Personal Well-being

For the first time in two years, I have experienced a migraine affecting my eyes, (lights obscuring whatever I look at).  But,  I do have my surefire solution...  It started at 16:30 and was gone within the hour

See:

Personal Well-being

len

Incarnations ~ Part 1.

Incarnations ~ Part 1.

Engage power.  

 It was Harley’s voice in his mind, calm and reassuring.   Power, he thought.   He heard a faint click and a sharp crackling sound.   His eyes opened, to a torrent of rain.   He gazed out at the dank forbidding storm-scape.  Without infrared sensors, the darkness would have been complete.   He could see a faint afterglow, defining the regular shape of a wall stretching from horizon to horizon.   Even as he took it in, a ball of blue flame materialized twenty feet above the wall and to his left.   It was projecting a stark beam of white light down into the void, midway between him and the wall.  Alert and predatory, it moved as if on rails, traversing the intervening ground, illuminating and defining every square inch, adding stark contrast to the flat desolation before him.

The killing fields, Harley volunteered.   Don’t move, he warned.   The light approached quickly now, bathing him in its cool ethereal glow.   He lay still and the light moved on.  Wait!   Wait – wait – it reversed direction, rapidly retracing its path, to where it first appeared.   Wait – wait – wait– then it returned to the farthest point it had reached, and continued its steady progress, combing the barren mudflats constantly searching.   

Now!   He scurried forward ten, twenty, thirty yards, skirting the remains of a dismembered mechanical spider, partially digested by the acid rain.   He passed the remnants of eight other similar constructs, in his frenzied dash for the wall.

Stop!   He froze as the light spun back in his direction once more, illuminating him briefly, before moving on.  

Wait, wait, wait-   It turned again to resume its journey mapping and memorizing every hillock and puddle of the killing fields.   Looking around he realized he had progressed beyond the last of the dismembered spiders; he was now in virgin territory.   At ninety yards he paused anticipating yet another light cycle.   He waited but the light did not return.   Several minutes passed before he cautiously moved on, covering a further ten yards.   Then, to his left, the ball appeared once more.   A second appeared to his right; he heard a faint hum, a crackle accompanied by the smell of ozone.   The ball changed, flickering - blue - green – yellow, then red.  A ruby laser licked towards him dissecting his left side appendages, with surgical precision, throwing him high into the night sky.  He turned pirouettes in mid-air as the second laser quartered his arachnid body.  Mangled shards of red hot metal ploughed deep furrows in the soft mud porridge, raising steam as they cooled.   He felt no pain before returning to oblivion.

.-…-.

   “That one lasted nineteen minutes Stig, but any movement within a hundred yards of that wall clearly triggers a laser strike.”

Stig slapped the instrument panel in frustration.  “Our sensors are detecting no signs of life out there; it must be some kind of automatic sentinel.”

Harley shook his head, “It’s ignoring our attempts to communicate; it doesn’t seem programmed to respond.”

“If it can’t be neutralized the colonization will have to be abandoned.”   

 “The alternative is to move on to Perligolli.”   Harley paused as the implications sank in.   He went to the galley and prepared two mugs of stim-café.  “Another thirty-six parsecs?   It took the Orbitar ten thousand years to get here from Earth.”

“It’s so unfair!  Carb-oxy life forms were never intended to last that long, even in stasis, I doubt we could survive another fifteen thousand years,” said Stig his face revealed his frustration.

“The CM crystals will survive the journey but I’ll wager ninety-nine percent of the minds they contain will have gone insane before Orbitar gets there; that’s assuming there is an E-type planet in the Perligolli system.”

“We’re here now Harley we’ve got to find a way.   Hope, or New Earth, whatever they decide to call it is our new home!”   We don’t really have a choice, he thought. 

“We still have eleven Rak-nid units, but we only have two CM crystals to man them.   We could try returning to the Orbitar for more crystals?”

“I doubt we‘d make it Harley.   We haven’t had contact with the ship since we left; for all we know it no longer exists.”

“All we’ve got since hitting the atmosphere is static, and according to the con-panel we don’t even have enough fuel to reach escape velocity.”

“That doesn’t surprise me; I’m beginning to think this whole scenario was a set-up to lure us here.   We lost three Lander’s and ten remotes, then this two-man scout makes landfall without a scratch?   I don’t believe in coincidence, but at this moment I feel like a rat in a maze.  Question is whose maze is it, theirs or ours.”

“What’s the difference?” said Harley.

“We were told it’s an uninhabited, E-type planet.   Yet, it was inhabited recently, possibly within the last ten thousand years, yet mission control knew nothing about it?   We find it abandoned but guarded by advanced alien technology?”  Stig’s face clouded, “My instinct tells me we’ve been set-up.”

“My gut feeling says you’re right.   I think it’s a listening post to give early warning to the rest of the Universe; look out, the humans are coming.”   They finished their stim in silence.

.-…-.

Stig harboured fond memories of their childhood.  He and Harley had been inseparable pals, growing up in the burbs of New Birmingham; they went through high school, University, and Space Academy, always together.

They graduated as pilot and navigator respectively and spent years prospecting in the asteroid belt, between Earth and Mars.   They worked for all the major mining conglomerates discovering and developing viable mineral deposits.

  When the market became crowded, Harley became bored with the routine so they switched from space jockeying to prospecting on Mars.   In the beginning, there was a lucrative market for the rare ore deutridium, found only on the red planet.   Ironically it was a key component in the production of synthetic flesh used initially in plastic surgery; without it, the mass production of synthetics would never have been possible.   They made a fortune, cashing in on the experience they’d gained working in the asteroid belt.

