Category Archives: General

December 24, 2024 · 17:33

Bloody Christmas!

by Jason Gibbs

Memo: To All In The Workshop

From: SC Emeritus (Chairman)

Subject: NEW SC JOINS TODAY

All,

Please join me in welcoming our new SC.  His previous experience has been across the entire retail spectrum, with his last role as head of Physical Retail for Nile & Mississippi Corp, taking them to the number 1 virtual retailer in the world.

He will be meeting the senior workshop elves today, and will be introducing himself to as many of you as possible over the next few weeks.

I look forward to this new chapter in Christmas Eve Deliveries future.

Nick

SC (Emeritus)

#

“New SC.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“Bet you he brings in a consultancy, they do a review, they move some chairs around, and then we go back to normal.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“Such a waste of time.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

#

Memo:  All Senior Elves

From: SC

Subject: Strategic Review

Team,

So good to meet so many of you yesterday.  I was excited by your energy and am looking forward to working with you to take this organisation to the next level.

To that end I’ve invited McJinskey, Dain and Co to perform a strategic review. They will be meeting with you individually over the next four weeks to establish your roles, responsibilities and future goals.  I would ask you to be open and honest with them, so that they can get the most accurate picture and help us develop a truly visionary strategy to take us into the next decades.

Thanks

SC

#

Memo:  All M, D and C Associates (INTERNAL MDC ONLY)

From: Bob Robinson, Senior Partner

Subject: Inappropriate behaviour

Associates,

I have just met with SC who has been fielding complaints about some of our associates.  He was clear with me that our continuing involvement in this strategic review was at risk.  I will speak with the individuals involved, but I want all of you to take responsibility for this, and improve.

Some key rules:

– The elves do not like comments on their height

– While you are entitled to milk and cookies, please be abstemious in your consumption

– Anything coloured red and marked with the letters SC is only for SC

I do hope that you understand the gravity of this situation.

Any questions, come and see me.

Bob

Senior Partner

North Pole Geographical Region

McJinskey, Dain and Co

#

Subject: Christmas Eve Deliveries – Strategic Review

Contents: [Redacted due to litigation]

[Redacted due to litigation]

#

“Disaster!”

“Yes SC.”

“Did they leave anything unredacted?”

“Yes SC, one recommendation.”

“Right, let’s have it.”

#

Memo:  All Senior Elves

From: SC

Subject: Strategic Review

Team,

MDC have completed their review.  I know it was bumpy, but I think it delivered some very interesting recommendations.  I will be discussing them with the Board, but in the meantime we will be implementing the first of their recommendations.

From today, there will be no caffeinated drinks served in the Workshop after noon.  Drinking caffeine after noon disrupts sleep patterns, and is reducing the efficacy of our elves.  Please communicate this to your teams.

There will be no exceptions.

Thanks

SC

#

“Who’s going to tell him?”

“Not me.”

“That’s the third night in a row!”

“Still not going to be me.”

#

“What?”

“They all fall asleep SC.”

“But…”

“They’re elves, they need the caffeine to stay awake.”

“Fine, we’ll reverse the rule.”

SC sat his head in his hands.  The elf hadn’t left.

“Um SC, I’m afraid that’s not all.”

“What?”

“Well, you see, we’ve basically lost almost a week of production.”

“And?  Can’t we make it up?”

“I’m afraid not all of it, we’re too close to December.  We’ve done the projections and we’ll still be two percent short.  That’s millions of little boys and girls without a present…”

“This is a disaster.  I should have stayed at N&M.  Right, can you get me options?”

“Yes SC.”

#

Options Paper

Topic:  Recovery of lost production due to caffeine incident.

The working group have determined that there are only three options which can mitigate the impact of the lost production in time.

Option One – Review the List (Only Once More):

By applying more stringent criteria, it will be possible to reduce the number of eligible children, thereby diminishing, or removing the impact of the shortfall.

Risks:  There may not be time to do a complete review.  It may be unfair due to incompleteness and impact Christmas Spirit.

Option 2 – Deliver A Subset of Gifts On Boxing Day

By adding two full days production, it should be possible to make up the shortfall.

Risks:  Elf exhaustion.  Breaks tradition.

Option 3 – Select some more affluent regions and acquire their excess toys on the 23rd Dec.

There are several regions (see attached list) where the children already get many gifts and have plenty spare, often unboxed in their houses.  If we went to these houses we could gather these excess gifts and that would easily make up the shortfall.  There is a slight risk that we’d regift them their presents, but we believe we can use geographical pre-planning to avoid that.

