This story was accepted at Absent Willow Review and became my second-ever published story, in November 2010. It has been reprinted once or twice since then, but currently this collection is the only place you can find my freshman effort.
GOOD ADVICE
The time traveler’s arrival was underwhelming. He did not materialize out of thin air, or even ride in on a jet pack. Instead he knocked gently twice on Bobby’s door and walked in without waiting for an invitation.
“Greetings from the future,” he started saying in a deep voice, but burst into a fit of laughter. “Man, you should have seen your face,” he continued after catching his breath. “It was priceless.”
The visitor was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. Then again Bobby did not seriously expect a silver jumpsuit or some other bad 1950’s sci-fi movie cliché. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall, dark, and - while not exactly handsome - pretty close to how Bobby imagined himself aging.
“So that’s what I am going to look like when I grow up,” said sixteen year old Bobby Sesak. “Not bad, considering.”
“I ain’t complaining,” responded the older man. He walked over to the mini-fridge and took out a Red Bull. He opened it, took a big gulp and plopped onto the couch.
“This is not exactly how I pictured any of this going down,” offered Bobby hesitantly.
“I know,” said the visitor. “I know everything you do. I am you, remember?”
Bobby studied his older self carefully.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s pretty hard to accept though.”
“I get it,” said future Bobby. “You aren’t entirely certain that I am really you.”
Bobby nodded.
“All right. You had measles at seven. At thirteen you developed a huge crush on Kathy Marino from Pine Street, but never got up the courage to do anything about it. You are going to graduate high school this year, and you’ve already been accepted to MIT. You were going to go and study theoretical physics, but then you met Rachel a few months ago. Now you are seriously thinking about turning MIT down, so you can hang around here with your girlfriend for another year while she finishes high school.” Future Bobby washed his monologue down with a few more sips from the can. “How else would I know any of this?”
Bobby had to agree. No one knew some of these details outside his immediate family.
“I love her. I just can’t picture heading to Massachusetts and leaving her behind,” said Bobby.
“I know it’s hard. This is why you thought up this experiment. You figured that if you went to MIT and continued to work on your theories, you’d eventually build a working time machine. You set a specific time and date for a future you to show up here, if you succeeded. Had I failed to be here today, you were going to assume that your theories will not bear fruit after all and use this as an excuse to bail on college.” The older man looked at Bobby sternly. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get here? What kind of trouble I am going to be in if anyone from my time finds out?”
“Sorry about that,” said Bobby. “I did not really think that part through.”
“No kidding. Still, I managed. Got to look out for Numero Uno,” smiled future Bobby. “Anyway, I am old and wise now, so you better listen up, mini-me. You are going to enroll at MIT this September. Sure, you will miss Rachel pretty badly – for a little while. Then you will meet a number of interesting young ladies in Boston and pretty soon Rachel is going to be just a pleasant memory. It will all work out very well in the end,” he nodded meaningfully to a wedding band on his finger. “Trust me. This is for your own good.”
“Now you sound just like dad,” said Bobby.
“This is really hard to accept at sixteen, but dads are often right,” said the older man. “Remember the time when he talked you out of buying that comic book collection? Or the time he convinced you to stay away from Kevin and his shady friends? If I recall, Kevin is in jail now – or soon will be. Well, dad is right about this one, too.”
“What happens next?” Bobby asked.
“I go back,” said future Bobby with a sigh. “I took a lot of risks to be here and the longer I stay the more likely I am to be discovered.”
“Wait,” said Bobby. “Aren’t you going to give me some winning lottery numbers? Or better yet, the formula I am going to invent to make time travel possible?”
“It doesn’t work that way, kiddo. Changing anything is a major risk to the timeline. Even nudging you in the right direction was dangerous stuff. Don’t worry; you’ll get there on your own. As long as you pack up your bags and head to college.”
The time traveler said his good-byes and left. Bobby sat in his chair for a while, thinking, trying to figure everything out. He was really leaning toward staying home, staying with Rachel, but this event changed everything. Still, something was gnawing at him, something he could not quite put his finger on.
Then he had it. The comic books! His dad did talk him out of buying that collection at a garage sale – but then Bobby went back on his own and bought them anyway. He was so sure that it was a great investment, but the value of those comics plummeted, and he never told dad. The books were still here in his room, sitting at the bottom of the drawer. Surely it’s not something he’d completely misremember, even years later.
Bobby stormed out of his room, then out of the house and down the road. He ran to the intersection and in the distance he saw the visitor speaking to his father. And then he watched his father pass a stack of bills into the other man’s hand.
I wrote this right after “The Skeptic”, but it happened to be accepted by Every Day Fiction and published first, so it became my first published story.
A few months after the initial publication, the company that puts together test materials for the New Jersey Board of Education reached out to me and asked if they can use the story in a reading comprehension test. Needless to say I was happy to oblige, especially since the story I initially sold for a few bucks generated a $500 reprint sale.
