|
Updated Sunday 18 July, 2010 12:11 PM |
|
|
Join Writer Development Section Writer Development Member Section
|
SNAKE OIL
By Doctor What
How quickly nature falls into revolt **
September 2, 2019
Michael Baldwin, formerly Special Assistant Advisor to the President for Alien/Human Policy and currently Acting Captain of the Odyssey, leaned back in his chair and tried to take a nap as the shuttlecraft Endeavour blazed a trail past the Moon and onto Earth.
It had been a very long eighteen months.
The Odyssey and her crew had accomplished a lot in those eighteen months and each and every single member of the crew were virtually assured not only a place in the history books but – with any luck at all – a very long career in the Earth Alliance Space Fleet.
The information they had gathered on the thirty-one systems they had visited will no doubt keep a small army of astrophysicists, astronomers, exoplanetologists and God knows who else busy for the next decade. Already, plans were being made to send out the Intrepid, Pathfinder and Sojourn out as soon as possible.
After being confined for so long on Earth, humanity was making up for lost time.
Granted – twelve ships hardly constituted a ‘big fleet’ but they had to start somewhere.
And – of course –the Lytasians had been dropping major hints that a second batch of twelve ships could – somehow – be dug up somewhere for humanity’s use.
Probably using Jupiter's atmosphere as a giant advertising sign to be seen by passing spacecraft up to ten light years away will be the price this time thought Baldwin mournfully.
We humans have paid a high price –in more ways than one...
Baldwin shook the depressing thought of how he had ended up as Acting Captain aside. He had been the first one to find Captain Hollister’s body after the accident that had occurred a mere three months into the mission and that almost scuttled the entire thing before Earth had decided that the mission needed to proceed ‘for the good of humanity’.
And since he was the XO, that made him the Captain.
Acting Captain corrected Baldwin. Despite what the regs may officially state, I’m always going to see myself as just the Acting Captain.
Still—we accomplished so much in those months...
Baldwin glanced out the windows as the shuttlecraft made the final approach to Earth.
And so did Earth...
Even though the Endeavour was still a few thousand miles above the Earth and flying at an impressive speed of several tens of thousands miles per hour, Baldwin could just about make out the Arthur C. Clark Groundside Station being build just off the coast of Florida.
And extending for three thousand miles straight up from the Station was the partially completed Space Elevator.
Made from an insanely complicated carbon nanotube hybrid (“We’re practically giving it away for the low, low price of 300 tonnes of ruthenium per year for the next five years” in the words of the Lytasians. When it was pointed out to them that Earth had reserves of only about 5000 tonnes of the stuff worldwide, they merely countered with the response “Deatils! Details! Why are you bothering us with details!”), the Elevator was a hundred foot wide ‘cable’ that was eventually going to be connected to a half-mile wide space station currently under construction at geosynchronous orbit (still no name decided for it but Space Station #1, Tether Station and O’Neil Habitat were the top contenders) .
The base of the Elevator itself was a pyramid-like structure almost a mile across at ground level.
Everything about the Elevator – especially the price tag – was staggering but slowly but surely it was being built.
Of course the inevitable ‘American Imperialism of Space’ stuff was being bandied about by, well, everyone – ironic considering that it was possibly the only project under construction that truly involved cooperation from nearly every major –and quite a few minor – country on earth.
Then there were all the Doomsday people who were regaling tales to anyone who bothered to listen to them about what would happen if the anchor point at the top of the Elevator were to snap off.
According to the handy-dandy CGI video that the group (“Concerned Citizens Against Space Elevators”) had on their website, the ‘Ribbon of Death’ will wrap itself around the Equator, carving out a giant canyon, destroying entire cities, wrecking the planetary ecosystem and all the usual stuff that the ‘Concerned Citizens Against...’ usually go on about.
