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.
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…
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.
“What happened to the people that built this, Old One?”
The child was holding a shiny metal rectangle picked out of the dirt.
“They died, child.”
“Old One, what is this? It seems too small to be a serving tray, or shelf. It’s too flat to be a plate. I can’t think what use this would be.”
“It is of no use to us child. Come, we must get through this canyon of ghosts before nightfall.”
The Old One glanced back at the discarded rectangle. A wistful expression briefly crossed the weathered face. Then the Old One continued the exhausting task of shepherding the children through the broken terrain.
As the small group moved on, a shaft of sunlight briefly reflected an image of an apple missing a bite, onto the grey stone of the canyon. No-one in the group noticed the reflection.
Several hours later, howling winds and stinging sand forced the group to shelter inside the mouth of the canyon. It was just as well, the little ones were asleep on their feet. The Old One built a fire and gathered the children around it.
Many of the younger children were asleep when one of the older children asked, “Old One, why is this called a canyon of ghosts?”
“Because, the dead live here. You should sleep now we still have a long journey ahead of us.”
“Old One, please tell us about this place.”
Several of the children were looking expectantly toward their elder for a story.
The Old One gave in.
“As you must have noticed, this canyon is strange in many ways.”
The children nodded enthusiastically.
“This is not a canyon forged by a river or wind. This canyon was built by people. The stone isn’t stone at all, at least not in the sense that you’re used to. Merchants and other people lived here. This was part of a great village in which many people lived and still more traveled into each day.”
Several of the children settled on their very worn sleeping mats to listen. The Old One knew they would soon be asleep but continued the story.
“In that time people could travel many days march in just the time it takes the sun to crest the rim of the world. Great machines and small ones made this possible. There was abundance of food and clean water. The people had warm clothing and many goods. There was a great knowledge system that all could access. My knowledge is nothing compared to the knowledge the people had in the palm of their hands. All was bright and shiny. The people could turn night into day and their homes were warm in the dead time, and cool in the hottest of the green time.”
“Old One, how did they do these things?”
“They had great knowledge of many things. What they did not have, they created from the sand, and stone, and metals in the ground. The way they did this is lost to us, but stories tell of fresh fruit at all times of the 13 moons everywhere. It is said that these people could fly and move thousands of days march in a single day.”
Several more children laid down sleepily.
“The stories tell of large silver tubes, some with wings and some without, that the people would step into and be taken somewhere else. When I was very young I think I saw a flying silver tube far up in the sky. Then there was a burst of fire and it fell to the ground. The Old One I was traveling with told us it was of no concern to us and we kept moving. I think each of us hoped we would see the place where the tube fell but our path led us to the mountains and later to our village where you and I have lived our lives.”
“Old One, why did we have to leave the village?”
“Because a darkness has fallen upon our mountains. It is a darkness which has no name, but which is making the game diseased and crops to wither and die. We were sent from the village so that we might live. We must find a new place. As you have seen, I mark the direction we travel so that others may join us.”
One of the children was looking up at the tall walls of the canyon. He asked, “Why can’t we live here?”
“This is a place of death. Not just death of the body but of dreams and joy.”
“How did people with so many skills and so much abundance die?”
“That is a hard question to answer child. Truly, these people had much. Eventually though jealousy and anger won out over their knowledge. They began to divide themselves by beliefs and the color of their skin. They found divisions which had been closed amongst them, and reopened many old wounds. They as a group chose poor leader, after poor leader and fought over the outcome, refusing to accept they’d all chosen poorly. They turned on their warriors and those entrusted to keep disagreements from becoming duels. They lost themselves by turning from being a single group with common goals into more groups than stars in the sky. Each group believed they were the best and pursued their petty goals to the exclusion of all others. When an ascendant group achieved their goals, they found something else to squabble about. They were never appeased, and knew no satisfaction. Over time the conflicts between groups and individuals always resulted in violence. While poor leaders spoke of many ways to make things better, they also continued to divide their people with their words, until they too were ignored. It was a kind of endless madness that swept the land.”
