Get Lucky

by Hugh Macnab

Shylock.

  ‘But there’s nothing here!’ said Permission. ‘Nothing but that small red kiosk over there, anyway.’

  ‘Shylock and Bb turned towards the structure Permission had referred to, and Shylock recognised it at once. ‘It’s a telephone kiosk!’ he cried in surprise.

  ‘A what?’ asked Bb.

  ‘Oh, a thing used for communicating one's voice to someone else, elsewhere,’ explained Shylock, starting to walk in that direction. ‘Possibly a very long way away. Come on, let’s take a closer look.’

  'Boy, Lizzie was right. Primitive!' muttered Bb.

  Upon closer examination, the kiosk was pretty much as Shylock had expected. Fragments of glass from a couple of broken panes lay inside on the floor, indecipherable messages were scrawled by hand across the rear wall and a yellow-pages directory lay shredded in a heap in the corner. One thing was different however, and that was where the words telephone kiosk should have been were printed the words – Reduction Booth.

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Permission.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Shylock, opening the door and stepping inside. ‘Perhaps this green button will explain it.’

  ‘I don’t think you should touch that,’ said Bb, too late.

  Honey I’ve shrunk the Populous

  Even as Shylock withdrew his finger from the button, the kiosk was already growing larger, and larger, and still larger. Turning he shrieked aloud as he saw Permission and Bb rapidly becoming giants, so much so that Permission’s shoes soon expanded until each little crack in the leather could be identified. The glass particles on the floor became handball sized, then football, then rocks. Still everything continued to grow. By now, he could no longer make Permission and Bb out. They were too large to see from where he stood, in fact the glass rocks were now mountainous and small building blocks were appearing on the ground around his feet. The blocks grew, just as everything else had until he could make out some defining details. Windows. Doors. They grew until they were as large as he was, and continued growing. Larger and larger, until just as quickly as it had all started, it suddenly stopped.

  Dazed, Shylock slowly turned around in a circle, astonished to find himself in the middle of what apparently was some form of business area. Signs on the various buildings indicated ‘Administration’ and ‘Transport HQ’ and such things. And, although no-one was in sight, he had the distinct feeling that people were around. He spotted one particular sign on a building not far from where he stood which proclaimed ‘reception’ and headed towards it.

  The glass panelled front doors slid open as he entered, and a young attractive female receptionist looked up from her desk, smiled and asked if she could help.

  ‘I’ve…just arrived,’ he managed to say, not at all sure where he was, or how he got there.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the receptionist replied. ‘Then you’ll want to see Dr. Roberts?’

  ‘A doctor. A medical doctor?’ asked Shylock, confused.

  ‘Oh no!’ laughed the receptionist. ‘He’s one of our foremost psychiatrists and he’ll be able to help you get to your destination.’

  ‘Err, right,’ agreed Shylock, without having any idea about what she was talking about. ‘Doctor Roberts it is.’

  ‘Sixth door on the left,’ she told him, indicating which corridor he should take. I’ll let him know your coming.'’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Shylock, following her directions and heading off down what seemed to be a never-ending sterile-white corridor, reading the signs on the doors as he went - Photographer, Removals, Add-ons, Cosmetics, Sex-change, and finally Psychiatry. Before he could knock, the door swished open and a voice called out for him to enter.

  Allowing himself to be pulled along by events, Shylock stepped through the entrance with the door swishing closed behind him. Inside, the room was green. The three available chairs, the table, desk, lamps, rug…everything…all green…and Dr. Roberts was also green. Not just a little green, as in slightly sea-sick, but full-bloodied Pea-green! Green skin, hair, clothes…the lot…green.

  As Shylock stared open-mouthed, the doctor rose and came round his desk raising a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you mister….?’

  ‘Winston,’ Shylock blurted out, taking the proffered hand and shaking it loosely. ‘I mean, Shylock Winston the third,’ he repeated with marginally more control.

  ‘Well, Mister Winston the third. What can I do for you? Where are you bound for?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘Emmm, that’s a little difficult for me to explain, replied Shylock. ‘You see, right now I’m not even sure where I am.’

  The doctor frowned. ‘Surely you arrived in the reducer just moments ago, did you not?’