The fact that everyone else was stating that most of the Elevator would burn up in the atmosphere and those pieces that didn’t burn up would have little impact (ha!) on Earth due to the low density of the super carbon nanotubal hybrid thingy didn’t seem to register on them. Indeed, if anything, it just seemed to make them even more spastic, with many whispers (and occasional shouted rants) about conspiracies being thrown about.
Ah...humans....never failing to disappoint me... thought Baldwin as the shuttleraft flew through the atmosphere.
The landing at Andrews Air Force Base was textbook; Baldwin barely felt the shuttlecraft land.
By the time he stepped out of the shuttlecraft, there was a limo … a floating limo … waiting for him, its ‘hover-engines’ keeping it about six inches off the ground.
After he got himself comfortable in the backseat, the limo slowly began to rise up.
By the time it began to move towards D.C., it was thirty feet above the ground and still rising.
Baldwin looked down upon the city as the limo flew onwards at an impressive speed of just over a hundred miles an hour and at an altitude of about a thousand feet.
Most of the cars used by the people in D.C. were still the familiar ground vehicles that he remembered. The flying cars that had come onto the market were impressive – but still insanely expensive and therefore, still rare. There was also the fact that people had belatedly realized that the main benefit of flying cars – the aforementioned flying aspect – was also, perversely, one of its main annoying aspects, in that there were a great number of individuals who didn’t care very much about having a car fly over their homes at 3 in the morning. There was also the fact that there were a great many government buildings that didn’t take kindly to having odd flying objects suddenly appear over their rooftops either.
A few months after the first flying cars came off the assembly lines, there had been a rather unfortunate incident involving a flying Porsche piloted by a drunken frat boy (coincidentally the son of the Vice-Chairman on U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence) who had decided to fly over CIA Headquarters in Langley on a bet.
It came as a rather rude shock to the frat boy when he was shot down by a Stinger Missile just as he flew over.
The frat boy survived in (more or less) one piece but there were ‘a few questions’ raised, with the main one being just what the hell was the CIA Headquarters doing with Stinger Missiles in the first place. In retrospect, the Director’s response (“Nothing really that bad...”) could have been better phrased.
With that, there had been some heavy restrictions placed on just where and what times the flying cars could be used– which sort of defeated the whole purpose of getting a flying car in the first place, as far as most people were concerned.
Nevertheless—sales were ‘brisk’ and all the car manufacturers were stating that the cars were expected to become affordable to a middle class family ‘within five years –tops!’.
Baldwin took a closer look down below.
Some of the car manufacturers had decided to take a different route with their new production models and had come up with cars with the ‘enhanced’ fuel cells. Unlike the hybrid cars that existed everywhere, these new cars could now travel hundreds of miles exclusively on just one charge of their fuel cells. Not a single drop of fossil fuel of any kind was needed. One third of all the new cars produced in the US were already using the enhanced fuel cells and there were several Bills on Capital Hill that was going to try to crank that up to one hundred percent before the end of 2020.
Just in time for the elections… thought Baldwin cynically.
Mind you—anything to get us off oil dependency is a good thing. But did they HAVE to make the new cars so damn ugly? They all looked like eggs!
The Saudis, of course, were most displeased when they realized that their main source of income was going to dry up. In fact, there were a few scary moments there when it looked like the government might actually fall.
Then somebody invented the Cactus Super-Fruit.
The Cactus Super-Fruit was some incredibly bizarre (and before Contact, considered impossible) hybrid of Apple Cactus and Cactus Pear.
The plant (called Manna al-Arabiyya) loved sandy soil, needed virtually no water, was fast growing, required little maintenance and produced an abundance of rather tasty fruit that seemed to be similar in taste to both apples and pears. The stems contained a substance that was pharmacologically similar to Viagra, the sap had a gel that could be made into hair conditioner, a rather potent liqueur could be produced from the leaves, and its roots contained – purportedly – a substance very similar to dextroamphetamine.
Suddenly Saudi Arabia didn’t have a cash problem and all of the various princes and emirs and whatnot were smiling and happy.
