Ghenghis Smith – A Short Sci-fi story

Posted on by Opher

I woke up this morning with this in my head.

Ghenghis Smith

I was trying to catch the game. We were approaching the graviball playoffs and the Zoomers were in with a chance.

I sipped my basic stim, tasted crap but it did the job. My tridee package only provided highlights and the adverts, always coming at a crucial point, did my head in.

‘Try our affordable luxopexis,’ the syrupy voice of a tempting siren simpered in my head. ‘Equipped with the latest antigrav and massalax. Guaranteed to give you thousands of hours of comfort and pleasure. Our affordable credit terms…..’

I tried to blot it out squirming around in my worn-out pexi. No antigrav or massalax on this ancient model. Even the padding had been squished into nonexistence. There was no way I could afford any bloody plan. The match had been interrupted with a constant stream of adverts all offering just what I needed with an affordable plan. ‘Get the latest superservo and enjoy luxury meals….. Upgrade your stim package…….Take a trip to Terra 3 and enjoy….’ They knew exactly what you desired. But then I knew that. Why wouldn’t they? They were plugged into my cortex. They knew more about me than I did. All they fucking did was raise my level of discontent.

I felt the biomed unit kick in. I was getting agitated. I felt the calming drugs flood through my system instantly reducing my stress levels. They did nothing for that inner core of dissatisfaction though, did they? Fucking biomed unit! ‘Your sugar levels have been raised by the stim,’ the reassuring voice in my head assumed the calming tone of a medic as Billy informed me of my medical condition. ‘I have released insulin to correct the situation. I would remind you that a pancreatic implant is available at very affordable rates.’

I cursed my mother. She’d had the biomed unit implanted as a birthday present. Thought she was doing me a big favour. Now I had yet another bloody voice going off in my head all day long. Why hadn’t she upped my sports package? At least I could have watched the whole match without all those fucking adverts. That would have done my health the world of good. Or given me a better stim package, a better servo. The stim would have tasted great and I could have enjoyed my food. What about a new luxiopexi? No. A fucking biomed unit! Another voice reminding me of all the things going wrong in my body that I couldn’t afford to fix.

With all the irritation I could muster, without sending the biomed unit into overdrive, I downed the remaining stim, grimaced and flicked off the tridee. The Zoomers were losing heavily anyway. I could see where this was heading. Grumpily I was heading out. The portal stuttered open. I glared at it as I strode through. ‘Technical maintenance has been informed,’ Billy assured me. I glowered as I headed for the pedways. That’s all I needed; a maintenance cost to add to my debt. The robotech passed me before I’d even taken ten paces. What could I do? Cancel it?

‘Where are you going?’ Billy asked. ‘So I can inform any callers?’

I studiously ignored him. At least that gave me a little satisfaction. Fucking Billy didn’t know everything about me, after all. Callers? What bloody callers? I had no friends?

I didn’t know where I was heading. I was just heading somewhere. I needed some peace.

I passed the pedways entrance and saw Ghenghis Smith flash up. I always checked. Maybe one day they’d miss me and I’d get a free ride? I knew that was impossible. My chip was infallible.

As if on cue ‘You have forty thousand pedways miles left in your package, seven droptubes and one jumptube,’ Billy informed me. I thought he sounded sullen because I’d ignored him, but that wasn’t possible, was it? I was doing some mental arithmetic. I had six months to go. Forty thousand still gave me a bit of range. Seven drop tubes meant I could at least head up two hundred strata to the surface once a month. That gave me some comfort. To feel the sun on your face. They had a park up there. I could walk among real trees and plants. They even had some animals, though I wasn’t sure about them. They could be synths. There was no way of telling. It only cost a few creds. I budgeted for that. I needed it. I was saving the jumptube for a visit to my mum on Nirvana. That was my lifeline.

Since being dumped by Quantum Corps for being too old to handle a Qship through hyperspace I’d been chucked on the scrapheap with a basic pension. Surplus to requirements. Junked at the age of thirty, I ask you?

With no prospects and no hope I was a hopeless case. I needed a miracle or two. The lottery perhaps. Billy read my brainwaves. ‘Good news,’ he announced. ‘You have won a prize on today’s lottery.’ A rush of adrenaline coursed through me. ‘Twenty credits have been deposited in your account.’

Twenty lousy credits! What the hell could I do with that? The elation subsided as quickly as it had risen.

Ahead of me a group of young women were playfully gossiping, teasing each other, giggling and tossing their hair. I watched them enviously as they preened in their latest purpsuits designed to show off their figures tantalisingly – all their fashionable make-up and accoutrements screaming attraction and availability. But not for me. ‘Our latest Eros models have all the smell, taste and feel of the real thing. Guaranteed to fulfil your every need. Complete with aphrodisiac they come in… ‘Shut up Billy, I commanded looking away.

I wasn’t sure yet where I was going but I guess my subconscious was in control. I was heading on the right pedways to take me past Summer’s workplace. The Tridee studios were a mere hundred miles away. And lo and behold it just so happened to be the end of her shift. I might even catch a glimpse of her. Like I had planned it.

‘I would remind you that you have a restraining order,’ Billy informed me officiously. ‘You are not allowed within a hundred metres of Summer and any attempt to communicate with her would result in detainment and this time there would be involuntary adjustment.’

