Fat Power
Sherry Briggs
Some problems are really unrecognized opportunities. Suppose, for example, that certain common “exaggerations” are simple truth…
Sherry Briggs
Fat Power
Ron Corcoran had been good about his diet. Sitting glumly at the Workshop for Fitness meeting, he reflected on the broad sweep of Terran history, and how events had conspired to make his own life uniquely unbearable. Life since the mid-twentieth century had never been all that easy for those who tend to roundness of figure, but it had never been worse than now. Ron huddled, brooding, within his own personal singularity of misery.
The late twentieth century had seen a progressive obsession with the ideal of a tall, willowy figure. Things had been bad enough then, Ron thought. Then the Galactics came.
The actual arrival of the aliens could hardly have been more soul satisfying. One fine day every television set, radio, Telex terminal, personal computer, telephone, automatic teller and video game machine ceased its normal order of business.
In Omaha, Nebraska, a small boy had been engaged in the ticklish procedure of persuading the school computer to change his gym grade to a bare pass. Suddenly, he yelped and rushed downstairs to his parents, shrieking “Totally Awesome!” at the top of his lungs.
In Burbank, California, a harried mom stared at the cash machine. She desperately clutched the hand of a restless two-year-old who was giving every indication of being about to explore his overripe diaper with grubby, ever curious fingers. Tight-lipped, she thought bitter thoughts about the apparently anonymous, thoughtless prankster whose trick gave every promise of causing a half-baked headache to blossom forth into a truly magnificent migraine.
As harbingers of impending total change go the small slip of paper, printed in slightly uneven dot matrix characters, was not of itself particularly impressive. The fact that it had emerged from Ron’s hand-held calculator, which ran on batteries and was designed to produce nothing but numbers, was.
The message it bore was clear, and ran as follows:
TO THE PEOPLE OF EARTH:
WELCOME TO THE GALACTIC FEDERATION. WE ARE PLEASED THAT YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO JOIN US. REPRESENTATIVES OF THE GALACTIC FEDERATION CIVILIZATIONS WILL APPEAR THROUGHOUT YOUR PLANET DURING THE NEXT WEEK. THEY WILL BRING YOU FURTHER INFORMATION TO ENABLE YOU TO JOIN SMOOTHLY WITH GALACTIC SOCIETY. THANK YOU. WE LOOK FORWARD TO A NEW ERA OF DEVELOPING HARMONY.
Initial panic among the journalists and intellectuals of the newly admitted planet faded into amazed relief as the Galactics’s terms were made clear. No science fiction nightmares occurred, and local customs were left undisturbed. The disapproval of various cultures continued unabated, and in fact seemed to increase, as newspaper budgets grew.
Almost unnoticed amid the apparent divisiveness was the fact that actual violence diminished drastically. Although wars continued, they consisted mostly of large-scale troop movements and propaganda. Former combat hospitals became important in the war against local disease, and a new sense of hope arose in the local populations, who benefited greatly by the new Galactic medical technology.
The aliens themselves had a vast number of shapes, sizes, environmental requirements, sexes, eating habits, family structures, ranking systems, mental organizations, and communication modes. Sound-wave utilizing, highly visual (within one octave), bilaterally symmetrical, two-sexed Terrans had a huge first lesson in form acceptance dumped on them all at once. Prejudice flared briefly, and then died, overwhelmed by an array of new sensory impressions never before equalled. People who hated bugs learned to endure the /klik. These louse-sized entities swarmed over whatever they were investigating, often making it look like a mound of crawling iridescent black. Snake-haters met the smooth, lithe Srendekians, and spider smashers learned to work with the many arachnoids in the Federation. Green slime, tumbleweeds, ball lightning, metallic spheres who snapped like a string of firecrackers when they talked, and hundreds more appeared. Terrans were startled and horrified. Ultimately, they learned to accept their new colleagues.
