Analog Science Fiction And Fact - June 2014

by Penny Publications

"Even if you did do something," Mira answered, "didn't the Amnesty take care of that?"

  Tony took her by the shoulders. "It might have let me forget whatever crimes I committed, but would that make me any less guilty? There has to be a period at the end of any sentence, Mira." He handed the money back. "Keep this. I won't need it."

  "But..."

  "Listen to me; whatever is going to happen doesn't concern you. I don't want you to get hurt, so stay away from me for a few days. Go!"

  Mira fumed. "You don't have a few days, damn it. Don't you understand?"

  "Just go."

  Mira was beside herself. How could she stay away when they were after Tony? What if they intended to kill him?

  She debated asking Pete to intervene. He was a good cop. She hoped he'd help, despite his jealousy.

  Pete proved less than sympathetic when she called. "Can't go by what you think, " he argued. "Even if they are Cazadores, which I doubt, they'd have to do something illegal to your boyfriend before I could act."

  "I imagine you'd like that, wouldn't you," she spit back. She didn't need to see his reaction to know how that had pissed him off.

  "This isn't about us, Mira," he replied far too calmly and, a moment later, changed to that too-sweetly-sympathetic tone she detested. "I just want to protect you. Look, I'll go by the yard to make sure that he's all right." When Mira didn't reply, he added. "It would be best if you kept out of this, darling. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

  Mira was incensed at being patronized, first by Tony and now by Pete, and cut the connection. It was obvious that Pete wasn't going to help. She couldn't just stand by; she had to do something!

  Then she remembered the shotgun Mike kept hidden under the counter. She didn't know much about guns, but she knew a shotgun didn't have to be aimed well. Maybe she could shoot that to scare the Cazadores, or use it to warn Tony and give him a chance to reconsider, to run, hide, and escape whatever consequence he seemed all to damn willing to face.

  When Mira left the diner she found that a towel-wrapped shotgun made an awkward and heavy bundle that was continually in danger of slipping out of her arms. She'd checked both barrels to make certain the gun was loaded and put some of Mike's extra shells in her coat pocket.

  She knew Tony would still be at work at the scrap yard this late in the day, so she headed there. There were enough hulks lying about that she'd be able to find some place to keep watch.

  She hadn't seen a squad car parked nearby, so Pete had probably lied about checking on Tony.

  She heard the racketing clatter of Tony's metal shredder coming from the back of the yard and the pounding of a crusher off to her right. Their racket masked any other noises. She glanced right and left for a glimpse of the Cazadores.

  Where were they? Could she have been wrong?

  The sun began to throw long evening shadows. The pounding noises stopped, but the shredder continued screeching. The sound set her teeth on edge.

  There was a f licker of movement to her right and, when she caught a glimpse of Pete's brown uniform, felt relief that he was doing what he'd promised for once. Maybe she had misjudged him after all.

  As Pete walked toward the shredder, apparently unaware of her, she spotted Chuck and Fred, the Cazadores, coming through the gate with their guns. Unless Pete was careful, he'd be caught right between them and Tony's machine.

  She lifted the shotgun and put a finger on the triggers. Should she fire a warning shot or not? If so, when, and just who would she be warning?

  The noise of the shredder abruptly ceased. She watched Tony climb down from the large machine and wipe his scarred hands on a greasy rag. He spotted Pete and stopped. "Come by for a rematch, Pete?"

  Pete's reaction was immediate. "You bastard," he snarled. "They should have jailed all of you God-damned killers instead of letting you off scot-free. I told you to keep away from Mira!"

  "Well, that's really her choice, isn't it?"

  She crept closer to better hear what they were saying. What was going on? Was this all about Pete's jealousy?

  Pete was clearly working himself into a rage. "I know what you people did in the war, all of you! They couldn't hide what you soldiers did, not when the accounts passed across my desk.

  "The Amnesty might have been about forgetfulness, but it sure didn't mean we should forgive anyone. Some things can never be put behind us, not so long as anyone remembers."

  Tony shook his head. "I agree. Every sentence needs a period, Pete."

