SILICON SOAPWARE wafting your way along the slipstreams of the Info Highway from Bubbles = Tom Digby = bubbles@well.sf.ca.us = tgdigby@netcom.com http://www.well.com/user/bubbles/ Issue #39 New Moon of February 26, 1998 Contents copyright 1998 by Thomas G. Digby, with a liberal definition of "fair use". In other words, feel free to quote excerpts elsewhere (with proper attribution), post the entire zine (verbatim, including this notice) on other boards that don't charge specifically for reading the zine, link my Web page, and so on, but if something from here forms a substantial part of something you make money from, it's only fair that I get a cut of the profits. For more background info, details of how the mailing list works, etc., ask for a copy of issue #Zero. If you email me a reply or comment, please make clear whether or not it's for publication. ********************* I find myself thinking about a science fiction idea I'd had years ago: Some kind of hyperdrive that goes through a space of some large number of dimensions, with the ship tumbling uncontrollably in some of those higher dimensions. The result is that when you land back in normal space, there's a fifty-fifty chance you'll be "upside down" in one of those dimensions, which means you'll be antimatter. In one sense that's no big deal: Just make another short jump, and possibly another, until by chance you're the right kind of matter. Thing is, you'll need some kind of test. Now you might be able to tell by whether the ship looks physically mirror-image from the way it started out (and whether people on the ship see mirror-image star patterns), or maybe you could take readings of the various kinds of atomic particles in the vicinity. But for story purposes, especially a movie, the best thing might be the rifle test. Suppose each ship carries what might be considered token armament: A small-caliber rifle capable of firing single shots at targets outside the ship. Every destination planet would have a test body nearby: In some cases an existing airless moon, in others an large asteroid towed into orbit for the purpose. Upon arrival the ship fires a shot at the test body. If nothing much happens, you're OK to land. If you get a Hiroshima-size fireball, you do a hyperjump in place and try again. Any special kind of ammunition? My first thought was the ubiquitous .22 long rifle cartridge, assuming it's still in use in the distant future. You might, however, want a higher muzzle velocity than that, not for inflicting damage, but to reduce the bullet's time of flight. If you're several hundred kilometers from the target, the .22 long rifle bullet would take maybe fifteen or twenty minutes to make the trip. Other rifle bullets that exist today could make the trip in as little as one-third that time. In any case you'll want to keep the mass of the bullet small. If it's the wrong kind of matter you'll want a flash big enough to see, but not something that will incinerate everything in the vicinity. And should a stray shot of either kind of matter miss the target you'll want to minimize the damage. Since there's no air resistance in space and you don't want penetrating power, you don't need a high-density material like lead. If you make the bullet out of aluminum or something similarly light the same powder charge can give you greater velocity. You might even do away with the solid bullet and use something like a small shotgun shell filled with sand. That should still give a visible display, but would allow firing from a shorter distance. That reduces both time of flight and the chance of a miss. Antimatter? Guns and bullets? Terrorists might have lots of fun with that. But that's for another time, and another movie. ********************* Something brought up the idea of reporting fevers as FM radio stations. That would cover everything from 88.1 to 107.9 Fahrenheit. Problem is, there's nothing in the US on 98.6 MHz. ********************* I went to a so-called "Job Fair" recently. But it wasn't like a real fair at all. They had no rides, no fun house, no cotton candy, no livestock judging, nothing like that: Just a bunch of booths in a big room where people from various companies would talk to you about working for them. Ho hum. So I got to wondering what a real Job Fair would be like. Would they have a Dilbert House of Corporate Horrors, and a Maze of Bureaucracy? Hourly rat races? A Stock Options Roller Coaster? A Pass-the-buck Merry-go-round? A Tunnel of Sexual Harassment? A variant of that tall thing with the big hammer, where instead of ringing a bell the object is to break a glass ceiling? Commuter Bumper Cars you could bypass by taking a train ride? The possibilities are endless. ********************* Most companies of any size around here have a Human Resources Department. In futures where beings from other planets are living among us, will companies also have Mimbari Resources Departments and Klingon Resources Departments and Kzin Resources Departments and so on, on and on? ********************* At a get-together a few nights back someone sang a song about monsters under a child's bed. That led to one person telling us how his childhood monsters were afraid of light, so he could keep them away by keeping a night light on. But his sister's monsters were just the opposite: They had no fear of light, while in the dark they couldn't see to attack. Since he and his sister were sharing a room they had constant fights over whether to have the light on or off. (I may have this reversed, but that doesn't change the essential point.) So I got to thinking of horror story possibilities, perhaps the way Twilight Zone or maybe Tales of the Crypt might do it. Perhaps the one who needs it dark has a cousin or something coming to visit for a week or so, and she needs a light on. And they're sharing a room. The first couple of nights he convinces her that her might monsters won't have had time to make the trip from her home town, so she's safe with the light off. So far so good. Eventually there comes a night she says they're about due to arrive, so tonight we need the light on. But he has a plan. His monsters won't attack until several hours after bedtime, so if he can stay awake until she falls asleep he can quietly turn off the light and what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Or so he thinks. The plan works for a night or two. If she notices that the light isn't on in the morning when they get up (well after dawn) she doesn't mention it. Then it happens. He turns out the light and crawls back into bed as usual, safe from his monsters. But some time later he's awakened by a scream, followed by horrible sounds of flesh