  ‘The reducer?’ Shylock repeated, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. On Cloud Nine, didn’t you enter one of our reduction booths?’ asked the doctor. 'You must be one of the last by now.'

  ‘Yes,’ Shylock agreed, slowly remembering the unfamiliar word on the top of the red kiosk. ‘But I thought everything had grown larger?’

  ‘Well everything around you would certainly have appeared that way,’ explained the doctor. ‘But in reality, you were getting smaller.’

  ‘Smaller! But why?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Perhaps you should take a seat,’ answered the doctor, pulling a green leather bound chair towards Shylock. ‘It would seem I’ve some explaining to do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Shylock, sitting as the doctor returned to his own green seat behind his green-leather topped desk.

  ‘You are from Earth, are you not?’ the doctor asked, checking.

  ‘Oh, yes. Most definitely,’ replied Shylock. ‘I was born fifteenth October twenty-one-fifty-three.

  ‘My, my. But where have you been?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Shylock asked, a sudden uneasy feeling fluttering around inside him.

  ‘Well,’ said the doctor. ‘This is year twenty-six-sixteen, and according to my calculations that makes you four hundred and sixty three years of age, give or take a few months here or there!’

  ‘I’ll bet a lot’s changed,’ said Shylock, without fully comprehending what he'd just been told.

  ‘Oh, I think that’s a safe bet,’ smiled the doctor. ‘But at least I now know why you didn’t understand the purpose of the reducer.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Hmmm,’ muttered the doctor, swivelling his chair around and putting his green shoes up on the corner of his green desk. ‘Where should I begin. Let’s start with the ants.’

  ‘Aunts?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘No, no!’ replied the doctor. ‘Ants of the insect variety. Our direct ancestors.’

  ‘Ancestors?’ Shylock asked, incredulously. ‘Don’t you mean monkeys?’

  ‘No, most certainly not,’ said the doctor. ‘Although, that was what we thought back in your day, when we were fooled by the general physiology. Fortunately, however, an expedition discovered the preserved remains of a twelve-foot ant in the Amazon basin. At first it was thought to be a one-off, but further discoveries were found including a virtually complete reduction-cavity. That was when we refocused the gene research of that day and discovered that we were actually directly descended from these very same life-forms, and just in time too.’

  ‘This is incredible,’ said Shylock, still not really able to take in everything that he was hearing. ‘But, what do you mean - just in time?’

  ‘Well you see,’ explained the doctor. ‘In the twenty-second century we finally blew it. We outgrew the planet. All the natural resources were being used up and the interplanetary migration rates were far too slow to save us from starvation. So, we spent many, many man-years researching Ants and learned that they had once ruled the planet just as we thought we could do. They too became too many and faced extinction, but unlike the victims of the three prior mass-extinctions in our planet’s history, they escaped.’

  ‘Reduction?’ guessed Shylock.

  ‘Yes. By reduction,’ the doctor ag
reed. ‘They reduced themselves until the needs of the whole world population could be easily accommodated by their planet. Didn’t you ever realise how many ants there were in the world?’

  ‘No,’ replied Shylock. ‘It wasn’t really something I ever thought about. And…we’ve done the same thing? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed the doctor. ‘Although, we’ve had to take some pretty powerful weaponry with us, the Ants weren’t too happy about us joining them you see.’

  ‘We’re fighting them?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Oh no, not any more,’ explained the doctor. ‘We’ve long since negotiated a peace agreement and signed over a huge portion of the planet’s surface to them, as a reservation.’

  ‘Which area?’ asked Shylock, curiously.

  ‘Ant-arctica, naturally,’ the doctor explained. ‘They’ve adapted surprisingly well, with a little help. We taught them deep-rock-drilling, and improved their underground construction methods as well as helping them develop thermal lining for their tunnel structures such that the thermonuclear reactor which provides their central-heating doesn’t destroy the ice cap.’

  ‘There’s nuclear central-heating under Antarctica?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Of course,’ replied the doctor. ‘The poor things would freeze to death if there weren’t.’

  Hmmm,’ Shylock mused. ‘Are we really descended from the ant?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely,’ said the doctor. ‘Didn’t you ever think about commonly we refer to them in our language?. Let’s see if we can find a few examples.’

