Jack Bragen reads excerpts from book: "instructions for dealing with schizophrenia"

Getting Creative With a Blender

Someone gave me this blender, and I decided to put it to the test.  Shown here are small tomatoes, baby carrots, and salsa for flavor.  It works as baby food, or maybe if you don't have teeth. 

Even More Science Fiction!

MR. FUDD STRANDED ON MOON

JACK BRAGEN

Mr. Elmer Fudd was eighty and in good physical health, wore thick glasses yet still had trouble with eyesight, was hard of hearing, and was senile somewhat.  Other than that, all of his life, Elmer Fudd had been chivalrous and not afraid of any call to action. 
     On this Friday at five o'clock, Elmer Fudd was riding in a passenger bus headed from the Moon's spaceport toward the lunar resort hotel and casino.  The view from the observation room was said to be spectacular--the Earth was at all times visible, and the stars shone brilliantly among inky blackness. 
     However, Elmer Fudd and the five other passengers of the moon bus never made it to the resort.  The vehicle had broken down in the middle of desolate, airless landscape.  The driver radioed for help and was told it would take six hours or more--a crisis had occurred.  Nuclear war had broken out between several countries on Earth, and the security forces of the moon base were scrambling to activate the moon's defenses. 
    "How can I help?" said Elmer Fudd.  "I'm trained in combat and I can handle any emergency situation."
     The bus driver visually assessed Elmer Fudd, seeing the thick glasses and the dual hearing aids, as well as the modest stature, white hair and lack of a younger man's sturdy physique.   
     "Just remain seated sir, and I'll do the rest."  The bus driver directed his attention toward his communication box, and began to frantically exchange texts with emergency services.
     Elmer Fudd began to asses the situation as he understood it, although his thinking was fairly fuzzy. 
    
     The driver of the moon bus donned a spacesuit and stepped into the cramped airlock of the vehicle.  The repair necessitated accessing a panel on the outside of the vehicle--the onboard computer had said so. 
     The bus driver breathed heavily from the exertion of attempting repairs while in a spacesuit.  He was unused to moon walking--the regulations concerning the competence of moon employees had been slackened at the urging of lobbyists. 
     Fudd watched the work of the bus driver from his seat.  Next, Fudd gasped as he saw that the driver's arm was abruptly severed at the elbow--blood rained out of the torn arm of the spacesuit, illuminated in the harsh sunlight as crimson spray.  The moon bus had lurched at the moment the driver's arm became severed.  One of the four tires on the vehicle was shredded. 
     A fellow passenger, Ms. Willis, turned to Mr. Fudd:  "Was it a meteor?" 
     The driver had been killed almost instantly.  His body lay several yards away--escaping air and blood had moved it. 
     "I'll rescue us!" Elmer declared.  He donned the one remaining spacesuit and stepped into the airlock.  Ms. Willis hadn't had a moment to raise an objection. 
     The radio receiver in Fudd's spacesuit produced a sputter of static noise. "Johnston, what is your location?" 
     "There is no more Johnston," Fudd declared.  "A meteor just killed him.  We are near the midpoint between the landing field and the hotel.  Our vehicle is disabled."
     "We can't help you.  War has broke out.  We have to keep our shield up.  Are there any family you would like me to inform?"  
     "We're not finished yet," declared Elmer.  "Where is that screwy rabbit?"  
     A flying saucer abruptly landed twenty yards from the ground car.  A hatch in the saucer opened, and out came a midget spaceman in a spacesuit that resembled a Roman gladiator outfit.  Two large eyes were visible only, within the front opening of the spaceman's helmet. 
     "You are my prisoner.  Submit."  The spaceman's voice had an echoing quality as though he were speaking from within a large enclosure. 
     Buggs Bunny appeared on the scene.  He was wearing a space outfit that accommodated his ears.  He chewed on a carrot through the front opening.  "What's up…?"   
     "You screwy rabbit!  My vehicle needs a new wheel, plus something is wrong with the fuel cell," declared Elmer.   
     The midget spaceman pulled out his ray gun.
     "Now just a minute…"  Buggs jammed a half-eaten carrot into the muzzle of the space man's ray gun. 
     "Robots, cease and desist," declared Fudd.  "Go into commanded mode." 
     Buggs and the spaceman abruptly stopped moving.  Fudd, who had a dual role as an entertainment robot and as an emancipated robot, made a signal toward the passengers of the moon bus to reassure them.  He took the remote control of the flying saucer from the hand of the Roman gladiator / spaceman, and made the space vehicle open up.  Fudd stepped inside. 
     At the control of the spacecraft, Elmer Fudd used the ship's magnet to pick up the ground car.  Before he headed toward the hotel, he spoke through his radio to the robots he was leaving behind--Buggs and the midget spaceman.  "As you were…"
     The two entertainment robots resumed their act, yet in the absence of an audience.  It made the two robots happier than they might otherwise be.  Meanwhile Elmer Fudd hoped that the hotel where he and the busload of passengers headed would still be there for them and would not be destroyed by a missile when they got to it.  Regardless of the fate of foolish human beings, the robots would continue to be around, and didn't have the same problem getting along with each other. 