The working group was split on which option they should recommend.  For fairness alone, Option 2 was the preference.

#

“Deliver on Boxing Day?”

“Yes SC.”

“Ridiculous.”

The elf said nothing.

SC held his head in his hands, again.  

“I’m afraid none of the other options were practical.”

“No, I understand.  Boxing Day.  The fact that the one of the other options was to commit mass burglary shows… hmmm.  This option 3?”

“SC?” asked the elf a little nervously, wondering if they’d made the obvious crazy option in some way attractive.

“I thought the technology meant we could only do the big fly round on Christmas Eve?”

“Technology?”

He saw SC’s face start to cloud and said quickly, “Oh the advanced technology indistinguishable from magic.  Yes.”

Then he mumbled under his breath, “Which we’ve had for centuries, long before your so-called technology…”

“What was that?”

“Ah, nothing SC.  There is nothing preventing us flying on the night before Christmas Eve.  The Reindeer need about a day’s rest, but in theory they could go every day.  We’ve never tried that of course… never needed to.”

“Hmm, really.  Interesting.  Now let me think…”

There was a gleam in SC’s eyes.  The elf wasn’t sure if he was happy or not.

#

“He seemed excited.”

“Yes, something about exit strategy?”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“Asked me about the sleep magic,” said the senior elf.

“Did he?”

“Yes, wanted to know if it would prevent someone waking up if he kicked them, or accidentally stabbed them with a needle.  I explained that even if they woke up the magic… magic, would prevent them from remembering.”

#

Memo:  Secret Santa Strategy Group

From: SC

Subject: Red Stocking Fillers

All,

I’ve already spoken to some of you, and I believe we have a strategy.  It is imperative that this is kept secret until after we’ve run the pilot.

I had not expected my experience in the health division of N & M to come in useful, but needs must.  There are big shipments of fast tests arriving today and tomorrow.  I’d like them loaded on the sleigh with as little fuss as possible.  In addition I need two volunteers to handle the processing and record keeping of the tests.  We’ve wargamed this, and I believe we can do it at the same cadence as present delivery with these two little helpers.

Tomorrow night is the 23rd.  I’d hoped to be able to go tonight, but it’s just not been possible.  That being the case we’re going to reduce the pilot to just one test, and two regions, the North American and European regions.  

To repeat, this is secret squirrel, no blabbing.  If we get this right, it’ll change our role in Christmas forever.

Yours

SC

#

“Seems happy with last night.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“Some more big deliveries just before the big night.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“Unusual to get external deliveries.  But retooling would have been slow.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“I think it was a good idea to highlight the line about Santa liking rich kids more.  I think he’s taken that on board.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

#

Memo: All Elves

From: SC

Subject: Tonight – the big delivery!

All,

This is it, we’re about to go out, and go big!

We will be giving extra presents this year, as you know we’ve had deliveries from suppliers to my old company.  This is not a reflection on you at all, but we’re taking a bit more out to some people with us this year.

One thing, I know some of you have been wondering about the workshop shortfall.  We’ve reviewed the stats, and we have determined that if we don’t deliver toys to little boys and girls across New England and South-East England in North America and Europa respectively, then the predicted impact is a less than .5% reduction in Christmas spirit.  Well within tolerances.

Thank you all for your final effort, I leave in 10 minutes,

SC

#

“So, heaviest sleigh I’ve ever seen.  Who knew paper weighed that much.”

“Ya,” grunted B.

“You think it’ll work?”

There was a pause.

“Ya,” grunted B.

The senior elf turned to him, saw the smile, and answered it.

#

Memo:  All Senior Elves

From: SC

Subject: Christmas Eve

All,

Firstly, I want to thank all of you for the work you’ve done in the last year.  Last night was amazing, and I would not have been able to deliver presents across the globe without the hard work of each and every one of you.

I am aware that this has been a bumpy start to my time as SC, and I take full responsibility.  One of the things I was most concerned about when I agreed to take on this role was the slowly increasing irrelevance of what we do.  

I realise this may come as a shock to many of you, but out there, toys are no longer special.  Many children no longer get only one, or perhaps two presents a year.  In half the world they get dozens.  Our little additions no longer make any difference.  The statistical analysis of the impact of our delivery run on Christmas spirit in North America and Europe last year was in fact slightly negative.  More Christmas spirit was delivered in the fifth sequel of a popular Christmas film franchise.  Over the course of the next few decades it seems likely that this will be case across the whole world.