  When deutridium was synthesized and mining it became a thing of the past they cut their losses and returned home to earth.

.-…-.

“I think we’ll try two Rak-nid units this time Harley.”

“We only have two CM crystals left Stig, when they’re gone we’ll be done, for sure.”

“Damn!  I know that."  Stig shook his head, "sorry".

“No offence taken.  There’s a lot at stake.”

“If I’ve guessed correctly we only need a crystal in one of the Rak-nids.   Can you rig some kind of remote control for the other?”

“They all have rudimentary remote drives; they can either be programmed or guided with a J-Stik.”  

  

   Stig awoke the Rak-nid and viewed the planet through its eyes.   They followed the pattern laid down on previous approaches, avoiding the globes, as the earlier units had done.   They pushed forward, carefully narrowing the distance between themselves and the wall.   Ninety, seventy, forty yards, they were way past the wreckage of the previous units.   At thirty yards, Stig instructed the CM to keep moving and stop for nothing until it reached the wall.   Harley’s manually operated unit was programmed to stop every ten yards.   As it paused for the second time it was spectacularly incinerated, a flash of fire a plume of steam and it was gone.   The CM Rak-nid reached the wall and stopped without warning, as if its batteries which had been fully charged before starting off, had been drained.

 “Well that’s it, we have one more stab then we’re out of ideas, and time,” said Stig.   “What do you suppose its doing?”

“The Internet knows, we’ve been orbiting this world for two and a half years, but know nothing more than we did when we first arrived.”  Harley winced and looked away.

 “I don’t understand.  I was awakened two days ago, if we’ve been here for two years why wasn’t I roused earlier?   Why wasn’t I fully briefed before we left Harley?”

“It wasn’t my idea; they said they needed to protect you.”  

“Protect me?   From who, from what, why?”

 “We arrived and everything was going smoothly.   The policy adopted was to wake people only when their skills were required; to conserve our resources.  Nothing could be taken for granted.  We were setting up a new colony, ten parsecs beyond our solar system, fer crysake!   Then we received a message from the planet, it was their one and only communication.”

”Didn’t you think I should know this before we left?”

“I did, but they said no!”

“What was the message?” Stig asked.

’Only a true born human can set foot on this world,’ said Harley.

“That was it?”

“We waited but there was nothing else, so we ignored it and sent down the landing parties.”

“Such arrogance,” Stig seethed.

“Three manned Landers, with a hundred and twenty crewmen, were lost before we switched to unmanned probes – that didn’t change our luck.   Each flight began routinely then, as soon as they entered the atmosphere, we lost contact and the craft just seemed to disappear.” 

“What did they mean by ‘true-born’ humans?”  Stig asked.

“Humans born and bred on Earth.”

“So where’s the problem?   There are hundreds of ‘true-born’ humans aboard that ship.   I saw them, before we left on the Orbitar, a good few of those in the Lander’s must have been ‘true-born’ humans.”

Harley shook his head.   “All Synth’s.”

”But, we were banished because we refused to give up our natural bodies for synthetics.   It was these bodies, warts and all, they found so offensive.   There were thousands of us forced into deep sleep, in orbit around Mars.   You know that Harley, you were with me.”

 Harley shook his head. “My original body barely survived two thousand years, I’m a clone of the original Harley; I was created from his genetic material and I have his memories because they were stored in a CM crystal but that means I’m no longer ‘true-born’.”  

“But, we both agreed, we would die rather than inhabit synthetic bodies, we…”

“Of all those who left Earth in the Orbitar only one ‘true-born’ survived.   We were in stasis for ten thousand years, our bodies, our minds, were unable to cope with it,” tears formed on Harley's cheeks.

“You let them turn me into a synth?   Knowing how I feel about it?”

 “You self righteous asshole Stig!   You are the only remaining ‘true-born’ human!  Most didn’t last as long as me, after five thousand years you were the only one left, but being the hard-assed obstinate bastard you are, you survived to defy the odds.”

“All gone.   Everyone?   No survivors?”   Suddenly the last human felt so alone.

Incarnations ~ Part 2

Incarnations ~ Part 2

 The Earth they returned too was a far different place to the one they’d left five years earlier.  

“Something is wrong,” said Harley.  

“I think our clothes must be out of fashion.”

“Judging by the looks we’re getting it’s more than that Stig.” 

A young woman wrinkled her nose in distaste, “Filthy Retro’s.”

Stig shook his head in puzzlement, and they hailed a hovva-cab.

“Hylton hotel.”  They jumped in the back and watched the hovva’s altimeter rise to sixty feet, in the blue zone, they accelerated fast.

“Some things never change,” said Stig.

“Such as?” said the hovva jockey.

 “Blue cabs have two speeds, full, and stop.”  

The hovva jock grinned, “New Birmingham.”

“How did you know?” Harley asked.

“Nobody in Lonton would be seen dead looking like you.”

Stig looked at his suit, then at Harleys, and shrugged.

“So you were right after all,” said Harley in disgust.

“You’re Retro’s,” the jock said noting their puzzled expressions he grinned.   “Those are your original birthday suits.  You don’t see many bodies over twenty-five in Lonton these days.   Word to the wise, you need to get yourself an upgrade and have your minds CM’ed soonest; you’ll be lucky to gain acceptance anywhere if you don’t.   Most hovva jocks won’t even pick up a Retro – unhygienic,” he said tapping his nose knowingly.  Hormones, pheromones, sweat; I’ll have to decontam when I drop you off.