  Leaning back in his chair and running green fingers through green hair, he considered some examples. ‘Well,' he mumbled to himself.' 'When we are Ant-icipating the birth of a child, we talk about Ant-enatal, and when you are waiting for the baby to be born, you wait in an Ant–eroom. Every interruption is Ant-agonising, so you while away the time watching a view-screen but you may have to adjust the Ant-enna. When the child is born it’s cute of course, but afterwards you feel a bit of an Ant-iclimax. You drive home later, probably with Ant-ifreeze protection in your engine, to tell your relatives – your Ants being first of course. I mean, the clues were there all the time, but we still almost didn’t see them until too late.’

  Confused even more, Shylock asked what happened next.

  ‘We gathered the foremost psychiatrists in the World together and had them develop reduction booths modelled after the one discovered in South America,’ explained the doctor.

  ‘Psychiatrists?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Shrinks, of course. We were the experts in that field,’ smiled the doctor. ‘And it worked!’

  ‘You shrunk the whole population?’ asked Shylock, not sure he was following properly.

  ‘Oh much more than that,’ said the doctor. ‘If we only shrank ourselves we would have been at the mercy of every bird, animal and fish on the planet, and we didn’t want that.’

  ‘So you shrank them as well?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Every single one, apart from the elephants that is, and there's not too many of these fortunately. Quite a feet, don’t you agree? What's more, now we have them shrunk we have to keep them shrunk with ongoing treatment forever – consider the recurring fees for that?’

  Not at all sure of what to say, Shylock nodded. 'I don't suppose you already know someone called Bb do you?

  ‘No, I don't believe I do', he replied. So now you maybe understand why you’ve been sent to my office?’

  ‘No…I don’t think so,’ replied Shylock. 'Not yet,'

  ‘You tell me where you want to go, I shrink you further and then help you to get there,’ the doctor explained, while a green grin. ‘So, where would you like to go? Just name it.’

  Diaphanous flumes

  Once Shylock had explained about his travelling companions, Doctor Roberts had sent someone up to the reduction-booth to invite them to reduce in size and rejoin him. Together, they were now poised outside a small bubble-like craft which in turn was perched at the open end of what looked like a very steep flume. Doctor Roberts wished them luck, bade them farewell and closed the clear door behind them. They strapped themselves into their seats and as if aware that they were ready, the transparent-transport began trundling slowly to the flume entrance.

  Bb was first by a short head, to scream that is. Permission and Shylock being only micro-seconds behind. The bubble-craft rocketed along the virtually diaphanous delivery system, accelerating faster and faster until the travelling-trio were plastered against the backs of their seats. Just as Shylock was ready to pass-out, the pressure began to ease and he found that he could breathe normally once again. Looking across at his companions, he could see that they were equally relieved.

  ‘Wow!’ gasped Bb. ‘That was some take-off!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shylock. ‘But I suspect whatever system is allowing us to behave normally while travelling at such a speed, should have cut in before we started to accelerate.’

  ‘Marketing!’ Permission croaked, from a dry throat.

  ‘Ah! I think I see what you mean, now’ replied Bb, clasping his stomach and groaning.

  ‘So, Shylock,’ said Permission, already a little less-throaty. ‘Where are we headed, and what’s the plan?’

  ‘We’re headed to find whoever is in charge of the world council headquarters, and other than explaining what we are here to achieve, I have no plan what so ever!’ Shylock explained.

  ‘Why don’t we just ask them to give us all their money, and leave?’ joked Bb.

  ‘Hmmm, I think we may need to be a little more circumspect, don’t you?’ suggested Shylock.

  ‘Only joking!’ muttered Bb. ‘Anyway, what are we going to tell them?’

  ‘Shylock will think of something,’ said Permission, touching his arm. ‘He always does.’

  Shylock remained silent. Aware only of Permission’s touch, and remembering Lizzie’s warning.

  Accepting Shylock’s silence, Bb started to examine the various controls and dials mounted on a dash directly in front of them. Most were incomprehensible until he came to the dial marked reduction. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘According to this dial, we’re shrinking as we travel.’