This is a bitter pill for all of you, and a key objective of my first 100 days was to identify a solution.  I believe I have it.  

For those children whose parents cannot afford presents, or very meagre ones, we will continue to deliver on Christmas Eve for as long as this situation continues.  This will require far more targeted deliveries, and an upgrade to the entire Naughty and Nice platform to include means testing.

For the other children, we will not deliver any physical presents.

Our mission will change, we will start to deliver health to the world.  We ran the first pilot on the eve of Christmas Eve, and the follow up last night as part of the main sleigh ride.

In our first step we tested for the most common genetic deficiency in Europe and North America, Haemochromatosis.  Something like 1 in 500 of the population of those two continents have the disease, but it is not diagnosed in most sufferers until too late, if at all.

We tested 250 million people for haemochromatosis on the 23rd.  And identified nearly 500,000 people who had the disease of whom 450,000 were not being treated.

Last night we went back to those people, and we left them a note with details of the disease, proof of their diagnosis, and details of treatment for them.  In most cases that’s a simple donation of blood.  We hope to see a big bump in blood donations over the next few weeks, which is a positive side effect of this process, and should reduce some of the impact of St Sylvester or New Year’s Eve.

We’re still getting all the data in, but I believe that this will show real benefits.  We can then look at other testing, for example for sickle cell anaemia, or for latent malaria.  As I said, this is our chance to give a great gift to the whole world, the gift of health.

In addition, it was highlighted to me that Haemochromatosis is a disease prevalent in the rich world, so we also contacted some experts on health in some of the other parts of the world.  We will be meeting with them again, but as a first step we managed to drop thousands of mosquito nets and basic health packs in the homes of millions of children who are at risk of malaria and other depredations.  I can tell you, it wasn’t all ho ho ho, but it was more satisfying.

With the magic we have at our disposal, we can change the world for the better, not just at Christmas, but for the whole year.

Apologies for this long memo, but it is very important.  I encourage all elves to sign-up to the healthcare courses which will be opening up next week.  I will need your help and input to make this a success.

In the meantime, thank you again for your hard work!

Merry Christmas!

Santa Claus

###

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June 14, 2024 · 15:26

The Recluse

By Jason Gibbs

The wind whipped across the beach, shaking the palm trees.  Roger was sitting in his deckchair, drink in hand watching the gentle sunset.  He sighed with a sort of wistful satisfaction.  He’d made it, he was here, and with Freya too.  In some ways it was heaven.

“Roger, you weren’t actually serious about there being no cornucopia machine here?”

He’d guessed this was coming.  The first few days she’d thought it was funny that he’d insisted on taking everything from storage and cooking it, but yesterday evening she’d seemed less pleased.

“Yes Freya, as I said last night, no cornucopia machines here.”

“But, but Roger, you are the cornucopia king!  How can you not have one of your machines?  It makes no sense.”

He sighed again, looked in the direction of the now almost gone sunset, and said, “I’ll explain over dinner.”

“How are you going to get dinner?”

He pointed at the fridge unit, and then separately at the BBQ.  She frowned, but acquiesced.

#

“Just taste the meat, it’s fabulous.”

She frowned again, she seemed to be doing that a lot recently, and then said, somewhat grudgingly, “Yes, it is very tasty.”

“That’s my point!”

“What?”

“You can’t get that from a cornucopia machine Freya.”

Another frown.

“You can get an approximation of a steak, but it’s not real, it’s just…” he carried on.  Her frown had deepened.

“Is this from a real cow?” she squeaked.

“Ah, um, yes.”

“I’m a vegan!” she wailed as she ran off.  A short while later he heard the sound of her being sick in the bushes.

#

“Are you sure you won’t stay Freya?”

The perma-frown deepened, she shook her head, and turned away from him.  He nodded to the copter pilot, and stepped back.  The copter leapt into the air, and he was alone.  Again.

#

He stared up at the copter.  He was worried, it only had a very small cargo box underneath it.  Why was it landing?  He’d been very clear in his instructions…

He backed away as it came down and watched in a combination of irritation and trepidation as a woman jumped out and headed towards him.  She was medium height, long dark hair, attractive and smiling broadly.  He had no idea who she was.

“You have no idea who I am, but I’m Stacy, and before you tell me to get back on the copter, please just hear me out, if you don’t like it, the copter will be back tomorrow and I’ll be gone…”

She had a low warm voice, and a charming smile, and he was, to be honest, a little lonely.

“Ah… yeah… sure,” he stammered.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to anybody, it must be at least twelve months, maybe eighteen?

