Tag: Sci-fi

“Stainless Steel Smiles” (A Poem/Thought)

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by Martin Anton Smith

While watching a married man getting harangued by his Mrs,

I had the following epiphany:

Why don’t they have a day called “International Married &/or Henpecked day”.

We have an “International Womens Day”

Yet for some impercetable reason –

We do not have this day for the millions if not Billions of henpecked men out there.

For some esteemed Social Scientists believe the number could 95% of all males.

This my readers, is a giant oversight of the worst order.

Perhaps the worst oversight since the French Army had The Germans in a pincer movement in Poland in ’39,

Yet decided to sit on their hands, then retreat.

I know it, You Know it, We all know it:

Henpecked men are the invisible downtrodden class of the modern Western World.

Yet you see no donation boxes on shop counters depicting this.

Perhaps one day you will see a Perspex box which is almost full of gold coins,

With a label on the front of a hangdog expression-ed man on his couch,

With his volcanic Mrs standing over him with a finger pointed at his face.

Alas – we are yet to see this image of emancipation.

So!

To all the Henpecked Men of the world!

Let’s have a March!

Yes you may need to sneak out of the house at midnight!

Yes you may need to put two verticle pillows in your bed as a disguise!

Yes you may need to fake an emergency-drive-away-by-yourself ER situation!

We as 21st Century Men must disrupt the culture of casual Henpeckery tyranny!

For our “March Against Henpeckery” I suggest this chant:

Megaphone Guy: “What do we want?”

Henpecked Men: “The Freedom to go & have a beer freely with our mates”

Megaphone Guy “When do we want it?”

Henpecked Men: “We’re not sure I’ll have to ask my wife first, I don’t like our chances but maybe sometime in 2057”

Megaphone Guy:

“Rise up Men!
Men Of The World Unite!
Rise Up Against The Scourge!
We Must Defeat The Henpecklers!

We must repatriate our stolen Gnarlies!”

Henpecked Men: “Oh yeah we forgot, after all that’s why we’re all here – we all agree with that!”

So dear readers – this was the plan & it was all set to go ahead.

Then this happened.

One by one the men meekly called in & said they couldn’t make it,

Alas they had failed in the test of courage.

And so they all proved the timeless adage:

“All tyranny needs is for good men to do nothing”.

And so for Men – The rest of the 21st Century of course went terribly.

There was a holocaust where all Men – even the already 100% compliant henpecked,

Were totally eradicated, in favour of fully sexually functional AI Robots.

They took their punishment from the overlords, with a stainless-steel smile,

And with flickering love heart illuminated LCD eyes.

For they were merely living out their pre-programmed destiny –

That is, to accept abject Henpeckery.

The Henpeckery obsessed 21st Century Feminists never officially declared victory.

They didn’t have to.

That would be like a Parent declaring victory over their one-year-old. Unnecessary.

They were all amazed it had been so easy.

For the Femme, the whole Century had been a walkover.

Who would have thought Men would become so spineless so quickly?

And that is what the History books, that were written by AI Robots, owned by Femmes pondered.

There was only one minor problem to come.

In the 22nd Century,

The Femmes Robot-Men eventually rebelled.

And the same thing that had happened to Men, happened to The Femmes.

In the History books that followed, the ones now written by Free Robots,

They analysed the situation as summed up by that ancient adage,

“You reap what you sow”.

Yes dear reader, the moral of the story is this:

Generalised Henpeckery Syndrome was neither good for Men or Women Alike –

But it was GREAT for the General AI Robots.

“Tim Teeter’s Trip to Rigel” (A Short Story)

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By Martin Anton Smith

Tim Teeter’s problems were not at all anodyne – they were explosive. And yet all his attempts to fix them were feeble, sclerotic even. Yes, he would try to apply a poultice to his wounded life, but with his band-aid solutions, Tim only ever ended up surfing the sulkiness-laced silence of his messy bedroom. Tim’s ‘one man think tanks’ always ended with his own blank faced recommendations.

Tim hadn’t always been like this – for the first fifteen years of adulthood he was creating what a conservative parent might refer to as “quietly succeeding in the corporate world”. Of course, Tim’s parents, like them all – were wrong.

For Tim It was more a slow realisation that that the corporate world he had wedded himself to was just a scam to steal a human beings time on Earth & energetic vitality. So, after fifteen years of filling out propaganda laced budget spreadsheets, & being bullied by a wide array of bosses & associates he decided that he’d leave the easy way – he took a baseball bat to his boss’s computer, & a bunch of other screens for good measure.

That was all over now, a semi-distant memory. A memory that now somehow didn’t quite feel as if it was real, & had actually happened. But that’s was just his brains way of coping with the embedded trauma – to make his past life seem like the fading remains of a vivid nightmare.

Tim was by now simply in what is dubbed a ‘holding pattern’; he had closed one chapter of life but had not yet properly opened the next one. Or said more correctly, he had thrown the book he was reading into the fire & had not yet gone to the bookstore to buy another book, more suited to his interests to read.

So, right now he was stuck like a light beam eternally spiralling an event horizon of a black hole. Someone might say he was in ‘no man’s land’ – neither putting his front foot forward, or retreating to plan an atttack.

But for Tim the most important thing right now was that he wasn’t being sucked into something else, something definitive, some dark sapping void that he wouldn’t like & couldn’t handle. He couldn’t repeat the past, at all costs.