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HERE IS A LEFTOVER ESSAY THAT THE NEWSPAPERS DIDN'T USE - FOR YOUR EDIFICATION

HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED SINCE 9/11

JACK BRAGEN

On 9/11/2001, in many ways we lost our innocence as a nation.  We realized that we have enemies; these enemies were and are ruthless as well as clever.  These enemies are determined to put the American people in fear and to ruin the civil liberties that have made the US a great place to live.  Many politicians in the US seem to find this agenda a convenience, since it could be seen as a way of leveraging more power. 
     The Iraq war that followed ultimately became yet another blow against our freedom and our success.  Saddam Hussein was a cocky leader and in the process of not losing face, provided the US with excuses for going in.  Iraq turned out to be a Trojan Horse, badly draining the U.S. economy and tarnishing our international reputation as well as weakening our military.
     The legislation that followed the 9/11 attack, The Patriot Act, which was sold to us by the government as a set of safeguards to protect our people, ended up eroding our constitutional rights.   The government now had he blessings of Congress to wiretap citizens, to do surveillance on people, to incarcerate people without giving them legal representation, and to search people's homes at will without informing us that this was done. 
     These changes in how we are governed may not be constitutional, but no one was able or willing to stop the Patriot Act from being put into effect.  The Patriot Act was passed in a time of fever pitched patriotism and fear, and the American people and Congress were essentially conned into its passage. 
     The war in Iraq dragged on.  Our troops paid heavily, often with their lives, the price of either protecting the American people or fighting an unnecessary and costly war.  It remains a question whether the war in Iraq did anything to help us.
     Bush caused the liberal movement to rally and to grow stronger the way no progressive President could.  People were outraged at what was being done, in terms of starting unnecessary wars, eroding our freedoms, and putting more padding in the pockets of rich people, (while others barely got by, if at all.)  President Bush's grand scale fiasco was probably a major factor in Barack Obama being able to be elected to the White House. 
     President Obama is an improvement over President Bush.  And yet with President Obama in office, many of the flawed policies of the Bush administration continue.  Racism has not ceased to exist with an African-American President.  Several states in the South have circulated petitions to secede from the U.S., mainly due to white resentment.  We no longer have the blind patriotism that existed under Bush.  It has been replaced by right-wing extremism among people who were patriotic under Bush. 
     Are things better than they were thirteen years ago?  No.  The U.S. is under siege from forces within our borders and outside of them.  Flawed policies, leftover from President Bush, and kept in place largely by an obstinate Congress, are leading the US largely in the wrong direction.  The American people are splintered, and we are in danger of collapsing in much the same way as did the Roman Empire. 