That was alright. I had no intention of talking to Summer, or going near her, not in my present state. She’d hardly be impressed by my shabby basic purpsuit and the current state of the flabby lump of lipoplast that passed for a body. All those finely-toned muscles I used to have when in the corps had dissolved into mush and there was no way I could afford a make-over. No. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe if my luck changed and I could afford the latest body sculpting and a stylish purp she might be impressed.

‘Liporeduction and body sculpting is available from Adonisprod with a very reasonable scheme,’ Billy informed me. ‘The latest purpsuits…’

‘Shut up Billy,’ I muttered peevishly in my head. I had no prospects. Where the hell was I supposed to find that number of credits? Surely they knew that? They knew everything. Why did they keep dangling this stuff in front of me? Wasn’t I in enough debt?

‘Your blood sugar has dropped,’ Billy informed me. ‘Your biomed unit has released glucogon to adjust your level. I would remind you that the pancreatic….’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ I snapped. A number of people near me turned their heads in my direction and I realised I must have said it out loud. Sheepishly I dropped back on the pedway.

We did go past Universal Tridee and it coincided with the employees pouring out on to the pedways at the end of their shift. Studiously I scanned the faces as we flashed past hoping to catch a glimpse. No luck.

Now I had to make a decision. There weren’t many places a man could go for free. I could use a droppie and have a walk on the surface, but I’d done that last week. I tended to save that up. I didn’t want it to become too familiar. That would take the joy away. A man had to have something to look forward to.

Anyway, I had twenty credits burning a hole in my chip. On the spur of the moment I made up my mind. I hit the droptube station and headed down. The bottom stratum was the old city. Abandoned for thousands of years. A bit dangerous and edgy with tales of live vermin and crumbling old buildings. Though I reckon that had all been greatly exaggerated. The nanobots kept it all structurally sound.

For twenty creds I could wander around and search for treasure. Of course, the place had been picked clean but you never knew. There were tales of people stumbling across a find or two, earning a fortune from an unearthed antique. The market was ridiculous. Some of the fat cats out on the rim paid a fortune for a genuine artefact from Terra.

I knew my chances were slim to nothing but I enjoyed delving through the ancient history of the place, smelling the decay and wondering t the primitive lives they must have had before servos, pedways and droptubes. They had it tough. Besides, it shut up Billy and I had a break from that constant stream of ads. I could think.

Hours passed as I drifted further and further into the ancient city. Billy was getting increasingly anxious. Warning me that I hadn’t properly prepared. I hadn’t taken food capsules or fluids with me and there were no servos down here. I wish Billy had a fucking off switch! My biomed unit kept cutting in, informing me that it was struggling to maintain my homeostasis. I ignored them both. Fuck it. I hadn’t been this far before. I wandered through a bunch of derelict old shops. That’s what they did back then. They shopped. I’d read about it. They actually went to designated shops to look at stuff and buy things. Can you imagine that? Seemed crazy to me. But this was the age before robobots. Things weren’t just ordered and delivered. People didn’t just live in simple doms. They lived in big sprawling apartments bursting with stuff; stuff that they bought from shops.

All those apartments and shops had been stripped bare long ago. The spoils snapped up by the millions of fat cats in their floating mansions spread across the thousands of planets making up the system. My chances of finding anything were nil. But that didn’t matter. I just liked standing in those old places and imagining what they might have been like back in their day, teeming with people, full of goods. Occasionally I’d ask Billy to summon up an old image of the place and a scene would pop into my head. I’d stand there transfixed, studying the image in my head and comparing it to the empty scene my eyes were showing me.

Waves of hunger and thirst were welling up. I was beginning to feel weak. I knew I had to be getting back. A panicky feeling cam over me. I knew I was hours away from the droppie. Billy was becoming increasingly insistent and my biomed unit was coming up with a constant stream of requests as it struggled to maintain my equilibrium.

That’s when I discovered the trapdoor down into the cellar that had been hidden under a mouldering old floor covering that the nanobots had given up trying to maintain. It had rotted away to dust and as I stepped through it my toe felt the ring of the latch. Bending down I brushed the dust aside to reveal the snug trapdoor.

The thrill was immense. Could it possibly be? Had nobody else found this? What lay down there? I glanced around me. What sort of shop had this been?

A Day for a Diary

Posted on by Opher

A Day for a Diary

I woke face down on the floor with the pattern of the parquet etched into the side of my cheek. I was feeling a little groggy but a quick line of speed soon sorted that.

There was just time for a cocaine-fuelled orgy with the five hookers who had stayed over from last night’s soiree. For breakfast, we polished off the remaining oysters and beluga caviar washed down with the last of the champagne. That set me up, but just in case, I dropped a tab of acid to put some colour into an otherwise dull December day.

No sooner had I whisked the girls out the door, thanking them for being so inventive, than Johnny Depp arrived. He’d landed the starring role in a biopic of my life and was hoping to get a bit of background and study me for a while so he could get into the role. We shared a spliff or two and were just getting into some serious stuff when Mick and Keith dropped in. They were hoping to adapt a couple of my poems into songs for their new album.

Within minutes the four of us were jamming in the front room. Mick asked me if I fancied replacing Charlie but I declined. Drums weren’t really my thing.

The jam session was broken up when the helicopter landed in the back garden to whisk me off to my agent’s place. Warner Brothers were in a bidding war with Universal over a couple of my Sci-fi novels.