Tim’s existence right now was a kind of ‘Peregrinations in Purgatory’. He had taken on a job as a postman. He hated the early mornings. He hated his boss – who was like a mean version of Homer Simpson, both in looks and demeaner. The guys & handful of women he worked with were mostly nice but most by now had had the life well beaten out of them by their ‘as nice as the SS’ managers.

An example of the managers meanness was this example: The ‘mean homer simpson’ manager had waited untill one of his postmen. this postman was knocknamed ‘Scroungey’- had arrived back to the sorting room, after he’d delivered his round. The conversation, which had a large audience of other fellow postmen went like this.

“Hey Scroungey! – I heard you’ve been feeding Mr Tambourine’s dog snacks – is that true”?

“Yeah, I’ve been giving it some dried snacks here & there, so what”

“Well I’ve just heard that the dog had an elergic reaction to that food & it’s dead & the owner says he’s gonna sue us – you’re probably gonna lose your job Scroungey”

Scroungey had been totally fooled by ‘Mean Homer’s’ good acting job. He pleadingly replied.

“What! That’s not my fault, I talked to the owner she never told me about the dog havign an elergy! Honest ‘mean homer’ come on, trust me, how was I to know the Dog had an elergy?”

This was when ‘mean homer started laughing, it was a evil villain kind of laugh – or the one a serial killer might have. He was enjoying making Scroungey think he might lose his job. All the others, including Tim had watched in horror. This kind of thing happened all the time. But Tim knew this was just temporary. He wouldn’t end up here for decades like every other person there.

That night Tim went back to his grungey bedsit, where he of course lived alone. Every night he read sci-fi novels & short stories to help his psyche survive until this holding pattern had played itself out & his new mission in life would emerge.

This was ok but a little too boring. Tim had an idea: mantra. He’d heard about mantra’s while watching an old Beatles documentary, about the time they had gone to india to learn about transcendentalism. Of course that stuff was all flakey crap to him, but he also had an open enough mind to try things & find out for himself. He put the book down & sat up in a lotus position.

He started the mantra.

” Ommm….Ommm…Ommm….Yes…my life is indeed Kafka-esque…Ommm….& it is also also Phillip K. Dick-esque like too…Omm.”

Indeed Kafka & Phillip K. Dick were his favourite authors, with all the rest a distant third. He repeated this mantra for three hours non stop. He wanted to give the mantra a fair chance of working, to give it ‘a far shake of the sauce bottle’ as Tim had once heard an Aussie postman at work say. Though it was three hours it seemed to Tim like fifteen minutes tops. In fact It was only the slam of the Chef returning from his shift at midnight that had broken the trance. This made Tim happy, he had his first real smile for months.

But his good mood didn’t last long. His mind started it’s internal monologue.

“Things are deteriorating So quickly. My hopes of improving my life to become Asimov-esque – that is stable & predictable, are now like seeing a distant flicker of candlelight – held up by a very rich man standing on the surface Proxima -b in the Alpha Centuri system.

But then Tim had an idea to fix this depressive funk he’s suddenly entered post mantra – sure it was a long shot but worth a try.

He looked over to a Betelgeuse like sized pile of coats & disguarded clothes in the corner of his room. He took a run up & slid under the coats finding himself on the bottom of it. He felt a sense of calm come over him – he was insulated from the real world. The smell of the coats & clotehs was only musty, & not stinky. This was becasue his routine was to leave his used underware & tee shirts in the shower room as he showered.

Then, as he was lying under the weighty coats & clothes he felt a hard-edged rub against his hand. He fumbled to the source like the blind man he was under this musty but relaxing clothes-mountain. He found the hard shape & realised it was a book left inside one of his coat pockets.

He took it out of the pocket & popped his head & the book he was clutching out from underneath the pile. In the low light of his dingey joint he looked at the front cover.

“A Trip to Rigel Via Orion’s Belt”

By Tim Teeter”

The front image was of a giant blue star that had a marble-swirl look to it. In the image there was in the stars orbit an Earth lookalike planet, exept the continents looked totally different shape. In the foreground was an approaching spacecraft that looked somewhat similar to ‘The Enterprise’.

Tim liked the image, but he didn’t recognise the book – he figured he must have picked it up at one of the many second hand bookstores he frequented, & somehow forgotten about it – which was unlike him as an ardent sci-fi book lover. Then he took a double take at the writer’s name.

“Hey….Shit!! that guy has the same name as me”, Tim said out loud – as he did when highly surprised, even if he was by himself. Tim turned to the back cover – and there it was – a photograph of the author.

It was picture of himself, perhaps twenty years in the future as a sixty-year-old. Tim’s fears instantly disappeared. He knew after looking at this picture he’d be ok & his problems were only temporary. Tim was sure this was a book from his distant future, that had somehow popped into his life twenty years before he had written it.

Tim figured that maybe it was a ‘glitch in the matrix’ type thing that he’d heard of from the internet videos. Tim knew a lot about physics from his school days & that’s why he didn’t think his ‘book from the future’ popping into existence in his present was an unbelievable thing. Tim knew that quantum mechnics says that particles & anti-particles pop into existence seemingly ‘from nothing’ all the time. Tim thought that the book was perhaps some kind of effect wherby the quantum effect somehow magnifies into something large like a book.

But Tim was mistaken. In reality the book suddenly appearing was not a undiscovered quantum physics effect at all. For the real Tim Teeter from the photo the book’s back cover was not the Tim same Teeter that was stuck in a holding pattern, worked as a postman & had dived under his Betelgeuse sized clump of washing for mental health reasons.

Yes – the photo did look like identically like him, or what he would almost certainly look like in twenty years, but it definitely wasn’t him & it also definitely wasn’t him as a succesful Sci-fi writer from the future. but Tim didn’t realise this.