Yet another science fiction piece for your perusal

STUCK INSIDE VIRTUAL REALITY

Jack Bragen

I felt odd.  I was in a banquet hall of some hotel, and couldn't remember how I had gotten there, where I was, or what had happened in the last month.  To my left, there was a substantial spread of hors d'oeuvres.  A number of immaculate, healthy-looking seniors, some younger people about my age and some people in wheelchairs mingled and were merrily talking to each other. 
     I had a sense that I was being watched.  So that I wouldn't be noticed as much, I walked up to the table of food. 
     An old woman, with an apparent wig of curly red hair, sitting adjacent to the food table, looked at me.  "You're new here, aren't you?" 
     "Of course I am," I said.  "Can you fill me in about where we are and the expected protocol?" 
     "There is no protocol, and you are nowhere." 
     The seeming non-response took me by unpleasant surprise.  I was tempted to leave the food table and find someone else to talk to. 
     The old woman continued:  "The particles that you are made of are represented in computer memory, down to subatomic level, I'm told."  She paused.  "You don't exist." 
     I struggled to keep frustration out of my voice, "Mankind has no computer of that magnitude.  It will be centuries before we can do that." 
     "Who said anything about humans?  We could be dozens of light years away from earth, or contained in a machine built into one of their mother ships." 
     I said, "And besides that, no computer could ever be fast enough." 
     The old woman persisted, "If we were slowed down, we would never be aware of it.  If all events are equally slowed…"
     "Nice talking to you," I said.  I spotted the exit of the banquet room and started toward it.  Of course this woman was senile. 
     I entered a large hallway and abruptly realized I was on the third floor and had just been on the first.  I concluded that I was subject to memory lapses.  I began to walk with no particular destination.  I spotted a door that was marked, "Room 311:  Reserved for Fred Michaels."  I jumped almost three feet.  Apparently, someone had reserved a hotel room for me.  I tried the door and it opened. 
     In the hotel room, I recognized my laptop, my razors, and my high blood pressure medication, all atop the dresser.  I turned and realized that the room had a very fancy, tiled Jacuzzi set into the floor.  The room was quite large.  I saw that a food cart had been left in the room, and on top of it were a sliced pizza and a container of fruit salad.
     I sat down on the bed and stared off into space.  I assumed I was dreaming, or perhaps I was dead.   I spotted a landline phone next to the bed.  As if in response to my look, the phone rang. 
     "Hello." 
     "Mr. Michaels, this is room service.  We wanted to officially welcome you to our hotel, and ask if there is anything we can get for you that would make your stay here as comfortable and pleasant as possible."  The voice was cordial and sounded like that of a typical female, twenty-five-year-old-or-so hotel worker. 
     "Madam, I don't understand why I am here or what this place is.  Can you explain to me how I got here, where I am and why I am here?" 
     "Mr. Michaels, you are incarcerated as data within a type of computer system, and this computer is not administered or created by humans."
    "So, you're telling me that I am living inside an extraterrestrial computer and that I don’t really exist except on computer memory?"  I struggled not to get verbally abusive with the woman.  Of course this was a hoax of some kind.  "There is something you can get me," I said, "how about two large bottles of vodka." 
     The vodka was delivered almost instantly.  I opened one of the bottles and drank.  The booze was effective at making me oblivious.  I got into the Jacuzzi and finally began to relax. 
     I awoke and was still in the water.  I chastised myself that I could have drowned or gotten overheated.  I got out of the water, and noticed that the pizza was still there on the cart, beckoning.  I ate.  There was a knock on the door. 
     I looked through the peephole and saw a nondescript gentleman in a suit and tie.  I was sure this was a door-to-door religious man wanting to get me to join his church, or perhaps it was a cop.  Against my common sense, I opened the door.
     "Hello Mr. Michaels.  Are you ready for your orientation?"  Without asking, he walked past me and took a seat at the breakfast table near a corner of the room.   As if out of thin air, the gentleman produced an advanced-looking video display. 
     "Who the hell are you and will you please get out of my room?" I said.  I was quite peeved.  My reflex was to think this man was some kind of multi-level marketing schemer, wanting to recruit me. 
     "This is in the vein of an explanation as to where you are and why you're here," he said.  "But if you want me to leave, I can do so."  He folded up the video display and began to get out of his chair.
     "Wait," I said.  "I need an explanation.  Everything has gone weird." 
     The gentleman got back in his chair but didn't put up the video screen.  "To begin with, you don't actually exist…" 
     He proceeded to explain something similar to what that old lady was getting at. 
     "Well then I demand that I be put back," I exclaimed. 
     "That can not happen," the man replied.  "We don't have the technology.  We can scan matter, we can copy it perfectly, we can simulate everything about it, but we don't yet know how to put those particles and those interactions back into the physical universe." 
     "I'm a simulation and there's no way out, that's what you're telling me?" 
     "If you have no other questions, I will leave you to your amusement," he replied. 
     I said, "If you're an alien, is this what you look like?"  I pointed an index finger toward the man's necktie. 
     The nondescript person in front of me faded out and was replaced by something that looked like a combination between a giant slug and an octopus.  It had half a dozen eyes on stalks, twenty tentacles, and a pulsing, mammoth head containing a gaping mouth full of pointed teeth.  I felt like I was having a heart attack. 
     "Okay, I get your point.  You can go back to being a human again," I said.  "Do you have anything stronger than that vodka?  I'm not drunk enough." 
     The extraterrestrial simulation turned back to human form, put away his video display and was about to go out the door. 
     "One more question," I said, "Why?" 
     The extraterrestrial stopped, turned toward me, and said, "We are conducting an experiment.  There is much to learn."   He went out the door. 
     I ultimately adapted to being a simulation, and I lived for the next forty years with no worries, no responsibilities, yet no purpose.  I aged as a normal person would.  When I was to my best guess ninety years old, a man showed up at my door who I recognized as myself--but at the age I had been upon arrival.  I realized then that I was not the last, and probably not the first copy of me. 