“What could they possibly have had to fight about Old One?”
“They fought over who had more of what shiny thing. They questioned if they needed to work. Shouldn’t someone make their bread and bring it to them with no expectation of receiving something in trade? They chose to fight over the color of skin, many saying skin color made some less equal and others more equal. They fought over who should sleep with whom and over belief in various deities which they all agreed were the same creator of all things but they differed as to the shape, size, directions from, or color of the creator of all things.”
The few children left awake, listened with rapt attention. Some shaking their heads because such division was unthinkable within the village.
“Some stories tell of the release of a disease upon everyone. Other stories say the disease was sent by The Creator to silence the noise of the squabbling. I don’t know which to believe, perhaps neither, or perhaps both. The disease killed many and caused great sickness. The poorest of this land’s leaders was weak and feeble. Other more powerful leaders from other lands, lands beyond the seas saw the weakness and the weakness of the people of this land because of incessant squabbles. In fear, the leaders of this land tried to show they were strong and released machines of terrible power against the other lands. The other lands had already released more diseases but now, in response they released their terrible machines in retaliation. Many of these terrible machines were struck down and fell into the seas. Wherever one touched the land, bolts of lightening and fire stretched up to the sky.”
“Like what the hunters who grew sick and died spoke of?” A sleepy child asked.
The Old One pulled a small tattered blanket from a nearby pack and covered the child.
“Yes, little one. Like that. Then the sickness came into our lands. The Elders of the village would not believe that one of the machines had survived so long or that it could still be potent. I wasn’t sure, so I began searching for another place that our people could live. I found mountains about 2 moons from here. They are blue, purple, and yellow like the sun as it slides past the rim of the land. In one more moon we will be able to see them.”
“That’s a long way Old One,” The child said around a yawn.
“Yes it is little one,”
Old One looked around the camp, all the children were sleeping. After making sure each child was covered against the chill of the night, the Old One returned to the fire.
Throwing back the hood of a tattered cloak the Old one raised a tearstained craggy, but young, face to the stars, the Old One wondered how many of the children would make it to the mountains.
The whole truth had not been told to the children. No-one would be following them. By now, the village, their home, was dead. Everyone had eaten of the hunter’s kill, while the hunters themselves told their tale.
That alone might not have been fatal, but the winds blowing from the sea carried the sickness, what had it been called? Contamination?
The Old One could not remember. Within a season, birds dropped from their perches in the trees bleeding from their eyes and beaks. Then larger game was found throughout the forest similarly afflicted. Winter was colder, the snow stayed longer, Spring plants sprouted then died. More people fell ill, starting with the side of the village closest to where the hunters said they’d seen the fire and lightening.
The Old One was angry and sad to have lived long enough to see this happen again. The first time as a fearful child awakening alone in a canyon much like the one now occupied by the sleeping children.
Somehow this canyon was less stark, less tragic. Time and weather had removed many of the signs of fire. Perhaps it was the lack of screams or twisted bodies, perhaps age had finally blunted the memories.
A shadowy movement and the scrape of metal on stone caught the Old One’s attention.
“Hello you old machine,” The Old One spoke quietly toward the direction of the sound.
“They’re asleep?” Came a question from the darkness.
“Yes old friend, they’re asleep. Come, rest a while. Tell me of your travels, you sound as if you could use some oil.”
“I should point out, ‘Old One’ you’re over 200 yourself… You don’t actually have oil do you?”
The Old One smiled and rummaged in the nearby pack.
“Here, just for you. I found it several days ago before we entered this canyon. Tell me what news you have.”
The machine sat next to the Old One, applying oil to worn joints and moving limbs to work the lubricant in.
“There isn’t much to tell. I’ve wandered through city after city across the continent. It’s always the same result. Those who didn’t die from bombs, died of disease, starvation, or murdering each other. There is evidence that some were still fighting over climate change which, if I had a sense of humor, would be funny.