The coke and champers were flowing liberally as both lots of execs tried to court me. The contracts were fairly straightforward. I checked that there were the right number of noughts, then it all came down to the casting. Of course, Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio were slugging it out for a lead role. I’d promised Tika Sumpter and Margot Robbie roles. George Clooney and Kerry Washington had to fit in somewhere and then there was Isabel Lucas and Sharon Leal. Johnny Depp had already been promised which annoyed Robert Downey Jnr. I insisted we had them all and threw in Morgan Freeman as a bonus.

We got it sorted in the end. Warner Brothers came up with the goods.

At the finish of the meeting the acid was beginning to wane so I topped that up with a disco biscuit or two. That perked me up.

By the time I arrived back home I was starving. Fortunately, the confectioners and vintners had arrived with deliveries for this evening’s get-together. I picked at the garlic lobsters and alba truffles while watching Jack White tuning up in the corner. Jack was doing the main set this evening.

My dealer delivered my usual, which was fortunate. I was down to my last spliff or ten.

Tika Sumpter popped in to thank me for the part, the starring role in The Cabal, and Haile Berry turned up. I’d agreed for her to be my partner for the evening. I know, it really would cramp my style but there were fringe benefits.

I sloped off for an hour to tap out a couple of chapters for my new novel and then the action started and Haile and I began dancing the night away.

It’s not easy being Jack Moon.

The trouble with all these days was that they tended to merge into one another – just another dull, dreary Thursday in Yorkshire.

But then, looking ahead, the weekend was looking promising.

South of Easter – a story

Posted on by Opher

South of Easter

Mau Rata sat himself down on the couch to explain the events that had been passed down through time by his ancestors.

‘The first tribe settled on Rapa Nui having crossed over a thousand miles of ocean from East Polynesia. Their safe arrival at land heralded as a gift from the great god Make-make. The gift was perfect – a land of plenty, of water, trees, birds and animals. There were eggs, meat and fruit aplenty. It generated much rejoicing. Life was easy.

Their first Anki insisted they give thanks to Make-make and honour their ancestors by building the Moai. The massive statues were carved from the volcanic rocks in the quarries and many trees were chopped down with which to roll them to their sites of erection. Much hard work and industry was required.

The life of ease was soon replaced by the toil of construction and transport, but Make-make was content and the ancestors were suitably honoured. Life on Rapa Nui was pleasant and the tribe prospered and grew. Many Anki came and went and always there was the pressure to produce more Moai for Make-make required appeasement and there were times when the rainfall was slight, the harvests slim and hunting more difficult.

As time passed the trees began to thin out as more and more were used to transport the huge Moai. With the thinning of the trees the soil began to wash away and the crops could not grow, the bird and animal populations decreased and hunting dried up, but there were still plenty fish in the sea.

More importantly, the water became scare. Without the trees the rain was not retained. Life became progressively harder.

The Anki saw this as the anger of Make-make and urged even greater efforts in the making of Moai. Surely if sufficient effort was put into producing Moai Make-make would be pleased, the rains would return and bring back the birds and wildlife; life would be easy again.

Feverishly they carved the rocks in the quarries and the last trees were felled in order to move them to their sites. On the day when the last tree fell, Hotu Matu’a paused with his stone axe, thought for a moment as he stared over the barren surface of their denuded island, and wondered. It was only a brief pause. Wielding the flint axe to good effect he soon brought the very last tree to earth.

The last Moai was moved to its position but there were no more trees on which to roll more Moai, so many were abandoned in the quarries and further carving was halted.

Now life was hard and cruel. There was no shade from the relentless sun. Water was scarce. There were no crops or fruit, no meat or eggs. There was no wood to build canoes or branches to make spears. Fishing became hard. People starved. There were roving bands of cannibals to hide from.

In disgust they began to topple the statues.’

The Knock

Posted on by Opher

The Knock

Bang Bang Bang!!

There was a loud knock at the door.

Stark. Echoing. Ringing. Enough to rattle the frame.

Instantly awake. Upright. Senses straining. Disbelieving.

According to the bedside clock it was 3.30 a.m.

BANG BANG BANG!!    ‘OPEN UP!’

Wide awake.

We knew what it was.

Could it really be our door?

Surely not.

Why here?

Mind racing.

Were we imagining it?

BANG  BANG BANG!!! OPEN UP!!!

Loud enough to wake the street

Not next door.

Not down the street.

Not the Goldsmiths. Not the Patels. Not Jones the convenor.

Our door!

This door!

Opher – 2.2.2022

The Door In The Wall – a short story

Posted on by Opher

The Door In The Wall

I peeped around the door to find Silas awake, sitting up, eyes wide, features strained as he stared about him in disbelief.

He saw me. Eyes darted, fear flashed, his hands clutched the blankets, knuckles white.

‘Where am I?’ He asked in a rich brogue, eyes imploring.

I came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, patting his hand, smiling. ‘It’s alright Silas,’ I murmured reassuringly, then dropped the bombshell. ‘You have been asleep for three hundred years.’

Silas could not grasp what had happened. Who could? Everything he had known and loved was gone. He had gone to sleep and woken up in a strange land.

I led him slowly through the novelty of his new world, allowing him time to come to terms with everything. He did not speak much, a clipped sentence here and there, but his expression said it all.

That first day was one of amusement as I watched him discover this modern world. I provided him with new clothes that he put on with a look of distaste. The fabrics obviously felt different on his flesh, but he tolerated them. I introduced him to the joys of internal plumbing, of hot water, the luxury of the indoor toilet, terror of a shower. I watched him playing with the taps, amazed at the water that flowed, repeatedly flushing the toilet and shaking his head.