They cut out the Red Bull reference, but left the story intact otherwise, and for a couple of years it corrupted the minds of eighth graders as part of the ASK (Assessment of Skills and Knowledge) test.
After the story was published, I was told there was a South Park episode with a similar plot. This happened with at least one other story, too. Those TV writers and I apparently think alike, although I don’t watch the show. Perhaps I should.
IN SERVICE OF A GREATER CAUSE
Her head held high and her hand squeezing a small silver cross pendant, Susan Pennell walked into the den of evil.
Susan strode down the posh foyer of Campbell Tech corporate headquarters, taking great care to look poised, regal, and in control. She made her way toward the elevators more slowly than she had wanted to, looking around scornfully as she went. It seemed as though the entire company staff milled about the lobby, stealing glances at her as she passed by and whispering unkind comments to one another. The word must have spread quickly that she was coming in, and why, and they were all smug about it.
At the elevator bank Susan waited for what seemed an eternity. She squeezed her pendant surreptitiously, and it bit deeply into the flesh of her palm. She tried focusing on the pain, hoping to ignore her surroundings. A handful of C-Tech flunkies waiting to go up suddenly found the need to be elsewhere. They beat a hasty retreat and when a melodic ping finally announced the elevator’s arrival she was the only one to board it. Upstairs she was ushered into a small, sparsely furnished conference room where two men were waiting for her.
“Well, hello,” said a lanky, balding man in a gray turtleneck sweater. “If it isn’t our biggest fan, come to visit at last.”
“Gloat if you must, Campbell,” she said, “but do keep it brief. I can only stand the company of pompous, vile sinners in small doses.”
Nigel Campbell, founder and CEO of Campbell Tech, winced at the cold loathing in her voice. He was not used to being talked to this way, but then he could ha
rdly expect better from Saint Susie.
“Very well,” he said. “This is our chief legal counsel, Mr. Niles.” He nodded to a pudgy, dark-skinned man who looked like he might burst out of his Savile Row suit. “He is here to make sure our transaction is handled properly. I still think you are up to something, you know. A publicity stunt of some sort.”
“My cancer is very real, Mr. Campbell,” said Susan, “and it is very deadly. I am sure your doctors have confirmed this. If I could get effective treatment elsewhere, we would not be having this meeting.”
“You could always pray for it to go away,” said Campbell with a mean little smile.
Susan very nearly slapped him. She had imagined doing so, in vivid detail, for the better part of twenty years, ever since Campbell and his biotech start-up first made headlines. Stem cell research, cloning, genetic engineering, cybernetic implants – whenever science came up with a new way to meddle with the Lord’s creations, Campbell and his people were among the first to embrace it. And there was Susan, always in the midst of the protests and at the front of the picket lines, condemning the sinners and quoting scripture. She became the public face of the faithful. Reporters called her “Saint Susie” and the name stuck. With over four million followers subscribing to her daily sermon, Susan was among the few people in the world who could stand up to the behemoth C-Tech Corporation had become. She was always a thorn at their side, making their downfall her personal crusade. As far as Susan was concerned, Campbell deserved far worse than a slap. With great effort, she suppressed the urge.
“I pray all the time,” she replied evenly. “Sometimes, I even pray for you.”
“And what good has that done you?” Campbell leaned in across the conference table. “The work we do here saves countless lives, and may yet save yours. All you’ve ever done is hinder and slow us down. People died because your lobbying delayed us from bringing new medicines to the marketplace.”
“I minister to the eternal soul,” said Susan. “I help bring people into the light and set them on the path to heaven. It is a much greater service than anything your science can do for their bodies.”
“Yet here you are, jumping at the chance to benefit from the science you condemn. You are a hypocrite. I should throw you out of here and let you hurry right along your path to the afterlife.”
“Now, now,” intervened Niles, “Mrs. Pennell is entitled to be treated the same way as any other patient seeking our services. It would not do to turn her away out of spite. Talk about a PR nightmare.”
Campbell fumed as the lawyer spread out the contract on the table.
“Before you sign,” said Niles, “I will explain the contract terms to you, in plain language.”
“I am familiar with the terms,” said Susan. “My foundation’s attorneys have gone over everything.”
“I am sure you are,” replied Niles, “but we are doing this strictly by the book.” He looked meaningfully at Campbell. “Can’t have any allegations of mishandling your particular case, now can we?”
“Get on with it.” Susan sat back in her chair.
“Campbell Tech will enroll you into our clinical trial which has shown promising results at treating your type of pancreatic cancer. We will furnish you with treatment and aftercare, at no monetary cost to you.”
Susan nodded, steeling herself for what came next.
“In exchange, you are going to become a computer.”
Niles produced a vial containing a thick liquid. In it floated a silver sphere the size of a grain of rice.
“A chip like this one will be implanted near your right temple. It will allow data to be streamed directly to and from your brain.
“Human beings use only a small fraction of their brain capacity, Mrs. Pennell. It is quite wasteful. This new technology allows us to tap into this excess processing power, without interfering with the brain’s normal activity. At full capacity, your mind alone can process more data than all the traditional computers in this part of London combined. Imagine what a wireless network linking thousands of minds is capable of achieving.”