  Mira sucked in her breath. Tony had said that earlier. Did it mean something more than the words implied?

  "Well, I'm the one who's going to punctuate your god-damned sentence if you don't leave," Pete hissed.

  "And how are you going to do that?"

  Pete pulled his pistol. "Maybe I shoot you. Like I warned everybody—rehabs like you go crazy all the time. I'll just say that you attacked me, and who's to say different? Everybody saw you jump me in the park."

  Pete's behavior puzzled Mira. Was that just posturing or was he so upset that he'd actually shoot Tony? She suddenly realized that it must have been Pete who called the Cazadores. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. Oh God, what if he wanted Tony to jump him?

  Pete laughed as he waved the pistol. "Maybe I'll even say you were an escaped war criminal." He aimed at Tony's chest and snarled; "Maybe I'll just do that." He sounded as if he really meant it.

  Mira couldn't believe this was happening, that Pete would go through with his threat, but it didn't sound as if he was bluffing any more. If she did nothing Tony might die. She had to stop this.

  As she stood she accidentally squeezed both triggers. BLAM! Both barrels roared as the double load of buckshot tore into the ground three meters away. The shotgun kicked back so hard that she nearly dropped it.

  Before the echo of the shotgun's blast died away there was a shot and Tony staggered back. Pete swung toward her and crouched, his eyes squinting as he brought the gun up with both hands.

  At that moment there was a clatter of gunfire that threw Pete backward. Mira had barely recovered when she saw the two Cazadores running toward Tony.

  She fumbled at her pocket for more shells. Her trembling fingers dropped one as she broke the barrel, but managed to insert the other. She snapped the breech closed. "Keep away from him," she shouted, trying to steady the shotgun, hoping that she'd at least be able to shoot one if they tried anything.

  Blood was pouring down Tony's left arm. Pete wasn't moving. Gods, why was he dead when Tony...

  Fred, the short one, had a rifle pointed at her. "Lower the damn shotgun, lady," he shouted. "It's all right. I won't shoot you."

  "First, you put your gun down," she answered and kept the shaking shotgun pointed toward him. Surprisingly, he did as she asked and knelt beside Pete.

  "Why did you shoot Pete?" she asked as she lowered the shotgun. "He's the sheriff."

  "He was going to shoot," Fred answered. He nodded to Chuck; "Call EMT. This one's still breathing." Then he turned to Mira. "Couldn't take the chance he wouldn't shoot without looking to see who it was. These rehabs sometimes react automatically."

  "Give it a rest, Fred," Chuck warned as he called for an ambulance.

  Mira was shocked. "But Pete's not a rehab—veteran," she corrected herself. "He said he didn't take the Amnesty."

  Fred had moved on to check Tony, pressing his fingers to the handheld, and scanning his eyes. "We checked records when he called.

  He'd been a sniper. Tried to avoid the Amnesty but couldn't live with the guilt, I guess."

  No, no, no! "Pete's mean, but he couldn't have been a cold-blooded killer." Not Pete. Not the man who'd shared her bed. "He said he'd only been an office worker."

  Chuck shrugged. "You mean like Tony here said he worked in a factory? Some treatments go deeper than others, lady."

  Fred spoke up; "Not everybody accepted the Amnesty. Most of the Cazadores chose to remember the war, remember what the real criminals did and..." His voice
died off, as if even mentioning it was too hard to bear. "Anyhow, we're only supposed to catch those bastards," he snarled.

  "But if they took the Amnesty...?" Mira wondered as she looked at the two wounded men.

  "It only erases memories, not actions. There are some things that can never be forgiven. Not ever." The approaching ambulance could be heard in the distance. "We're not supposed to shoot them," he said with a smile that belied his words, "unless they force our hands by threatening innocent civilians." He kept his hand on Tony's chest and watched his handheld.

  Tony grimaced. "Will you at least tell me what I did? Don't I deserve to know, for God's sake?"

  Fred looked at his handheld. "Retinas, fingerprints, and image don't match Alder's." He snapped the handheld closed. "Another false alarm, damn it!" He stood. "If you'd done anything seriously wrong I'd have gotten a flag."