HERE'S SOME NEAT SCI FI FOR SUMMER 2013

THE CHARLES UNIT
JACK BRAGEN
The experiment had already begun without Al's consent.  Al knew that he ought to be outraged by this.  However, the thought of two million dollars clouded his thinking. He had been told that most of Charles's brain, including the areas responsible for consciousness, still worked.
     A respirator hooked up to the patient made a repetitive, creepy sounding hiss.  Charles was difficult for Al to see amidst a tangle of tubes and wires.  Al realized with shock that the back of his brother's head had an opening that a harness of wires went in. 
     Al went back into the waiting room where his wife waited.  When she saw him, she put out her arms.
     “I’m so sorry…”
     Al clutched onto her like a boxer losing a match, and he cried profusely.  “They've hooked him up to some computer… That’s not my brother, that’s a damn vegetable.” 
     The scientist who had offered Al two million for permission to experiment on Charles entered the waiting room.  “If I can get a signature, you could get a payment of half within one week,” he said.  “And we could get you the second half in fifteen days.” 
     Al looked at the scientist with resentment, yet greed.  He could do a lot of things with two million.  He rationalized that if it were he who was injured and the situation were reversed, he would want his brother to have half of the money. 
     Al signed the contract.  The scientist rushed from the room.
##

The subject's brain stem had been decimated by a bullet.  Charles had no sensation arising from his body, including his head.  Charles’ brain was wired into a computer, which was wirelessly linked to a newfangled robot.  The muscles that controlled Charles’s eyes had been severed, and high resolution video displays were fastened to each eye. 
     Also, the auditory nerves in his brain were severed and were connected to an audio interface.
     “I could use a beer.” It was the first thing that Charles uttered through the audio system of the robot.  The robot flailed its arms and went left and right haphazardly on its wheels.  “What is this?”  The robot lifted one of its four hydraulic-powered arms and looked at it. 
     The three scientists in the room gave each other congratulatory looks. 
     The robotic device, which we’ll just call Charles, turned and faced the one-way glass on the wall, behind which was a video camera and cameraman.  Charles looked at his reflection.  “I’m a robot now?  I’m not dreaming, am I?”  Charles paused.  “How was this done?  Is my brain somewhere in this machine?” 
     One of the three scientists ventured:  “How do you feel?” 
     “I feel just fine,” replied Charles.  “Why do I feel good?  I shouldn’t.”
     “The grafted electronics are set up to give you a good mood,” said the scientist.  “My name is Doctor Jonathan Wells.  I am in charge of this project.”  The man who spoke was Caucasian, goateed, tall, slender, and had a shaven head. His turtleneck and white lab coat completed the look of the stereotypical, egomaniacal scientist.   
     “I was in an accident, wasn’t I?” Charles asked. 
     “You were at your girlfriend’s house in Oakland, and a stray bullet from a nearby shootout hit you in the head and destroyed your brain stem,” said Wells.  “The surgery was three days ago, and then, with permission from your brother, we installed the electronics.” 
     “Am I inside this?  It doesn’t look big enough.” 
     Charles’s brother observed through the one way glass and realized that the unit's robotic voice was eerily like that of Charles.  Al didn’t yet have the courage to face his brother.  Al hoped that Charles would thank him, but worried that the reverse could happen. 
     The scientist responded, “Your real body is elsewhere, on life support.  We set this up to provide a very realistic illusion that you are this robot.  It should seem to you that you are.” 
     “Can I see me?” Charles asked. 
     “We haven’t yet decided when to let you see yourself, or even if…”
     “I have a right,” replied Charles’s robotically simulated voice.
     “Sue us,” said Wells.  “You and your brother are getting two million dollars to split.” 
     “You turned me into a machine?”  Charles paused and rotated his video camera to scan the entire room.  Control of the unit had come much more easily to Charles than the three scientists had expected. Charles said, “So that’s how you did it.  My brother accepted your bribe.” 
     “Your brother wanted you to have another chance at life,” said Wells.  “You would not enjoy total paralysis and helplessness for the next umpteen years of your lifespan.” 
     Charles with his video cameras looked at and examined his robotic body.  He rotated his mechanical arms to different positions, and then looked down at his lower trunk and at his beefy wheels.  He realized that he could rotate his head in a full circle, and could do so repeatedly without the worry of wires in his robotic neck being twisted.  Charles extended a rubber and metallic finger at a wastebasket, and pretended as though shooting it with a weapon.  To his surprise, a particle beam fired from his extended arm, and it incinerated the wastebasket.  One of the three scientists in the room grabbed a fire extinguisher and extinguished the flames. 
     “Be careful with that,” said Wells.  “That can kill.”
     The three scientists observed as the Charles unit motored around on his wheels in random patterns in the room.  Charles kept looking at the one-way glass that gave him a glimpse of himself. 
     Charles wanted to play with the laser again.  He pointed one of his two short arms at a heavy steel door, and he imagined destroying it.  The laser fired from a receptacle on the arm, and it etched a deep fissure in the solid metal door.  Charles could continue and go all the way through the door, but instead shut down his laser.  He didn't want to slice open anyone who might be in the next room.    
     “Your conscientiousness is intact,” remarked another of the three scientists, a tall man who appeared to be part Asian. 
     Charles wheeled up to the scientist and stood in front of him.  He sensed that he had enough strength to easily destroy the man, but something stopped him.     
     “I am Doctor Joseph Chen, a psychologist assigned to your case.  I will not be dealing with the physical aspects of your condition,” said the part-Asian scientist, who spoke slowly and simply to Charles as though the roboticized man was stupid.  He paused.  “Do you identify with this?”  The psychologist gestured at the Charles Robot. 
     “I am aware of nothing else,” replied Charles. 
     Dr. Wells turned toward the one way glass and spoke into a microphone on his lapel.  “Shut’m down,” he said.  “He’s had enough for now.” 
     The team of scientists gathered at a nearby bar and celebrated their success. 