Niles kept on talking, but she had little interest in what he had to say. Susan stared past him, focusing on the bare wall behind him and letting the words wash over her. When he was finished, she picked up the pen and signed all the necessary papers, methodically and without emotion. Campbell sulked in his chair. Only as Susan stood to leave, did he finally speak again.
“It is ironic, you know. All of C-Tech research runs on cerebral computing now. You have worked against us for twenty years, and now you will spend the rest of your life helping advance the very science you despise.”
Susan looked Campbell straight in the eye. “God works in mysterious ways,” she said quietly. Without another word she walked out of the conference room.
Let them think they won. God always had a plan for her. Even her cancer was just another opportunity to serve His cause. Tomorrow, she will have the infernal chip implanted in her head. And then, her programmers had assured her, the very special virus they wrote will be uploaded into it. It will spread from her brain to the minds of all the other unfortunate souls she would be linked with. It will expunge C-Tech’s entire cerebral network in one grandiose move. Susan would strike a mighty blow against the Lord’s enemies one last time.
As Saint Susie Pennell stepped out of the C-Tech building and into the busy streets of downtown London, she smiled righteously.
Another of my very early stories, it appeared in issue 1 of the short-lived Schrödinger’s Mouse e-zine.
One of my favorite authors is Simon R. Green, and I tried writing this story to emulate his style. (And since he’s British and many of his stories are set in the UK, I set this tale there as well.)
I should also point out that the humans-only-use-10%-of-their-brain thing has been long disproved. (Although it’s entirely possible Luc Besson only used 10% of his brain when he directed Lucy.) In case of this story, I think the idea of being able to store large amounts of additional data in the human brain isn’t contradictory by default to what we currently know about brain function.
THE SGOVARI STRATAGEM
Jenkins watched through the small porthole in his cabin as yet another spaceship detached itself from the station and accelerated toward the stars.
Guess that one had no berth for me, either, he thought bitterly as the Navy ship became a distant streak of light, then disappeared into the vastness of the cosmos.
Dr. Ethan Jenkins, noted xenoarchaeologist, expert on alien psyche, and a one-time consultant to the Navy, was stuck. The Diplomatic Corps wanted his help, so he’d been plucked from Earth and flown half way across the galaxy to assist in the negotiations on Tycho. And when that mission was over, they’d dumped him in this floating Navy fortress, to wait until there was a vessel heading for Earth which had the spare room to take him home.
Days turned into weeks and Jenkins remained on the station. The Navy was stretched impossibly thin because of the war, so finding him a ride was no one’s priority. Jenkins discovered that a civilian on a military base was practically a lower form of life. And so he’d waited for nearly a month now, out of the way and forgotten, staring through the porthole at the Navy vessels as life passed him by.
“Hello, Doctor.”
Jenkins snapped out of his reverie and spun around to find Meredith Nakamura standing in the doorframe of his cabin. Nakamura led the mission on Tycho. She was so high up the Diplomatic Corps hierarchy, she didn’t seem to have or need an official title.
He was elated at seeing a familiar face, but the moment had passed almost immediately. There was no way the government would spare a bigwig like her just to facilitate his return to Earth.
“Ms. Nakamura,” he nodded. “You aren’t here to get me home, are you?”
Nakamura smiled at him and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s what I like about you, Doctor. Ever so quick on the uptake.”
“What is it, then? One more mission?”
&nbs
p; “I’m afraid it’s a bit more permanent than that,” said Nakamura. “The Corps was very impressed with what you did on Tycho. Impressed enough to conscript you as a special consultant. You’re being assigned to our alien outreach division, long term.”
“How long?” asked Jenkins, his voice soft, as he braced himself for what he knew was going to be a dreadful answer.
“Until the end of the war.”
Jenkins felt as though the ground gave in under his feet and he was falling. The war against the Swarm had gone on for nearly ten years, with no end in sight.
“I’m not a soldier. I’m not a diplomat. I have a life back on Earth and this was supposed to be a one-time thing, and…”
“No, Doctor, you’re not either of those things.” Nakamura took three steps into the cabin and leaned in, her face now inches away from Jenkins’. “You’re a weapon. Your skills are a tool. Something we can use in a fight for the survival of the human species. And if there’s any chance, any chance at all, that your involvement can bring us even one tiny step closer to winning this war then you’ll go where you’re told, and you’ll like it.”
The intensity in her voice made Jenkins flinch. He fought the urge to take a step back. After a few seconds it was Nakamura who retreated, her congenial veneer restored, and a smile on her face again, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re going to love it, you know,” she said. “Travel the universe, meet all sorts of bogeys, and talk off whatever passes for their ears. It’ll be fun.” She stepped toward the door. “The ship leaves in an hour. Come and you’ll get to see something almost no human being has ever seen up close and lived to tell about it.”
Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories Page 30