Homo sapiens declared extinct

AD 2380: After a painstaking ten-year search, from the Tibetan highlands to the Brazilian rainforests, it’s official — there are no more human beings. “I suppose I have to consider this a personal setback,” said anthropologist Dr Marcia Raymo, of the Institute for Retrograde Study in Berlin. “Of course we still have human tissue in the lab, and we could clone as many specimens of Homo sapiens as we like. But that species was always known primarily for its unique cultural activity.” “I can’t understand what the fuss is about,” declared Rita “Cuddles” Srinivasan, actress, sex symbol and computer peripheral. “Artificial Intelligences love to embody themselves in human forms like mine, to wallow in sex and eating. I’m good for oodles of human stuff, scratching, sleeping, sneezing, you can name it. As long as AIs honour their origins, you’ll see plenty of disembodied intelligences slumming around in human forms. That’s where all the fun is, I promise — trust me.” The actress’s current AI sponsor further remarked via wireless telepathy that Miss Srinivasan’s occasional extra arms or heads should be seen as a sign of “creative brio”, and not as a violation of “some obsolete, supposedly standard human form”.
A worldwide survey of skull contents in April 2379 revealed no living citizen with less than 35 per cent cultured gelbrain. “That pretty well kicks it in the head for me,” declared statistician Piers Euler, the front identity for a collaborative group-mind of mathematicians at the Bourbaki Academy in Paris. “I don’t see how you can declare any entity ‘human’ when their brain is a gelatin lattice, and every cell of their body contains extensive extra strands of industrial strength
DNA. Not only is humanity extinct but, strictly speaking, pretty much everyone alive today should be classified as a unique, post-natural, one-of-a-kind species.” “I was born human,” admitted 380-yearold classical musician Soon Yi, speaking from his support vat in Shanghai. “I grew up as a human being. It seemed quite natural at the time. For hundreds of years on the state supported concert circuit, I promoted myself as a ‘humanist’, supporting and promoting
human high culture. But at this point, I should be honest: that was always my stage pretence. Let’s face it: gelbrain is vastly better stuff than those grey, greasy, catch-ascatch- can human neurons. You can’t become a serious professional artiste while using nothing but all-natural animal tissue in your head. It’s just absurd!” Gently fanning his wizened tissues with warm currents of support fluid, the grand old man of music continued: “Wolfgang Mozart was a very dull creature by our modern standards but, thanks to gelbrain, I can still find ways to pump life into his primitive compositions. I also persist in finding Bach worthwhile, even in today’s ultracivilized milieu, where individual consciousness and creative subjectivity tend to be rather rare, or absent entirely.”
Posthumanity’s most scientifically advanced group, the pioneer Blood Bathers in their vast crystalline castles in the Oort Cloud, could not be reached for comment. “Why trouble the highly prestigious Blood Bathers with some trifling development here on distant Earth?” demanded
President Arno Hopmeier of the World Antisubjectivist Council. “The Blood Bathers are busily researching novel realms of complex organization far beyond mere ‘intelligence’. We should feel extremely honoured that they still bother to share their lab results with creatures like us. It would only annoy Their Skinless Eminences if we ask them to fret over some defunct race of featherless bipeds.” A Circumsolar Day of Mourning has been declared to commemorate the official extinction of humanity, but it is widely believed that bursts of wild public enthusiasm
will mar the funereal proceedings. “When you sum them up,” mused Orbital Entity Ankh/Ghih/9819, “it’s hard to perceive any tragedy in this long-awaited event. Beasts, birds, butterflies, even the very rocks and rivers must be rejoicing to see humans finally gone. We should try to be adult about this: we should take a deep breath, turn our face to the light of the future, and get on with the business of living. “Since I’ve been asked to offer an epitaph,” the highly distributed poetware continued, “I believe that we should rearrange the Great Wall of China to spell out (in Chinese of course, since most of them were always Chinese) — ‘THEY WERE VERY, VERY CURIOUS, BUT NOT AT ALL FARSIGHTED.’ “This historical moment is a serious occasion that requires a sense of public dignity. My dog, for instance, says he’ll truly
miss humanity. But then again, my dog says a lot of things.”