Ron thought bitterly of the many forms which had become accepted, and the one oppressive exception. The entities who arrived had one thing in common: top physical fitness. Ron had no way of knowing how to tell a slim spherical entity from a fat one, or a flabby collectively intelligent swarm from one that was trim, but he was assured that skinniness was the norm among all of the various new arrivals
As Galactic knowledge spread, prosperity advanced into the poorest areas. Material want became a historical curiosity that children struggled, with no great interest, to understand in school. The various Galactic species were generous with their technology and unobtrusive with any cultural requirements, but one thing became ever clearer. Aside from inexpensive travel within the Solar System, and Galactic-sponsored Terraforming projects on both Mars and Venus, space travel was not generally available. What made it hard to bear was the fact that a star drive was obviously used throughout the Galaxy, and was commonplace among the swarms of diverse visitors. All of them, from kids trying out a new space-yacht bestowed by indulgent members of the previous generation, to the proud captains of mighty starships, were equally, infuriatingly silent on the subject of the star drive itself.
It became excruciatingly clear that unless Earth technology developed the solution independently, Terrans would never reach the stars. Ron had garnered his highly desirable position at the University of Terra by his deep knowledge of physics. Not surprisingly, a vast Space Drive project had grown up on Earth, and Physics was one of the most hotly pursued fields of study. The funding available for this project was of a magnitude not even imaginable in earlier, pre-Galactic times. U. of T. was the nexus point for this planet-wide effort.
The effort would not have been so frantic if Terrans had been able to ride on any one of the myriad star drive vehicles which swarmed so tantalizingly. Such opportunities proved strictly limited, however. The few Terrans fortunate enough to visit other civilizations were invited on occasions so obviously ceremonial, and the destinations they were permitted to see so carefully prepared, that such contacts simply added fuel to the already raging fire of Terran curiosity. While the Galactics did nothing direct to aid Terran star drive research, they did take a persistent, slightly amused interest in Terran efforts.
Ron was glad that his considerable ability in physics had been sufficient to overcome any prejudice he might have suffered by his unfortunate tendency to gain weight, often with no apparent reason, but at the moment, listening to the stringy lecturer, he took small comfort in that fact. She had lost 150 pounds through the Workshop for Slimness program, had kept it off, and was up in front of an audience representing several tons of accumulated lard to assure them that they, too, could do the same.
All week, Ron had kept strictly to the prescribed diet, eschewing anything with any taste. The week had not been without its trials. He had gone to his cousin’s wedding, and exasperated his generous hosts by spurning all of the goodies on which both families had labored for days. He sipped primly at black coffee with no sugar, and nibbled at one tiny watercress sandwich. The wine, beer, brownies, petit fours, eclairs, quiches and myriad other temptations were stoically, if not easily, ignored. To add to the fun, he had caused what promised to be a serious breach within the family by refusing champagne for the toast.
Then there was the time he had lunched with Dr. Biddle, his department chairman. On this occasion he got to watch, and smell, as Dr. Biddle tucked into his lean frame two mugs of dark draft beer, a huge liverwurst sandwich on rye, french fries with extra butter melted over them, and a dessert too obscene to mention. Ron had munched sadly on a salad with plain vinegar for dressing, black tea, and one small scoop of lo-fat cottage cheese.
So it went, throughout the week. He had gone to bed with a growling stomach, awakening after poor sleep to a vast emptiness and the prospect of dry toast choked down with black coffee. What was his reward for suffering these torments? Confidently plopping his ample rear into his seat, he was shocked to see that he had gained five pounds.
Real cute, those seats, Ron thought bitterly. Like so much in life, now, they were in large part a product of Galactic technology. The seats utilized a direct mass sensor, independent of local gravity. As the unhappy dieter sat down, an almost imperceptible jerk took place, and the victim’s weight appeared on the readout. Should he have cared to know, Ron, by touching a few more buttons, could have seen what he weighed in the units and gravities of a few hundred of the more local Galactic planets.