Outlying areas did better, but in the end they moved on. There are scattered villages similar to yours over about a thousand mile radius. All are peaceful and from what I’ve observed generally kind. Genetic diversity might become a problem over the next 100 years or so. Sterility rates are high among all the survivors, making the breeding pool shallow.”
“So old friend, have you found any others like me?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“How long will I live?”
“Again, I’m sorry. There’s no way to tell. There is no explanation for your current longevity and health. It’s a fluke of nature or physics.”
“Don’t you mean I’m a freak of nature or physics?”
“You know me well Old One. I say what I mean with no malice or bias.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve missed you. You’ve never explained why you pulled me out of the wreckage though.”
“Hadn’t I? It should be obvious shouldn’t it? I am a military rescue droid. A prototype actually. I was built to withstand the harshest nuclear, biological, or chemical environment. You were alive, un-injured, and despite the radiation levels you never showed any signs of radiation sickness.”
“You rescued me, but why did you stay? Why did you teach me? Why did you care?”
“There was no-one to turn you over to. You were my responsibility and since I’m a learning machine, I suppose I learned to care over time. My builder and programmers would be thrilled. When you entered puberty, you were self sufficient and didn’t need me anymore. I left because most humans would have reacted poorly to my presence. I fulfilled my directive by turning you over to yourself and pointing you toward the village.”
“I thought as much. Still you could have stayed.”
“You know better Old One. I had directives to find and help other survivors.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, occasionally. A change in river flow here. Uncontaminated seeds ‘found” there. Arrows pointing the way to fertile valleys, that sort of thing.”
“What about you Old Machine? How long will you live?”
“Unknown, like you. I found a power pack about 10 years ago. So as long as my joints, seals, and motors hold out I’m probably good for another hundred years or so.”
“Oh, that reminds me.”
The Old One rummaged some more in the pack, producing two tins.
“Are those what the label says?”
“Yep, I saw them in my travels, and thought of you. Undamaged seals. They’re various sizes and in their original lubricant, perhaps they’ll help you last more than a hundred years.”
The machine took the tins, “Thank You.”
The Old One looked at the machine’s ‘face’, “You’ve never said thank you for anything. You’re welcome though.”
The machine approximated a shrug, “I must be getting senile in my advanced age.”
From across the fire a gasp was heard. The Old One and the Old Machine turned toward it. Bright inquisitive eyes were looking at both of them.
“Is that a ghost?”
The Old One smiled, “A ghost of the past yes. Also a friend, little one.”
“May I touch it?”
The Machine reached out, “Yes you may.”
A small hand tentatively touched the hand of the Old Machine, “I’m Sky”
“Hello Sky, I’m the Old Machine. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The Old Machine took a pose the Old One remembered very well. It meant the machine was analyzing.
Slowly and gently the machine got up and tucked Sky back under a blanket, “Sleep now Sky, you have a long trip ahead of you and need your rest.”
Sky snuggled a little closer to the fire yawning, “Okay, I am sleepy.”
The machine returned to its position next to the Old One. Both waited in silence until the child was sleeping soundly.
“So Old Machine, what did your analysis reveal?”
“Old One, it revealed that you’ve found another like you. It looks like you’re not going to be alone after all.”
“How is that possible? I’ve purposely not reproduced. I was worried about begetting some horrific deformity.”
“I can’t answer that question. I do wonder if the lower fertility rate I’ve observed, is some kind of natural check to compensate for longer life. I’ll have to look into that when I make the rounds to the other villages. There is a cache of safe foods one block to the West, there are also markers that will lead you and the children to the mountains along a safe route. Don’t stray too far off the path, there are some nasty creatures in the higher contamination zones,” The Old Machine was moving into the shadows as it spoke.
“It has been good to sit and talk, Old One.”
“You could come with us.”
“Not yet, I think I have more work to do. Follow the markers, The place is aesthetically pleasing according to my data stores. You should find Winters mild, game plentiful, and the ground fertile. Teach the children how to swim. Good Night.”