##
    
Doctor Jonathan Wells sat on a stool in front of his students and wouldn’t let them leave for their next class even though the time had passed.  He gained a maniacal appearance on his face and said, “Human consciousness is an entity, a corporeal thing.  And I intend to prove it.  The experiment is intended to take a human entity and transfer it completely into a powerful enough computer system to hold it.  It will work.” 
     A pimply-faced, male, red-haired student, a prodigy in his teens who had been promoted to college three years early, raised a hand and asked, "Why was the subject provided with a high powered laser that could be used as a weapon?"
     "A board member thought the robot could be used for law enforcement.  I didn't agree with it, but the board member was responsible for most of our funding."  Wells scratched his earlobe and attempted to swat a fly. 
     A thin, pale, female student raised her hand.  “What is done with the person’s body to make consciousness migrate out?”  The student was perceptive and had asked Professor Wells the one question that, if answered, could incriminate the scientist.  
     “Class dismissed,” said Wells.  The classroom abruptly filled with the din of chattering students.  Dr. Wells received looks of mockery from some of the students as they filed out of the room.
     Jonathan went to the cafeteria, leaving a note at the entrance to his classroom that he would be absent the rest of the day.  He drank a large cup of iced coffee and realized he needed something stronger.  On days in which he wasn’t in contact with the Charles Robot, he got like this. 
     Wells had a large personal office in the building that housed the “Charles Project.”  He had his lunch, a bologna sandwich with mustard and pickles, sitting on the side of his desk, along with a flask of chocolate milk.  On the other side of the desk was a stack of blueprints that described the “Charles Technology” with great detail.  Although, now, the blueprints were in haphazard order; Wells had been leafing through them in an attempt to figure something out.  Jonathan used the intercom to summon Charles to his office. 
     The “Charles Unit” rolled into Wells’ office and stood in front of the ornate and massive desk Wells was fond of.  “I’m in the dark,” said Charles. 
     “Does this seem like you?” ventured Wells.  “Do you identify with this robotic body?” 
     “I am aware of nothing else.  How could I not?” 
     Wells nodded.  “Your robotic body is filled with sensors.  They are at each of your Hydraulic muscles, your joints, and they are under the rubber barrier that serves as your skin.  The idea is to give you as much sensation as possible in your robotic unit, and to completely block out sensation from your biological body.  There is a reason why we don’t let you see yourself.”  Wells paused.  “You’re not trying to sense your other location?”  Wells reached for the sandwich. 
     Charles turned his robotic head toward the sandwich and desired the bologna, remembering the sensation of eating. 
     “Why don’t you take moment and take a look at yourself?” Wells said. 
     Charles examined the black, rubber-like skin that covered his four mechanical arms.  He looked closely at one of his longer limbs and realized that there was a slit where the rubber was joined.  Charles tugged at it and realized it was closed with Velcro.  He pulled a little more, and it came apart, revealing the electromechanical parts in his arm.  He realized he felt odd physical sensations, almost as if the rubber cover were real skin; albeit without pain at being pulled apart.  Looking down at his torso, Charles realized the black colored covering was in plastic, closely joined panels, presumably to allow easy access but at the same time, to keep out moisture and dust.  Charles had once upon a time been an electronic technician and could make educated guesses about his robotic self. 
     Charles tapped on one of the plastic torso panels with one of his shorter limbs, and realized he could feel the impact, as if a tapping on his chest. 
     “Are things beginning to make more sense, now?”  Jonathan Wells took a bite of his bologna sandwich and (with an odd feeling of trepidation in his gut) noticed Charles’s interest in the food.  “There is another phase to this experiment,” said Wells.  “We’re going to give you more capabilities.”
    
