That’s when the first reality TV show hit the air,Storm Warriors. Most of the other shows had stopped production (what with the disappearance of California), so, apart from a few cheap Canadian shows, there wasn’t much competition and Storm Warriors broke all kinds of records. The premise was simple. Four teams fly to a new storm location each week and the team that stays at ground zero the longest wins. It quickly turned into whichever team doesn’t get killed wins, and ratings went through the roof. I still don’t know where they got all their contestants from. People’s greed is limitless, I guess.
After climate change came the infectious diseases and that quickly turned into the zombie outbreak. It was actually less interesting than you might think after all those movies and books. It turns out zombies are pretty easy to avoid and, let’s face it, everyone knows how to kill them. The zombies spawned a dozen TV shows but none of them lasted very long. Former President Trump tried briefly with Zombie Apprentice, but going face to face with a zombie and yelling “You’re Fired,” cost him half his face. After that, the show collapsed. Zombies just aren’t that interesting. There’s a couple outside on the street now; an old man and woman in matching green sweatpants. They’ve been there for days just following people back and forth across the road. No one takes much notice of them.
After the zombies, we had the plagues. Giant army ants came first, then giant wasps and then ordinary sized locusts. Nothing much anyone could do other than stay inside. The ants got a few hundred thousand people and a short-lived show but almost everyone had learned their lesson once the wasps turned up, and the locusts were just annoying—all that fluttering about.
Things died down for a while after the locusts, and everyone started to relax and rebuild. We even got a new comedy about a family of survivalists that move to the big city when their farm is overrun with aliens. Of course, when the actual aliens arrived it didn’t seem so funny.
TV land quickly set them up with their own show of course – Mars Family Robinson. I don’t think they were actually called Robinson and they came from somewhere outside our galaxy rather than Mars, but it made for good TV. Eventually the aliens wiped out a few million people, abducted a couple of hundred thousand more (and some cows for good measure) and then left.
The Japanese took credit for that. They’d managed to lure Godzilla from the ocean and claimed he’d scared them off. Then four more giant monsters appeared and all five of them started ransacking Tokyo. There was a crazy Japanese show about it but I didn’t really understand what was going on. There was a lot of vegetable throwing. And kittens.
In the end it was the miniature wormholes that appeared all over Japan that got rid of the monsters. Scientists blamed the abnormally high sunspot activity for those.
A few months later, our first deep space mission returned bringing with it the Red Scourge—a supposedly harmless fungus that wiped out forty percent of the world’s vegetation until global warming turned into global cooling and covered most of the planet in ice, killing off the scourge.
A lot of people died from the cold, but I was okay. I made my way south, staying just ahead of the encroaching ice and the shape shifting creatures it brought with it. I ended up in a condo in Dallas. The previous occupants had apparently left to appear on a vampire hunting show and never returned.
The vampires make me a little bit uncomfortable actually. They keep flying into the windows at night. I found one lying on the ledge outside my bedroom the other morning and I almost felt sorry for him. Then he tried to bite me through the glass. My apartment faces south so the sun got him pretty quickly.
The vampires and werewolves hadn’t been here long when the Gods showed up.
It started with the Norse Gods, Odin, Freya, Loki and some of the minor ones like the God of Archery and Skiing, Ullr. Zeus and friends were next, closely followed by all the Gods from the other major religions. Even Buddha showed up for a while. Then the minor Gods appeared. Ones you’ve never heard of. Gods of Rocks and Eagles and Turtles, things like that. Every religion went nuts as their own brand of Messiah stumbled out of the wilderness to lead them to televised salvation.
Things were fine for a few months but then the Gods started to argue about ratings, and all hell broke loose.
Literally.
Thousands of demons and their related spawn crawled out of the earth stinking of brimstone and sulfur and started corrupting the innocent left right and center. They’re still coming, actually. As you might expect, there’s an endless supply of evil in Hell. They all seem to love being on television, though. I guess outrageous narcissism isn’t limited to humans after all.
I’m probably going to head east in a few days. Apparently, the Elder Gods have risen and are wandering around destroying anything they can lay their tentacles on. Australia’s gone completely. They’re about to start filming a new show in New Orleans called Who Dat, Cthulhu? and I think I stand a chance on that one. I’d been holding out for the supervillains to show up, but the grand prize is a place on the colony ship and a billion dollars.
That’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it?
The Golden Disks
B. Clayton Hackett
Some time ago, the leader of the free world, a good and optimistic man who had once been a peanut farmer, sent a message into space, written on two golden disks, hoping that someday other civilizations would read them.
He wrote: “This is a present from a small, distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.”
The golden disks were created by some of the most beautiful minds in the world, scientists who wanted to explore the universe and, if they met anyone out in space, to display the best of what humanity had to offer.
Along with the message, the disks showed pictures and sounds of people, music, nature, and other marvelous things.
The creators of the disks decided to include no displays of conflict or war, because they thought such would not make a good first impression on whomever might find the disks. These omissions were not intended to be deceptive, as the disks were not meant to be a comprehensive account of humankind or the world; the disks were merely supposed to be a greeting, a kind gesture, a welcoming.