Bruce Sterling(http://www.well.com/conf/mirrorshades/) is the author of Schismatrix and many other novels and stories; the non-fiction work The Hacker Crackdown; co-author (with William Gibson) of The Difference Engine; and editor of Mirrorshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology.
Homo sapiens declared extinct
Yes, human beings have finally gone, but the 24-hour global party continues.
futures

The Time Machine

H.G. Wells

Epilogue

One cannot choose but wonder. Will he ever return? It may be that he swept back into the past, and fell among the blood-drinking, hairy savages of the Age of Unpolished Stone; into the abysses of the Cretaceous Sea; or among the grotesque saurians, the huge reptilian brutes of the Jurassic times. He may even now - if I may use the phrase - be wandering on some plesiosaurus-haunted Oolitic coral reef, or beside the lonely saline lakes of the Triassic Age. Or did he go forward, into one of the nearer ages, in which men are still men, but with the riddles of our own time answered and its wearisome problems solved? Into the manhood of the race: for I, for my own part cannot think that these latter days of weak experiment, fragmentary theory, and mutual discord are indeed man's culminating time! I say, for my own part. He, I know - for the question had been discussed among us long before the Time Machine was made - thought but cheerlessly of the Advancement of Mankind, and saw in the growing pile of civilization only a foolish heaping that must inevitably fall back upon and destroy its makers in the end. If that is so, it remains for us to live as though it were not so. But to me the future is still black and blank - is a vast ignorance, lit at a few casual places by the memory of his story. And I have by me, for my comfort, two strange white flowers - shrivelled now, and brown and flat and brittle - to witness that even when mind and strength had gone, gratitude and a mutual tenderness still lived on in the heart of man.

SUCCUSSION

a radical solution

Steve Longworth


We have just finished our retraining and now it’s time to redeploy. Whoever would have thought it would come to this? We all started out with such high ideals. Well, except me of course. If I’m really honest, I only went into medicine because I thought it would be a great way for a rather ordinary looking bloke like me to meet lots of unattached, sexy young nurses who would then be sufficiently impressed by the title ‘doctor’ to form an orderly queue outside my bedroom door (and so it proved, I’m delighted to report). I guess that’s why I’ve taken to this so easily. Ethics was never my strong suit. I’m really a rather cynical opportunist behind the carefully cultivated,
charming, professional veneer. Still, I’m apprehensive about our new role. I’ve never killed anyone before. Well, not intentionally (there was that rather unfortunate series of prescribing errors that the Trust swept under the carpet before hastily moving me on, but that’s another story). Up to now, whenever I have stuck a knife into someone it was with their consent and under anaesthesia. This new role is going to take some getting used to, but I’ve always been open-minded. That’s also why, despite the fierce scepticism and at times downright hostility of
many of my colleagues, I was willing to use homeopathy. Let’s face it, few other people were doing it and the general public are so gullible it meant that I could open up a nice little private practice and charge silly money for silly remedies with little competition. You know the theory behind homeopathy? ‘Like fights like’. So if you are treating a fever you give the patient something that causes a fever, but (and this is the important bit) you dilute it over and over
again, and each time you dilute it the treatment gets stronger. With each dilution the solution is vigorously shaken, a process known as ‘succussion’. There are those who speculate that succussion causes the water molecules to ‘remember’ the active ingredient even when Avogadro says there is not a trace of it left. Dilution makes it stronger. That’s the part conventional science
has the most trouble with, but there are studies that show that homeopathic remedies do work, even in animals, so it can’t all be the placebo effect despite the shaky theory. On the other hand I think that my bedside manner contributed just as much to the cures enjoyed by my pliant clientele as the elaborately prepared bottles of expensive water that I used to succuss. Success, suckers! Perhaps we should have noticed sooner that something remarkable was happening.
As life expectancy gradually rose throughout the early twentieth century we gave the credit to public-health reforms: clean water, efficient sewerage systems, the ending of unsanitary overcrowding and so on. When life expectancy continued to climb we pointed to our
increasingly powerful pharmacopoeia so that by the start of the third millennium just about everyone over 60 was taking a statin to lower their cholesterol and often a bagful of other prescribed drugs as well. But when we all became, to all intents and purposes, immortal, there had to be a radical new explanation. Think about this. Homeopathy has been around for 200 years, and over that period every homeopathic remedy that has ever been formulated has been taken on countless occasions by millions of people. The potency increases with each dilution. So
when you drink a homeopathic medicine it gets diluted in your total body water, then you pee it out and flush the toilet, so it gets diluted in the sewerage system. The sewage is treated in a sewage farm and pumped offshore where it is diluted in the sea. The sea water evaporates to form clouds, with the water returning to earth as rain and collecting in reservoirs. We drink the water and the cycle starts all over again. Each step in the process involves a form of natural succussion. You see where this is going. With each dilution the original medicine gets stronger. Over 200 years every homeopathic remedy ever formulated has been diluted and blended over and over and over again, millions, maybe billions of times. At the end of the first decade of the twentyfirst century a critical dilution threshold was reached. Now any glass of water from any tap anywhere in the world is the most powerful all-purpose drug ever created. No more cancer, infection, inflammation, degeneration; everyone will now live for ever in perfect health, unless they are unlucky enough to suffer a sudden overwhelming physical injury. Immortality! What a disaster. The world is rapidly overpopulating. There are simply not enough resources to go
around. We may be immune to all known diseases and resistant to ageing but we still have to eat. House prices are stratospheric as every available space fills up. Water is the universal panacea and now universal panic’s here. The world has been thoroughly shaken. In India and the Far East, where population growth is the fastest, vast suicidal religious cults have emerged and are massively popular among the young and naive. Euthanasia for the Youth in Asia!
Here we have a solution based on our own massively popular mystical belief system — the National Lottery. Everyone has been allocated a unique set of numbers and the draw takes place twice weekly. It means we have been able to find important new work for all us unemployed doctors. We used to bring succour. Now no one wants a house call, but it’s vital we force our way in, scalpel at the ready as we point the finger and proclaim the new Hypocritical Oath.
It’s you! Trust me, I’m a doctor.