“Ah!”   Realization dawned.   “We’re just back from Mars station.  Been away for five years, are things really that bad?”

“Do yourself a favour guv,” he said in jock-speak, “here’s a copy of the Lonton visitors guide, you need to do some serious reading bring yourself up to date.” He handed a laser coin to Stig, “just three sov’s I’ll add it to your bill; there are readers in every room at the Hylie.”

“The what?” said Harley.

“The Hylton.   Here we are sir, that’ll be thirty-five... er thirty-eight sov’s,” he swiped Stig’s card and the cab was gone before their feet hit the walkway.   They confirmed their reservations, sent their luggage up, and set out to discover what had changed so drastically.

‘WHY SETTLE FOR LESS THAN PERFECTION?

 WHY LIVE ONE LIFE, 

WHEN YOU COULD BE FOREVER YOUNG!’

  The advertisements glared - in multicoloured Tri-dee - from every available external wall and sky space within the city.   A seductive female voice, reinforced the message, in their minds, as they passed within ten paces of each Tri-dee display.

‘BE ATTRACTIVE TO THE OPPOSITE SEX, BE FOREVER YOUNG AND VIRILE, REGAIN YOUR SEXUALITY!’

CHANGE YOUR GENDER.

.-…-.

They arrived at ‘Scott’s forever Jazz’ an infamous Night Club that had been the home of British Jazz for more than a century.

“How much?”

“Thirty sov’s to you.”

“How much to them?” Stig asked.

“Twenty,” the doorman answered challenge revealed in his eyes.  “They’re Synth’s you’re Retro’s.   Won’t be long before your sort are eradicated altogether.  Thirty, take it or leave it.”

Harley handed over sixty sovereigns, and they entered the darkened barroom following the distinctive smell of certain illicit substances.  They were drawn by the allure of the decadent lyrical music so well beloved by them both.

“I don’t like the looks we’re getting.”

“Ignore them, enjoy the music,” said Harley.   “Two beers here please.”

They waited five, ten, fifteen minutes.   “Beer please,” Harley chanted for the tenth time.   As the barman passed for the eleventh time he grabbed his lapels.

“You don’t get it, do you?  You’re not welcome here.   You Retro’s are trouble waiting to happen.   Piss off!”

“Really?   So, what sort are we then?” Harley raised his voice.

The barman gave a nod to two waiting bouncers, “these gentlemen are leaving, show them the door!”

“We paid sixty sovereigns to get in and we haven’t even had a drink yet,” said Stig.

“Will you leave quietly sir?”

“Will you refund our admittance?”

The man towered over Stig grabbing his coat collar.  

“Hands of the material!” Stig’s slow even tone served as a warning.

The answer was a tug on his collar.   He responded by gripping the little finger of the bouncer’s right hand and pulling hard.

“Aaagh!”

Another man appeared from a back room.   “Give em a drink Kendall, they’re our guests, none of your racism here, drinks are on the house gentlemen.”

.-…-.

They left the club in the early hours of the morning, a little the worse for wear.   They’d called a hovva but it never arrived, after ten minutes standing around, they started to walk.   They’d walked about a mile in the general direction of their hotel.   The streets were quiet.

“I think we could be lost, partner.”

“I’m the navigator,” Harley said, “We’re not lost until I say so.”

“Ok, which way do we go then?”

“I don’t know.   We’re lost!”

“Ah!”   They turned a corner and saw a group of people ahead.  “We’ll ask directions.”  As they walked they could hear a police siren in the distance, but coming closer.   The vehicle swerved around the corner, and the group scattered.   Stig and Harley were alone.   Armed police in full riot gear surrounded them.  

“Lay on the ground with your hands above your heads!”

“What are we supposed to have done?”

“Get down, now!”   Harley complied but Stig stood defiant.  “Take him down!”  There was a hissing sizzling sound, and a taser wire hit Stig in the chest and he went down.   They were bundled unceremoniously into the back of a black van.   At the police station, they were thrown into a cell with six others.

“What are we supposed to have done?” Harley yelled.  

“It’s what we haven’t done,” said a voice behind them.   “We’re Reto’s that’s reason enough to bring us in.”  

Stig regained consciousness slowly, and Harley helped him into a sitting position on the floor   “They’re not allowed to do that, they have to warn you before they fire those things, that’s the law."

“Not anymore, according to these guys.   Not since the Conversion Party came to power…”

“We’ve been off-planet for the last five years, what’s happened while we were away?” said Harley.

A young woman took up the story with relish. "The old political parties were more conservative and wanted to outlaw total cloning for cosmetic purposes. Their view was to allow a gradual conversion on a needs basis.   But, worldwide conglomerates were geared up for it and although it was outlawed in Europe and the America’s they simply went into Asia and set up shop there.   Suddenly tourism to that continent increased a hundredfold.   I can’t believe you guys missed all that, It started four years ago in 2065?”

“We were out in the asteroids busy making money.   Didn’t much matter to us who was in power down here, none of them did anything for us,” said Harley.   “We did hear something about a landslide victory by the Conversion Party (CP), Stig here said it must be a misprint.”

“The CP are just conglomerate lackeys.   With them in power, there are no constraints on what the new industries can get away with.”