Not everybody who helped make the disks agreed about what would make the best first impression; some other people were upset that an engraving on the disks showed the private parts of a man and a woman, because those people thought the pictures were naughty.
Nevertheless, those beautiful minds that sent the golden disks into space and the then-leader of the free world did not foresee that forty-something years later there would be a Very Different Leader of what people used to call the Free World.
When the Very Different Leader’s military advisors gave him the initial briefing that unidentified and presumed-alien ships had appeared in orbit around the planet, the Very Different Leader had no thought of golden disks, much less the message of peace or the prospect of exploration. Instead, he yelled, “SPACE FORCE! NUKE THE MOTHERFUCKERS!” and his face turned a deeper shade of orange even more improbable than its usual color.
The Very Different Leader’s advisors followed his instructions. Suffice to say, there were no further warm greetings, although the nuclear missiles did create a significant amount of heat.
Unsurprisingly, the new visitors were not unprepared for such a reception, as they possessed the knowledge to make such an extraordinary journey, as well as the foresight to plan ahead for such encounters.
In the ensuing exchange, the world did not survive conflict with these visitors, but the golden disks continued on in their journey through outer space, leaving an honorable (if not entirely accurate) memorial for what that small, distant world once was and what it could have been.
Future: Imperfect, Tense
David Bernard
The Moon’s exploration of the lost homeworld of Earth had been hampered for centuries by radiati
on levels that, shielded e-suit or not, would burn you, sterilize you, and cause your genitalia to resemble overcooked bacon. Although the bravest of the Lunar Space Exploration Cadre were willing to risk sterilization and radiation burns, no one wanted to be the one with the nickname “bacon balls.” (The Lunar Space Exploration Cadre locker room had communal showers).
In truth, the intrepid scientist-explorers had been waiting for the time when the Earth’s radioactivity diminished sufficiently to prevent cruel nicknames based on pork products. Radioactivity had been declining steadily for decades as e-suit technology improved. There was a now reasonable chance of survival with all body parts remaining uncooked, so it was time for mankind to return to the now dead rock that Luna considered its ancestral home, to determine the cause of the cataclysm. But just in case, the psychologists screened the volunteers for tolerance to the smell of burnt ham.
The morning the roster was made public, there was much giggling in Lunar Main Control, which, thanks to the multitude of deviated septa caused by the effects of Lunar gravity and the atmosphere mixture, caused the tittering technicians to sound more than slightly like a metal warehouse filled with dysenteric warthogs. This was actually still a marked improvement over the normal level of noise pollution in Lunar Control, especially on Venusian Chili night, but that’s a tale best left for later when recounting the epic saga of the fiery death of the first manned expedition to the methane clouds of Jupiter.
The cause of such joyous nasal cacophony was the news that Dr. Tomás Scott had been assigned to command the mission to Earth. It wasn’t just the honor of the assignment to the renowned and beloved astrophysicist that was causing Lunar Control to ring with elated yet horrific noise; it was the realization that Scott’s team would include sociologist Neal Josephs. The giggling started the moment the control team realized that Josephs would soon be departing the station and getting the hell away from them.
If Dr. Scott was the most highly regarded figure in the Lunar science community, Dr. Josephs was his opposite. Josephs was a moderately talented sociologist but an expert at political pandering and self-promotion. So in spite of having no discernable skills to offer for exploring a lifeless, irradiated rock, when he insisted on being included, arrangements were eagerly made. Even the Science Council, which once spent two decades debating whether vanilla was a true flavor or merely the absence of chocolate, concurred in a single session. His pop science was a distraction from their actual work of expanding the Science Council funding.
Dr. Scott would lead a crack team of experts (and Dr. Josephs) to the surface of Earth, in search of the cause of the cataclysm that obliterated what the ancient texts called “the blue planet.”
Using satellite photography and ancient data, scientists reconstructed the planet’s land masses from the time before the water boiled off into space. Comparing the maps to current cartography, the team discovered that the planet was actually in pretty good shape, aside from the lack of atmosphere and water and an overabundance of lethal radiation.
As the old Space Exploration Cadre joke goes, “it was bad, but it still beats a good day on Mercury.” It wasn’t really that funny, but when baconized genitalia is an occupational risk, you take your humor where you can.
So, on the 45th day of the 2423rd terrestrial orbit Post Apocalypse, scientists from across the lunar surface converged at Armstrong City where they finalized plans for the first humans to visit Earth in over two millennia.
The final planning went smoothly with shipboard tasks assigned to the best of each team member’s ability. Josephs was placed in charge of visual confirmation of scan data, which was Space Exploration Cadre terminology for “look out the window and don’t touch anything.” The final mission roster consisted of Commander Scott, thirteen highly respected, fully qualified scientific mission specialists, plus Dr. Josephs. It was only later noted that the research team did not include any women on the mission, proving once and for all that women are much smarter than men.