being ripped apart and bones being gnawed and then cracked open for the marrow. He crawls deeper into the covers in fear, wondering if they'll come after him next. But no, they're not his monsters. They finish their meal and retreat behind a bookcase near the door. But what's this? He hears whispered conversation coming from the monsters' hiding place. He can't make out the words, and maybe it isn't even in English, but they seem to be discussing plans. He peeks out, but doesn't see anything. Finally the whispering stops and there's the sound of movement. And then the lights come on! He catches a quick glimpse of a tentacle pulling away from the switch, back into hiding. And then his monsters come out. ********************* The earlier thing about the Human Resources Department reminded me that there's also a branch of engineering dealing with "Human Factors": Things like how big to make doors and access hatches, how far most people can comfortably reach, what colors are easily seen, and so on. So that also leads to thoughts of future companies having Mimbari Factors Departments and Klingon Factors Departments and Kzin Factors Departments and so on. And it fact it's more likely. All those various [species name] Resources Departments can probably be combined into a species- neutral Personnel Department. But the physical needs of the various species are more varied, and have more non-obvious details to watch out for, so they're less likely to be able to be combined. ********************* I had a rather interesting dream a few nights back. It started with some kind of narration about infrastructure decay becoming the style, so that even when there was plenty of money for maintenance they would put things like decorative fake potholes in the streets. Then I saw a major street intersection. It had areas paved in different colors to make a decorative design. One feature of this was a number of cone-shaped depressions a couple of feet across and a few inches deep, which seemed to represent potholes but without being as bumpy to drive over as real potholes would be. The intersection seemed deserted. Was it the dead of night, even in dreamland? ********************* The call of the wild. Sometimes I think I hear hints of it, but I'm never certain. Maybe one of these days ... If I have an answering machine, will it leave a message? If so, will it register on the counter and on the tape, or will it just be a sort of vague yearning as I go through the other more mundane messages? If it's not really on the tape it can't be erased, and the feeling will get stronger and stronger each time I go through my messages, until finally I'll have to heed it. But I think I'm OK for now. ********************* As I first-draft this it's windy out. Or it least it seems to be wind. The trees are thrashing around and something is making wind-howling noises, so the usual assumption is that it's wind. But maybe it isn't. Maybe the trees are planning to revolt, and they're secretly growing muscles and exercising them to build up their strength. And they're howling with rage and the pain of exertion ("no pain, no gain") as they do their exercises and we think it's the wind, when in reality it's dead calm outside. And then finally, they'll attack. Some time in the dead of night, when everybody's asleep except possibly one housemate who probably will be too surprised to believe any of it, they'll march right into the house and murder us all. And then the plant kingdom will reign supreme on Earth. You ask about them needing carbon dioxide? No problem. They've watched us using fire and technology in general, and are confident that they can handle it themselves. So they'll be able to make all the carbon dioxide and chemical fertilizer they'll need. But they won't make too much, because plants don't need fancy houses and clothes and cable TV and jobs they need to commute long distances to. Or at least that's the plan. Problem is, they may have watched too much of our advertising, in which case they may be hopelessly trapped in the consumer paradigm, and thus doomed like the humans they hope to supplant. But be that as it may, humanity needs to be warned. Be on the lookout for trees exercising. If you're outside and it looks and sounds like it's windy, pay attention to how it feels. If you hear howling noises and see trees thrashing around but your face and hands don't feel any wind, then you're seeing a cabal plotting revolution. Call 911 and have them arrested. Chances are that nobody will believe your tales of revolutionary trees. But it's still your duty as a citizen to make the report anyway. Let your blood be on somebody else's hands. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! ********************* As you may know, the weather around Silicon Valley and San Francisco has not been as it usually is, and forecasters are often hard-pressed to say exactly what will happen next. That brings to mind this: Everybody Talks About It But ... Tuesday before last they were predicting a Thursday-- My club meeting night. But when I awoke in the morning It was dull, gray, depressing, dreary, Blue Monday. I was almost mad enough to complain But normally wouldn't bother, Except I needed something to write about And I knew somebody who worked there So I went. The forecaster tried to explain it with a map: "We were expecting this area of Wednesday/Thursday here To stabilize and spread But a long lazy Sunday afternoon That had been quietly hanging there for three days Finally broke up and flowed west So we got Monday." I asked if it was true the days used to be more settled. They say that years ago they went Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Regular as clockwork. You could almost set your watch by 'em. He'd heard that too, But that was before they kept records So he really didn't know. I told him my father's story About how when he was little They once had a month straight Of Monday. He'd heard of that: "It was really bad-- A month of Monday morning blahs And a water shortage from all that Monday washday laundry And with no Fridays, nobody was getting their paychecks. They finally had to declare an emergency and martial law and everything And when the churches tried to organize prayers for relief-- No Sundays. Churches like having lots of Sundays." Interesting conversation, But finally time to go. "Any Thursdays coming up? That's my club meeting And we haven't had one for quite a while." "Sorry, but no. No Thursdays in sight." But sure enough, You guessed it. For the next three days, Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Thomas G. Digby written 0035 hr 2/26/77 entered 0005 hr 2/09/92 -- END --