Everything was a wonder; the coloured paint on the walls, the material of the curtains, the windows, doors, fitted carpet, furniture. He examined it all with an intensity that made me realise how much I took for granted.

‘It smells,’ Silas said, scrunching up his nose.

‘Smells?’

‘Chemical,’ he said, shaking his head.

He left me floundering as he turned away to investigate some other discovery – a photograph, a plastic ornament.

That first breakfast he stared in open astonishment at the flames from the hob as the bacon sizzled in the frying pan, kept flicking the lights on and off with childish delight, opening the fridge, touching the ice, taking out the jars and packages, studying the labels. Everything was to be amazed at. I laughed when he jumped as the toaster popped up.

Silas sat at the table, knife and fork in hand, eager. As soon as the full English was placed in front of him he tucked in, famished. He cut the bacon and loaded his fork with egg shovelling it into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten for months. He hadn’t.

Chewing and swallowing thoughtfully, face sour like he’d eaten lemons, he turned to me. ‘Tasteless.’ He continued to frown but worked through the meal mechanically tentatively tasting the beans, then forking them into his mouth with some enthusiasm.

Next, a mug of tea with two sugars. After three hundred years he deserved something sweet. He scowled, sipped hesitantly then drank with relish.

After our meal I led him to the television and watched with amusement as he stood dumbfounded. I gave him the remote and smiled as he clumsily pressed the buttons, changing channels with grunts of delight. I played him some music and he laughed gaily, bobbing his head.

Outside he admired the flowers in the garden but stared irritably at the houses crowding us. ‘Butterflies? He asked. ‘No bird song?’ Silas sniffed the air with a look of disgust. ‘Smells.’ He looked at me. ‘Where are the birds?’

In the road he kept prodding the tarmac with his shoe. The car was in the drive and he stared at it as if it was a spaceship, fearfully caressing the lines of its bodywork, peering in through the windows.

I wanted to show off all the wonders of this modern world. I urged him to take a seat. He was suspicious but falteringly climbed in, not knowing what to expect, disbelieving of my explanations. He sat, body stressed, eyes roving over the controls, the steering wheel, the displays, not understanding. I fixed his seatbelt and started up the engine. At the sound and vibration his face whitened, his body went rigid. With reassurance he gradually relaxed. I edged forward slowly and we made our way through the village but he remained clinging to the door handle.

Through his terror he tried to take it all in, the many houses, colourful shops, bicycles, tarmacked road – the people walking on the pavement. Gone were the dirt roads with their spaced out cottages, the horses and carts. Hard to understand. Hard to accept. Every time a car came towards us he flinched. No other planet could have been stranger to him, yet this was the very village he had grown up in.

At the top of the hill I stopped the car and we looked out over the oceans of fields. A huge harvester was at work. I thought he might be impressed at its efficiency.

Silas slowly surveyed the countryside spread out before us and shook his head in bewilderment.

‘The hedgerows? Trees? Ponds? The flowers? The birds? Surely not all gone?’ His face a picture of dismay. He blinked at the expanse of golden corn, a tear slipped from his eye.

He turned to me accusingly.

‘What have you done?’

Studying Guernica – a short story.

Posted on by Opher

This is the short story I was working on this morning. It was in response to a prompt from my writing group.

What do you think?

Studying Guernica

It started when we finished college. We worked for a month so we had money in our pockets and the summer ahead of us. Jules had the crazy idea of buying a boat and after a day learning how to sail the ‘Sloppy Sloop’ we were confident that we could sail across the channel.

The next morning we set off for Calais. It was easy because the sea was calm. The sun shone and there was a pleasant breeze. We somehow arrived at Breste, not quite where we were heading, but it was France. Now, with confidence brimming, Jules thought we should head for Spain. We loaded up French bread and cheeses plus bottles of cheap red and were on our way.

This time we hugged the coast so we didn’t get lost. Even the Bay of Biscay was tranquil and after seven or eight stops to restock our supplies of more bread, cheese and wine we found ourselves in Spain.

Weeks passed as we made our way around the coast of Spain and Portugal. So many different types of cheeses and bread to try and the wines were ridiculously cheap!

We eventually arrived in Valencia. It was there that Jules had the brilliant idea that we should go to Madrid and see Picasso’s ‘Guernica’. Two hundred miles didn’t seem too much of an obstacle. So we tied the boat up and set off. Funds were running low but at a bar in the more dodgy part of town we met a rather dishevelled man called Mateo who ran a backstreet garage and assured us he had just what we needed at a very reasonable price.

We were thinking of a small car but Mateo showed us a large van. I was suspicious because there was more rust than metal but the price was cheap, and Jules was excited about driving a van, so we shook on it. The van stank of garlic and onions. There were two white coats and a pile of bubble-wrap in the back so we surmised that the van had spent the last thirty years delivering vegetables around the streets of Valencia.

Soon we were trundling along the highway towards Madrid leaving a trail of smoke and shards of bodywork in our wake. Jules was loving it and singing at the top of his voice. I joined in and at least it took my mind off the rattling and clattering. I was wondering how much of the van might be left by the time we arrived back to Valencia.

Who cared? It was an adventure.

It was late afternoon by the time we found the Reina Sofia in Madrid. As it was not at all busy we were able to park right in front of the museum.

The entrance fee was exorbitant but Jules had a brainwave. He thought that dressed in the white coats we could blag our way as removal men collecting a painting. Nobody questions guys in white coats.