“Great,” she said, and waved at the copter which dropped its small cargo load, and quickly sped off.

She turned to him and looked at him speculatively.

“Buy a girl dinner?”

“Ah, well, the thing is…” he started and then ran out of energy.  He turned and walked towards the fridge, then stopped and turned back to her and beckoned.  She smiled and started towards him, and they arrived at the fridge together.

He opened the door and said, “Real meat.”

“I know, and I’m sure it’s delicious.  I’m really looking forward to it!”

He frowned, and then brightened.

“Do you like wine?” he asked, with a little more confidence.

“Oh yes!” she smiled.  She had been a little concerned by how such a once-powerful man could have fallen so far, but he seemed to be recovering a little.

“Roger, you don’t mind if I call you Roger do you?”  He shook his head.

“Roger, as I said before I’m Stacy, and I’m simply starving, so is it OK if we eat before we get down to business?”

He laughed, and then said a little seriously, “Well, I’m afraid the steak will need to rest for an hour or so to bring it to ambient temperature… perhaps an hors d’oeuvre and then we can have a quiet drink?”

“Sounds delightful!”

#

“Well Roger, that was delicious!”

She lifted her glass, and said, “To a magnificent meal!”

They clinked glasses, and smiled at each other.

Then she frowned.  Roger frowned too, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I guess you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” she asked, with a wry smile.

He nodded.

“Yes, well, I guess the first thing is that I should tell you that I am Stacy Albright, CEO of Pan Cornucopia Inc.”

He looked startled.

“Yes, your old company.  I was brought in six months ago as part of a financial restructuring procedure.  You left the company in rude health, but your successors made a few mis-steps shall we say?”

“I left at the top, that was always my plan.  I could see that conditions were going to become a little more tricky.  I’d lost my appetite for it.  Quite literally,” he nodded to the table in front of them.

“Yes, indeed.  Well you’ll be unsurprised to hear that the food producer division’s margins have plummeted, there are just so many competitors now.  At the cheapest end, the nuggets and the like, well, there’s no profit to be had.”

He nodded.

“I have not come to ask for your advice, or indeed to ask you back.  Which is not say that you wouldn’t be welcome, but you were very clear…”

He sort of grimaced.  He’d been quite angry at the time.  The board kept trying to put in some provision to hook him back.

“As part of your contract with the company, it was agreed that you would be supplied with luxuries for the rest of your life.  These luxuries to include, meat, various special spices and fungi, and wine.”

“Truffles.”

“Yes, those… ah that amazing flavour on the little toasty things?  Hmm, yes, I quite understand.”

She paused for a bit remembering the astonishing flavour, “It was clear from your list that you wanted only bio-dynamic foods, whose flavours were impossible to copy in the cornucopia machines.”

“Yes.”

She paused as if gathering her thoughts.  It was quite a good act.

“We have had a few challenges.  While you were still CEO a number of countries started introducing the so-called forced vegan legislation.  Restriction, and eventual closing, of abattoirs and meat producing farms.  The logic being that the cornucopia machines, such as our top of the range Pan 5001, provided better quality, safer, meat-like substitutes.  In fact, in multiple taste tests, very few people could tell the difference.”

“Not everyone can be a gourmand…”

“No.  Well the thing is, there has been a sort of domino effect, and one by one every country in the world has found itself compelled to bring in the forced vegan legislation.  Even countries which normally hold out have brought it in, not least because it’s just so much simpler to use the cornucopia machines.”

“Ah…”

“Yes, you’re starting to see.  As of tomorrow, there will not be a single country in the world which will allow the legal supply of meat.  We tried to get legal exemptions. We even looked at the possibilities of setting up our own country.  Which will probably do… but even so it will have to have the forced vegan laws to allow us to work with the rest of the world.  There simply is no way around it.”

“Hmmm.”

“The thing is, the contract we have with you commits us to delivering you meat of specified quantities without any provision for a failure of supply.  Our lawyers kept telling us the contract was bulletproof.  In a sort of smug impressed way.  When I realised they were the ones who’d written it, I got external counsel.  But they felt that it was pretty robust, and given we’d be required to pay your legal fees as well… well they were actually quite keen on it.”

“Ha.”

“The Board decided that it was not tenable, and we considered two other options.”

She ticked them off on her fingers, “Number one, we would arrange to have you cease living.  Or number two, we would persuade you to have the deliveries stopped.”