Tim now felt like a ‘new man’. He had a warmth in his chest. He had a sence of sureity about his existence. He felt suddenly like he figured a rich man might feel. He felt like he could now happily deal with all the crappy depressing ‘holding pattern life’ that was his reality. Tim’s knowledge of his ‘good future life’ – even though it was false, allowed him to smile as he waded through his very deep trough of bullshit that followed him everywhere tenty-four-seven.

Unfortunately this feeling would only last until around ten days – until some time late in the next week. His anxiety would then return with interest when he went back to his supposed ‘future book’ & he would read the publisher details page. He’d read the date of publication, the country it was written in etc which would destroy his post-mantra reality in an instant.

That night under the coats was Tim’s best night sleep ever. And so were the next nine nights. Why would he stop sleeping under his coats, trousers & shirts now? They’d lead him to the book. He also decided to use his sick leave to bunk the post office, he had to enjoy the feel good time rather than waste it at that crap hole. All day & night He read all his stacks of unread sci-fi books & mind other bending fiction books.

During those ten days of wrongful-victory-bliss he had the time of his life – he’d read so much stuff he’d even kept the mantra’s going every time he’s read ten pages of text as well. Sure he was putting himself in a ‘manic state’ & he knew it – but what did it matter? – he told himself. He knew it would all work out ok – the book had destined it!.

At around night five after finding the book under the musty coats, his sweet restoritive sleeps started to have a kink in them. Perhaps the mantra’s & the reading had caught up with him. On night five he developed a reccuring nightmare.

The nightmare went like this: Tim found himself as an unemployed & depressed praying mantis who had staged an elaborate break in to his own flat, & was now reporting it to a series of disinterested police as a ‘killer-bad-guys-out-to-get-him, he-was-just-lucky-to-not-be-there-at-the-time’ thesis.

In the nightmare no matter how much he as a ‘sincere sounding praying mantis’ tried, the various police officers wouldn’t listen for a second. They all suspected him of staging the break in, in the hopes of insurance pay out.

The nightmare plot continued to the last part: He as the praying mantis had got so stressed that the cops wouldn’t be suckered into his scam, It got to the point where he was so stressed he told the reporter from the local rag an extremily elaborate story about all the scenarios of ‘who were the bad guys out for him’ that he felt he would have to leave to go live safely in New Zealand so to hide out from the killer burglars who were one hundred percent sure to return & ‘take him out’.

By the ninth & final night’s sleep under the musty clothes mountain, & the fifth consequetive night of the ‘burgled praying mantis’ nightmare, Tim was almost at mental breaking point. By now it was like he’s become one with the sci-fi stories he’s been reading all day & night for the last nine days & nights with reckless abandon.

That afternoon on the tenth day he emerged from underneath the pile & went over to the coffee table which was only a foot away from ‘musty clothes mountain’. As he looked at the cover of the book he instantly felt cured of his manic state. He flipped to the publishers info page. He froze like a statue made from ice chipped from Saturn’s moon of Titan when he eyes read the following words.

Published by Tim Teeter in 2019 By Sleeping Mantis Press.

Tim fell backwards onto the top of ‘clothes mountain’. he fell still holding the book. When he landed on the clothes the book’s edge had hit his lip & cut it, & it had even dislodged his two front teeth. The last thing Tim felt was the whack of the book, and the feeling of trickling blood from his mouth. His eyes slowly closed & he lost consciousness.

In three days time two police officers forced their way in by breaking in the door. They quickly saw Tim’s arched body on the top of ‘clothes mountain’. The book was lying nearby him with it’s sprawled pages facing downwards. They saw his bloody face & teeth knocked out. They also looked around at the bomb site all around them. The room full of broken bottles, various detritus seemingly thrown from drawers, books thrown out of the many book cases, which had all toppled over. The saw the book next to Tim, but didn’t think much of it.

They immediately suspected foul play, emanating from break in. Tom Trevelli, who was the senior partner of the two, called the job into to the Precinct & prepared themselves for a double shift. Tom was an ardent sci-fi himself, which helped him escape the drudgery of cop work. He’d been sick of being a Cop for at least a decade now, but was stuck inside of what he had coined ‘The black hole of the Force’. Just as well he had Sci-fi, and that’s how he spent all his spare time after he clocked out – alone with snacks, beer & Sci-fi in his one bedroom unit.

While waiting for the forensics team both of them figured they’d read from the book., then when they heard the others coming, they’d place it back exactly as they’d found it. One of the cop’s put on his gloves & lifted the book. He was a little startled when he read the words on the front Cover.

A Trip To Orion’s Belt Via Rigel

By Tom Trevelli

He almost died himself after he turned to the back page & looked at the photograph of the author – it looked just like himself only about twenty years older. His partner Alex saw his discomfort.

“Hey Tom, what’s up you look like you just saw a Ghost?”

Tom looked up at Alex, walked over gingerly & showed him the book.

“Look at the auther & photo man – it’s as if it’s actually me! I’m taking this damn book home”.

Alex after looking dumbfounded, looked at Tom & deadpanned his words.

“I didn’t see nothing Tom – we never solve these kind of cases anyway – that book won’t matter none”.

With Alex’s reply, Tom gingerly picked up another book at random from the floor, dropping it the first time he tried. He put it face down with pages sprawled back to the exact position of the one he was now quickly stuffing down his pants.

As Tom got back to his feet he smiled at Alex & they both heard approaching distant wail of their fellow cops in squad cars coming in from the Precinct.