We marched in with the bubble-wrap under our arms looking highly professional, which was quite difficult for two long-haired nineteen year-olds in shorts and sandals. We walked briskly past the front desk, looking straight ahead as if we were carrying out an important task.

Nobody shouted after us. We were in.

We sauntered around for a while and found the Picasso. The guard seemed to be asleep and that’s when Jules had his second brainwave.

‘We can hardly walk out with nothing,’ he said. ‘They’ll smell a rat.’

So we lifted the huge canvas down and draped it with the bubble-wrap. With our most serious faces we carried it past the front desk and out the door.

Then we began to panic. What could we do? We hadn’t thought this through. We had a Picasso! We couldn’t just leave it in the road. It might get stolen….. So we crammed it into the van and set off back for Valencia.

The canvas was huge and didn’t fit anywhere inside the Sloppy Sloop. So we wrapped it up properly and tied it carefully to the top of the cabin. That was our downfall because the canvas made the boat more difficult to handle.

Our next mistake was to sail south instead of north.

After many days the sea became extremely rough. The painting kept getting in the way when we were trying to sort the sail. We eventually were blown on to a reef and the Sloppy Sloop became a lot sloppier and less of a sloop.

Amazingly Jules and I were washed onto the beach of an idyllic desert island and managed to retrieve Guernica from the surf. Fortunately the bubble-wrap had protected it!

We propped it against a tree.

Jules went off to see if he could find food and water, or preferably a well-stocked wine bar.

I peeled the bubble-wrap from the painting and sat cross-legged on the sand to fully study the composition of the artwork.

Panic, fires, anguish, stricken animals, mangled bodies, grief and death. The cruel fascist bombing of a defenceless Spanish town. It was all there. Picasso had poured his soul into a portrayal of war crime.

The sun was setting. Jules was trudging back along the beach with only a couple of coconuts.

We were likely to have more than enough time to ponder the horrors of modern warfare with tactics of terror deployed against helpless civilians.

……………. A very long time.

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

Posted on by Opher

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

Heavy rain clouds hung on the horizon threatening a torrential downpour but we decided against the rainproofs. The sun was already blistering; the air so heavy with moisture that you could bathe in it. If it rained it would be a relief. We’d be soaked but our shorts and T-shirts would soon dry off. We set off along the rainforest trail to the music of cicadas and unseen birds.

The forest has a sweet scent of decay and vitality. Everywhere there is green – green leaves, green fronds, green lianas and green epiphytes. It feels alive. We are strangers in a new fecund world. We are searching for animals, our cameras at the ready. We find some too.

By the end of two weeks we have photographed sloths, iguanas, turtles, agoutis, parrots, macaws, flycatchers, monkeys, caiman, butterflies, moths and dozens more – each a delight to discover and a wonder to see. We have watched spider monkeys at play and capuchin monkeys cracking open coconuts, sloths slowly clambering through the foliage and huge iguanas, like dragons, clinging to tree trunks.

It felt so alive.

Our skin rusted in the sun and humidity. Our bodies adjusted, sitting on deck watching the jungle slip past, with a cool breeze in our face; rushing to put on our scant clothing to scamper up to the top for the sunrise, to search the deck at first light for giant moths, butterflies and beetles; sorting where to go, down jungle trails, canoe rides, or simply walking around. When in the unfamiliar even the ordinary is extraordinary. It is amazing how quickly one adjusts. This is our new normality.

Slowly we return home. The sun gradually loses its intensity. People take every opportunity to relish the last of its warmth, some asleep on loungers, some reading, some watching the seas for whales, dolphins or seabirds. We have left the tropical heat behind.

Back home we unpack, start on the mound of washing and go for a walk. No shorts, T-shirt and sandals but wrapped in layers of shirts, jumpers and thick coat topped off with hats, scarves and gloves.

Walking down the lane, looking out over the waterlogged green fields I could not help thinking what a mess we’ve made of it. This was the green Yorkshire countryside. Before the industrial revolution a landscape of forest, full of wildlife, now an endless denuded green desert, with just the odd crow and pigeon, plus a few creatures clinging on in the remaining hedgerows.

We live in the vestiges of the wonder of what once was. All over the world 8 billion mouths are busy devouring miracles.

Even in my lifetime I have seen the decline.

The bitter wind bites into my face. Rust is fading as the memories fade, as nature fades, tree by tree, hedge by hedge, ditch by ditch, bug by bug.

I have no camera with me. There is little to photograph. The creatures of my youth have disappeared.

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

A story – Shopping

Posted on by Opher

A story – Shopping

IMG_8411

When I logged on today my computer reminded me that it was a good day to go shopping. I hadn’t realised that. So I quickly brought up my personal demographic to see what it was that I desperately needed. Unfortunately my personal preferences had become confused. Seemingly I had gone on line yesterday and bought something on a whim that was a long way outside of my normal preferences. It had thrown everything into an electronic dilemma. The centre in cyber-valley was no longer able to decide with certainty which products I required. It was pondering whether to go down this new route, with all the great new markets this opened up, or stick with the tried and tested. It was waiting to see where my next purchase would take me. I could almost sense its baited breath.

Undeterred by the lack of advice I checked what was trending and fortunately managed to buy some of that. I was lucky. Many of these trending products were running out. I just made it.

Quickly analysing my choices my personal demographic kicked in and offered me ten indispensable items which I snapped up with relish. They were different from my normal choices. It told me I was developing as a person. My choices were becoming more diverse and mature.

