* * *
“You carbon-based bipeds already know human history up to that moment. No need to waste your time with that. We will begin with the moment after the Singularity, when the black hole operation has been completed. It is Earthyear 1990, a relatively peaceful time, except for the occasional outbreak of war and genocide.” Gruesome holos follow, showing bombs exploding, bodies being ripped apart, mass executions, women crying.
“Jordan, if you don’t mind,” I interrupt, “could you fast-forward a little? Okay, ladies?” They both nod in agreement.
“And is there a restaurant anywhere on this godforsaken planet?” asks Jill, in all seriousness. “A take-out place, by any chance? I’m hungry.”
“There is no food on Terra at this time,” says our synthetic life form. “However, in less than twenty-four hours I could create a nourishment replicator for you. Would that suffice?”
“Pass,” says Jill. “I’ve got some trail mix in my pocket. That’ll have to do. Onward, Sir Jordan! And please go fast. Our puny human brains can handle it.”
And so it begins, our fast-motion history lesson.
At first, everything went according to the plan laid out by the orbs’ computer models: a different U.S. president, relative peace and prosperity, the Internet, terrorism tamed, climate change addressed worldwide, a new spirit of cooperation. However, in just a few years, everything changed, quickly. Water shortages became acute; famine, starvation, tribal warfare, the usual. Glaciers melting. Temperatures rising. Political upheaval. Nuclear saber-rattling.
[Wolfgang von Neumann didn’t become Wolfgang Maximus the next time around, or the leader of a deadly enterprise called Black Swan Galactic. He did become a highly respected quantum physicist who developed the world’s most dangerous weapon, the fission-plasma bomb, and shortly after its first test destroyed Somalia, he went mad and spent the rest of his life in a psycho ward.]
By 2020, the world had run out of oil. By 2025, global economic meltdown. In 2028, a plague took out half the planet’s population of ten billion. In 2030, Nuclear War One. Planet Earth didn’t implode and go nova, as the aliens predicted, but the surface of the planet became nearly uninhabitable for hundreds of years due to radiation poisoning. Most of humanity moved underground or into the first dome cities.
It got worse. By Earthyear 2050 climate change became irreversible, and Mother Earth got her revenge. Coastal cities around the planet were drowned. Food and water were scarce or poisoned. Most wildlife had died out. By Earthyear 2150 humanity was finished. Only a few hardy survivors rooted around in the ruins. The game was over.
“Stop the holo! Stop the holo!” I find myself yelling. “Is this it? Is this what becomes of our species? This is pathetic! Didn’t humanity ever reach the stars?”
“The stars, no. The manned journey to the fourth planet, the one you call Mars, ended in disaster. For millennia your Mother Earth healed herself, and by around Earthyear 10,000, visitors from a faraway star established a colony on Terra. They were humanoid and benign. The planet was green again, the oceans clean and flourishing. Tectonic events had rearranged the continents.”
“Can we watch this in holo?” asks Leela. “This sounds encouraging.”
We watch, in horror. The visitors cloned new humans from bits of DNA salvaged from the ruins. Within two hundred years the humans killed off the humanoid colonists. Around Earthyear 11,000 occurred Nuclear War Two. Jordan speeds up the holo. The same pattern repeats itself at least half a dozen times. Around the holo depiction of Nuclear War Seven, three hundred thousand years on, we three carbon-based types stand up.
“Enough, enough!” begs Jill. “Turn it off! Jordan, please tell us how to get out of here. Our minds are as one on this, right friends?” Leela and I agree.
“You said something about showing us how to break through the space-time continuum,” says Leela. “Now would be a good time for that, eh?”
“Is there anything we can do to change this whole sorry human history?” I ask our guide. “I know the future isn’t set in stone.”
“I hear the future has infinite possibilities,” adds Jill, getting freaked out, her face reddening. “And that one person can change the course of history. A Buddha. An awakened one. C’mon, dude, Sir Jordan, give us a break here! Humanity is better than this!”
“Come with me,” says Jordan, declining to answer our desperate questions. “I will show you how to bend time, how to leap beyond the stars, how to soar beyond eternity itself.”
“Nice words, my man, but can you show us how to alter the Earth’s miserable trajectory?” I plead. “Can you show us how to explore other stars, other galaxies, other dimensions?”
“Cool it, Marty, ’cause we are back at the original lift that brought us here.” Leela talking. “Listen to the man. He’s got a plan. The only plan.”
“This is the vehicle you came in,” Jordan explains patiently, indicating the cylinder. “You call it a wormhole. I call it the Express. It is a kind of time tunnel. You can use it to go back and forth in time as you wish. The only exception is, you can’t go back before your birth moment. Because before that moment you didn’t exist. Otherwise, you can go anywhere on the Express.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, skeptical, “isn’t time travel a one-way trip? Only into the future?”
“That is merely some nonsense from a science-fiction writer. You can go forward, you can go backward. There are no controls in the vehicle, except your minds. Simply decide where you want to go, and what date. Make sure you are of one mind. Otherwise your atoms could be scattered to the far edges of the Universe.”
“Jeez,” says Jill. “That means we three have to be in total agreement as to our destination. That could be a tall order.”
“Try it,” says the synthetic life form. “You’ll like it.”
We step into the Express. “Bye-bye, Jordan!” we say in unison. “Have a nice epoch!” says Jill.
The door slides shut.
“Where shall we go?” I ask my ladies, cautiously.
“Anyplace there’s a vegetarian restaurant…and a restroom,” offers Jill.
“I got it,” says Leela. “Let’s go to Sedona, Arizona, USA, Third Eye Coffee Shop, Earthyear 2012.”
“That works for me!” I sing out.
“Me too!” cries Jill.
“Marty, please press your third eye. I have a feeling that’s our Go button,” says Leela.
I press: a feeling of expansion inside my skull; a sudden rush of energy inside the cylinder.
Leela laughs. “That’s it! Away we go!”
WHOOOOOSH
THE END
About the Author
Marv Lincoln has been involved in the writing game for most of his adult life. He began writing professionally at the age of 18, and over the years he has written on a wide variety of subjects. He has worked as a newspaper reporter, magazine and book editor, photojournalist, advertising & PR flack, ghostwriter, publicist, short story writer, blogger, and novelist. These days he runs a business as "Ghostwriter," helping other writers bring their works to life. He also creates websites and blogs for clients. His current writing projects include a new sci-fi novel and a guide to loving yourself. Marv lives in Sedona, Arizona.
Other books by this author
I Married a Psychic
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I Married a Psychic
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Email: marvlincoln[at]yahoo.com
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