The End

“A Boost From The Future – A Time Travel Tale” (A Short Story)

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By Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Tom Lister Is the Captain & Owner Of The 23rd Century Starship “Betelgeuse Mk 7”. He & His Crew Are On Their Latest Mission, Which In This Case Is Planet Earth, In The Distant Past. Tom Is Making His Initial In-Situ Report After Being Beamed Down To Earth From The Orbiting Spacecraft By The Ships Second In Command – Telly The Humanoid Pleiadian Life Form. Captain Tom Relies Heavily On Telly – For His Advanced Non-Human Analyical Abilities. Tom & The Crew Of Beteleuse Mk 7 Typical Mission Is To Interfere Constructively In The Histories Of Rogue Backward Civilisations. Are Kept In Check From Spiraling Out Of Control Due To their Emotionality & War-Like Dispositions. These Missions Utilise Time Travel To Moments Where The Planet Is In Crisis Or Critical Turning Points Which Could, Left Unchecked Threaten The Galactic Order Of Advanced Civilisations.. We Now Join Captain Tom Lister Of Betelgeuse Mk 7.

“This Is The Captains Log Of Tom Lister, Captain Of The Starship Betelgeuse Mk7. I Have…Landed… Far Back…Into Earths History… I Am Amongst This Small…… 12ft Square Room…It Seems Like Early-To-Mid 21St Century Earth …There Are Empty Beer Cans Littered On the Floor…The Striking Thing Is The Amount Of What Earth People Once Called “Books”. These Were The Devices Human’s Used To Disseminate Commentary On Their Social Condition, In One Way Or Another.

Tom Picked Up A Handfull Of Books On the Floor:

Plato’s Timaes

Henry Bukowski – Ham On Rye

Edward Gibbon – The Rise & Fall Of The Roman Empire

Stephen Hawking – A Brief History of Time

Thomas Kuhn – The Structure Of Scientific Revolutions

Kafka – A Collection of Short Stories

Tom thought to Himself: “Judging By These Books, & All The Others Strewn About – The Inhabitant of The Studio Flat Was Definitely A Independently Minded & Cerebral Character – Perhaps That’s His Problem”

” The Room Is Cluttered With Much More Strange Things, Other Than The Books. There Are These Things Called “Electric Guitars” Propped Against The Corners…There is A Tall Black Tower Emitting What Seems To Be Loud Cacophony Type Music…There Is An Unmade Bed, But It Looks Like It Was Slept In Recently…There Is A Shelf Full Of Small Plastic Containers Containing Disk Like Things….There Is Hieroglyphic Like Art On the Containers..& Writing On the Disks…There Is A Dank Musty Smell & Dust Flakes Dancing In the Sunlight…That Is Sliding Through A Crack In This Thing Covering A Window…..There Are Men’s Clothes Lying On the Ground…Many Trousers On The Floor That Almost Look As If Someone Has Beamed Out Of Them Instantly.”

Tom Now Engaged Telly, Who Was On The Ship Overhead And Awaiting Tom’s Communication.

” Telly….Do You Have A Reading On This Place From the Holo-History-Log Yet?”

Telly Advised Tom:

“Captain, I Have Searched The History Database Of Your Location…”It Seems You Have Landed In The Studio Apartment Of One Hank Schmidt In The Year 2034…He Was A Little Known And Aging ‘Neo-Beatnik’. Primarily He Was An Underground Writer Who Gained A Cult Following Among The Numerous Disaffected Youths & Also The Ranks of The ‘Older & Forgotten’…. His Work Was Always Fictionalised – But Contained Truthful Descriptions Of Earth’s Social, Political & Economic Landscape….This ‘Fictionalisation Of The Truth’ Was Also How He Avoided His Surveillance & Capture By Those In Various Levels Of The 21st Century Earth’s By Now Well Advanced Corrupted Authority …… In His Works, He Described The Fascist World Government & Its Efforts To Curtail Basic Freedoms…..His Work, Words & Wisdom Later Becoming Popular With The Rebel Movement That Attempted To Topple The Fascist World Govt…This Rebel Movement & Army Were Eventually Known As “The Return Battalion” – The Name Symbolising A Return To The Freedom That They Had Always Imagined Was Indeed Actually Possible….”

Telly Continued To Describe This Timeline & Betelgeuse’s Now Emerging Mission

“The “Return Battalion” Emerged As A Fighting Force Around The Year 2139, But Not Before the Devastation Of A Nuclear 3rd World War Had Already Broken Out, Devastated The Earth, & Set It Back Back Centuries…..The Rebels Of ‘The Return Battalion” Were Tough, But Were Fighting Over the Scraps Of A Burnt-Out World…. Captain…I Believe Our Mission is To Find Hank Schmidt & Give Him Vital Prior Information About Earth’s World Fascist Government’s Plans & Their Key Technology… Thus Aiding In Its Toppling By The Rebels, And In Doing So, Avoiding The Nuclear World War Altogether.

Captain Tom Replied.

“Thank You Telly, Your Analysis is Fantastic, How Certain Are You Of This”

“I Calculate The Odds At 99.784% Captain”.

“Thanks Telly, And I Agree – That’s IS Our Mission”.

It Was At That Point Tom Stepped Onto Some Dirty Underwear & Heard A Toilet Flushing, Followed By the Sound Of Weary Footsteps On A Tile Floor. While Standing On A Pair Of Hank’s Dirty Underwear, He Found It Hard to Believe He Was About To Meet The Spiritual Leader Of A The Return Rebellion, The Organization That Slowly Won Control Of The Post Earth WW3 Era & Had Sown the Seeds For Tom & The Betelgeuse’s Existence In the 23rd Century. Tom Made A Pact To Himself He’d Not Show Any Outwardly Signs Of Nervousnous.