The only unfortunate incident was the caterer’s decision to theme the pre-launch meal as a luau. In all fairness to the caterer, he had no way to know that any sort of pig roast would be a sore spot in explorer circles. It is still being investigated why Josephs attended the dinner as heavily armed as he did, but maintenance was able to repair the breaches in the exterior wall in time to hold the caterer’s wake in the same function room.
The next day, the fearless team (and Dr. Josephs) boarded a modified Koenig-Norris transport shuttle and blasted earthward. They departed with the hopes and prayers of the entire Lunar community, especially the bookies in New Luna Vegas, where the odds of survival were running at 150 to 1 against.
The plan was to fly the shuttle along a computer-generated route, zigzagging along former urban centers on the North American landmass in search of a safe landing spot near ruins preserved in the harsh vacuum of space. As expected, communications with Luna Control were lost from radiation interference near the surface. As the ship’s computers flew the craft across the former eastern coast of the former North American continent in a preplanned path, the team examined a three-dimensional rendering of the terrain being generated in live time. The topography was confusing and the team was quite engrossed in examining the flow of data. Unfortunately, the 3-D data rendering was generating such an interesting discussion that Dr. Josephs forgot to maintain his visual confirmation position. This was a pity because it meant that Josephs missed his sole opportunity to be useful and provide relevant data to the discussion, such as the fact the ship was heading straight toward a mountain.
Koenig-Norris transport shuttles have automated collision avoidance systems, but the shuttles were never designed for use in planetary gravity. So when the computer triggered the collision avoidance system, it did avoid the mountain. The ship suddenly veered upward. The maneuver was implemented so quickly that the internal gyroscopes could not adjust fast enough, and the ship was soon ringing with the sickening thud of Lunans slamming into the aft bulkhead at speeds not recommended for carbon-based life forms. The ship soared straight up at multiple Gs, did a long leisurely loop upside down, finished with a barrel roll, and then stuck the landing with grim, bone-jarring finality.
The good news was that five explorers survived. The bad news was that they survived because the first ten to hit the wall made a lovely, albeit bloody, cushion of impact-tenderized meat. Commander Scott was the first to peel himself off the pile, and he headed to the bridge. The ship’s navigational computer indicated the ship was sitting near the ancient urban area called Atlanta.
Scott suited up and stepped out of the airlock to assess the damage. Josephs, also a survivor, assumed a fetal position under the console, leaving the surviving crew to separate the mangled bodies from the aft bulkhead.
The first human on earth in over 2400 years stood quietly gazing on the ruins of Atlanta in the distance before turning his attention to the ship. The hull was intact but the starboard landing gear was a tangled mess and the launch thrusters were destroyed. The ship was stranded with no way to lift off the surface. His log noted this, stating the mission was “not off to the best of starts.”
Scott sighed. At least it couldn’t get worse. They could accumulate data in Atlanta and send a drone back to Luna with the information. They were still going to end up just as dead, but at least there would be a lovely footnote in the science journals about their contribution.
He rounded the front of the shuttle to check the port side and stopped dead. There, 30 meters away, was a giant bronze statue of a pig. Written across the base was “Kewanee, Illinois – Hog Capital of the World.” Scott was an astrophysicist, not a cartographer, but he was fairly certain that “Atlanta” was not synonymous with “Kewanee.” Fighting the urge to cup his testicles in both gloved hands and run screaming back into the ship, Scott quietly walked back to the ship.
He re-entered the ship to find Josephs and the trio of remaining crew suiting up. Josephs gritted his teeth, saluted the pile
of fresh meat against the aft wall and hit the control for the cargo bay doors. The door opened and instantly freeze-dried the mess. Miscellaneous crew parts were solemnly swept into a pile outside the ship to await a shallow mass grave.
As the ship re-pressurized, Scott calmly updated the survivors. After much hysterical weeping on Josephs’ part and much cathartic slapping of Josephs on Scott’s part, the team settled into determining what caused the navigation computer to malfunction.
Heath Lectra, suddenly the senior mission geologist, was the first to figure it out. Whatever triggered the calamity on Earth had also caused a shift in the magnetic field. Magnetic North was now roughly due east. The ship navigation computer, without reliable data, had relied on the magnetic field. It had flown South as instructed; only now, South was where West was on the original maps. As a result, the ship had a close encounter with the mountain range the ancients called “the Rockies,” when the ship thought it was actually nearing the area commonly referred to in the records as “damn Florida.” The ship had instead landed in Illinois.
Commander Scott did a quick assessment of the remaining crew. He was an astrophysicist. Josephs was a sociologist. Lectra was a geologist, Stanley was an archaeologist, and Paulsen was a med tech. He couldn’t help but notice a decided obvious lack of engineers, pilots and/or anyone who could repair the ship, let alone manually fly a transport shuttle.
For three days, the team attempted to remove the damaged front landing gear, optimistically thinking that if they built a long graded ramp of dirt and removed the landing gear, they could blast off by engaging the main engines. Without cutting equipment, it was a lesson in futility, although it was discovered that med techs can curse far more colorfully than sociologists. It was also discovered that sociologists are overly sensitive to insults about their grandmothers and alleged indiscretions with farm animals.
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