##

The biological remnants of Charles slept, engineers and technicians worked nightly to optimize the systems. They were making certain that the robotic unit would give the best possible illusion that it was the location of Charles’ consciousness.  They were assessing the fitness and health of Charles’ biological body to make certain that he would survive long enough to complete the experiment.  He would awaken from a sleep wondering why things seemed a bit more immediate than they were the previous day. 
     However, on this day, Friday, August 11th, technicians and engineers had an additional task.  The "brain interface unit" (through which Charles interacted) would be connected to the main server of the expansive laboratory building.  It would allow Charles to see most of the rooms in the building through the surveillance cameras, and to control most of the tasks of the server.
     Doctor Wells, as he recalled lecturing to his class, wondered if many of his students believed he was delusional.  “It is expected to be somewhat overwhelming for Charles’ conscious mind.  The scientists are hoping that Charles will expand his consciousness to take up space in the server, in order to meet the new demands.” “The Charles Experiment is a sincere attempt at creating immortality through machine-hosted consciousness.”    
     Dr. Wells’ favorite student, the underage, read-haired young man, raised his hand to ask a question.  “Will you at some point terminate the biological component?”
     “A very astute question,” replied Dr. Wells.  And then, Jonathan Wells said nothing.  Of course it would be considered murder to terminate the body of Charles, and Dr. Wells did not want to incriminate himself.  Anything the scientist said could get him in trouble.