I was excited by the new opportunities that single purchase had opened up for me and spend a bit longer clicking on a number of items that I hadn’t previously realised that I required.

Eventually I was sated. I’d explored the avenues and made the choices. They’d be winging their way to me over the next few days and I’d be able to review and store my new acquisitions away with all the previous purchases. That was a bit daunting as it would inevitably require me having to make some space for them and that would require a culling. It was always hard deciding what to get rid of.

Never mind.

This shopping is exhausting!

The Ship – A Sci-fi short story – (For Gordon and Hazel)

Posted on by Opher

The Ship – A Sci-fi short story – (For Gordon and Hazel)

‘Well Liz, fancy a quick drink?’ Captain Cole enquired as I completed my watch.

‘Don’t mind if I do, Captain’ I replied happily. I was aware that the Captain always had the best tipple you could anywhere on ship. It was exceptionally good and a pleasure after a long difficult shift controlling the lurching and groaning of a ship this age.

We left the bridge to the Captain’s private quarters.

‘What’s your poison?’ Captain Cole enquired.

‘Whatever you are having, Captain,’ I said.

‘There’s no rank in my rooms when we’re off duty,’ Captain Cole said cheerfully as she poured out two generous portions of amber nectar, ‘just Hazel and Liz in here.’

‘Right you are, Hazel,’ I said, settling back and taking the drink I was being offered. This wasn’t the first time we’d shared a drink or two after our watch but I liked to follow the protocol and wait until asked. It was a matter of respect.

‘How was the ship today?’ Hazel enquired as she sat herself down.

‘Oh, you know how it is with these older models,’ I replied, sipping my drink and relishing the flavours, ‘they become more awkward to control as they age. And this one has never been one of the easy ones. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard of one with a worse reputation.’

‘I know,’ Hazel grinned, ‘I was never sure if it was a good move taking over responsibility for this one. It’s an awkward sod. Perhaps I’d have been better off joining the pioneer squad.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I replied, quite shocked. I’d never heard Hazel grumble about this old ship. She’d always seemed really fond of the old blighter and quite happy to be in control. ‘The pioneer corps is pretty much like a suicide mission, if you ask me. You’re better off in a ship, even if it’s an old rascal like this. Only one in every hundred thousand ever land anywhere habitable. The rest drift around hopelessly until they die a lonely death. You wouldn’t want that.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Hazel said, with a chuckle, ‘but when I was young I was quite keen on being a pioneer.’

I looked at her aghast.

‘Yes I did,’ she grinned, seeing the look on my face. ‘I liked the glamour of it. You had your training, and your period of fame and adulation. People looked up to a pioneer.’ She grinned wickedly.

I pulled myself together. It was hard to think of Hazel in her younger days, dreaming of being a pioneer, heading off on missions to find other habitable lands and ensure the survival of the species. Pioneering was heady and exciting. I’d been tempted myself. But we all go through our young, mad days, then reality kicks in. Fortunately for me, reality kicked in before I signed up or I could have found myself living a short, lonely life in the wilderness. Very few pioneers ever achieved the fame and prestige of setting up a new colony. But the Captain – she seemed far too capable and responsible. I couldn’t imagine her ever having a wild youth.

‘Well I’m glad I did not opt for that kind of short career in the pioneer corps,’ I said, ‘and I’m glad you didn’t as well.’ I had a lot of respect for the way Hazel controlled the ship. She seemed to have her finger on the pulse. She knew what was going on in every department and somehow kept tabs on it all. I couldn’t imagine working for anybody else.

‘Thank you,’ Hazel said, accepting it as a compliment.

We sipped our drinks.

‘It is true though, Hazel said. ‘This one has always been a difficult one to control. I knew that when I took it on. The records are full of it.’

‘Yep,’ I nodded. ‘Right from the earliest accounts; this is one cantankerous animal.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Hazel agreed. ‘But that makes it all the more rewarding. To deploy all your resources is more fulfilling than merely performing a monotonous task.’

I hadn’t considered that before. The ship was challenging and there were times when I had to pit my wits and apply all my skills in order to stay in charge. Yet I enjoyed that. At the end of my shift I was often exhausted but the time had passed quickly and I had the satisfaction of having achieved something.

‘Hazel,’ I said, ‘you are right. I enjoy my work and wouldn’t be happy doing anything else.’

We were quiet for a minute, savouring our drinks and thinking.

‘I find it quite daunting at times,’ Hazel mused. ‘Being the Captain of this magnificent beast is sometimes quite a frightening experience. Both you and I, as first mate and Captain, follow a long line of masters going back hundreds of thousands of generations. We are part of that unbroken history. This ship has always known masters who have skilfully guided it to success. Now it is our turn. And in a short while we will hand over to the next generation. If none of us makes a terrible mistake this old rogue will be good for many hundreds of thousands of generations to come.’

‘That is what gives me nightmares,’ I said, shaking my head and looking concerned. ‘If I were to lose control, then that’s the end. It would be the finish of countless billions of us.’

Hazel laughed. ‘I have those same sleepless nights,’ she said. ‘But that is why we are good at our jobs – we care. We work hard, prepare well, and keep on top of the task. We’re excellent at it. This is a demanding old rascal but we know how it operates and keep it on the straight and narrow. This ship has sent out more than its share of pioneers. It has successfully established countless colonies and propagated our kind. There are probably trillions of our progeny out there right now, because of the work you, me and our forebears have done. Just think of it, Liz! That should make you feel proud.’