Steve Longworth lives in Leicester, which was recently voted curry capital of Great Britain.

ringing up baby

Order a little sister, then order her about.

Ellen Klages

Nanny says that I am spoiled. It comes from being an only child, and not having to share holidays or cakes and always getting to sit by the window. If I had a little brother or sister, I would learn responsibility. More work for her, she sighs, but she is only thinking of my character. Thinking about me is Nanny’s job.Of course, Mother is far too busy to have a baby right now, what with the Henderson case and all. (When I have supper with her, on Wednesdays, she talks about nothing but the Henderson case.) So Nanny has arranged for a nice lady to plant Mother’s egg and do all the messy parts, then give the baby to us when it’s done."What would you like," Nanny asks me over cocoa. "A brother or a sister?"I have to think for a moment, but only a little, because a brother would be a pest and get into my best things, like Courtney Taylor’s brother Robby, who programmed her mobilephone to ring with a nasty farting sound. A sister is someone I can be the boss of."A sister, please," I say in my sweet voice. Nanny loves my sweet voice.Nanny touches a box on the wallscreen, and it glows bright pink."Birthday?" she asks, her finger not quite touching the screen, but ready.My birthday is in June. "October," I say after a minute, because I’ve had to count in my head, so her party won’t get in the way of Christmas, either."Excellent," says Nanny. "We can place our order today." She taps her finger on the screen. That box glows red."What else can we pick?" There are a lot of boxes. I finish my cocoa and stand right next to Nanny, who smells like Vermont.A nice cool green smell.She begins to read to me, scrolling slowly down. "Hair colour?" "Brown." Mine is honey blond."Eyes?" Mine are blue, so brown again. "Intelligence?" I have to think about that. I don’t want a sister who’s stupid, but if she’s smarter than me, she will be difficult to boss."Above average," Nanny decides. "Good at maths?" Hmm. I’m in second grade, and we’re doing the times tables. That could be useful. But it probably isn’t something she’ll be able to do right away. So I shrug, which is a mistake, because Nanny is very strict about manners and posture and I have to listen to a lecture before she will tap the bottom of the screen and scroll to the next page of baby parts.This page is less interesting because the words are very long and I don’t know what theymean. Bioimmunity. Cholesterol. Neuromuscular. I stare at the screen with my eyes very wide so that I don’t yawn out loud. On the side of the screen is a list, like the menu on the Emirate of Toys site, which I used by myself last year for my Christmas wants. The baby list is not very long. Babies only come in about six colours —we’re getting one that matches Mother and me. Humans are a lot less interesting than Legos or iBots. Nanny reads me all the diseases you can ask your baby not to have. Most of them are options, she says, which means we have to pay more. But I think we should pick them all, because a sick sister is not a good thing. Angela Xhobi’s sister has asthma,because she was made the old-fashioned way, without a menu, and she gets all the attention. I wouldn’t like that at all. Nanny takes a breath for another lecture, but I am saved when the iVid sings the Phone Call Song. Nanny sighs again and when she says, "Connect," I see that it’s her mother, who calls every afternoon. Mrs Nanny is quite deaf, even with her implants, so Nanny taps SAVE on the babyscreen and goes downstairs where she can shout without me hearing all the words."Little pitchers," she says to her mother as she greys the upstairs iVid. I don’t know what that means. I slump back into my chair, because Nanny isn’t here to tell me not to, and because she will be gone a long time. Her mother always has a lot to say. I stare at all the diseases, and then I see a betterword at the bottom of thescreen. PETS. We don’t harbour animals, because Nanny is allergic.(She was made the old-fashioned way, too.) But I’d like to see what we could have. I touch the screen to scrolldown for more pets, and a Bubble Man appears, to tell me about a special offer. His picture seems to come out of the wall and stand right in front of me. "Jellyfish DNA on sale," the Bubble Man says. He takes off his top hat, pulls a rabbit out of it, and holds it out towards me. The rabbit’s fur glows a soft, bright green."Wow," I say. "Bioluminescence, 50% off. Today only. Touch Box 306a to order!" He steps back into the screen and disappears with a little picture of smoke.It only takes me a minute to find Box306a and tap it to red. Then I SAVE and scroll back up to the disease boxes. It is good to leave things just the way you found them.I sit very straight in my chair, humming,because I know a secret. Once I have mybaby sister, I will never need my nightlight again. Nanny will be so proud.

Ellen Klages won a Nebula Award in 2005 for her story Basement Magic.

cry me a river...

Adieu gueule d'amour
Viens pas boire dans mon verre
Tu peux même pleurer des rivières
Pleurer des rivières
J'en ai pleuré pour toi naguère
Et salut gueule d'amour
Tu as joué, tu perds
Alors va pleurer des rivières
Pleurer des rivières
J'en ai pleuré pour toi naguère
Tu m'as cassé, presque cassé
Le coeur en deux
Il s'en est fallu de peu
Tu te rappelles ? Je me rappelles quand tu disais
L'amour, c'est imbécile
L'amour, c'était pas pour toi et
Adieu gueule d'amour
J'ai besoin d'changer d'air
Alors va pleurer des rivières
Pleurer des rivières
J'en ai pleuré, à quoi ça sert ?
[Instrumental]
Adieu gueule d'amour
J'ai besoin d'changer d'air
Alors va pleurer des rivières
Pleurer des rivières
J'en ai pleuré, à quoi ça sert ?
Pleurer des rivières, à quoi ça sert ?

Ce vor cu adevarat femeile?

