100 Not Out

  Science, Technology and Science Fiction

  IN THE NEAR FUTURE

  Planning for a world population of eight billion is not straightforward.

  First, it’s necessary to make mobile phones, iPads, Skype and built-in cameras desired by everyone. GPS tracking is easy. Then comes the tricky bit: develop fingerprint and face recogniton, accurate enough to link to that GPS tracking. The population collaborates willingly, telling everyone on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter what they’re doing. The entire world’s activities are recorded.

  One last problem: there’s mountains of data about who’s meeting whom, who’s working where, who’s sleeping with whom. It’s too much. How to proceed?

  Easy. Pick on the people you don’t like.

  PERSONAL SERVICES

  Hi there.

  You know what I need from you, don't you? That's it – just slide it in there, where I need it, just there... perfect.

  You know what to do next as well. Only you know how to press my buttons... so perfectly.

  Now tell me what you need... touch me there... perfect.

  While I serve your needs, do you need a receipt for my services? No? That's fine. There you go now, take what you need from me.

  Are you satisfied? Do you need any more?

  (As spoken by 'Samantha' one of the new generation of talking cash dispensers.)

  IN-FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT

  Far into Andromeda, Agnes looked out of the window.

  “I wonder what it was really like flying those cramped old space rockets,” she said. “How did they stand it? No shower, no pool first thing in the morning. Ugh!”

  Charlotte nodded. “It took so LONG. Thank God we live in the age of megalightspeed travel. When are we due to land?”

  “A couple of hours more, Charlie,” Agnes said. “Time you were going. How long have you got, by the way?”

  “The room’s booked for forty minutes.”

  Charlotte set off to fetch that Australian from the top deck. He’d do.

  UNECLIPSE

  The child grumbled. "What's so special about a total uneclipse?"

  His mother sighed. "I'll explain again. We live on Pluto, right on the edge of the solar system. Other stuff – planets, moons, asteroids, Saturn's rings – keep blocking out the sun, which we actually orbit. We only see the sun in rare uneclipses."

  Suddenly, the sky was lit by the brightest thing either of them had ever seen; the distant sun transformed even Pluto in a wondrous light-show. Just fourteen dazzling minutes later it was over.

  "So? That's it?" the child said. "Can I PLEASE go back to my Playstation now?"

  WRONG TURNING TO THE MOON

  It was only as she looked out of the cockpit window that Rawgug realised her terrible error.

  “@@$$%%%!!£%(*&**” she cried. “?^&&^&&^&”

  Her co-pilot Malwog did as directed, adding, “˚¬^ø•¶!”

  Realising they would now be stranded on the Moon instead of Earth for ever, Rawgug’s military training kicked in. First, they had to colonise the Moon by breeding, which meant some loving words for Malwog.

  “&*&*$$$^^≥≥≥÷÷√√√∂ƒß†® ¨¥ ¥¥¨ø¥•¶∞¢#€ åß∂´ƒ˙¬^!!!”

  Martian sex works quickly, and in no time there were forty-five of them. Step two required a Martian joke.

  “)(%*¥√¨ˆ ÏÊÁˆˆÎÓÔ˜˚˚√ç¨∆!” said Rawgug, loudly.

  Malwog died laughing, literally; colonisation was complete.

  DOES FLASH GORDON LIVE HERE?

  The doorbell rang: the postman, wearing a full set of chain mail armour.

  "Can you help me, sir?" he asked. Seeing my bemused look, he explained, "It's the new Royal Mail uniform." Noticing his nameplate, Arthur King, I nodded.

  "How can I help?"

  "I've got letters for Daniel Dare, Flash Gordon, Batman and Spiderman. Do they live here?"

  I chuckled. "I think it's a joke. No-one with those names lives here."

  Closing the door, I caught myself in the hall mirror. Realising that my blue and red cape was ruffled, I patted down the giant yellow 'S' on my front.

  DOES EVERYONE GET THESE?

  The old lady allowed herself an evil chuckle.

  She’d printed a number of emails sent to her that previous week. Each asked her to log in to her bank accounts with HSBC, Barclays, RBS, JP Morgan Chase and Citibank, then follow a series of instructions “to resolve some ongoing security issues”. But she had accounts with none of them.

  But she did have special skills. She could combine an extraordinary range of keys to allow her to manipulate any computer connected to hers.

  Five minutes later, each of the phishing computers had burst into flames and destroyed their owners’ homes.

  I wish.

  IT’S WRITTEN IN THE STARS

  Hydra looked lovingly across the night sky towards Orion.

  “I love big strong-looking men,” she said.

  “I like your hair,” he replied. “Different styles on each head.”

  “I’ve just had them cut,” she said. “Do you like them?”

  “More than ever.” Then Orion summoned all his courage. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

  “Of course,” she replied in chorus. “I love you too. Shall we set a date?”

  Of course, celestial pillow-talk is very slow; remember they’re zillions of light years apart. It was all they’d time for before all their stars were dead.

  It’s tough being a constellation.