‘Oh, it does,’ I responded pensively. ‘I love my work and I do take pride in it. But sometimes I wonder if there shouldn’t be something more? What is this life all about? Surely it has to be more than merely living from day to day and spreading our offspring through the universe?’

Hazel regarded me with one of those amused smiles of hers. ‘Liz,’ she said, ‘you think too much. Life is much more than work – even doing a great job like ours; it is about moments like this, when we can sit pleasantly with friends, share food, a drink, talk and discuss, crack the odd joke and reminisce.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘but sometimes I think there has to be more than even that.’

‘But there is,’ Hazel exclaimed. ‘You and I are immensely privileged. Unlike most of our fellows, we are able to see a lot of the universe. Most of the poor devils never even glimpse what is going on. Theirs is a life of drudgery. We see the beauty. We sense the wonder. We have an idea of its scope and immensity. Surely that is sufficient to fill you with awe?’

‘I suppose so,’ I replied tentatively. ‘There are certainly wonders and marvels that you and I are privy to that make life worthwhile.’

‘Sure there are,’ Hazel laughed. ‘You’re just feeling a bit down. It’s been a long day. Drink up and mellow out.’

Hazel was right. We were privileged. We had so much. Life was good.

We drank up and ended on a cheery note.

The next day the Captain and I were involved with the next batch of pioneers. They had completed all their training and had their long furlough in which to live life to the full. Now was the moment of truth. They were to be blasted free of the ship, the nurturing beast that sustained us and provided all our needs. They were going to leave behind all their love ones and everything they had known, in the hopes of discovering new fertile homes where they could establish fresh colonies and win a future for our kind. One day our ship would lose the battle and fall into decay and disrepair. When that day came, hopefully many hundreds of thousands of generations hence, it was essential that our species had established itself elsewhere. The pioneers were our hope for immortality.

We surveyed the grave young people lined up on parade. This was their big day. They looked serious but determined. They knew the statistics. The vast majority were doomed to wander endlessly and find nowhere suitable to sustain life. They would live and die in a solitary bubble. But maybe one of these brave youngsters in front of us now would be blessed, maybe this time, on this occasion, we would hit lucky and a new ship would carry our DNA into the future.

‘You carry the hopes of all of us,’ the Captain finished her speech. ‘Now go forth and multiply! May you all strike lucky and prosper! May you pass on our genes, our culture and our history for eternity! May you sail the tides in your own ships and discover new continents! Go with all our blessings, all our love, all our respect and all our dreams. Onward to glory! May luck go with you!’

The pioneers cheered like crazy and jumped madly in the air. Then they streamed off to the launch site to prepare for their momentous blast off into the unknown.

There were tears in my eyes as I watched those brave young volunteers facing what for most of them was miserable death – such courage.

Now it was down to me. Part of my task, as first mate on the ship, was to inaugurate the launch of our gallant pioneers. That was no mean task. I had to coax the unwieldy ship to undergo an intricate manoeuvre. It was an exercise that was devilishly difficult to perfect and it was not without its dangers.

All the pioneers were at their stations, steeling themselves for the explosive force that would propel them forth from the life they had known to a dubious and frightening future. I bet, for all the resolve and strength of courageously spoken words, there were more than a few quaking nerves and regrets. This was the moment of truth. They knew their race depended on them and they were prepared, like so many generations before, to make the ultimate sacrifice.

I set the events into motion and began the delicate task of stimulating and irritating the body that was our ship.

 

Gordon was sitting in the lounge of the Marco Polo feeling rather sorry for himself. His head ached, his throat was sore and he had a cough that was making his lungs hurt. He’d had it for five days now and was debating whether to make that move and go and visit the doctor. He’d heard all the rumours of how it cost a small fortune but he was long past caring. This was well beyond a joke. He was experiencing difficulty breathing and his wheezing was keeping him awake.

He could feel the sneeze starting. It began as a tickle in the sinuses, progressed to an uncontrollable reflex that built up into a fully-fledged explosion. He just had time to pull a tissue out of his pocket before his eyes screwed up, his head went back, his mouth opened to suck in air and then his face jolted forward as his diaphragm and intercostals jerked and forced air out of his tubes at a rocketing hundred miles an hour.

‘AAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!’ He blasted, droplets of moisture and mucous out of his nasal cavity with the force of a hurricane. Gordon caught most of it in the tissue but some of the virus ridden aerosol escaped and were airborne drifting on the currents, in hopes of a chance inspiration.

26.2.2016

(I wrote this story after reading that 99 out of every 100 cells in a human body were non-human. I imagined humans being farmed and controlled by bacteria.)

A short story – How David Crumb almost saved the world.

Posted on by Opher

AppleMark

I went to sleep with this one buzzing round my head last night. I think it was the back-stabbing of Jeremy Corbyn that sparked it off. I determined to remember it when I woke. I woke up and it was still there.

How David Crumb almost saved the world.

There should be statues all over the world of David Crumb. He should be the most famous and celebrated human being who has ever lived. Instead he is reviled.

David Crumb came up with the greatest invention there has ever been. It would have transformed human existence and saved the planet from ruin – if he had not made one crucial mistake.

David Crumb was a scientist, not a politician. He was simply too naïve.