##
     “Do you feel ready for more responsibility?” 
     “I understand you wanted to connect me to a large computer network,” said Charles.  “Go for it.” 
     “My technicians are standing by to ‘throw the switch.’”  Jonathan had been standing and now sat behind is desk.  He picked up a microphone and said, “Do it.  Do it now.”
     At first, Charles didn’t notice any change.  And then, Charles realized that he could see and hear all of the goings-on in the laboratory building through the surveillance cameras and microphones that were in every room.  Charles could see people as they changed clothes or went to the bathroom through the network of surveillance cameras that were everywhere.  He realized he was being prompted by the fire, intruder and burglary security systems that were requesting an ‘ok’ signal.  Charles sent the thought:  “A, Ok.” And that satisfied those prompts. 
     And then, Charles realized that he could think more.   
##
     Charles's girlfriend had been fairly callous when she informed him she was breaking up.  Of course, she voiced the customary excuses and clichés.  "It's not your fault," she had said.  "It's me."  And she had gone on to say, "I don't deserve you." 
     The breakup had a delayed effect on Charles.  At the moment it happened, it hadn't registered.  However, at some point, Charles realized he would never again be with a woman.
     Charles could see everything that happened in the building through concealed cameras that most of the scientific staff did not know were there.  Charles's newly-ex-girlfriend had taken up a relationship with one of the staff members, a strapping young Austrian born man.  Within minutes of the breakup with Charles, he witnessed them make love on a sofa in one of the offices.    
     Charles formulated a plan for revenge.  The server to which he was connected, with its massive amount of capacity, helped with keeping track of the details.  He sent the robotic unit to the door of the control room.  The room was a failsafe in which Charles’ command of the robotic unit and the building could be overridden. 
     Charles opened the automatic door which was supposed to keep his robotic unit out of the control room.  However, he was able to open the door with his command of the building.  Two techies saw what was happening and tried to quickly override Charles’ command.  However, it took just a few moments for the robotic unit, with it’s built in laser, to burn giant holes in the midsections of the two techies.  Charles picked up the two dead bodies and threw them out the door of the control room, and then he sealed himself in.  From his vantage point, in command of the building, Charles sealed off the room in which his biological body lay in life support. 
     Jonathan wells continued to do paperwork, oblivious to the crisis now taking form.  It would ordinarily be in the domain of the building’s computer to summon Wells.   There had been no witnesses when Charles had gunned down the two techies in the control room.  Someone would eventually discover the two bodies and would likely call the police or Wells.  However, for now, the experimental man could continue with his revenge plan without any opposition. 
     Charles activated the “lockdown” system.  It meant that no one would be able to exit the rooms unless they had the password, which Charles had changed.  The lockdown alert was a distinctive buzzer that rang in Dr. Wells’ office and also from a receiver on his keychain.  When Wells heard that buzzer he knew something was very wrong.  The request should have gone through Wells.  He was supposed to be notified and his approval given.  Wells knew he had better get out of his office and possibly out of the building.  He did not call the police since he could end up with a jail term for possible negligence.  Also, there were a number of devices created by Wells that had not yet been presented for patent. 
     Wells reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a laser weapon of a similar design to the one attached to Charles, with the same power level (except that it was supplied by a conventional battery rather than tapping into a fuel cell powered robot.)  It was good for about twenty shots before recharging.  (Meanwhile, Charles’ laser could continue for hundreds of shots.) Wells made a gaping hole in the door to his office, and climbed through into the receptionist area.
     Wells didn’t see his receptionist. “Donna, are you hiding?”  
     “Is that you, Doctor Wells?”  The receptionist peeked out from under her desk.  Upon seeing it was Wells and that he carried an armament Donna stood up. 
     Wells looked up at the security camera, and realized that Charles knew his location.  He did not waste a laser shot at blowing up the camera. 
     “Come with me and hopefully we can get out of here and pull the plug on the building.”  Wells didn’t want police involvement if he could avoid it.  The right thing to do would have been to call 911.  “There are just two doors between us and the emergency exit.”
     Wells and the receptionist were soon on a lawn in front of the experiment building.  Wells looked at the readout on his weapon and realized that the weapon had gone into malfunction mode.  He didn’t say anything about it to the receptionist because he feared it being picked up by one of the microphones that now fed into Charles.  He believed it was only the threat of the weapon that kept the robotic unit from appearing. 
     “Shoot the power transformer,” said Donna. 
     “There is also a backup generator and that’s underground.  We’re screwed.  I’m going to call the cops.”  Wells got out his cell phone.
     “What is the nature of the emergency?” said the dispatcher. 
     “I am a robotics specialist and I have a Class One emergency at my laboratory building.”
     “What is a 'class one emergency?' Can you please explain?”
     “We were developing a computerized interface for a paralyzed man, and we connected it to a robot.  However, the experiment went amiss when, for some unknown reason, the subject became violently angry.  He is now holding all of the occupants of the building hostage.  The building has a destruct system.  We have to disconnect the whole building from its power.”
     “Who are you?” 
     After about twenty minutes of arguing with the emergency dispatcher Wells finally convinced the dispatcher to send a fire truck and some police. 
     The robotic unit appeared, emerging from another door to the building about fifty yards away.  Wells just happened to be looking in that direction in time to see the robotic unit taking aim with its laser.  By reflex, Wells aimed his weapon at the robotic unit, hoping for some residual amount of destructive power.  Wells’ human reflexes were about as good as those of the robotic unit, and he got the shot in first.  The human’s laser shot a little and then quit with a fizzling sound.  Wells had managed to decapitate the robot. 
     What was left of the robot went spinning on its wheels with its laser on.  Wells and the receptionist ducked to the lawn as quickly as possible.  Things in the vicinity began to get obliterated or catch fire.  That was when Wells saw that police had arrived.  Police took multiple shots at the robot, and blew what was left of it to pieces.  It exploded into a moderate sized fireball.
     The firemen went on their lift and shut off the power at the pole.  Wells threw a switch on the side of the building which disabled the backup generator.  This would also put a stop to the life support for the biological component of Charles. 
     Wells assumed he would probably face a long prison sentence.  He took his I phone from his pocket, hoping to reach a lawyer.  He realized his phone could get nothing on the internet except for a grimacing, laughing, sinister face that Wells recognized as Charles. 
     A nearby fireman was also attempting to get on the internet, and said, “Some idiot has invaded the internet…” 
     Wells realized that Charles had transferred himself to the internet.  Wells’ experiment was a success; but human civilization was doomed. 