She shook her head and said, “I can tell you, it was a pretty stressful Board meeting.  But in the end it wasn’t as close as I thought it would be, and we decided to go for the second option.”

“With fall back to the first?”

“Well, of course if I fail, then it will go back to the Board.  But I think it’s important that you realise that this is no way an attempt to threaten you.”

He laughed at that.  Then said seriously, “I doubt you’ll be able to persuade me…”

She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I can be very persuasive!”

He smiled in response, and then said, “But it’s the flavour, it’s not really a debate, or about persuasion.”

“Indeed, the chemical components of the flavour are tricky to print.  We’ve tried everything, and just can’t get it right.  I don’t think the wine or truffle industries are going to be replaced any time soon.”

“Exactly…” he answered and then said, “But you think meat will?”

“The fundamental about real meat flavour is around ageing.  Traditionally, older animals gave more flavour, mutton being a classic example.  Factory farming changed the dynamic, it made a virtue of fast growing high protein meat, which generally lacked flavour.  But it was cheap…”

He recognised this line.

“That’s my pitch!”

“It is.  You go on to say…”

“Um, something like, cheap, nutritious but lacking in strong flavour.  Well, our cornucopia machines can produce the same for almost no cost.  Electricity and a few basic, and easy to get hold of components, ingredients and suddenly meat is produced.  Soon every home in the world will want one…” he said, strength returning to his voice.

“Yes, and you were right.  It made you very, very rich.”

“But we sacrificed flavour.  It’s… it’s one of the most important things about life.  I was wrong, it was wrong.  But it was too late, I’d already done too much.”

“So you ran away.  You ran here, to paradise,” she waved around her.

“Yes.”

“But you ended hunger, and at the same time made a massive impact on obesity.  The cornucopia machines make food which tastes sweet, satisfies, but doesn’t actually have any calories in it.  People don’t even have to diet to lose weight.  It’s magic.”

“Yeah, I remember the tech report.”

“That was you.  And we owe you a lot.  But unfortunately, we’re not going to kill animals for you.”

He sighed.  

“So that was the last?”

“Oh Roger, don’t sound so down.”

He said nothing, she looked at him and then laughed again.

“What?”

“I said I was here to persuade you, not crush you.  I have some good news for you.  We’ve been trialling a sort of hybrid cornucopia product.”

“A hybrid?” he asked with interest.

“Yes, I’ll have the technical details sent to you, but in summary, the machine creates the initial flesh matrix, then moves it into a second part of the machine where it is aged, but more quickly than nature.  It’s still several weeks to produce something good, but with a reasonable size of machine it wouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“Perhaps, but… I don’t want to be difficult, but I can’t imagine you’ve had gourmand testers on this.  I can assure you I’d be able to tell the difference between such a steak and this…”

He pointed at the remains of their meal.  Her smile grew.

“No… that?” he asked, incredulous.

She nodded.

“Well, one steak doesn’t prove anything… no, wait, you wouldn’t risk it on one steak.  How long?  How long has it been?”

“Two months.”

“Two months?  I’ve been eating printed steaks for two months and not even noticed.”

Instead of looking angry he looked pensive, then turned to her and said, “I need to think.”

He walked off down the beach, and she decided it was best to leave him.  Despite this unexpected response, she felt confident he’d sign the papers she’d brought, and that would be her last test before being confirmed as CEO.  She’d not thought it relevant to mention to him that she was only Acting CEO.

#

Stacy woke up to the sound of frying bacon, and an occasional waft of deliciousness.  She quickly got dressed and unzipped her one person tent, congratulating herself again on adding that to her small amount of luggage.

“What is that divine smell?” she asked brightly.  She was casually holding a sheaf of papers which she needed him to sign.

“Bacon.”

He paused and looked at her, “Printed bacon I guess?”

“Oh yes, bacon was surprisingly easy, and popular.”

He nodded, and she thought he still seemed pensive.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“No, I figured I’d get some on the plane back.”

“What?”

“I’m coming back with you.”

She stared at him, and he looked at her and said, “Look, I’ll be honest, I’ve been getting bored recently, and the meat thing was just an excuse to hide away.”

“Oh, that’s great…” she said, thinking furiously.  They’d not considered this in their strategy sessions.  He was still a major shareholder.  He might sell a chunk… that would impact the share price.  Not good.

“Yes, I’ve decided to get back into the saddle again.”

“What?” she said again, with more panic.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t be taking your Acting CEO position away from you…” he laughed.  He’d clearly done more than just walk and think.

“Oh, um.”