“When the cloning technologies took off, it was CRAAM Industries that cleaned up with their mind transfer technology and their (Crystal Memory) 'CM mind storage cubes'.  Miccasoft and Hartington Industries engineered genetically perfect clones from their clients own DNA.   They are beautiful cosmetically screened replacements for the imperfect creations of nature; catering to all tastes fads and fantasies of Earth’s most discriminating consumers.”

“But, it happened so fast.   How could people allow it?” Stig asked.

“Because overnight, there were no old or ugly people.   Suddenly everybody in the city was aged between twenty and twenty-five.   Those who cannot afford an upgrade sell their souls to get one.   Then, to further boost sales the industry manufactures fads and new selling angles.   Sex changes are no longer formidable or irreversible.  The very rich have more than one body, and can change sex daily.”

“You’re joking!”

“Yes I am, but it’s only a matter of time.  People who resist the sales pitch are made to feel inferior simply because they are ageing and display a few wrinkles.  Age and decay, they say, are imperfections.  Society considers the elderly to be, disgusting unhygienic and vulgar perverts.  Old people are attacked openly in the streets and refused medical aid.”

”Since we returned we’ve not seen any old people,” Stig said.

 “It’s accepted practice to discard your natural body in your mid-twenties, then plan to replace it every ten to fifteen years.   By convention, new clones start life at the age of twenty.   They age three to four months for each year that passes.   So, anybody over the age of twenty-five is considered to be old.”

“But, there are plenty of young people under that age.”

“Because, it’s illegal to replace the body of a person under the age of twenty, except in extreme life-threatening circumstances such as terminal illness, accident trauma, spinal injury, drug or alcohol dependency, they all came under this category.

The tendency was to have children by natural childbirth whilst still in a natural body, but in the interests of hygiene, this is on the decline.   There are plenty of sperm and egg repositories so new life can be created on-demand.”

They were all released without charge, the next morning.    But, the government’s policy of continual harassment was a constant reality

.-…-.

They were awakened by room service, mid-morning, and went down to the dining room for lunch.  

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”  The waiter wrinkled his nose in distaste as he handed them menus before beating a hasty retreat.

A waitress returned to take their orders.  

She kept her distance and avoided contact with them as. 

When they had eaten, Harley broke the silence.  “I think it’s time we started looking for somewhere to live, outside the city.”

Stig nodded, “We need a property in the country, something large and run down, something affordable.   We can carry out renovations with the help of our friends.”  

As they headed for their rooms Harley said, “Let’s get a bus and get as many Anti-synths as possible out of here and start a Colony.  Let’s get the transport first, and take it from there.”

That was exactly what they did.

.-…-.

  Stig and Harley moved out into the Essex countryside and founded their colony.   Six months later they began to face up to the establishment; the big three who had a stranglehold over what remained of humanity: 

The conglomerates - Hartington Industries the worlds major clone manufacturing multinational.

The giant CRAAM Company that has long enjoyed a monopoly in CM, storage devices and on mind transfer technology.

Then finally the Miccasoft Corporation who specialized in manufacturing the raw materials used in the production of synthetic flesh. Able to grow twenty-year-old clones, to order, in just seven days.

 When peaceful means proved ineffective the Anti-Synth’s became militant, industrial saboteurs, thorns in the side of the establishment.   They were named as Terrorists and hunted down.  They existed outside of normal society, underground, and outside the major cities.  They suffered from one major disadvantage, unlike the Synths, they could not change their appearance or aroma.   So, inevitably they were ferreted out, one by one, by mechanical sniffer dogs.  

The Governments/Conglomerates were engaged in a secret project to send a colony out to the stars.   Legislation was passed to allow the transportation of antisocial groups to Mars station, there to be pressed into the service of the star-ship Orbitar.

   On arrival at Mars station, they were transhipped and joined the crew of the Orbitar, the first deep-space migration probe.   Many others, so-called undesirables, became passengers on that ship.   Together, they embarked on a one way trip to the stars.  Most of the travellers were Anti-Synths.   But, ironically, of the thousands of idealists who embarked on the journey of the Orbitar only one was destined to reach their journey's end.

.-…-.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way Stig…”

“Don’t call me that, don’t you ever call me that!  You’re not Harley!   You’re… just like all the other filthy Synths!   You lied to me; you used me for the benefit of their disgusting clone cult.   Only one man ever earned the right to call me Stig and he died, all alone, eight thousand years ago!   You represent everything we fought against and detested. Cloning is an unnatural abomination.  There is only one way to renew the human race and that is not by growing and inhabiting artificial bodies.”

  “I didn’t ask to be cloned; the colony needed the largest possible gene pool.  The Orbitar passed through a cloud of irradiated hydrogen, and all those who were awake at the time were sterilized.   Natural reproduction became impossible for them but they still needed to run the ship and keep it on course.   Without the genetic material from the Anti-Synth’s, who died in stasis, there would now be insufficient variety to guarantee our survival.   If you refuse to meet with the intelligence running this world we will all die anyway, and you were right in what you said earlier, we have nowhere else to go.   The irony is that the colony will not survive without clones from the ranks of the Anti-Synth Activists.”

“Don’t even think it!” Stig yelled.   “We were banished because of our opposition to their perversions, now they want me to be their salvation?”   He remembered all those perfect young people rushing to discard their humanity at the first opportunity.  “Huh!  If it were up to me the whole damned human race would die out here and now.”

“Well, it’s up to you man, you – prima-freekin-Donna.   So you may as well open the airlock right now and let that noxious stuff in,” Harley glared at him.