This had amused him the first few times he had attended these sessions, but now Ron glared at the readout panel. If weight loss was so damned important, why the hell couldn’t the aliens have developed some reasonable way of dealing with it? He failed to see why it was so important, anyway. Galactic medicine ensured that he didn’t need to fear the high blood pressure or cardiovascular problems associated in the past with obesity. The problem was social. The unreasonable prejudice against fat had become magnified when Terrans became exposed to the slim, trim Galactics. The one which annoyed Ron the most was something which looked like a huge sac filled with transparent slime. Terrans were told that its very transparency was due to the fact that internal fat globules were practically non-existent.
The skinny reformed fatso in charge didn’t say anything when she saw the readout. Her look said enough. No sympathy for evidence of what she could only view as regrettably weak character. Now Ron, wounded to the core, sadly reviewed a week of pointless virtue. Patiently, he sifted through his memory for every gram he had consumed during the past week. This wasn’t hard. Meals had been few, scant, and desperately needed. Suddenly, he remembered a smell. Chocolate—a rich, warm aroma. A brownie, exactly one inch by one inch.
It hadn’t been much of a straying from the narrow path, but it had been enough. The week before, he had eaten nothing untoward. He hadn’t gained, but he hadn’t lost, either. Before that: one can of beer. That had cost four pounds. And so on. Ron reflected on his high hopes when he had started the program, under the urging of Dr. Biddle.
Dr. Biddle, Ron’s department head, was a fitness nut even by the stringent standards of these times. When Ron joined T. U., he learned that he was expected at least to try for Biddle’s level of physical perfection. Ron never had a chance. Biddle was one of those wiry perpetual motion machines that ate constantly and never gained a pound. Following Biddle’s rather pointed recommendations, Ron had joined the Slimness Workshop, as well as starting several physical activities. He bought a bike, and even attempted to ride the thing. He joined the Terran University bowling league, where he held all in awe at the meagerness of his scores. He tried. Oh, how he tried! It soon became evident that physical culture in any form was not his forte.
Ron reviewed all of the weeks of virtue and suffering, counting every miserable calorie of intake, and balancing this against his impressive weight gains. Suddenly, the germ of a wildly improbable idea began to form. He was too good a scientist to miss the implications of data all too easily available to him. Anomalies he had started to experience in his own research began to shift in his mind, clicking into place like pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle. Trembling, he turned to the ample woman sitting next to him, and clutched her arm.
“Alice!” he whispered. “I’ve just thought of something! Let’s get out of here! We’ve got work to do!”
Alice Geery was Ron’s best friend, fully as massive, mentally as well as physically, as he. Her specialty was biochemistry, but she possessed a flair for physics. She was engaged in the newly expanding field of teasing out some of the basic physics of biochemical reactions. Lately she had been concentrating on some of the apparent impossibilities which were coming to light, mostly in the area of energy conservation. It took her no time to read and understand the urgency behind Ron’s interruption, and soon two large, self-conscious individuals were sneaking conspicuously from the meeting.
“OK, Ron.” Alice said, uncomfortably aware of the disapproving stare of the Slimness instructor. “We left the meeting. Now, what did you want to talk about that’s so important it can’t wait?”
“Alice, I think I have it!” Ron said. “You are just the person I need to help me get to the bottom of this!”
Alice remained unenlightened. “Ron, what on Earth are you talking about?”
“Not Earth, Alice! The whole damn Galaxy!”
“What?!”
“All that fat. Alice, do you know how hard we’ve been trying to lose weight?”
“Of course.” She replied, sardonically. “How could I miss that slight detail?” Alice had been seen absent-mindedly nibbling her lunch bag during department softball games.
“And all those blasted aliens in form-fitting uniforms. Each wretched beastie at the absolute peak of physical perfection. Do you have any idea how we’d look in those things? But, you know, my idea has to do with that very thing.”
Alice was giving him her very worst “Oh-no-what-a flake” expression, but Ron continued undeterred.
“Listen, Alice, I’ve been thinking, and reviewing my intake and weight gain. Look, we’re both scientists. Recently, Terrans have been rabid on the subject of weight loss. That’s what has blinded us to the truth. If you think about it, this obsession with losing weight is completely illogical. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Rendered speechless by his overbearing earnestness, Alice continued to listen.