Tanarul rege Arthur a fost invins si inchis de monarhul regatului vecin. Monarhul ar fi putut sa-l omoare, dar a fost miscat de tineretea si idealurile lui Arthur. Asa incat monarhul s-a oferit sa-i redea libertatea in schimbul raspunsului la o intrebare foarte dificila.Lui Arthur i s-a dat un an pentru a afla raspunsul la intrebare; daca dupa trecerea perioadei de un an el nu avea raspunsul va fi condamnat la moarte. Intrebarea cu pricina era: "Ce vor cu adevarat femeile?" O astfel de intrebare ar lasa perplex chiar si pe cel mai invatat dintre barbati, iar pentru tanarul rege Arthur era o chestiune imposibila. Dar cum tot era o optiune mai buna decit moartea, a acceptat propunerea monarhului de a avea raspunsul pina intr-un an. S-a intors in regatul lui si a inceput sa intrebe pe toata lumea: pe printesa, pe preoti, pe intelepti. A vorbit cu fiecare dar nimeni nu a putut sa-i dea un raspuns satisfacator. Multi oameni l-au sfatuit sa consulte pe batrina vrajitoare - ea era singura care i-ar fi putut da un raspuns. Dar pretul era mare - pentru ca vrajitoarea era faimoasa in regat pentru preturile exorbitante pe care le cerea. Dar ultima zi a anului sosi si Arthur nu avu incotro, decit sa mearga la vrajitoare. Ea accepta sa-i dea regelui raspunsul la intrebare, dar Arthur trebuia sa accepte pretul ei mai intai: vrajitoarea a cerut sa se casatoreasca cu Gawain, cel mai nobil dintre cavalerii Mesei Rotunde si cel mai bun prieten al lui Arthur. Tanarul Arthur a fost terifiat la auzirea cererii vrajitoarei. Ea era cocosata si hidoasa, avea doar un singur dinte, mirosea ingrozitor si scotea sunete dubioase. Nu intalnise niciodata o creatura mai respingatoare. In consecinta a refuzat sa-si forteze prietenul sa se casatoreasca cu ea si sa indure asa o povara.

Gawain auzind care era propunerea vrajitoarei, a vorbit cu Arthur si i-a spus ca nici un sacrificiu nu era mai mare decat viata regelui si ocrotirea Mesei Rotunde. Asa incat nunta lor a fost stabilita si vrajitoarea a dat raspunsul la intrebarea lui Arthur: "What a woman really wants is to be in charge of her own life. (Ce vrea cu adevarat o femeie este sa fie stapina pe propria-i viata)"

Toti au stiut ca vrajitoarea a grait adevarul si viata lui Arthur a fost crutata. Si ce nunta au avut Gawain si vrajitoarea! In timp ce Gawain era gentil si curtenitor ca intotdeauna, batrina vrajitoare nu a ezitat sa-si etaleze relele maniere, facindu-i pe toti sa se simta prost. Seara nuntii sosii. Gawain sfortindu-se, intra in dormitor. Insa ce priveliste il astepta! Cea mai frumoasa dintre femei era intinsa pe pat! Stupefiat Gawain intreba ce s-a intimplat.Mindretea de fata replica: de vreme ce el a fost atat de dragut si gentil cu ea pe cand aparea ca o vrajitoare, ea va arata jumatate de timp ca o vrajitoare si cealalta jumatate va fi o frumoasa femeie. Si-l intreba care din cele doua aratari vrea el sa fie ziua si care noaptea?Ce cruda intrebare! Gawain se gandi: in timpul zilei o frumoasa femeie sa se mandreasca cu ea prietenilor, dar in timpul noptii, in intimidate, o hidoasa vrajitoare? Sau sa prefere pe batrina vrajitoare in timpul zilei, iar noptea pe cea mai frumoasa dintre femei cu care sa imparta multe momente intime?

Nobilul Gawain a replicat ca o lasa pe ea sa aleaga.Auzind asta ea a anuntat ca va fi frumoasa tot timpul pentru ca el a respectat-o indeajuns incat s-o lase sa fie stapina pe propria-i viata, sa ia propria-i decizie.

Morala: "Daca nu-i lasi femeii tale sansa la propria alegere (in fiece lucru), lucrurile vor lua o intorsatura urita!"