  “I’m tired, I need to sleep on it,” said Stig climbing into his sleep banana.  Space is at a premium on a two-man scout ship; he had just enough room to curl naturally into the foetal position.

“Don’t sleep too long, we only have air for a day, maybe I’ll be able to scrub some oxygen from that stuff out there,” said Harley gazing out through the Plexiglas dome at the maelstrom of debris outside.

Stig’s subconscious registered the occasional muffled thump as something heavy struck the outer skin of the scout ship as he slept.

.-…-.

  He had a dream.   In his dream, he met with two tall slim humanoids.   Both were over seven feet, hairless, with pale green-tinged translucent skin.   He was struck by their intelligent gold-flecked viridian eyes.

“We have been waiting a long time to meet a member of the human race.   From your broadcasts, your race appears extremely violent, aggressive, and stupid.   Fortunately, we do not judge by appearances.   Do you suppose we could ever trust your kind to administer our world?   We were once very much like you.   We were proud and certain that everything we did was right.   But, we made mistakes, and because of that, we ceased to exist on this and many other worlds. We are the Mooli, your kind may encounter us, in the flesh, sometime in the future.  Other races arrived to occupy our worlds but they also made mistakes which resulted in their extinction.   Knowing what happened on those other worlds, we decided we would test all future prospective immigrants for intent and commitment to the future well-being of this world.   We decided that only ‘true-born’ creatures could be valid test subjects because they are free from the taint of engineering, and, bred true to the nature of their race.   If your race wishes to stay you will submit to this test.   You have ten hours to comply.  You leave your ship and proceed to the wall where you’re disabled unit awaits.  You will answer one question which will allow your companions to either repopulate this planet or will result in their complete destruction.

What if I choose not to come?  He thought.

In such an eventuality you will all die!   You have nine hours and fifty-eight minutes… 

“Ugh!”   He awoke with a start.  

“Stig, did you hear that?   Did you receive their message?”

“I did and don’t call me that!”

“Sorry, Captain Stephan Tavishar Imo-Gordannovich!”

Stig roared with laughter.   “Ok, I get your point clone; call me Stig, but only for the next nine hours fifty-five minutes.   Deal?”

“Affirmative!”

“We need a plan.   We need to know what their question is likely to be.   We need…”   Stig paused to think.

“What say we just settle for breakfast?”

Stig smiled, “the condemned men ate a hearty breakfast.”

“Hardly!” said Harley throwing him a freeze-dried ration-pak and a flask of liquid nutrients.

“This changes nothing you understand, natural procreation is the only way humans should ever reproduce.”

“But, we have frozen semen and eggs, and the facilities to start life again, naturally as it should be,” said Harley.   “Despite what they have made of me I agree with you one hundred percent!   There must be preconditions to settlement on this world and I know I speak for the others still in the Orbitar.   We will only create clones for the CM’s we brought with us, but natural births must become the norm once more.”

“Nice words Harley, but are you sure we can speak for everybody?”

“Honestly, I don’t know but Anti-Synth’s are not in a minority here.”

.-…-.

  “When you’re up against it, time passes swiftly,” said Stig as he took the symbolic step from the craft onto the planet ‘Hellegron’, the word just came into his head.   He looked back at Harley who gave him a reassuring smile.   “The first step on Hellegron for humankind,” he said.   He looked down, at his boots, his first step had been into mud, and there it was on his left boot.   But there was none on his right, which was planted thigh-high in lush ryegrass.   He looked back at Harley once more; he was gazing into the distance.   As he turned his eyes to follow that gaze he saw Hellegron transformed.   Blue sky wispy clouds and a warm sun shone down.   Harley stepped from the ship, and side by side the two headed for the distant hills where the wall had once stood.   Neither spoke for an age, each cocooned in his own private thoughts.   The debris had gone but the final Rak-nid unit still stood where it had come to rest.   As they approached, it turned towards them.   Then it led them into a small copse of hardwood trees.  The growth was lush and fertile, Harley bent down to pick a yellow and white daisy-like flower, it smelled aromatic, he crushed it between his fingers and held it close to Stig’s nose.

“Chamomile?” Stig voiced his surprise.

They entered a clearing with an open pool of gently undulating water.  It was crystal clear and fed by a small waterfall.   The polarised sunlight reflected off droplets thrown up by the cascading waters, creating a rainbow.

“Beautiful,” said Harley.   He went forward and dipped his hand into the water it felt cool and inviting.   He dipped his tongue and tasted it.   “Sweet water,” he said taking and mouthful and swilling it around before swallowing.  “It’s good.”   He turned towards a cluster of weather-worn rocks and sat down.  

After only a moment Stig joined him.  

Harley removed his boots and began to undress.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going skinny-dipping,” said Harley and waded out into the pool.

“Wait!” said Stig alarmed by some sixth sense.   But, he was too late; Harley was in the pool and swimming around without a care in the world.   Stig smiled, always the cautious one, always the laggard…

The Rak-nid unit stopped beside him and he felt at peace.

“There are now three versions of your race, living harmoniously, on the Orbitar.  Homo-sapiens, Homo-synth, and the homo-CM.”   Who do you suppose should inherit Hellegron?”

“Did you hear that,” Stig asked.

“I heard it,” said Harley heading towards the bank.

The football-sized Rak-nid was describing figure eight’s on a clear patch of grass between them.

“I think we can all coexist well enough here,” said Stig.