By all accounts, none of them were getting any sleep, apparently – but they were definitely happy.
“Like a cigarette, sir?” asked the driver, distracting Michael from his thoughts. He was waving a green pack of cigarettes in his right hand as he drove casually with his left. “I heard you were still a smoker and figured you could use a real fresh one after being in space for so long.”
That caught Baldwin off-guard.
“I was under the impression with all the smoking bans that smoking wasn’t allowed...” began Baldwin.
“Oh—but these are different!” interupted the driver, cheerfully. “All the flavour and kick of a real cigarette – but it actually cleans out your lungs instead!”
Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Baldwin took one of the cigarettes – ‘Catharsis’ was the name of the brand – and lit it up. The driver followed suit, lighting up a cigarette of his own while still driving with one hand.
The limo came to a landing near the White House a few minutes later and the ever present and vigilant Secret Service was there to escort Baldwin in.
Within a few minutes, he found himself once again in the Oval Office waiting room.
The last time I was here, things went...very odd ... for me thought Baldwin. I wonder if there will be a repeat performance?
Baldwin shook his head in annoyance.
Nah- I already turned over all our logs, gave a debrief, did all the interviews and speeches and all that other stuff. I’m sure he just wants to give me a nice congratulatory speech or something. Ha! No way can my life get any more weirder than it already is!
Later on, Baldwin admonished himself for allowing the forces of the Universe to hear him make that challenge.
I just HAD to say that last part, didn’t I? mumbled Baldwin to himself a few hours later over his -- fifth? sixth? – Scotch.
It was twenty minutes to closing time at the Fat Cat Blues Bar and Baldwin was, once again, wondering how on Earth he kept ending up in these situations.
I am either truly destined for greatness or I am burning off karma at a vastly accelerated rate.
I’m not sure which one is more scarier.
“Might if I sit down?” asked a voice.
Baldwin looked up with alcohol glazed eyes into the face of an old black man in an equally old black suit.
“Blind Willy Ginsberg!” shouted Baldwin, a little louder than he meant. At the bar, a few of the die-hard bar-flies looked up and gazed vaguely in his direction for a few seconds before turning their gaze back to their drinks.
“That’s my name, boy—don’t wear it out,” replied Willy with a smile as he sat down. “And the name is just Willy Ginsberg now.”
Baldwin looked at Willy in confusion—and then realized with a shock that Willy wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.
A pair of shockingly blue eyes – so blue as to be nearly glowing in the darkness of the bar – stared out at him.
Willy grinned again.
“Of course—I still use it as a stage name. Just don’t tell anyone. After all—who ever heard of an old blues singer who isn’t blind?” Willy threw his head back with a laugh.
After a few seconds, he stopped laughing and stared at Baldwin, a serious look on his face.
“As for you, boy – I get the distinct impression that you’ve got yourself another mental confubble.”
Baldwin let out a very long sigh.
“You got that right. But first—let me buy you a drink.”
Willy shook his head.
“Nah—make it a rule to never drink just before closing time. Consider it bad luck. You wouldn’t believe how many of the old-timers got themselves killed because of that ‘just one drink before closing time’ bullcrap.”
Willy shook his head in annoyance.
“Nope—not gonna do it. Haven’t done it since FDR was in office—ain’t gonna break my streak now. So what’s your problem, boy?”
Baldwin paused.
It’s not like people aren’t going to find out sooner or later. And I can certainly trust him to keep quiet about it. And even if he blabs –who’s going to believe an old bli – er – an old man who plays blues in dingy bars?
Letting out another sigh, Baldwin pressed onwards.
“It’s like this; they want to make me Vice-President.”
“Vice –President of what?”
“Vice –President of the United States of America.”
There was a very, very, very long pause from Willy.
Finally—after what felt like several minutes – there was a creak of the chair being pushed back and Willy stood up.
“I’m going to get a drink from the bar now,” said Willy.
“Better make it a double—it’s a long story....”
~~
To be continued...
|