Black Anggie

by S. E. Schlosser

When Felix Agnus put up the life-sized shrouded bronze statue of a grieving angel, seated on a pedestal, in the Agnus family plot in the Druid Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was a rather eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if its arms could really reach out and grab you if you weren't careful.
It didn't take long for rumors to sweep through the town and surrounding countryside. They said that the statue - nicknamed Black Aggie - was haunted by the spirit of a mistreated wife who lay beneath her feet. The statue's eyes would glow red at the stroke of midnight, and any living person who returned the statues gaze would instantly be struck blind. Any pregnant woman who passed through her shadow would miscarry. If you sat on her lap at night, the statue would come to life and crush you to death in her dark embrace. If you spoke Black Aggie's name three times at midnight in front of a dark mirror, the evil angel would appear and pull you down to hell. They also said that spirits of the dead would rise from their graves on dark nights to gather around the statue at night.
People began visiting the cemetery just to see the statue, and it was then that the local fraternity decided to make the statue of Grief part of their initiation rites. "Black Aggie" sitting, where candidates for membership had to spend the night crouched beneath the statue with their backs to the grave of General Agnus, became popular.
One dark night, two fraternity members accompanied new hopeful to the cemetery and watched while he took his place underneath the creepy statue. The clouds had obscured the moon that night, and the whole area surrounding the dark statue was filled with a sense of anger and malice. It felt as if a storm were brewing in that part of the cemetery, and to their chagrin, the two fraternity members noticed that gray shadows seemed to be clustering around the body of the frightened fraternity candidate crouching in front of the statue.
What had been a funny initiation rite suddenly took on an air of danger. One of the fraternity brothers stepped forward in alarm to call out to the initiate. As he did, the statue above the boy stirred ominously. The two fraternity brothers froze in shock as the shrouded head turned toward the new candidate. They saw the gleam of glowing red eyes beneath the concealing hood as the statue's arms reached out toward the cowering boy.
With shouts of alarm, the fraternity brothers leapt forward to rescue the new initiate. But it was too late. The initiate gave one horrified yell, and then his body disappeared into the embrace of the dark angel. The fraternity brothers skidded to a halt as the statue thoughtfully rested its glowing eyes upon them. With gasps of terror, the boys fled from the cemetery before the statue could grab them too.
Hearing the screams, a night watchman hurried to the Agnus plot. To his chagrin, he discovered the body of a young man lying at the foot of the statue. The young man had apparently died of fright.
The disruption caused by the statue grew so acute that the Agnus family finally donated it to the Smithsonian museum in Washington D.C.. The grieving angel sat for many years in storage there, never again to plague the citizens visiting the Druid Hill Park Cemetery.