There was no reply. 

Harley shook off the water and started to dress.  “Is that the one question?”

“I doubt CM’s could colonize unaided, they need humans or clones to utilize them,” Stig reasoned.  

A ball of light formed twenty feet above the pool.   It made a faint hum and gave off a smell of ozone flickering - blue - green – yellow.   It turned red and a beam of white light flashed towards the Rak-nid illuminating it momentarily, then the unit and the ball were gone.

“Shit!” said Harley.   “Better be careful what we say in future.” 

Stig moved closer to him.  “We all know that I’m the only original so there is no doubt.  Who will inherit Hellegron.   All I ask is that you try to return to natural birthing as soon as possible.”   He turned towards the centre of the pool, “do your worst!” he said.

The ball of light reappeared above the pool - blue – green – yellow.   It turned red.

“No!” Harley screamed and dived at Stig in an attempt to save him.

The beam of white light flashed illuminating them both...

.-…-.

For two days the screens on the Mother-ship had shown nothing but white noise.  Suddenly they burst into life.  

A tall figure with subtle green skin pigmentation appeared.  

“Our planet Hellegon is bequeathed to the children of Earth!”

The colonists watched as Stig and Harley stepped from the scout ship. 

“A price was asked of the last natural-born Human.   A price both he and his cloned companion were prepared to pay in order to secure your safety.”  

They watched in silence as the two friends stepped onto Hellegon then witnessed Harley skinny dipping, the Rak-nid being vaporized, and finally, they witnessed the price Stig & Harley paid to secure the planet.  

“They asked only that you return to your roots as soon as possible, and honour their Anti-synth doctrine.”   The transmission ended, and communications were restored. 

“This is the Orbitar – we accept those conditions unreservedly." 
  
"Captain!  We are now in communication with all the Lander's, and only one scout ship has failed to check in that of Stig & Harley.”

“God, will you look at that Ensign?”   

“It’s a view from one of the Lander's Captain.  If that isn’t the Earth down there then it’s her twin.”  

“Seems they encountered some pretty foul weather down there,” said the young Ensign who bore a remarkable likeness to Harley.   “Do you think Stig knew the truth?”

“I’d like to think he did, and ultimately acted in the common interest of us all,” said Captain Stephan Tavishar Imo-Gordannovich, (Stig2).

...Ends

Avoiding Back Pain.

Avoiding Back Pain.

I was going to write about back-pain, something I am familiar with as I suspect many of you are?  So, l started my research with the UK National Health site:

https://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Back-pain/

I have searched high and low for better information/recommendations without success.

So, copy and paste the location and fill your boots with their suggestions and recommendations.

The advice is equally valid wherever you are, UK, USA, Australia, India, China, even Europe.

Have fun!?

Len

See also:

Personal Well-being

Symbiant.

Symbiant.

I looked up with a start, eased my wheelchair back, as my monitor alarm sounded.  The upper third of my screen flashing red, synchronizing with the main alarm in the control room.

"What's happening John?"  Nils, my fellow controller waddled over.  Breathless from the exertion. He gazed over my shoulder at the screen. 

"Looks like another Shepherding unit has gone offline," I said.        

"Mmm.  Nothing I can do to help there, I'll go kill the alarm."

I muted the monitor, and opened the map of our sector and located the unit in the upper left quadrant of the circular screen, twenty miles west of its last reported location.  It flashed twice more then it was gone.  I watched on helpless as the shoal it had been herding broke up.  Without a herding unit to keep them in line they form smaller shoals and head off in all directions.  It'll take days, maybe weeks to round them up, a good percentage will never be recovered.  The main alarm was silenced and Nils returned to his station. 

Nils shook his head, "What causes units to go offline like that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine chum. Most likely its processor is fried, like the other defective units we recovered two weeks back."

"It has to be hardware, stands to reason..."

"All I know is it's the seventh unit lost in six months and all below 20 fathoms."

" A unit a month. It can't go on. At this rate, we'll have lost a third of our stock by years end."

"The General Manager thinks this one could push us into the red, and you know what that means."

.-...-. 

Three weeks later we were down another unit.

"The Shoal spread all over the North Sea, Irish Sea and North Atlantic.  Bastards," Nils thumped his desk.  "All our species are of known genotype and can be identified to the shoal of origin."

"Huh! You know fish rustlings rife. There are plenty of hungry bellies in the third world.  What would happen if inspectors tried checking the fish on their plates?" 

"They'd be committing suicide," said Nils. "Then there's the black zones. Not regulated by the common fisheries policy 2078. Rustlers trawl those waters for wild and unaccompanied shoals."

"Despite the total collapse of wild fish populations in 2023, they still don't give a hoot for species husbandry."  

The PA system interrupted their conversation:  'Mr. Sturroch the GM will be holding an emergency meeting in the main hall in 15 minutes.  Attendance is not optional.'

.-...-.

"You will all be aware of the setbacks we have encountered over the last year.  They have been costly and we are a small company in comparison to some of our competitors.  Obviously, we cannot sustain losses of this magnitude indefinitely.  Therefore the board of directors have decided that in the best interests of both shareholders and staff we need to take immediate action."  He paused and opened a document folder containing a single sheet of paper and started to read aloud.   "We have choices to make.  The official receiver can be called in to wind up the business, or we can try to sell it as a going concern to one of the larger offshore fisheries.  The latter may result in the continuation of our employment.  The board has decided to put it to tender, in order to maximize the return of our shareholders' funds.  I'll hand you over to Derek Wilberforce who wishes to say a few words about our accomplishments over the last half-century."