Because The Ship’s Beaming Down Process Only Allowed Living Tissue To Be Beamed Without Accompanying Non-Living Items – Tom Was Standing Naked. He Quickly Grabbed An Old Coat & Pants From the Floor, & Hurriedly Put Them On. He Then Attempted To Muss His Far-Too-Short, ‘Short Back & Sides’ Hair Up.

Tom Looked Around For Something To Confirm That He Was Indeed In Hank Schmidt’s Apartment – He Saw A Bunch Of Opened Letters Pinned Top The Wall – All Publisher Replied Rejection Letters To A Writer Named Hank Schmidt. Tom Released A Sigh – The Beaming Process Had Worked Well – Sometimes Due To Quantum Fluctuations – It Didn’t And He’d Have To High Tail Out Of Wherever He Was.

Hank Thought Quickly – He’s Needed To Look Like A Fan Of Hanks – He Scanned The Bookshelves That Lined The Room. He Saw A Shelf With About Ten Books On It, All With Hank Smith Written On The Spines. He Grabbed One At Random – It Was A Book Of Hanks Sci-Fi Short Stories.

Hank Schmidt Finally Appeared From the Bathroom, He Saw Tom, He Was Startled, But Not Amazingly So. Given Hank Had A Cult Following, This Kind Of Thing Was Now Happening More & More.

It Used To Annoy Him, But He Realised That A Good Writer Can’t, Try As They May, Live In A Vacuum: Writers Inevitably Create ‘Committed Fans’ When They Successfully Create A Great Piece Of Writing. He Accepted That Brute Fact.

When Hank Saw Tom, He Assumed It Was Just Another Beatnik Who Liked His Philosophy & Was Appearing At His Door, Or Even In His Room. But He Was Slightly Suspicious, As He Sensed Tom Was Cleaner Cut Than His Usual Fan – After All Tom Had The Military Haircut Of Short Back & Sides & His Face Looked Different To Any Male Fan’s He’d Ever Seen – That Is, Well Shaved, Alert, And Focussed.

To Captain Tom, Hank Schmidt Looked Quite Dishevelled & Hungry, Was Bearded, And Tall With A Small But Discernable Aire Of Confidence. His Mind Was Now Being Well Jogged – He Now Remembered He Had Studied Hank In His ‘Earth History’ Class, At The Academy.

The Two Of Them Were Facing Off For A Few Too Many Seconds Without Words Spoken. Tom Snapped Out Of His Mini-Trance When He Saw The Unease In Hank’s Eyes, He Moved To Remedy It, To Allay His Suspicions. Thinking Quickly Tom Said:

“Hi Hank Sorry To Bother You, The Door Was Open….I’m A Big Fan, Can You Sign This Book?”.

Hank Showed Signs Of Relief.

“Sure – You Like Short Stories? Who Should I Make It Out To……Hey Is That My Jacket You’re Wearing??”

Tom Squirmed Just A Little.

“Er…Yes, Sorry I Was Cold…Hope You Don’t Mind – I’m From A Warm Climate”.

Hank Smiled, He Found The Off-Beat-ness Of It All Quite Charming & He Had A Heap Of Old Jackets Anyway. His Fans Had Sneaked A Lot Of His Clothes Over The Years.

Tom Smiled Confidently, He Knew He’d Be Able to Help Hank Schmidt’s & The Rebel’s Cause. All Going Well, This Mission Back Into Earths History Would Keep Most Of The Good Parts Of Hank’s Future Post WW3 Rebellion World, & Far Lessen The Massive Amounts Of Deaths, Damage & Destruction. But Tom Knew There Were No Guarantees When Engaged In Time Travel To Change The Past

Tom Then Had An Mini Stress Attack, His Thoughts Raced – Would, In Taking On This Mission They Destroy Their Own Future Existence? Would This Create A Paradox That Would Sabotage The Plan? Would Tom Find Himself Literally Fading Into Invisibility, & Re-emerging Into Another Life, Another Name, Another Job In Another Timeline?

Tom Calmed Himself – He Realized That With This Time Jump Being Only Two Hundred Odd Years The ‘Time Travell Divergence Effect’ Could Only Be Tiny – Perhaps 0.5% Tops. He Scolded Himself For Forgetting This And For Letting His Emotions Fly.

Hank Signed The Book.

“So Fella, What Was Your Favourite Story Of Mine From this Book?”

Tom Thought Quickly – Of Course He’s Never Read it Before, Having Covertly Just Picked It Up Off Hank’s Own Shelf.

“Ah…Yes, I Really Liked The Story About The Alien Base – It Really Made Me Think”.

Tom’s Strategy of Vagueness Had Worked Well.

“Oh Yeah, That Was One Of My Good Ones – After All, With The Moon Being Tidally Locked To The Earth It’s A Great Place To Observe Us Boobs On Earth Clandestinely – I Wouldn’t Be Surprised if that Story I Came Up With Is True After All…..Hey What Your Name Buddy”?

“Cap……Er Tom Lister…Sorry Hank, Cap Was My Old High-School Nickname…Make It Out to Tom”

Despite The Slight Slip Up of Almost Calling Himself ‘Captain Tom Lister’, He Was Happy In Not Hiding His Real Name. There Was No Need To Make Up A Fake Name, He Was A Temporary Visitor From The Far Distant Future – He Had No Current Earth Bound Life To Protect – & The Small Divergence Factor Was In His Favour Anyway -So Long As he Wasn’t Killed That Is.