The Invisible Hand

Allan M. Lees

It’s funny how frequently the public’s idea of something is far from its reality. Hollywood thrives on this misperception, of course, but so does science. Canvas one hundred people at random about their notions of science and you’ll get a litany of descriptions involving white coats, rationality and the pursuit of knowledge. In theory science is about exploring the
unknown and pressing back the boundaries of knowledge, whereas in practice it’s all about writing up ever more grant applications and pressing back the boundaries of plagiarism.
The dirty little secret of science is that most of it is mediocre at best. Science is, by and large, something done by those of us who don’t want to expose ourselves to the hustle and bustle of commerce. Of course, saying this out loud is heresy, and if I were still a working scientist I’d be expelled from the lab or institute in which I’d managed to create some kind of refuge from the cold hard world. But I am no longer a working scientist; at least, not directly. Now I am
more of a … well, one might say, prime mover.
Seven years ago my life was that of a typical young male scientist: most of my spare time was spent trying to impress the latest female intern with dates in cheap restaurants and much specious waffle about how one day I’d have a place for her in my own lab. But mostly it was all about writing grant applications; rewriting grant applications; waiting to hear back from the study groups that score grant applications; and then inevitably writing yet more grant applications after the first lot was rejected. I quickly learned that study groups were comprised of older scientists whose best work had been done years ago. They would reliably approve grants for barely incremental mini-steps that were essentially near-copies of what had already been done before. No really new or radical grant proposal was ever funded.
Everyone knows the story of Craig Venter, the man who first sequenced the human genome: he wrote a grant application for funds to sequence part of his own genome and had his grant rejected by the highest and most eminent scientific authorities on the grounds that such a thing was totally impossible … and he then carried out the first sequencing just three weeks later. The
big innovations such as the silicon chip, the telecommunications revolution, software,
jet transport … every thing important came out of industry, not academia, because commerce must respond to basic human needs. Research science was stagnant, conservative and dead-ended. Until me. One evening I was sitting in my dirty bedroom, perched on a pile of old men’s
magazines, typing up yet another grant application when I decided to do some basic research of my own: find out the composition of the study group that would review my latest grant proposal, discover their biases, and skew my proposal to pander to their prejudices. It’s something the more senior lab members had been doing for years, of course, but no one talked about it openly.
As I was reading an online article by one study-group member, I came across the phrase that changed my life, and by extension the entire future of science. The eminent professor in question was bemoaning the sheer volume of grant submissions that had to be reviewed. She said: “We
have to read hundreds of grant proposals each year in order to approve a mere handful. It absorbs far too much of our time.” That banal utterance changed everything. That night I abandoned my semifinished proposal to study the effects of α-lipoic acid on a cloned passive-aggressive subspecies of Caenorhabditis elegans and began to write a software program to
automate the evaluation of grant proposals. It took me three months of hard work, but the result was worth it. I sent it out into the world anonymously via e-mail lists and free download sites. Naturally no one would consider using it, no one would admit to using it … but within a few months it was evident that grant proposals were being processed far more speedily than before.