“Look at the data. One lousy one-inch-square brownie causing me to gain five pounds. Your initial loss wiped out by one stinking Oreo. We’ve even set up tripwires between our beds and the refrigerator to rule out sleepwalking. What did that get us? Zip. Zilch. Nothing at all. Alice, we haven’t been sleepwalking, or doing anything else which would cause us to eat without knowing it.”
Alice Geery was skeptical, but she was too much of a scientist to ignore evidence, no matter how improbable, when it was held up in front of her. Slowly, she shook her head.
“You know, Ron, I hate to admit it. It goes against everything we’ve ever learned about the laws of physics, but
I see your point. I thought that I was in error somewhere, and was trying so hard to disprove what I’ve been seeing that I didn’t even see what it was.”
“A few laws?” Ron said. “Try conservation of matter and energy, or the laws of thermodynamics.”
“One miserable cookie going to four pounds of fat??!”
“All that virtue—”
“Running our bodies on nothing—”
“Or next to nothing—”
“And gaining!”
“Something for nothing!”
Slowly, two overweight scientists turned to stare at each other, as the implications of what they were saying moved slowly into full mental view. In the late twentieth century people had became obsessed with diet and fitness. As the cost of medical care soared and life spans increased, people began to do what they could to cut doctors’ bills. By the twenty-first century, naturally rotund individuals found themselves under ever more unbearable social pressure. Slimness-obsessed Terrans were propelled into full mania by the arrival of the sleek, trim aliens. The prosperity which those aliens brought allowed even people subsisting in historically famine-afflicted areas the possibility of a good diet, and the money to spend on the “lite” foods needed to trim back to near famine. In the ensuing orgy of guilt several rather nasty tasting “healthy” foods became best sellers, while the manufacture of chocolate was almost stopped entirely.
That same guilt had blinded Ron and Alice to the startling things of which their own bodies were capable, but now they saw clearly the direction their research needed to pursue. The initial work confirmed their ideas. The next two months saw the pair working late into the nig
ht on their own time. Finally, they were ready to approach Dr. Biddle.
The night before the momentous, and certainly dreaded, confrontation with the department chairman, they were holding a last minute council of war in a secluded corner of their favorite bar. Anyone who had noticed what they had in front of them might have raised startled eyebrows at what they had ordered: dark beer on draft, potato skins drenched with melted cheese, and a generous bowl of salted nuts. The two hard working researchers would not have cared. They had reason to celebrate.
“Well, Ron, this is it. Tomorrow, we beard the lion in his own den.”
“Alice, I tell you, we can’t miss. The guy might be a class A pain in the ass, but he is a good scientist. He may not like what we are doing to some of his pet theories, but he has no choice but to support our research if he wants any part of the new star drive.”
His enthusiasm was infectious. Alice’s eyes crinkled with pleasure, and beer mugs clinked. No fine champagne glasses ever sounded sweeter.
In the harsh light of morning a bit of the victorious glow had faded. Two somewhat rumpled, slightly hung-over scientists walked slowly up the long, wood paneled corridor leading to the very center of power of the most prestigious department of the greatest university on the face of the Earth. They were painfully aware of the slightly uncrisp nature of their best suits, and the unmistakably battered appearance of their economy model briefcases. The huge, polished mahogany doors, with their gleaming brass handles, swung open smoothly, with the silence indicative of assiduous maintenance. Disdaining a receptionist, Biddle himself sat at a huge desk, facing them impassively. He allowed the silence to continue until Ron grew slightly pink. Then he spoke.
“Well, you said you had some data for me. Let me see them.”
“Yes, sir. Here are our initial results, along with the raw data.”
Alice spoke with crisp authority which belied her appearance, and arranged several papers on the desk. Biddle’s eyebrows rose. He regarded the pair thoughtfully, and then leaned forward to examine the papers spread out before him. After a long silence, he spoke.
Fat Power Page 1