sub par? I had to nod and accept it. I guess the land on which a slug slimes is a sub par terrain. I don’t think so. Everyone of our creations is sacred in their own way. At least that’s what I think. Carl, with a less intelligent thought tells me what I do is “dope.” At least I know I have some conviction, Carl approves.

                The company is called Landtech, we specialize in all the correct fixings for organisms surviving in today’s environment. Yes, quite broad I know. I am a Creator I, the base level creator. The CEO is an advanced mammal creator on top of other financial responsibilities for the corporation. He creates the personalities of humans, along with dolphins, primates and, well, any other mammal.

                Carl is a bacterial creator, specialize in Staphylococcus species. His job is easy, the bastard gets to cruise in at 9:30am and spend maybe two hours a day creating bacteria. I was recently promoted to multicellular creator a month ago. Carl hoots and shouts when he creates a new organism with greater than or equal to 2.8 million base pairs of genomic DNA, when I’m stuck creating organisms with well over that. He doesn’t know how easy he has it, he’s just a Creator, but at least he’s entertaining.

                So I wonder my role, occasionally glancing over to Carl as he’s scanning Wikipedia for results to his who killed John Lennon question. I have to take my job seriously, I’m a creator!   

Diamond in the Rough

Diamond in the Rough

                Center on a dirty alley in the corner of a large metropolis. The year is 3001, the place is New York City, the time is 10:00pm. A man crawls out from under some newspaper and proceeds to head for the bathroom (the corner of the alley) and unzips his fly. He relieves himself and heads back to bed when he sees a bright light in the sky. The light gains in intensity and is heading right for the man. He runs and hides under some boxes. The closer the light comes to him, the better he is able to make out the shape. It’s a space craft, although not what the man is used to seeing. He knows the shape and colors of a sky cruiser, or even a frigate, but this one is unusual. The ship turns on it’s side to navigate the alley. The man watches from the boxes, he is trembling. Directly in front of him two beings materialize. They are unusually tall and dressed in flowing robes. Their heads are long and cylindrical, resting on top of skinny frames. Their eyes are huge and they don’t seem to blink.

                One walks to the man and shines a bright light on him. He then awakens in the unusual space craft, monitors and controls all around him. It’s very hot in here, the man thinks as he starts to perspire. He can now clearly see the two creatures. They are alien! He’s been abducted! He runs for what appears to be the door but can’t seem to open it. The aliens sit the man down and start talking through a translator.

                “We’ve been looking all over the galaxy for you. Do you know why we’re here?” Asks the alien.

                “Does it involve anal probes?” Asks the man.

                “Haha, no. We’ve long abandoned that form of data collection.” Said the alien.

                “You better talk quick, because I don’t like the way this looks.” The man says as his voice trembles. He appears to be strong but is afraid on the inside.

                “We’ve come here to bring you to the Royal Throne World. You are the emperor of the galaxy.” The alien says as he gesticulates with finesse.

                “This can’t be right. Me, a bum, the emperor of the galaxy? I think you got the wrong guy.” Said the man.

                “No, you are the reincarnated emperor of the galaxy, this is your destiny.” The alien said.

                The man thinks this over, he begins to laugh. Maybe they’re right, maybe this is my destiny. Growing up I was always told to work harder. I have the potential, I just didn’t put in the effort. This could be my big break. Emperor! That most likely means I’ll be rich. When have you heard of a poor emperor?  

                “Good, now you’re beginning to see. We’ve waited a long time for you. Your throne is ready. We shall set course for the Royal Throne World. It will take a month to reach it at light speed.” Said the alien.

De-Evolution

De-Evolution

                The scientist peered over his data as he prepared the last sample. The multicell organism was wiggling on the slide as he pushed it into the machine. This project has been consuming most of the scientist’s time for the past five years. In six minutes the sample will be complete and he’ll read the results. Time slowly passed as he watched the monitor. Finally..something amazing happened.

                The slide was ejected from the instrument and was not wiggling, in fact it was quite stationary. He excitedly moved it over to the microscope and prepared a Gram stain. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked through the microscope. “It’s bacteria!” He shouted. “The organism devolved. The instrument is a success.”

                Two years later the scientist patented the instrument and sold them for millions of dollars to top research laboratories. The applications were nearly limitless. Pharmaceutical companies used it to deconstruct molecules to find the building blocks of different drugs. Archeologists used it discover ancestors of fossil remains. However, the most controversial application was with the Alus research lab.