  Mira knelt. "Then he's all right?" Mira wondered why she didn't feel as much concern for Pete. "Will we be all right?"

  Chuck waved the EMT crew over before he answered. "All right? I don't know. Just try to get on with your lives—all of you."

  Mira wondered about that: would Pete hold his job, stick to his false memories, or would he, like Tony, find the knowledge that he had buried a guilt too much to bear? Would Tony come to terms with the fact that his crimes, however terrible, were no worse than any others?

  And could she find forgiveness enough for the both of them?

  * * *

  The Last Time My Computer Went Down

  Probability Zero

  Kate Gladstone | 407 words

  It's hard to run TurboTax when your laptop is sinking through the table. I sighed and thumbed speed-dial.

  "Quantum Computers—Everett speaking."

  I introduced myself and described my Toshiba and my problem. "The last time this happened, it took ten minutes and only got half an inch through the tabletop before auto-rebooting and reversing the process. This time, it's almost completely submerged, with no sign of rebooting."

  "Did you try turning it off?"

  "I can't reach the power switch any more. And if I pull the plug, some peripherals hang on restart." I'd learned that the hard way after a power outage—the next morning, it took me three hours to locate my mouse: neatly suspended from a miniature gallows that had materialized below the printer.

  "Okay, the power switch is gone. Can you reach any part of your computer at this time?"

  "Yes, the top left corner of the cover is still visible."

  "Touch it and tell me what happens. I recommend using your nondominant hand."

  I poked the rapidly descending plastic—and yelped as if I had touched dry ice. With difficulty I pried my fingertips away and warmed that hand in my armpit. "I heard that," crackled Everett's voice. "Sounds like your computer is frozen."

  The laptop continued its journey: passing between the molecules of the table, it picked up speed, sliced through the floor, and collided with the concrete of the basement below.

  "Sounds like you've got a truly nasty crash. Probably a quantum superposition malfunction—those early-model Schrödinger drives collapse at the least excuse. I'm afraid it's gone down permanently."

  "Is this under warranty?"

  "For Schrödinger failure? Sorry, nope. You see, technically there's a possibility that your computer is completely functional whenever not being observed. I hope you backed up regularly."

  I groaned.

  "Let me transfer you over to Sales."

  Sales must have been training new staff. The data entry specialist, Ms. Heisenberg, claimed she couldn't enter my credit card expiration date during the same call as my credit card number.

  Fortunately, she could manage PayPal, and there were sales on two models guaranteed immune to crashes, freezes, or other interesting ways of not working.

  The cheaper one, unfortunately, was a model I'd already had trouble with: tablets and styli and I just don't mix. That left something which didn't have nearly as wide a range of apps. However, it was still cheap enough that I could splurge for overnight shipping.

  "You'll need to be there tomorrow to accept delivery. Before we end this call, would you like extended warranty protection for your new abacus?"

  * * *

  Alternate Abilities: The Paranormal

  Science Fact

  Edward M. Lerner | 5621 words

  In 1995, two academic researchers were tasked with assessing twenty years of U.S. government and government-funded studies of "anomalous mental phenomena." (You have seen the movie The Men Who Stare at Goats, right?) That awkward expression, "anomalous mental phenomena," stands in for abilities more commonly labeled as—take your pick— "psi," "paranormal," and "extrasensory."

  One of the researchers—Jessica Utts, a statistician then at University of California Davis—reported:

  Using the standards applied to any other area of science, it is concluded that psychic functioning has been well established. The statistical results of the studies examined are far beyond what is expected by chance. Arguments that these results could be due to methodological flaws in the experiments are soundly refuted. Effects of similar magnitude to those found in government-sponsored research... have been replicated at a number of laboratories across the world. Such consistency cannot be readily explained by claims of flaws or fraud. 1

  Reviewing the same information, her co-evaluator—Ray Hyman, then a University of Oregon psychologist—replied:

  The occurrence of statistical effects does not warrant the conclusion that psychic functioning has been demonstrated. Significant departures from the null hypothesis 2 can occur for several reasons. Without a positive theory of anomalous cognition, we cannot say that these effects are due to a single cause, let alone claim they reflect anomalous cognition. 3 Confused about the state of evidence for paranormal abilities? Join the crowd.