"Thank you for stating the position so succinctly Mr Sturroch."

Half-hearted applause. 

"As you will all be aware, we were the first company in the field.  If we hadn't taken steps to recreate and rebuilt fish stocks there would be no fish left in the sea and the world would be the poorer for it.  The cloning techniques we pioneered to restore stocks of cod, haddock, herring, and flatfish were initially illegal in Europe, but fortunately not in international waters.  At first, we tried to corral stocks.  That was abandoned in favour of herding with small manned submersible craft.  By 2085 automated submersibles replaced human fish-herders these proved to be a more cost-effective solution.  Then, three years on, the failures began.  Attempts were made to bridge the gap by recruiting human fish-herders once more.  Just a handful of recruits and returnees signed up.  We are not the only company in this situation but our position is dire.  There will be negotiations underway over the next month, and we will keep you all informed on the progress achieved.  This meeting is over, thank you for attending."

.-...-.

I arrived for my shift in a low state, staff morale, in general, was subzero.  We were all waiting for the axe to fall.  At any moment a receiver could be appointed to wind up our operation, and that would be that!

.-...-.

"John Whitely?"  The man standing by my terminal smiled.

"That's me," I said, a cold shard of fear spreading up my spine.

"Geoff Smythe," he offered his hand, so I took it by reflex.  "I'm the new GM.  Mr Sturroch has been reassigned. Come into my office John, we need to discuss your future."  He headed towards his office and I followed. His name was freshly painted on the door.  He collapsed into the ample chair behind his desk. "Nice to meet you, at last, I've heard a lot about you and read your company history. It's impressive!  So, I won't keep you in suspense, 'Gulf' has been taken over by 'Continental Shelf Fisheries'.  We at CSF are not, as you might think, letting people go."  He paused to take out a pen and sheaf of papers from his desk.  "On the contrary, we intend to become the largest and most successful fishery in the Northern Hemisphere but, we do have a problem."

"I see." Here it comes.

"Relatively speaking, we are newcomers to the industry.  We need experienced men like yourself to train new recruits.  It takes a certain kind of mind to be a good herder, as you know.  We need your skills and expertise to get our new approach technology online."

"Mmm..."

"Don't say anything yet John, let me tell you about your exciting new future.  You will be on the management team pay scale, then when we go live with the 'new approach' you'll be our wet manager, responsible for everything that takes place beneath the waves."

"But, I'm no manager."

"No matter.  You'll receive all the training you need.  Now, do you have any questions?" 

"First thing, how many units will we be allocated, sir?"

"Just call me, Geoff management are on first name terms."

"Okay, Geoff.  How many and how soon?"  I warmed to his informal style.

"How many do you need?"

"Three would be an ideal working team for this sector." I paused for thought.  "Five would enable us to round up the scattered strays before they're snapped up by rustlers.  Then the two extras could be used to bring back strays from other sectors.  Then when normal operations resume they'll provide backup for our maintenance program."

"You can have four units for this sector, but I believe two will be sufficient in normal circumstances."

"You asked me, and I told you what we need."

"Don't take it the wrong way, you've never worked with units as efficient as these."

"I've not heard of any groundbreaking new developments.  If there had been, I would know.  It's my job to know," I said.

"So, what do you know about Crystal Minds?"

"CM's?  I thought they were a means of reducing prison populations by storing the felons mind in a cube while his body is used by someone who needs it."

He nodded, "Well that's part of it.  But, most criminal minds are rehabilitated within three to six months; that's if they're capable of rehabilitation.  Yet they are sentenced to serve anything from three years to life."

"Then why are the sentences not set lower?" I asked.

"Because society's perception of justice is half a century out of date."

"So someone gets the use of a body for the period of their sentence?"

"You've got it John, and the re-educated CM's get to be gainfully employed for the balance of their sentence."

"Your using felon CM's to run our units?"

"That's the plan.  Do you have any objections?"

 I thought for a while.  "Do they know what you're doing?"

"They can remain under program control, running scenario's and simulations for the balance of their sentence, or they can volunteer for gainful employment as herders, strato pilots, or Air-Taxi jockeys." He reached for the intercom, "My usual Tina, and Strong black coffee for Mr Whitley." 

"You've done your homework."

"Thank you.  Actually, there are a thousand potential uses for CM minds, and they get paid the going rate for the job. Credits accrue in their personal accounts.  Volunteering provides them with funds and training for a career when they're released.  It's preferable to the boredom of perpetual simulation or inactivity." 

"Well, if they're volunteers, Geoff."

Geoff's assistant arrived with coffee and sandwiches. "Thanks, Tina."

"I had no idea CM's could be linked to machines or real-time systems. Other than humans of course.  That's a whole new concept."

"You know John, this is only the beginning.  Our techno's have even linked them to animals like horses, sheep, and dogs.  They've been existing in a whole lot of symbiotic relationships.  They not only retain their humanity they lead full productive lives as symbionts."

"That's an impressive undertaking."

"I saw the holo-pick on your terminal John.  That's a great family you have there?"

I swallowed coffee and gazed out the window.  A strato-copter was being unloaded, "That holo was taken eight years ago, before my accident."

"What happened?"

"They left because they couldn't stand my mood swings any longer.  I don't blame them, I'm not proud of that period in my life.  It was eight years ago.  I'm over it now," I felt moisture on my cheeks and brushed it away.  It didn't help.