“Thank you Old Machine. Do stop by, or come to stay with us when you’ve tired of traveling the world,” The Old One spoke the last into the wind. The Old Machine was gone.
The Old One looked across the fire at Sky and thought, “There’s hope. Maybe we can do it better this time. Guess I’d better work on teaching stories that don’t turn into religions, dogma, or politics. Thank God, I’ve probably got some time…”
A hundred dollar bill lazily blew into the fire. The Old One smiled as it burned, pulled the hood of the cloak back over the craggy young face it concealed, then leaned against the wall of what had been a bank. The machine would be in the heights above providing overwatch through the night. It would leave at first light.
Sleep came easy for the first time in a long while.
This is a work of fiction. Names, and events are nothing more than the result of an overactive imagination and reading too many science fiction books as a child.
Copyright 2014
Scientists at the large hadron collider had to shut down operations today due to a computer error — Delhi Times
Message from the year 2045 via Quantum transmission. Please don’t delete this data %$%%&#*($
System overload
Disk Full…
Memory full…
** Halt **
“It’s gotta be a very expensive joke. The same message appeared on every computer at the same time?”
“Yeah Bill, all the servers too. Obviously the halt and crash addresses are all different, but the first line is always the same.”
“What about the data? You said the data flooded in, is it all the same?”
“Umm that’s what is really weird. At first the IT guys thought it was some kind of randomizer virus that got in and corrupted everything. One of the IT guys got home after a 18 hour shift and caught hell from his wife because he wasn’t answering his phone. The poor guy realized that in all the confusion his phone hadn’t rung once after the event. That’s when he put it together that the effect wasn’t limited to just the lab computers. So like the curious geek he is, he started poking around at the data on his phone.”
“Yeah? what did he find?”
“Like all the other systems, it looked like randomized bits. However, this particular geek had worked with data compression specializing in video in the very early days of video conferencing. Something looked familiar, so he dug up old specifications then hacked together a quick & dirty decoder program.”
“And?”
Bill Haverstrom was getting impatient. As a technology specialist, he hated being called to investigate every remotely odd government computer crash. The only reason he was here now was the government funding that touched some of the LHC experiments. He was glad to see his old friend Glenn and hoped that this mess could be dealt with fast so the could catch up over a good dinner and better booze.
“That’s where it gets really strange Bill. The decoder program ran, and the guys smartphone addressed him by name. The voice on the phone asked specifically for you. Then went into standby. Each time someone tries to access the phone the voice says ‘You are not Bill Haverstrom,’ then goes back to sleep.”
“Glenn, you and I both know this has to be some kind of joke or hoax.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. So I dug up a picture of you from college. I held the photo in front of the phone and tried to wake it.”
“What happened?”
“Bill, it told me ’That is a photograph of Bill Haverstrom, Please get this device to the living being,’ then it went back to sleep. That’s when I called you.”
“Well then, obviously the owner of the phone, what’s his name…” Bill checked his notes; “ahh, Gunter wants to get my attention. Let’s go find out what he wants to talk about.”
“Mr. Johansen is being detained, and no doubt throughly questioned, by the Swiss authorities. But we do have the phone.”
“Ok Glenn, lets go make a phone call. I’m assuming it’s been checked for explosives and other signs of tampering?”
“Yep, it’s completely clean.”
They entered a small conference room. Inside the room, there were cameras of all types. Technicians busied themselves with final focus and sound checks as the two men walked in. Siting on a nondescript table was a very average looking smart phone. Bill sat down in a chair nearest the device and Glenn took an empty seat to the right.
“Go ahead Bill, wake it up.”
Bill touched a button on the face of the machine. At the touch, the display lit with a bluish white light.
“Well? Glenn, you said it talked.”
A face appeared on the display.
“Hello Grandpa, my name is Sean and we haven’t met yet. This is a recording Grandpa, I wish it was interactive but neither of us have the technology to accomplish that. I don’t think people in my time will ever be able to do it. Things are going very bad here.”