  In this article, we'll review some of the support—and objections to same—for the paranormal. We'll survey some science fiction reliant on the paranormal, consider this magazine's history with the paranormal, and take a look at the physics that might underpin paranormal abilities (if such exist).

  Is parapsychology a science? Or is the paranormal in science fiction purely a trope, a bit of authorial legerdemain like a time machine? Read on. (Unless you're a precog, in which case you already know the answer.)

  The paranormal

  Merely the popular term paranormal is problematical. The expression anomalous mental phenomenon eliminates any implication of the supernatural, without def ining some presumed scientifically accessible baseline (the "normal") against which an anomaly is measured.

  For the duration of this article, the phenomenon under discussion is: a mentally mediated transfer—whether of force, matter, or information—without technological assistance, under circumstances commonly understood to preclude such transfer.

  Quite the mouthful. Paranormal has brevity going for it, and I'll use that term. (I'll retain the synonym psi when it appears in quoted text and in my discussion of such quotations.)

  What might be examples of such transfers? Telepathy: the direct projection of thoughts to, or the reading of thoughts from, another's mind. Remote viewing: the perception of distant places. 4 Precognition: the perception of events before they occur. Psychokinesis (aka telekinesis): altering the physical state of a system from a distance. Mental healing: altering the health of an organism from a distance. Teleportation: relocating an object, including oneself, without recourse to muscles or artificial mechanisms. In this article, alas, space limits (of the most mundane sort: our page budget) preclude looking at equal depth at all forms of the paranormal.

  Why consider such abilities? For one reason: because (per a 2005 poll) 41% of Americans report a belief in extrasensory perception and 32% in telepathy. 5

  In the beginning

  Founded in London in 1882, the Society for Psychical Research was "the first society to conduct organized scholarly research into human experiences that
challenge contemporary scientific models." 6 The SPR counted among its early members:

  • William Crookes—chemist and physicist better known for his pioneering work with vacuum tubes.

  • John William Strutt, Third Baron Rayleigh—physicist better known for discovering "Raleigh scattering," the explanation for why the sky appears blue (and holder of a Nobel Prize for codiscovering argon).

  • Alfred Russel Wallace—biologist and naturalist better known for developing, independently of Charles Darwin, the theory of evolution through natural selection.

  • Carl Jung—psychiatrist and the founding father of analytical psychology.

  In two words: serious thinkers.

  Studies of the paranormal

  And yet, as we saw in the opening, more than a century later the case for—and against—the paranormal remains contentious. A closer look at typical studies will show why.

  In 1927, J. B. Rhine, a botanist by training, established a lab at Duke University for the study of the paranormal. To make that research quantifiable and repeatable, Rhine pioneered the use of Zener cards: card decks of five easily distinguished shapes, designed by perceptual psychologist Karl Zener. Subjects were asked to identify—without looking—the shape on each of a long random series of the cards, sometimes after an experimenter had seen the card (i.e., by telepathy) and sometimes before (i.e., by clairvoyance). In trials that continued for more than a decade, Rhine reported subjects who indicated the correct card more often than sheer guesswork would explain.

  A second phenomenon emerged in Rhine's studies: the longer the experiments continued, the less the observed improvement over random guessing. Does use of the paranormal diminish aptitude? Does boredom dull paranormal aptitude? (How long would you maintain your concentration on which of five shapes is up?) Does the Law of Large Numbers come into play, driving results toward the mean?

  As for the validity of Rhine's results, not everyone is convinced. 7

  The U.S. government's exploration of the paranormal during the '70s and '80s was mostly performed by or on behalf of the CIA. These are the underlying studies alluded to in the opening, and this research focused on remote viewing. (If you ran a spy agency, wouldn't you appreciate a way to inspect places of interest—say, suspected missile silos and nuclear-test sites—from the comfort and safety of your office?)