EVEN MORE IDEAS FOR CHICKEN

Ingredients:

Frozen skinless boneless chicken breasts
Cut cabbage
Baby carrots
water
curry powder

The trick is to use the minimum amount of water that will do the job.  Cover the pot and reduce heat.  

Unusual Fiction for Spring 2013

AN INCIDENT AT THE SHETLAND CENTER
Jack Bragen


In my twenties, I attended a low-key self-help group at a place called "The Shetland Center."  During the group I met my descendant, who had traveled from the future to see me.   
     It was the 1990's and time travel had not yet been invented.  Of course I was going to be skeptical.  I said, "Just what is it that makes you think I am your ancestor and that you are from the future?" 
     Clearly this young woman, who I had never met before this, suffered from delusions. 
     "Look in the mirror," she replied.  She had said her name was Anne.  She had similar features to my sister. 
     There was a scar across her forehead—I wondered about that.  "This is supposed to be group therapy," I said.  "Why are you choosing to come here?" 
     She replied, "You will achieve something quite spectacular, and we wanted to see what led to your discovery." 
     "How did you injure yourself?"
     "I don't want to go into that," she said.  "Why don't you talk about what's bothering you?  Just pretend I am regular member of the group." 
     I said, "That won't be difficult, because I believe you are."  I paused.  "Who told you about my family members?  How did you guess the names of my brother and sister?" 
     "I told you, I'm a time traveler and I am your direct descendant." 
     "Let's change the subject," I said.  "I'm getting stressed out." 
     "They told me you got stressed out a lot." 
     I stood and walked to the coffee pot, and I poured myself another cup.  "Do you care for some?" 
     "We don’t have coffee in the future." 
     "Try it.  You might like it," I said.  I poured an extra cup for her. 
     Alyssa, the group facilitator, had so far been silent.  "Let's hear from some of the others," she said.  "If you two would like, you can continue in the next room." 
     Anne and I both stood and walked to the next room.  When I entered the room, the door on the opposite side, just then, shut.  Some unknown person had been in the room.   I started toward the door to investigate. 
     "Don't," said Anne. 
     "Why not?  It's not me in the future, is it?" 
     "If you meet him, you're going to be too freaked out." She paused.  "I'm not going to tell you who that is." 
     "It is me, isn't it?"
     Anne nodded.  "I have proof that I'm from your future, great-grand-pops." 
     She reached into her pocket and produced a driver's license, which she handed to me.  It was a well-worn version of the driver's license I had just obtained a few months prior.  I got my wallet out and compared the two items.  I began to think.  I got a push pin from a bulletin board in the room, and I made a scratch in my license.  I blinked.  There was an identical scratch in the same place on the "old" driver's license.  Hadn't it always been there?  I put my present day driver's license away and handed the old one back to the young woman who was apparently my great granddaughter.  We sat for an hour and talked about family and about what would happen for various people.  We talked about politics and world events.  At no time would Anne tell me what I was to do that made me so important. 
     The door opened.  "I have to lock up," Alyssa said.  "There's a diner a few blocks away if you two would like to continue." 
     I could see that it was time for Anne to go back.  I gave her a hug.  We walked to the parking lot, and I got in my car, and she got in hers.  I didn't recognize the vehicle make.  She started her car and drove off, and I went home.  Only now, I had more hope. 

Here's More Things You can do With Chicken

A New Take On Chicken

Combine chicken breast, red potatoes, cabbage, onions, canola oil, water, in a large skillet.  Cook on medium heat for one hour, stirring frequently.  Season to taste. 

A New Idea for Chicken and Potatoes

Mashed Potatoes with chopped chicken breast:

Bring a medium pot of water to a boil and add three medium red potatoes.
Let boil for about forty-five minutes and then add one frozen chicken breast to the same water.
Keep pot boiling until chicken is done and potatoes are soft.
Remove chicken and cut into chunks.
Drain contents of pot.
Mash potatoes and mix in chicken chunks.
Stir in black pepper and salt to taste and two tablespoons of margarine.
Serve warm.

An Easy, Tasty Recipe

Three Bean Salad:

3 cans of different beans
1/2 chopped fresh onion
Red Wine Vinegar, Two cups
Minced garlic, one teaspoon
1/2 cup olive oil (optional)
1/2 teaspoon salt
Other seasonings as desired

Combine Ingredients.  Be certain to drain beans and wash them in a colander before adding.