Bill Haverstrom studied the young man’s face. It was disconcertingly like looking at a family photo. Sean bore a striking resemblance to Bill’s Great Grandfather. Bill realized the young man wasn’t talking. Instead, the recording had paused.
That wasn’t quite true either, the young man on the screen appeared to be waiting patiently. He was looking into the camera and blinking with a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When Bill focused on the detail of the young man’s face, the young man started talking again.
“Grandpa, it’s a little software trick. I’m really not able to see or hear you. The camera on the phone is watching you and there’s a very tiny bit of AI software that’s able to determine you’re not focused on what I’m saying. I’d guess you were struck by how much I look like your Great Great Grandfather. Oh, by the way, When I’m eight, playing in your office at the lake house, I really didn’t mean to knock his picture off your desk. I’m sorry about the frame, I know it was something Grandma gave you shortly before she died. I don’t know if I ever apologized for that. So for what it’s worth here’s a long overdue, I’m Sorry. From your perspective though, I guess we’ll have to call it an apology on-account.”
Bill looked up at Glenn, “What the hell?”
The image on the phone once again “Paused” the illusion this time was as if Sean was waiting politely for a conversation that he wasn’t part of to conclude.
Glenn was visibly pale, “I have no idea Bill. If this is a hoax it’s a damn scary one.”
“Glenn, I’m not even married. I sure as hell don’t have children much less grandchildren. This can’t be real.”
“Bill, I’m not saying its real but how many people outside your very small circle of friends know about the lake house? What, two, maybe four people in the entire world?”
Bill considered for a moment, “Exactly three people Glenn. You’re one of them and so I have to ask. Are you in on this?”
Glenn’s eyes told the story.
“I’m sorry Glenn, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but I can’t trust that,” Bill said gesturing at the image waiting patiently on the little screen.
“Grandpa, I hope your friend Glenn is there. You once told me he was your most trusted friend and that he was the single smartest man on the planet. You guys are going to have a lot to talk about. For now I have two things to ask. First, please let Gunter Johansen go. He needs to be a father to the child his wife is carrying. Gunter had nothing to do with this, we targeted him because he most likely to recognize the data as compressed video. Second, all the computers are loaded with history from our perspective, and the future from yours. Don’t let them start reformatting systems. Now pay attention, I have something you need to see.”
The young man faded from the screen to be replaced by a picture of The President. Sean’s voice continued, “You know who this person is. You’ve gotta stop him. He’s the reason it all goes bad.”
The audio switched over to what appeared to be a press conference where the President was speaking. The image quality was varying, as if the press conference was from a damaged tape.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are in a time of serious crisis.
Our country is being attacked from within and without. Put simply our way of life is threatened by forces and acts that were until recently beyond our ability to imagine.
With many sure and certain threats to our country looming in the distance, I hereby suspend the electoral process and declare martial law until this crisis is past. There will be no elections for any national office and your government is recommending that all local elections be suspended as well. Now is simply not the right time to have a change of leadership. I believe that attempting a change at this time places our country at unacceptable risk.
The government is reclaiming control of the communication system effective immediately. For news and information I direct you to your local television and radio stations. Within a few short weeks, the federal postal service will be fully operational. Contrary to any rumors you might have heard, the federal post is not a branch of internal security and they are not reading all your mail.
I must remind you that smart phones will be unusable when the cell network is turned off. Every citizen should have installed by this time, a hardline phone. You are reminded to turn in all wireless communication devices by the end of this month. This includes all walkie talkies, HAM Radio sets, WiFi routers, cell phones and any other transmitters.
Exempt from this list are receive only radios. You are reminded to have the WiFi radios removed or disabled from your computers as well. Every computer must have a security seal which certifies that the computer is safe. Cell phones or GPS devices built into newer vehicles are to be removed where ever possible, If such a device cannot be removed from the vehicle or disabled, the vehicle must be turned over to the nearest government official.
Regrettably this will leave some folks without vehicles. We call upon all local municipalities to increase the number of busses or other forms of mass transit to enable folks to keep working.
