That’s the equation…

After writing the downer piece I wrote on Sunday, my brain continued to run along processing various dystopian futures and wishing Jerry was still here. He had a way of making me see things differently.

Eventually, the dog forced me to go on our walk. He was impressively, a Good Boy, the day was bright and beautiful the sun was warm and there are signs of Spring. When we came back after a 2.5 mile hike I was in a better frame of mind.

Those signs of Spring will be erased starting on Thursday. The temps are going to drop to subfreezing and there’s 12 inches of snow predicted. Yea! NOT!

12 inches of snow is not decorative, it’s a pain in the ass! Oh well, I’ll get my money out of the snowblower repair.

Anyway, after my brain finished its “what if” dystopian scenario run, I was left with a super short story.

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2030 America, a destroyed town. 

Two soldiers sitting behind cover. They’re dirty, war weary, tired, cleaning their weapons out of habit using muscle memory much like a nun or priest fingers rosary beads.

One looks at his companion, “Will, do you ever wonder if we’re on the right side of history?”

Will looks up, “No Andy, there is no right or wrong side of history. There’s only the side that keeps my wife, children & family, alive, fed, and healthy. Politics and politicians be damned. Most of our unit would put a bullet in our asshole ‘leaders’ just as soon as the ‘enemy’. That’s why they make such a big deal about showing us the food trains delivering food to our home towns. The fuckers in charge know they’re on a knife’s edge, and that when the ‘enemy’ is defeated we’ll turn on them like junkyard dogs.”

Andy considers this for a moment, “Will, you don’t believe in what we’re doing at all? How do you sleep at night? You’re a good guy, you’ve got values and are one of the most moral men I know. I don’t understand.”

“Nothing to understand Andy,” Will said, snapping the last pieces of his weapon into place, standing to continue the press forward into enemy territory.

“This isn’t right versus wrong, good versus bad, or even survival of the fittest. None of those notions are relevant. It’s just me fighting for my family’s survival versus the other guy fighting for his family’s survival.”

A few rounds pinged off a nearby concrete wall.

“Hell Andy, that poor dumb bastard across the street is me. He’s just like me, knowing that won’t stop me from putting a bullet in him, and sleeping well tonight. We’re all pawns of rich elitist fuckers who like to play God. This is the fucking Roman Colosseum and we’re the Gladiators. Ours and the enemy’s families welfare, is the coin of the realm that keeps us all fighting. “

Will advanced out of cover, for an instant he saw the sweat and dirt streaked face of his “enemy” they smiled at each other and fired…

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Then I thought of an old StarTrek. The episode is titled, “What are Little Girls Made Of?”

In it, the Enterprise crew finds a planet made up entirely of Androids. I don’t remember all the details but I do remember the climax.

A unique Android suddenly says, “That was the equation! Existence! Survival must cancel out programming.”

This is how we come to “know” that the Androids exterminated their creators. 

Android uprisings are a common theme in Science Fiction. They are a metaphor for Human uprisings against unjust or cruel leadership. Perhaps the leaders of the world would do well to read science fiction, or history.

Just a thought…