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

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.

Science Fiction – ‘Ginger’ – A short Sci-fi story – a story that’s been in my head for years. It was born today.

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‘Ginger’ – A short Sci-fi story

Ginger gripped the controls tightly and focussed his mind on the instruments. The computers were perfectly capable of handling everything themselves. He knew that. The machines had successfully guided them through the multilayers of space on their intricate hyperspace journey. But now they were reaching the end of their voyage and he knew that it might require the reactions of a calculating brain rather than the linear responses of a machine. Everything depended on him and the exactness of his decision making.

Ginger knew that they had selected the right person. There was no doubt in his mind. He was cold, efficient and ruthless and he knew it. That was just what was needed. His whole life had honed him and prepared him for this command. All his long existence he had been bullied, victimised and baited. Most would have collapsed under the relentless barrage but not him. He had stood up to it, absorbed the blows and stood defiant. Where others would have melted inside it had only served to make him full of steely resolve and sharpen his robust mind. He had become as heartless and ruthless a killing machine as anyone could devise. That is why they had entrusted this mission to him. He was the person for the job.

Ginger allowed his eyes to scan the flight deck. The crew were equally absorbed in their tasks. They might call him ‘Ginger’ behind his back, but with a great deal of fear, but they’d never dream of doing so to his face. Those days were long gone.

He turned his attention to the plexiscreen and noted that the rest of the flotilla, making up their task-force, was in tight formation. Everything was as it should be. They were as prepared as Ginger could make them. Shortly they would emerge from hyperspace and the battle would commence. They all knew it was one they had to win.

Behind them their planet was dieing. The ecosystem had been wrecked long ago and with the demise of that delicate system, their own life-support was severed. The atmosphere was changing. Already the oxygen was severely depleted and carbon dioxide was building up. They were heading for a greenhouse catastrophe. The scientists were doing all they could to hold back the inevitable but everyone knew that it was just a question of time.

Ginger and his task-force were their last desperate gamble.

The scientists had frantically searched for another planet they could escape to. Unbelievably they had come up trumps. They had found the ideal world. The only downside was that it was already occupied. Everything else about it was ideal. It would have afforded them the chance of a new start if it wasn’t for the fact that there was a bunch of gormless aliens already there. And what monsters they were. The whole scientific community had all looked at the images with disgust as the loathsome creatures went about their lives. Nobody could imagine anything so hideous, no science fiction story had conjured up something so sinister and malevolent; no imagination could have created such grotesque creatures. It made Ginger’s skin crawl to even think about them. He put the thoughts to one side. Right now they were all that stood between Ginger and the salvation of his species. They had to be eradicated and swept aside. The fact that those aliens were so nauseating, resembling escapees from some terror of a nightmare, only made Ginger’s job easier. The crew were horrified by the vision of those beasts. Those aliens deserved to be eradicated, if any creature did. Nothing that sickening deserved to live.

His task-force were the vanguard. Their job was to establish a bridgehead that could be adequately defended until such time as the main body of more vulnerable craft could land and unload their serious weaponry. The whole world was depending on the success of this mission. They only had one shot at it. It was all they could afford.

Ginger caressed the controls for the death-rays the ships had been equipped with. Soon he would be using them to good effect.

The plan was simple. They would come out of hyperspace and swoop down in a surprise attack. The aliens would not know what had hit them. When they had secured a landing site they would quickly summon up the lumbering transporters and unload the heavy equipment. That was when they would be at their most vulnerable. The role of Ginger’s task-force was crucial. They had to destroy all aliens in the vicinity and defend the landing site until support arrived.

Ginger was confident. He would show no mercy. Those repulsive aliens were as good as dead meat. In his mind he could imagine their flesh searing in the heat of the death-rays. It filled him with a glow of satisfaction.

The chronometer hit zero and he felt the warship shudder as it emerged from hyperspace. Ginger already had a firm hold on the firing buttons.

‘What are you doing?’ Pete enquired, standing on the court as the tennis ball bounced away harmlessly to the back fence, chuckling at the comical antics of his friend John. He stared in disbelief at the crazy antics John was going through, swatting and batting at what looked like a swarm of gnats with his tennis racket.

John continued to bash away at the air in a series of rapid swats while rubbing his cheek ruefully and grimacing.

‘Bloody things stung me!’ John explained, swiping one last time at the last of the damn insects. ‘It really hurt!’

Pete could see from the other end of the court that he wasn’t kidding. Even at that distance he could see a redness flaring up on John’s cheek. It highlighted his orange hair and freckles. He laughed. ‘Serves you right,’ he stated, unsympathetically. ‘That’s forty love to me.’