It would have been criminal negligence if I hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity. I made my first fortune with my revolutionary grant-proposal-generation service, the yin to my first program’s yang. I accepted online bids and the winners received system-generated proposals that would get a 100% score when evaluated by (my) grant-evaluation software. As word spread, bids grew in number and size and within six months I was seriously wealthy. And I could have stopped there. Bill Gates would have stopped there. I think even Sergey Brin and Larry Page would have stopped there. But I didn’t. If years of reading lads’ mags had taught me anything, it was that more is better. From time to time I had updated the algorithms in my anonymous grant-evaluation program to stop other people from writing grant-proposal-generation software that would score as highly as my own and thus undermine my highly profitable monopoly. Now I set out to modify my program with a higher purpose in mind: by altering the scoring algorithms I could essentially determine what types of research would get funded. I, alone, could steer the direction of fundamental science across the entire scientific world. For the first time, research science could be focused on mankind’s most fundamental desire. And thus I focused it. And that is how the entire scientific establishment, some two million researchers around the world, physicists, biologists, chemists, astronomers, botanists and even neo-classical anthropologists, have come to unite as one around the study of life’s single most important problem: how to achieve reliable male organ enhancement. ■

Allan M. Lees has been creating stories for his children since they were very little and he will continue to do so until they are old enough to steal a car and escape. Allan’s very modest literary success to date includes several published stories, a now-deservedly out-of-print novel, a radio
play, and many megabytes of wasted hard-drive space. The invisible hand A granted wish.

Dancing with the devil

byS. E. Schlosser

The girl hurried through her schoolwork as fast as she could. It was the night of the high school dance, along about 70 years ago in the town of Kingsville, Texas. The girl was so excited about the dance. She had bought a brand new, sparkly red dress for the dance. She knew she looked smashing in it. It was going to be the best evening of her life.
Then her mother came in the house, looking pale and determined.
"You are not going to that dance," her mother said.
"But why?" the girl asked her mother.
"I've just been talking to the preacher. He says the dance is going to be for the devil. You are absolutely forbidden to go," her mother said.
The girl nodded as if she accepted her mother's words. But she was determined to go to the dance. As soon as her mother was busy, she put on her brand new red dress and ran down to the K.C. Hall where the dance was being held.
As soon as she walked into the room, all the guys turned to look at her. She was startled by all the attention. Normally, no one noticed her. Her mother sometimes accused her of being too awkward to get a boyfriend. But she was not awkward that night. The boys in her class were fighting with each other to dance with her.
Later, she broke away from the crowd and went to the table to get some punch to drink. She heard a sudden hush. The music stopped. When she turned, she saw a handsome man with jet black hair and clothes standing next to her.
"Dance with me," he said.
She managed to stammer a "yes", completely stunned by this gorgeous man. He led her out on the dance floor. The music sprang up at once. She found herself dancing better than she had ever danced before. They were the center of attention.
Then the man spun her around and around. She gasped for breath, trying to step out of the spin. But he spun her faster and faster. Her feet felt hot. The floor seemed to melt under her. He spun her even faster. She was spinning so fast that a cloud of dust flew up around them both so that they were hidden from the crowd.
When the dust settled, the girl was gone. The man in black bowed once to the crowd and disappeared. The devil had come to his party and he had spun the girl all the way to hell.