  ‘Doctor Roberts told me that would be happening,’ replied Shylock. ‘Apparently, the craft automatically alters the rate of reduction as we travel so that we are the right size when we reach the end of our journey.’

  ‘So, just how small will we be?’ asked Permission, concern in her eyes.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure,’ said Shylock. ‘But, we’ll be roughly the same size as the ants. So, pretty small I guess.’

  ‘Well, we must be about ant-sized now because according to this,’ Bb said, indicating another dial on the control panel. ‘We’re almost there!’

  Even as he spoke, the crystalline-craft began to slow throwing them forward in their harnesses and again making them gasp for breath.

  ‘I’m definitely…reviewing my…Marketing strategy…when I get home,’ uttered Bb, gasping between each word.

  Slowing down was apparently much quicker, yet less stressful, than had been the start of their journey. It seemed only a handful of seconds before they entered what appeared to be a space-station. All around them, other diaphanous craft were coming and going. People were hurrying back and forwards, in and out of various buildings and structures. Overall, their destination looked very busy. Their bubble-craft slipped to a halt and the door opened automatically, allowing them to unbuckle and step onto the platform.

  The first thing they were aware of was the noise. A steady cacophony of sounds in fact. Craft entering and leaving, people running and shouting, a tannoy system announcing upcoming departures and arrivals and somewhere….a voice calling their names.

  ‘Over there!’ said Permission. ‘That man waving at us. It’s….

  Wondering why she’d stopped, Shylock and Bb looked where Permission was pointing and immediately understood. There, at the entrance to one of the many surrounding b
uildings, stood Doctor Roberts waving at them.

  Exchanging puzzled glances, the threesome headed in his general direction constantly having to move out of the way of some rushing vehicle or traveller focussed solely on getting to their destinations.

  We meet again, or do we?

  ‘Doctor Roberts?’ asked Shylock, accepting the welcoming handshake.

  ‘Why, yes,’ replied the pea-green psychiatrist, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Of course, you’ve already met my pseudo-self, have you not?’

  ‘Pseudo-self?’ said Shylock, now equally puzzled.

  ‘You know,’ offered Bb. ‘Replica, clone, twin, spitting image, lifeless-bell-puller!’

  ‘Lifeless-bell-puller?’ repeated Permission, puzzled.

  ‘Dead-ringer,’ smiled Bb, ducking to avoid her playful punch.

  ‘So,’ said Shylock, addressing the Dr. Roberts duplicate. ‘Are you the real Dr. Roberts, or a….replica?’

  ‘Oh, that’s an issue we gave up shortly after the first genetic duplications occurred with a sheep way back in the twentieth century,’ explained the green-figure. ‘Since then, we have developed such a true reproduction capability that even the original specimen can no longer tell the difference. We are even created with identical memories including up to the final seconds where we enter the duplicator.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t even know if you’re the real Dr Roberts?’ asked Permission.

  Correct!,’ agreed the doctor. ‘Nor do I, or any of the others, care!’

  ‘So, do we call you Dr. Roberts?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Seems reasonable,’ came the reply. ‘After all, we all are.’

  ‘All?’ asked Bb. ‘How many are there of you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve long since lost count. No idea,’ replied the doctor. ‘Anyway, enough about all of us, how about you. How can I be of assistance?’

  Anarchy

  The large brass plate on the wall at the side of the rotating glass doors proclaimed that the visitors had arrived at the right place. When Shylock had left Earth, many years ago from this day, the World council had been embryonic. Now it had been in existence for several hundred years and would undoubtedly represent a much-advanced state of government. Previous world councils had been plagued with constant bickering, indecision and the inability to govern. Shylock turned to the others and saw that they too were apprehensive, shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward activating the automatic door.

  Inside, they scanned the long list of departmental names on a large shiny panel on the wall, and selected the suitably named department of important decisions. It appeared to be on the ground level and a further sign indicated that it was the third door on their right as they walked down the central corridor.

  When they arrived a green lamp glowing over the doorway indicated that it was permitted to enter, so they did.

  The moment the door swung open their ears were assaulted with a horrendous rush of voices, screaming and shouting, barracking and bawling, wailing and hollering. Each hopelessly competing for supremacy with all others and failing. The stunned threesome could only cover their ears and look around in