Metal Skin

Metal Skin

                A heart of gold pumps within his metal skin. He sits high atop his robotic steed, plotting his course. The sun is rapidly setting along the silver horizon. It will be seven hours before the second sun rises, enough time for sleep. Within his cyborg, steel and flesh, brain he thinks to himself:

                “Not weary enough for sleep, but I must. Can’t stop thinking about him, that quivering creep, stabbed him in the back like a coward. I seek vengeance, my blade will let spill his red life blood.”

                The knight stops his horse and dismounts. He ponders his decisions, what choices he has and what he can accomplish. He’s confident in his abilities. He has spent many years training with swords and guns, honing his combat skills. His robotic augmentations further refine his abilities, advancing his human limitations.

                He reflects on his fallen comrade, the hand to the king Sir Grafton. He was assassinated by a revolutionary and the knight knows who that person is. He seeks revenge, the assassin will soon perish. At least he thinks he knows who it is. He got wind of the attack from a trusted ally who resides at the king’s castle. An email was sent to him describing what happened from his reliable source. The witness was hiding behind a curtain when he saw the assassination. The cloaked figure performing the horrid deed was identified based on his metal arm, showing underneath his robe.

                The cyborg knight will reach the castle walls in two days, that gives him time to train and to track down the assassin. He spends his mornings composing lengthy emails to his contact, wireless signals transmitted from satellites to the contact’s tablet PC. He wants to know everything he can about his enemy, where he goes during the day, his habits, everything he needs to be well prepared for his confrontation.

                He can see the castle walls in the distance; he is within half a mile, the robotic steed plots along, requiring oil and gasoline occasionally. By now the cyborg knight knows that the assassin should be preparing for a speech in his royal quarters. He can sneak in and eliminate the wretched being. He made it through security by flashing a phony badge of a long deceased diplomat. He dismounts and ties his steed to a nearby hitching post.

                He stealthy makes his way to the royal quarters, once again showing his badge.

                The assassin is startled as the cyborg busts in the door. The assassin is quick and draws his sword, as does the cyborg. They engage in a fight to the death, swords clashing and sending sparks flying. Tables and chairs are kicked aside. The assassin is a great fighter; he is more than a match for the cyborg. His sword slices the cyborg’s human flesh, but he is unfazed by the wound. His sense of revenge sends him into a violent rage. He attacks with reckless abandon, but he is careless. He leaves his neck unprotected. The assassin sees this weakness and attacks with a deft swing of his sword, cutting the cyborgs neck open, blood sprays out. The cyborg collapses, his emergency programs boot. His heart of gold pumps out life support chemicals.

                The assassin turns his back on the dying cyborg, confidant that his enemy has perished. But he is wrong. The cyborg slowly rises to his feet and thrusts his sword, stabbing the assassin in the back. “Just like how you killed my friend, with a cowardly stab in the back.” The assassin bleeds to death, Sir Grafton’s murder has been avenged.  

It's All About Perspective

It’s All About Perspective

                The salamander slept soundly under the decomposing log. His body expanded with each breath filling his tiny lungs with oxygen. He exhales through his nostrils and skin, the permeable surrounding skin also breathes. His home is a swamp on an undiscovered planet. The wet lands are home to a huge assortment of creatures, massive frogs and toads, painted and snapping turtles, the solitary moose and her younglings. The young moose eat swamp cabbage while fanning away the ever present fly. This planet is much like Earth, it has similar plants and animals although it is not necessarily a planet. It does not belong to a solar system, it’s not even part of the universe, it just is what it is, an ever expanding plane that lies within a laboratory experiment.

                The pseudo planet lives in a small petri dish within a government funded research lab. The scientists are pleased with their work; they have successfully created a multi organism supporting eco system, much like a Winogradsky column.

                One of the scientists turns to the other: “this experiment always leads me to the same incomprehensible question. If we have successfully created a self sustaining eco system then who created us? Are we also an experiment in some lab?”

                The other scientist turns around abruptly and responds: “We’ve gone over this; we are Torgones who evolved from Tigones. Nobody created us, we just came into existence billions of years ago as single celled organisms who evolved from macromolecules. It’s all about evolution. That’s how our plane came to be.”

                The scientist was partially correct, his species of bipedal organisms evolved from a different species who in turn evolved from a different, simpler, organism. But what he doesn’t know, or may never know, is that the plane he’s living on is the originator, the original side of the cube of life. Crystals take the form of seven different structures: cubic or isometric, tetragonal, orthorhombic, hexagonal, trigonal, triclinic and monoclinic. For this structure of life there evolved five other planes and they joined together to form a cube, floating in space. Prior to the evolution of the other five sides the original plane was just like a sheet of paper floating in space.

                Little did the scientist know, they created a universe within the plane they created, in the petri dish, under fluorescent laboratory lights. The salamander resting comfortably under a log contains a solar system within his left eye. Light bounces around within his photoreceptor cells to create shooting stars. Making up the solar system is of course a sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. The very planets we were taught in school. Little did we know that our very existence relies on the continuity of the organism harboring trillions of others. Within that tiny eye there are enumerable chemical reactions going on, lives of trillions of organisms, along with weather patterns and traffic patterns. We may think our solar system is vast, but it all comes down to perspective. The scale of life as we know it may seem huge to us, but it’s very tiny to something else.

                Life all began on that plane in space, a flat surface floating delicately. But how did the plane come to be? We may never know that mystery.     

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……