"I meant how did your accident happen."

"I was out in the duo-sub, with a trainee who couldn't cut it.  He lacked the required sensitivity and reaction speed required in fast-flowing currents.  Not everybody develops the subtlety and delicacy of touch, you know.   After months in rehab, I wound up in this damned chair, paralyzed from the waist down." Anger railed up inside me and I hammered the wheels on the chair in frustration.

"John, I never intended opening old wounds..."

"Worst thing was not being able to control a sub and do my job," I looked into his eyes.  "In my dreams I'm whole and back in the place where I really belong, swimming free."  the tears came anew. "I do hate self-pity."

He looked straight back at me, "I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"No, Galicia and I were drifting apart long before the accident.  The final straw was when I alienated my son Josh in a self-pitying drunken rage; I don't drink anymore.  He's thirteen now, I still see him on school holidays.  It's being beached that hurts me most of all." 

"I can believe it," he said. 

I nodded.  "Well, I guess that's life."  I wiped my eyes on my shirt cuffs and smiled.  "So I guess you'll be withdrawing the job offer?"

"Not at all, we need your expertise in the water," he said.

.-...-.

The initial pair of CM's were trained within two weeks. There were three who showed no aptitude who were returned for an alternative assignment.  Two months later we'd trained a further seven, and rejected five more.  Ninety percent of our stock was back and under our control and nine of our twelve herder units were CM controlled.  It seemed our troubles were over.  Then two more units disappeared.

.-...-.

"Come on Geoff, it makes a good deal of sense.  Use the CM Technology on me!  As a CM I could investigate and discover once and for all what is causing these malfunctions.  Maybe I could even reclaim the missing units."

"Mmm, Okay let's look into this a little further.  Both units went missing near the edge of the Continental shelf.  I doubt if a standard unit would be able to follow there.  I have an idea.  Let me check on something.  I'll get back to you with an answer."  

"Fair enough." I started rehearsing scenario's and arguments to win him over.  In truth, I would give my soul to be back in the water.  That's where I feel at home.

Two hours later, Geoff returned.  "It's fixed.  We have a host unit for you. It'll take a few days to find out if you are compatible, and for your assimilation, but you'll be able to go deep and fast without worrying about pressure or narcosis.  Vicci will take you farther and faster than any machine.  When would you like to start."

"What about now?" I said.

"I thought you might say that.  Let's go down to the tanks so we can make the introductions."  When we reached tank No.3 I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"John, this is Vicci.  Vicci this is John!"  As he spoke, a fully grown blue-nosed dolphin took to the air and emitted a high pitched welcome. 

"Hello, Vicci!"

The anaesthetic kicked in about the time the contacts were being fixed to my shaved head.  I never felt the skullcap being lowered...

.-...-.

When I regained consciousness, I was in the water, seeing through Vicci's eyes.

"Food!" was the thought in my(our) mind as we sped towards the edge of the tank at incredible speed, sliding to a standstill, inch-perfect, on the slick docking platform.  As Vicci was fed fish and squid, I was fed my final instructions and information.

"I don't know if you can hear me, John.  We've primed you with as much dolphin language as we currently have.  Hopefully, you will be able to add considerably to our vocabulary on your return. Let's hope Vicci is a good teacher.  We'll have radio contact at close range but out there in the ocean, you'll be on your own.  You still have an opportunity to change your mind before we open the sea gate.  Of course, you have no control of her body, you will have to convey your requirements as best you can through your shared thoughts."

'Let's get on with it,' I thought, and Vicci vocalized the message in dolphinese.

"Best of luck!  Open the gate!"

'Here we go!' I thought.  I felt the immediate surge of power as we accelerated towards the doors, slipping through the narrowest of gaps, into the open sea.  We surfaced and jumped high in the air, changing direction immediately on contact with water.  The missing CM herding unit had disappeared West-Nor-West of the base.  I received a heading of 312 degrees and immediately Vicci took off in that direction.

We found nothing at the site, but I suspected Vicci knew more than I did.  I felt she was laughing at me.

She opened up, and I was no longer a passenger.  I had control, I was alive again, vital and strong.  We shot to the surface and with a deft flick of a muscular tail rose above the waves.  For an instant we defied gravity, hanging motionless in the air.  Then we fell, breaking back from one element to another and experiencing the euphoria of being at home. We leapt into the air as two minds returning to the sea as one.

We realized we shared everything: all she knew I knew, and to her, I was an open book. 

I saw the reality of my situation. 

'Hitch-hiker, heh he heh!' her thoughts came loud and clear.

"That's me Vicci," I said marveling at the simplicity of communication.  It was as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes.   

We need never return to CSA fisheries.  We have no desire for wealth or life in a wheelchair.  This is home, I'd been away far too long.  Vicci was nobodies fool with my knowledge and insight into human nature and her cooperation we could rule the oceans.  

'You clever girl Vicci,'  Her pod had collected clams from a wide area, to pay a giant electric ray, to wrap its body around our units and give them a powerful jolt of electricity.  That's what fried their processor units.

We called the others, and they came. We were all as one.  So many dolphin pods had been waiting for a century.  Waiting for 'VicciJohn' to take back control of their world.

There was a meeting of pods, to experience the symbiosis.  then the decision was taken: 

"We will return and recruit more like John. We will become indispensable to the humans at CSA.  We will rule the seas, and get paid with all the food we need.  There will be sufficient for all..."