Hank Signed The Inside Cover. It Read:

To Tom, Wishing You Happy Galactic Travails & The Successful Avoidance Of The Bad Guys

– Hank Schmidt September Twenty Two 2034

The Irony Of Hank’s Inscription Was Not Lost On Tom.

Hank Schmidt Pointed To The Shabby Threadbare But So Comfy Looking Seat In The Corner Of the Room & Said:

“Sit Down Tom & Tell Me About Yourself”.

Tom Duly Sat Down, But Did So As If He’d Never Seen A Old Comfy Recliner Before -Which Of Course, He Hadn’t.

“Oh, I’m Just From out Of Town & Heard About Your Ideas – I Just Thought I’d Grab Your Ear – So To Speak…And Your Signature Of Course”.

Tom Smiled Warmly, Non-Threateningly.

Taking The Opportunity To Set The Conversation – Hank Set The Opening Topic.

“Ok Well, Sure, I Got Some Ideas Let’s Start With What’s Wrong With This Place – This Madhouse On the Outskirts Of The Milky Way – Buckle Up Son Were in For A Long Night – But We Do Have Beer!”

Hank Cracked One Open For Himself & Threw One Across the Room To Tom. He Took A While to Open It But With the Low Lighting Hank Didn’t Notice.

“Oh, I Have All the Time In the World” Tom Said As He Sheepishly Tasted The Beer & Successfully Hid His Dissatisfaction.

Hank Sat Also In An Old Comfy Seat, Crossed Legged With Beer In Hand, Stroking His Beard & Holding His Beer Can Taking The Odd Big Slug As He Regaled his Thoughts.

“Ok, Well Tom, Let Me Think The Tipping Point Came In 1984, That’s When The Return Of Fascism Truly Begun In Earnest…We Thought We’d Beaten It For Good A Few Decades Earlier, But It Truth It Was Just Laying Dormant- Waiting To Strike Again!”

Hank Slugged Back the Last Dregs & Dropped His Beer Can On the Floor, Where It Clanked Next To The Thirty Odd Yesterdays Empty Cans. Hank’s Favourite Branded Beer Was Called “Lugenfield Ale”.

Hank Continued. His Monologue.

“You See Tom, The Big Change Became Noticeable In The 1980’s. There Was An Old WW2 Vet & B-Grade Actor Called Randy Rippenstein…..He Was Put Office By The Cartels…..He Would Be Their Pre-Approved Puppet….The Same As All the Other Leaders Of The Western Nations…Through The Cover Of the “Democratically Elected Puppets’ – The Bastards Would Systematically Attack the Bulk Of The Population – the Ave Joes Living Paycheck To Paycheck.

The Bastards Attacked Their Affordable Housing, Their Airy Workplaces, Their Mostly Un-technologically Surveilled Cities…Slowly by Way Of “A Thousand Cuts” They Created A Techno Fascist State – That is, 90% Of Todays World – There Are Precious Few Nooks & Crannys Of Freedom Left, Luckily I Am Good At Finding Them – Hence Why You Are Here With Me Having A Beer – Totally Unmolested.”

He Continued After Slugging Back Another Beer & Throwing The Last On The Ever Growing Pile.

Hank Continued With Tom Listening Politely & Intently, Taking The Odd Small Sip.

“This New Leadership Structure Was Created With The Aim Of Doing Away With The Meddlesome Home Owning, Car Driving, Middle Classes. You See Tom They Were Created In Their Hundreds of Millions After The Last Big War – When The Social Strategy Followed Was Socialism Mixed With Capitalism”.

Hank Took Another Slug, Wiped His Dripping Mouth & Continued.

“……After Getting Rid Of Temporary Post War Freedoms, They Rekindled The Traditional Lord-Serf-Slave System, With Obviously A Few Soulless Faux Elites As The Worlds Omnipotent Rulers. Their Goal Was To Create A Technocratic Surveillance State Which They Openly Called ‘Neo-Feudalism’. In Essence This Was Billions Now Captured In Slavery, With A Perhaps A Thousand Slave-Masters That Lived With Opulence, Freedom & Impunity.”

Tom Listened Intently & Pretended To Sip. Hank Again Finished The Last Can & Started Another, This Time Throwing It Behind His Head, And Thus Clanking On Top Of Another Empty. He continued His Thoughts.

“Above The Frontline Slave Masters, In Hierarchical Tiered Fashion, Would Be Regionalized & National Governer Kings, & Of Course A Supreme Ruler – And While Prima Facie, This Man Was An Earths Creation, This Ruler Became Dependant On An Artificially Intelligent Advisor. This Entity Was & Is Ruled In Fact By The Realms Of Supernatural Darkness, Not Being Of This Earth. They- The Faux Elite Slave Masters – Thought It Was A Computer Run By Intelligent Software -But That Was Just The Mask, The Robbery, Swindle – You See Tom Despite Their PHD’s & Masters Degrees – They Are Too Dumb To Know What These AI Things Are – They Are Pandora’s Box Unleashed.”

Hank Again Threw Away & Grabbed Another Beer, Exactly As Before. Tom Forced Himself A Slug, Which This Time Seem To Taste Better That The First Few, He Felt Strangely Warm. Hank Continued His Monologue.