It all began when David was a young research psychologist. He chose to study how the human brain worked. Being exceptionally gifted he soon made use of the latest three-dimensional imaging systems using magnetic pulses to study a variety of living people. David was particularly interested in what made individuals behave in a violent, intolerant and selfish manner. David focused his work on criminals who displayed these dispositions to a greater extent than ‘normal’ people.

Very soon in his work David identified two regions of the brain rich in neuronal networks which seemed to be responsible for these negative attributes. When comparing different segments of the population he found that there was a range in size and complexity of these areas between individuals. He began piecing together a theory concerning how these areas of the brain might be responsible for creating the negative actions of characters. He found that caring people, who felt compassion, love and empathy to a higher level, had much smaller neuronal networks and activity in these areas. David Crumb suspected that altruism was hardwired. He named these centres ‘The Nyx Centres’ after the Greek Goddess of the night who spawned dark spirits.

That was interesting but unremarkable. If it had stopped there David Crumb would have been of note in psychology circles but the matter would have gone no further. But David had other ideas. He set about seeing if he could affect the operation of those Nyx Centres. After many years of treatments with various drugs, with absolutely no success, he stumbled upon a discovery that would impact on the whole world. Although not quite in the way he had imagined.

David Crumb’s laudable dream was to control the Nyx Centres so that their negative influence was annulled. He believed he could put an end to all violence, greed and selfishness if he could only eradicate the effects of these centres. He could alter human behaviour and create a kind, harmonious, happy world.

It was quite a dream.

Nobody believed him. They thought that his research was interesting enough to fund, but they did not really believe he would achieve anything.

David did. While operating the magnetic imaging machine, using the very latest MRI scanner, he found he was able to adjust the type of magnetic pulse being directed at the subject. Being a scientist he was curious to see what the effects might be. As with a lot of scientific breakthrough it was a combination of serendipity and observation. The opportunity arose and David was left in charge and twiddled with the controls. A lesser practiced technician or less observant scientist might not have noticed, but David Crumb did. At a certain combination of magnetic pulses he observed that the Nyx Centres became extremely over-excited. He noted this phenomenon.

The criminal concerned was a particularly unpleasant character who was a homicidal maniac and sadist. David Crumb had special permission to study such individuals. The criminal’s Nyx Centres were highly developed.

The second observation that David Crumb made was that following the exposure to the high level of activity in the Nyx Centres the level dropped right off and the centres went quiet. He noted that too.

That was the beginning.

Following this success David Crumb repeated the experiment on other subjects with the same result. His follow-up work on the subjects showed that the centres remained dormant, their blood supply and neuronal complexity began to reduce substantially and the centres shrank. The prison officers reported marked changes in personality in the subjects from surly and aggressive to friendly, pleasant and helpful.

People started talking about David’s work.

David began working on a machine to deliver the exact magnetic pulse as well as investigating the way in which it might be operating on a cellular level. He did not make huge progress in discovering why the pulse only seemed to affect cells in the Nyx Centres, although he ascertained that there was a definite movement of ions through membrane gates in these areas, but he did manage to develop a machine that could deliver a strong pulse over a wide area. It was small enough to be hand-held and effective over a large range. It even penetrated most materials.

In a euphoric moment David named it his ‘Love Gun’.

He had a vision that he could use this ‘weapon’ against belligerent individuals.

Kenya propositioned him to use the weapon in their fight against poachers. Gangs of such poachers were systematically destroying the last of the wild-life. As it became rarer the price had shot up. Soon there would be no wild-life left. There was a war going on. David Crumb equipped the soldiers with his devices. They directed the beams at poachers they encountered with dramatic results. The poachers were transformed from callous, cruel hunters, intent on butchering animals for their own profit, into caring individuals who became distraught at the suffering they had created.

David was propositioned by prison governors and carried out experiments on volunteer inmates with the same dramatic effects.

David was propositioned by the army. Around the world there was a relentless war being fought with the religious fanatics of fundamental beliefs whose intolerance and sadistic practices were horrific. The ‘weapon’ was completely effective. The previous intolerant, barbaric jihadists developed compassion, love and empathy, downed their weapons and embraced their victims as brothers and sisters. The savage killing and raping came to an abrupt halt.

For a moment it seemed that David’s invention would be put to good use to remove the evil of war, brutality, greed and selfishness from the planet. The relentless destruction of the natural world might be halted. Poverty might be vanquished.

It was the dawn of a new age – a harmonious paradise on earth.

The Prime Minister called him in and David proudly took his invention to show it off. That’s when it went wrong. With one pull of the trigger David could have changed the course of history, but he didn’t.

George Maverick was a genial, pleasant man, well used to dealing with the media. He was a seasoned politician. You did not get to the top in his trade without being skillful at manipulating, wrong-footing, conniving, back-stabbing and deploying chicanery. Behind the congenial physiognomy lurked a shrewd mind and lust for power. He had already ascertained the potential of David’s gun.

Within months George Maverick had mass produced the ‘Love Guns’ deployed them with his army and used them on all his enemies. His enemies included, his fellow politicians of all parties, the population of the country and the rest of the world.

It took a remarkable short period of time for George Maverick to conquer the world and become the first global tyrant.

Every tyrant judges their own power by what they are able to impose. George lived in opulence behind magnetically opaque plastic walls while his subjects toiled and suffered greatly. He loved to watch their misery.

George Maverick, like most of our leaders throughout history, had highly developed Nix Centres. If you measured brains on that alone – he was a genius.

David’s mistake was to trust a politician. He should have known that all they were interested in was power.