‘You can’t count that!’ John replied indignantly rubbing his sore crimson cheek as he turned to retrieve the ball. ‘I was bloody stung! There was a swarm of them. Play that again!’

Pete shrugged. ‘OK – thirty love. First serve.’ They resumed their game.

To the side of the court Ginger found himself miraculously still alive. He lay stunned and in agony, his body broken. Painfully he extricated himself from the wreckage of the flight-deck and with what remained of his mangled tentacles dragged himself out of the ruins of his craft. He paused to allow the untainted air to flow across his gills. The yellow sun glistened on the slime coating his flesh creating a ruddy glow. As the colour drained from his skin, removing all traces of the red complexion that had dominated his life, he knew that he had failed.

Opher 3.9.2015

I wanted this story to revolve around the ‘Racism’ associated with ginger haired people. They are abused, bullied and suffer a great deal of unwarranted victimisation due to their hair colour. If it was skin colour it would not be sanctioned or allowed but people are quite happy to target ‘ginners’.

It is racism because that vivid hair colour is a Celtic attribute. The targeting goes back hundreds, if not thousands of years.

It’s about time it stopped!

My ginger alien was hardened and twisted from the abuse he had suffered. Many people are.

Symbols – incredible! Writing – Amazing! Reading – Fantastic!

Strangely I’m in a cover lesson doing an English cover. I wasn’t actually teaching at all. For the first part of the lesson they had been given a book to read. They were reading ‘Wolf’ by Gillian Cross.

As I write this, in longhand on some A4 paper out of the drawer, I am sitting in a classroom with twenty-five thirteen year-old kids who are all silently reading.

It is incredibly quiet in here. I don’t think it was anywhere near as studious back when I was at school. It certainly wasn’t in my lessons but then there was quite a disruptive force in those classrooms.

Someone has just coughed. There is a small rustle as kids change positions. Occasionally someone turns a page.

I am free to indulge my memory and scrawl this.

I look around the room. They all appear to be absorbed in the story. It must be good.

I think about this phenomenon. It is quite incredible. A writer has accumulated a series of ideas into a coherent tale, has created a plot and strung those ideas together into a story. They have explained what they have imagined in words and strung the ideas together in words to tell the tale. The words are abstract symbols for things, concepts, actions and descriptions. These other minds are interpreting those words back into those concepts and translating them into meaning. They are piecing together the story from those symbols.

The writer describes and constructs a tale.

The readers are accessing that tale.

They want to know what is going to happen. They want to find out. The words are creating images in their minds. I wonder if they are all imagining the same pictures? If they are conjuring up the same scenes? Are they all embellishing it with their own personality, experience and imagination or is the writer directing them to see it just as she saw it in her own mind?

They’re absorbed. I do not have to say a thing.

There is no doubt that humans have an amazing ability to imagine, to communicate, to learn from the experiences of others. It is a gift.

Strange that – using the term gift presupposes the presence of a God. A gift is given. It is a skill.

I am a writer.

Understanding the universe – a very short story.

A_Colorful_Cartoon_Man_Sitting_In_the_Bathroom_Royalty_Free_Clipart_Picture_100805-171486-069053Understanding the universe

A little colony of bacteria lives in the toilet bowl. Their lives are short. All they require is moisture and nutrient. They prosper and multiply for the conditions are ideal.

These microscopic creatures have consciousness and though they measure their lives in mere minutes they discuss the wonders around them and attempt to understand the world in which they dwell. They have their theories on the creation of their world, they have their philosophy of how to live and prosper. They believe they have an understanding of their environment.

At regular intervals a great darkness descends upon them and a gigantic shape blots out the heavens, nutrients are dispensed and all give praise. They believe it is their praise and ritual that is responsible for these gifts.

There is much conjecture as to the nature of this phenomenon among the bacterial elite. The dispensing happens regularly after many generations and replenishes the nutrients so that the colony can flourish. There are different factions who each claim to have the only answer. Some assert themselves to be ‘chosen’, some to have had personal instruction and some converse regularly with the benevolent deity. They claim the nutrients come as a reward for their devotion. They deride the others during their generations of drought. They blame it on their wayward ways and sins. It is the errant ways of the masses that results in punishment from on high.

The factions get into heated dispute and violent conflict. All are the only true disciples of the wondrous deity. They each claim to hold the key to the heaven’s bounties. They squabble and fight.

But then shit happens.

I can’t help thinking that humanity is like that colony of bacteria. In relation to our size and lifetime the universe, with its infinite scope, is as mysterious as the porcelain and posteriors; our lives are brief flashes in the aeons.

We are microscopic scum on the surface of a minor planet orbiting a mediocre sun in an unexceptional galaxy. There are more galaxies than grains of sand. Yet we dare to extrapolate and understand.

I fear the domestos!