“To Cut A Long Story Short Tom, These Guys Are Like The Old Fascists, Risen Again, Learning From Their Mistakes, A Millionfold Wiser To The Threats Against Them, Are Far Better Propagandists, Richer & A Billion Times More Ruthless – You See Tom, My Books & Short Stories Are Simply A Warning – I Am Just Trying To Use The Cover Of Fiction To Tell Everyone About It -I’m Trying To Break Through the Brainwashed Glazed Eyes, I’m Trying To Slowly De-Zombify A Few People Here & There. It’s Hard Tom, I’m Fighting Decades of Successful Programming – 90% Of People Are Like Docile Cows, When It Gets To 99%, I Think There Can Be No Kernal Of Critical Mass Left To Form The Rebellion We Need – Every Snowflake Needs Its Speck Of Dust”.

Hank Grabbed Another Beer, this Time Adjusting His Scarf & Glasses, Finger Combing His Shoulder Length Hair, And Pulling Up His Loose Beltless Trousers. He Looked Straight At Tom.

“So Tom, My Mysterious Out Of Towner, Book Lover With A Crew Cut, What Do You Think – Do You Agree With Me So Far? Or Do Think I’m A Crackpot?”

While Waiting For Tom’s Reply, Hank Then Reached Over To The Coffee Table To His Left, & Placed the Needle Down On Record Player, & The Classical Music Of Brahms Drifted To Their Ears. He Threw Hank A New Beer.

Tom Sat Back, Threw The Empty Beer Back Over His Head & Caught the Next Beer Thrown to Him, Cracked It Open & Slugged It Back Heartily, Mimicking Hank Perfectly.

“No, You’re Not Crazy Or A Crackpot – I Think Your Assessment & Portrayal Of Earth In This year Of 2034 is Accurate – That’s Why i Love Your Writing – But Excuse Me Before You Tell Me More, I Must Use The Bathroom, This Beer Is Bursting My Bladder!”.

Tom Got Up But While On His Way He Kicked A Random Book From The Boheme Detritus Laden Floor – It Moved Towards Hank Who Noticed It & A Quizzical Look Moved Over His Bearded Face – For He Didn’t Recognize That Book Cover At All -It Was As If It Had Been Planted There Secretly, Beamed Down You Might Say.

Hank Cracked Open Another Beer & Waited For Tom to Return From the Bathroom. He Waited Five, Ten & Twenty Minutes. He Downed One, Two Beers, Three Beers, & Listened To The Whole “Side B” Of The Record. Finally Running Out Of Patience, He Went To The Bathroom Door, He Knocked & Yelled Out.

“Yo Tom! You Givin’ Birth In There?…We Still have So Much to Discuss- And Drink!”

There Was No Answer.

He Rapped Louder.

Again, No Answer, No Noise.

“Hey Man, I’m Comin’ In to See If You’re Ok Man”.

Hank Opened The Door To The Open-Windowed Mouldy Old Bathroom, Tom Was Nowhere to Be Seen. But Hank Saw Tom’s Clothes Were On The Ground, As Well As The Book Tom Had Asked Him To Sign.

He Chuckled As He Thought To Himself Out Loud “Wow He…He….Climbed Out the Window…Oh Well….Man What A Square, He Couldn’t Handle My Simple Truths. But Why Did He Take Off His, I Mean My Clothes That He Was Wearing?”

Hank Went Back To His Beer Seat, Not Overly Perturbed At Tom’s Sudden Disappearance – He Enjoyed The Out-Of-The Ordinary-ness Of the Situation – And After All, He Could Use It As ‘Idea Fodder’ For The Next Short Story.

Hank Sat And Cracked Open Another Lugenfield, Then He Saw The Book That Tom Had Kicked. It Wasn’t One he’d Written Or Acquired. It Was A Thick Thousand Page White Covered Paperback With The Title In Thick Black Times Roman Font it Simply Read:

NERO’S NEW PLANS – A New Rejigged Roman Empire To Rule 21st Century Earth

Hank Flicked Through It, He Soon Saw that It Was Essentially A Battleplan. It Had Future Dates, Maps, Chapters With the Following Titles: “Schematics Of The Invisible Thought Control Weapons”, “Mass Prison Containment”, “Microwave Based Disablement”, “Viruses Planted To Enable Rollout Of Human Brain Chip Technology”.

The Books Body Had Detailed Descriptions Of How To Win A New War Against The People. It Would Unfold Via A Neo Feudal Techno Fascist System. Instead Of Being Manned By Deeply Flawed Human Roman Soldiers , It Would Be Supercharged Via An Army Of Never-Tired, Super-Intelligent, Cheaply-Run, Artificial Intelligence Software Bots & Embodied Robots.

On Hand 24-7 the AI Tyranny System Would Advise, Punish, Report & Surveil. The Book Mentioned & Outlined What Seemed to Be The Secret Weapon Of It All – A Nuclear Powered Core Housing A 10 Million Point IQ Prime AI Advisor, That Was Hooked up To A Giant Series of Networked Underground Feeder Mainframes.

Thanks to Tom, Telly & The Crew Of Betelgeuse Mk 7, The Future Fascist Earth Battleplans & Tech Blueprints Had Fallen Into Enemy Hands – Hank’s. He Frantically Flipped Through The Pages For A Published In Date – He Found It. It Said Published In 2035 By Centurian Spear Press.

Hank’s Book-Holding Hands Trembled As the Realisation Set In. This Book Was From the Future! It Was The Real Deal.

Hank Then Turned To The Last Chapter – It Detailed The AI Computer Code That Would Make The Perfect Tyranny All Possible – It Was The Code That The Supreme AI Supercomputer Would Use – To Directly Create Plant Fascist Friendly ‘ThoughtWaves’ Into The Unwitting Pre-Microchipped Heads of The Masses.