                In a brightly lit laboratory three scientist gather around a test sample which turned out to be a human! No one has tried this before. What would happen if a human is subjected to the de-evolution instrument? They will soon find out.

                The test subject, a fellow scientist, stepped into the transfer booth. The meter was set to 251,000 years previous, which means the human line of evolution 251,000 years previous. This would predate Homo sapiens and would approach Homo heidelbergensis. The door was shut and the machine engaged. A powerful laser shined within the booth and caused the subject to shield his eyes. Six minutes later he stepped out, still wearing the same clothes, but that was the only identifying feature.

                His skull was noticeably smaller and his jaw was more pronounced. The scientists tried communicating with him but he didn’t appear to understand them. So it began, the long and laborious task of studying the subject. For years they taught him sign language. He performed well in the cognition tests but poorly in math.

                Then one day he signed to the scientists: “Will I ever go back to my previous life? Is this it for me, a mere lab rat, constantly being tested on?” The scientists didn’t know what to do, they couldn’t simply set the instrument to the future, it didn’t have those functions.

                The scientists worked hard to develop an evolution chamber. They toiled for months, contacting the scientist who invented the de-evolution machine for suggestions, but he couldn’t provide any. The test subject, nicknamed Man 1, lived in a cell in the lab and ate whatever the scientists fed him. The test subject did provide valuable data. He could communicate with the scientist and tell them what he was thinking. The studies were a valuable entry into knowledge about human kind. His anatomy was studied, x-rays were taken, all in the name of science. The scientists who performed these studies were given the Nobel prize. But at the same time they felt guilty. They ruined the life of one of their fellow scientists. If only there was a way to bring him back……      

A Perfect Match

A Perfect Match

                Two powerful factions in the known universe have engaged in a brutal war. Ships from their respective planets came together at the battle of Skrin, Nexus and Hollis. The Greens lost the conflict at Skrin, but came back with a surprising victory at Nexus (the halfway point between the Green’s planet of Maxen and the Yellow’s planet of Valis). Green fighter jets accelerated out of their carrier and overtook the slower Yellow wasp ships. The tactic of burst attacks against a slower, but stronger, enemy is still being taught at the Green academy some fifty years later.

                The most impressive story came from a small battle, a dogfight, between two small, light ships. Their pilots, each with more than ten years of flying experience under their belts.

                “This guys toast.” The man said as he brought the ship into his cross hairs. Then, suddenly the target ship bolted to the right. “Bastard, he’s good.” The pilot said as he tried to realign the ship into his target.  Suddenly the pilot had an intense flashback to his childhood, opening a present on his birthday, looking up to his parents who each had a big smile on their faces. “Why am I thinking about this now? I should be focused on my objective.”

                The enemy ship circled around and soon had the man’s ship in his cross hairs. He fired two photon shots, one nicked the man’s wing. “How do you like that?” Said the enemy.

                “How did I let him hit me? I’m getting careless.”  Suddenly the man did a barrel roll and tried to fly to the rear of the enemy ship, but he couldn’t. He had another flashback to when he was playing with a little boy, who remarkably looked a lot like himself. They were playing laser tag. At the end of a round they compared hits, five and five, perfectly even, perfectly matched.

                The enemy stayed on his six but each shot was a miss. The man successfully circled around and fired two shots, one missed the other nicked the enemy’s wing. They were then in a fight to see who could tail the other, but each maneuvered brilliantly. The enemy had a flashback. He remembered playing laser tag with a friend, or maybe a brother, he couldn’t remember, they were very young. Then he remembered something. His parents separated when he was five years old. His father left with his brother. “That’s right, my twin brother! I remember something about him growing up on Valis, while I stayed home on Maxen. Maybe, no, surely this is him. He makes all the same maneuvers as I. Who else could fly a ship like that? I’m sure there are others, but I have a strange sense. Something is telling me that this is him.”

                The man flew around and was yet again at the enemy’s rear. But he didn’t fire any shots. “Brother..It’s you. I finally found you.” He came to the same realization as his supposed enemy. They both sat idling, each one refusing to harm the other.

                If only this was the way most battles ended, one man looking at another with brotherly love, refusing to harm him because he sees himself in the other’s eyes. People will always fight, but for one instance in time, there were two men who realized something amazing and refused to follow through with their objectives. These decisions saved a man’s life that day.