Failure to comply with any of these rules will, under marshal law result in immediate imprisonment and confiscation of your property and possessions. Property is defined as your home, vehicle or vehicles, or anything else deemed to have material value.
Travel restrictions are in effect immediately. All air traffic is grounded. If you are more than 30 miles from you home you must have a government issued identification.
Folks, we’re trying to root out the evil in our midst, to do that we must deny that evil the ability to communicate in any secure way. We must prevent our enemies from freely moving about the country. I remind you all what happened at several shopping centers recently. Our experts have determined that the bombs were triggered with cell phones and other communication devices.
I know this sounds worse than the disease. These are harsh measures, but we are a resilient people, were are strong and we will prevail.
Thank you.
Bill and Glenn were staring dumbfounded at the screen. The date shown on the video was 3 years in the future.
The image of Sean re-appeared, “See Grandpa, part of this you’ve lived and I’ve lived it all. You’re at a place, and more importantly at a time where you can change history. Growing up, I remember you telling me that you wished you had been able to make a better world for me. Now you can. We used a quantum gateway the LHC created. It acted like a wire between my time and yours. The hard part was sending you all the data about how history unfolded. Grandpa, you should know, the data probably won’t last. Get one of the big brains at the LHC to explain causality and you’ll understand why. We think that your brain will hang onto enough that you might be able to sense the danger and change things even if you don’t know why you’re doing it. Oh, one more thing, I want you to know I love you, we never said that enough. Paps, you were the smartest man in my world. I love you old man.”
The phone emitted a puff of acrid smoke, the screen went dark and Sean was gone.
For some inexplicable reason Bill was emotional when it became obvious the phone was slag.
Around the lab, various screens came back to life. Several servers and most laptops didn’t escape unscathed.
All the clocks in computers that returned to normal operation, were 32 and one half hours slow. The exact amount of time that had elapsed since the system event, Bill’s arrival, and the end of the message. This detail went largely unnoticed.
“Glenn, save the dead laptops and any other dead systems, I’d like to have them sent to the forensic data teams. Hopefully the analysts can figure out what kind of virus we’re looking at. I’m guessing it’s something from Syria or Iran. I just can’t figure out why they’d target the LHC.”
“Sure thing Bill. Uhh Bill is everything alright?” Glenn said quietly, “it looks like you’ve been crying man.”
“Yeah, I’m fine Glenn, guess I got something in my eyes. Do you smell burning circuits?”
“Bill, it looks like this is a wild goose chase, I don’t know why they sent you to check it out. Hey, when we’re done here, I found a great new restaurant. I’m not taking no for an answer they have 100 year old Scotch.”
“Sure Glenn, you’re buying!”
Casually, Haverstrom slipped the charred ruin of a smartphone into his jacket pocket.
In the coming years he’d look at it often, wondering why it was important to him.
Three years later, Bill Haverstrom walked to a podium during a press conference and very clearly said, “Not on my watch” then put a single bullet squarely in the chest of a man who aspired to become a King. Haverstrom’s action touched off a civil war that historians agree, resulted in the reboot of the republic.
Haverstrom himself suffered a head wound during the assassination and spent the rest of his life confined to a wheelchair. In 2032 President Glenn Johnson extended executive clemency to Haverstrom. Following Haverstrom’s release from federal custody he retired from the public eye to a lake house he owned. Haverstrom never married.
An old man sat in his office watching the spring sun rise over a glassy lake. Occasional concentric rings marked the passage of fish catching their breakfast.
Life support equipment in his wheelchair beeped plaintively. The old man’s shaking hand silenced the alarms. The man’s alert eyes began to dim, his breath became ragged and eventually stopped.
Falling forward, his head bumped an aged picture off the desk shattering the frame on the floor. A moment later, a burnt bit of plastic and glass about the size of an old smartphone fell from limp fingers landing next to the handsome man smiling in the photo.
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.
2030 America, a destroyed town. 
A few rounds pinged off a nearby concrete wall.
Then I thought of an old StarTrek. The episode is titled, “What are Little Girls Made Of?”