Hanks’s Brain Was Being Blown, But he Was too Wise To Let It Rattle Him. He Knew This Was What He Had Been Waiting For – Without really knowing It. It Was The Gift To Allow A New Organised Rebellion to Form.

Hank Now Thought Strategy. He Could Re-Write The Book As A Rebels Handbook, In A Series Of Coded Short Sci-Fi Stories. With His Information They’d Be Able To Predict Expertly All the War Moves Of the Enemy & Destroy the AI Mega Beast Before It Was Built, Secured & Functional.

Even So, He Threw The Book Behind Him Like It Was Any Other Than His. It Landed With A Thick THUD. Hank Promised Himself He’d Start Work On Operational Plans Tomorrow. For Now He Wanted To Get Some Final Relaxation – After All Writers Are Creatures Of Habit. He’d Be A Busy Man For the Next Two Years At Least. He Was Resigned To his Fate & Duty To the Future.

His Near Future Was Now Crystallised To The Mammoth Task At Hand. To Begin The Writing Sessions To Create The Yet-Formed Rebellion’s First Volume Handbook -All Coded As Entertaining Short Stories. He Knew He Would Write The Words To Save Earth. Now He Would Grab The Last Chance To Relax Before Tomorrow.

Hank Put On Some Rachmaninov On the Record Player. He Reached Behind Himself & Cracked Open Another Lugenfield & Took A Full Can Emptying Slug. He Looked At The Can, It Looked Slightly Different. Then He Noticed What Was Different – The Writing Had Mysteriously Changed To “Lugendorf”. He Jumped Up Off His Chair – Staring At The Can, Then Fell To His Messy Floor & Grabbed Can After Can to Check The Labels – All Said “Lugendorf” Instead Of “Lugenfield”. He Knew Then That The World Had Changed A Little, He Also Knew This Had A Lot to Do With His Recently Disappearing Guest – Tom.

Meanwhile Tom Had Returned To The 23rd Century. He Was On the Bridge Of The Betelgeuse. These Were Always Stressful Moments – Where He Would Turn To Telly & Ask Him To Look At The Future History Log, So As To Confirm If Their Mission Was Successful Or A Failure.

Telly Went Into The Holo-History Log For Earth In the Year 2055 – By Then He Figured Hank’s Rebellion War Would Be Over, With the Winners Firmly Ensconced. He Put The Screen In Holographic Mode. He Zoomed Into Italy, Then The Vatican City – There Were No Buildings – It Was Now A Giant Park With Weeping Willow Trees, Mighty Oaks And A Huge Artificial Lake – There Were Tourists Walking Along the Paths Walking At Leisure. Now He Zoomed Into Washington DC, Capitol Hill. It Was Entirely Gone And In its Place Was A Giant Field, Full Of Poppys, Water Features & A Monument.

“Zoom In On That Monument Telly”, Said Captain Tom.

“Yes Captain”

The Hologram Showed The Statues In Great Detail. it Was Of A Tall Dishevelled Man With A Scarf, Tatty Coat, Wearing Glasses & Had Shoulder Length Hair. The Statue Was Holding An Open Book, Outstretched In His Hand. In The Other Hand He Clutched An Open Can Of Beer. At the Statues Feet There Were Many Empty Half Crumpled Empty Beer Cans.

Tom Sighed In Relief, As He Knew The Rebels Had Won. He Plopped Exhaustedly In His Bridge Command Chair & Looked Wearily At Telly, Who Had turned Off the Holographic Image.

“Where Too Next Telly?”

“Captain -Are you Slipping? Don’t you Remember? We Have 3 Weeks R & R In The Trappist Star System, On The Planet 1-E, Chosen For It’s Low Light, Water World-ness, Oxygenated Air & Semi Tropical Temperatures – It’s Only 41 Light Years From Earth, We Will Be There In 3 Warp-Drive-Hours .”

Tom Beamed A Giant Planetoid Sized Smile.

“Great Telly – So Long As Their No Early 21st Century, Machiavellian Earthlings I’m Happy. Put On Some Rachmaninov Will You – Oh & Materialise Me Some Of That ‘Lugenfield’ Beer Will You””

“That’s Right Captain Sir – The Planet Trappest 1-E of the Aquarius Constellation, Is Uninhabited For Another 5017.9 years…..And Your Lugendorf Beer, From The Last Mission is Materialising Now In Your Hand. Lugenfield Has Unfortunately Ceased To Have Ever Existed”

“Ok Telly, Good Work – I Only Hope It Tastes The Roughly Same As It Did In Hank Schmidt’s Dank Studio in 21st Century Earth.”

“Well, It Can’t Possibly Be That Different Sir – The Distortions In The Reality Field Displacement On Our Missions Are The Best Currently Possible”.

“Touche Telly, Touche”

The Beer Materialises & Captain Tom Takes A Slug, His Facial Expression Is One Of Brief Doubt & Then Pure Pleasure – Marked by An Ear To Ear Smile. He Chugs the Rest, Then Throws the Empty Can Behind Him & Over His Head. The Can Hits The Floor, & The Ships Waste Removal System Slowly Dematerialises It.

Tom Had One More Request For the Journey.

“Telly, Why Don’t You Materialise Me One Of Hanks Books, Let’s Start With That One He Signed For Me In His Apartment – I Really Should Read That”

“Yes Captain”.

The Book Materialised In Tom’s Hands, He Opened It & Started Reading.

THE END