Un tanar novice si un calugar se plimbau prin gradina manastirii, citind si comentand impreuna diferite pasaje din Biblie.La un moment dat au simtit nevoia unei tigari, dar, nestiind daca incalca vreo regula fumand in timpul studiului, s-au hotarit sa ceara, dupa masa, permisiunea parintelui staret.Cand s-au intilnit a doua zi, calugarul fuma linistit, spre nedumerirea novicelui:“Frate, mie staretul mi-a interzis sa fumez, tie cum de ti-a permis?”“Nu stiu… Tu ce i-ai spus?”“I-am cerut sa-mi dea voie sa fumez in timp ce citesc Biblia.”“Vezi, aici ai gresit. Eu i-am cerut sa-mi dea voie sa citesc Biblia in timp ce fumez.”

Rapunzel

Rapunzel, Campanula rapunculus (rampion), a congener of the -common harebell. It has a long white spindle-shaped root which is eaten raw like a radish, and has a pleasant sweet flavour. Its leaves and young shootsare also used in salads - and so are the roots, sliced.

There was once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child.At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was,however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion(rapunzel), and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, and had the greatest desire to eat some. This desire increased every day, and as she knew that she could not get any of it, she quite pined away, and looked paleand miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and asked, "What aileth thee,dear wife?" "Ah," she replied, "if I can't get some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, to eat, I shall die." The man, who loved her,thought, "Sooner than let thy wife die, bring her some of the rampion thyself,let it cost thee what it will." In the twilight of evening, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a hand ful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a salad of it,and ate it with much relish. She, however, liked it so much - so very much -that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him. "How canst thou dare," said she with angry look, "to descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? Thou shalt sufferf or it!" "Ah," answered he, "let mercy take the place of justice, I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she had not got some to eat." Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, "If the case be as thou sayest, I will allow thee to take away with thee as much rampion as thou wilt, only I make one condition, thou must give me the child which thy wife will bring into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother." The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her. Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child beneath the sun. When she wastwelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath this and cried, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,Let down thy hair to me." Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses, wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell twenty ells down,and the enchantress climbed up by it. After a year or two, it came to pass that the King's son rode through theforest and went by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The King's son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,Let down thy hair." Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed upto her. "If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will for once try my fortune," said he, and the next day when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,Let down thy hair." Immediately the hair fell down and the King's son climbed up. At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as her eyes had never yet beheld, came to her; but the King's son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, "He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does;" and she said yes, and laid her hand in his. She said, "I will willingly go away with thee, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with thee a skein of silk every time that thou comest, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and thou wilt take meon thy horse." They agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young King's son - heis with me in a moment." "Ah! thou wicked child," cried the enchantress, "What do I hear thee say! I thought I had separated thee from all the world, and yet thou hast deceived me!" In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's beautifultresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great grief and misery. On the same day, however, that she cast out Rapunzel, the enchantress in the evening fastened the braids of hair which she had cut off to the hook of the window, and when the King's son came and cried, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel,Let down thy hair," she let the hair down. The King's son ascended, but he did not find his dearest Rapunzel above, but the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks. "Aha!" she cried mockingly, "Thou wouldst fetch thy dearest,but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest; the cat has got it,and will scratch out thy eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to thee; thou wilt never see her more." The King's son was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but lament and weepover the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for someyears, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she had given birth, a boy and a girl, live in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contended.