“Though you and the Board are clearly in breach of our contract to deliver meat from live animals, I’m going to wave that for a few small things.”

She sighed in relief.  This was going to be fine, and she’d be confirmed.

“Yes, I want you to sign over the hybrid division to my new company.”

“What?  Um, I don’t think…”

“I’m not sure you want to argue about this,” the sudden steel in his voice reminded her that he’d been, only a couple of years before, one of the most driven CEOs in the world.

“Uh yes, well I’m sure the Board will agree…” she said rather weakly.

“Excellent.  And don’t worry, I’ll sign that bunch of waivers… once you’ve completed the transfer of the hybrid assets.”

“Great, thanks…” she said, still subdued, “What are you planning on doing?”

“I’m going to be a vigneron, a wine maker.  I’m going to print grapes, and then use the techniques you’ve developed to make great wine.  Great, repeatable wine.  After that, I think I’ll go for truffles.”

“Ah good,” she said, wondering what that would do in the long term to her company’s profitability.

“Yes, our mission is to bring true flavour back to the world!” he announced.

Looking at her frown he said, “OK, we’ll probably need a better tag line than that.  I’ll think of something…”

###

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February 15, 2024 · 14:50

AI Cassandra

Not a story… but if you like my writing (as intermittent as it is these days) then you may like my new blog, https://aicassandra.substack.com/. I’ll be writing non-fictiony stuff about AI and related topics there on a hopefully regular basis.

And I’l start to add some more stories here. I promise!

J

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May 22, 2023 · 13:02

Who’s for dinner?

This received an honourable mention for a story in the Darker Times September 2013 competition. I’m publishing it now as it’s dropped off that website.

#

Who’s for Dinner

By Jason Gibbs

The helicopter swooped over the houses at the core of the village.  They were overgrown as the forest retook its territory.  The central square was only just clear enough to allow the ‘coptor to land.  As it settled Harris heard a distinct snapping sound. 

He and Laramie climbed out of the machine, Laramie’s high heels jarringly out of place, but it didn’t stop her walking round the skeleton which had been inadvertently crushed when they landed.

Looking round Harris spotted a few more skeletons.

“What happened?”

“That’s why we’re here, dumb-ass.”  She rolled her eyes at him.

She surveyed the surroundings and then pointed at the central building, which had a large solar array on the top.  “It’ll be in there,” she said as strode towards it.

The building was of modern construction.  Printed cellulose bricks formed the walls, with the three internal rooms separated by thin plastic partitions.  The largest room, clearly a gathering and canteen area, had open entrances to the two smaller rooms, one of which was clearly a toilet.  They headed for the other, gingerly stepping over yet more skeletons.  The place was almost filled with them.

Sitting in the middle of the room, happily purring, was a cornucopia machine.  It was a basic model, only really able to print simple objects, such as the bricks, as well as food staples.  The UN had been shipping them across the planet for decades to finally defeat world hunger.

“Check the machine,” Laramie ordered, and Harris got to work while she clicked her away around the small space.

He gingerly moved aside the skeletons leaning against the machine.  In a few minutes he had the diagnostics up.

“All is perfect.  Power is 100%, even the hoppers are full, though they’ll need to be cleared out.  Last used six months ago.”

“The biological?”

“Dead, unsurprisingly.”  The biological components of the cornucopia machines tended to last only a few months, and needed their source cells replenishing.

“Any way of determining why?”

He suddenly realised that her short manner was because she was worried by the skeletons.  He had to admit that they were creepy.  Especially the one sitting on the throne next to the machine, which seemed to be looking at him.

He scrolled through the reports.  There was something odd.  Biologicals usually survived six to twelve months depending on which animal they were based on, goat based ones survived the longest, but people tended to become fed up with goat.

“The last biological died after only three days.  The one before that the same.  Before that they survive progressively longer, until we get to a normal pattern of seven month survival.”

“Damn.”

Suddenly it clicked.  The pattern was consistent with prion degradation, where the same biological source was being used to provide the base cells, and was also eating the output.  Harris looked round, and looking at the skeleton on the throne he realised what, or indeed who, that source had been.

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June 12, 2022 · 20:05

Choice on Units of Measurement: Markings and Sales

The Government of the UK has opened a consultation on the choice of units of measurement, particularly aimed at bringing back the old imperial system. I believe that this is a waste of a golden opportunity, and I have communicated this belief to the consultation. I have copied my response below, and I encourage all those right thinking people who see the benefit of my proposed New Imperial Measurement system to respond in a similar manner to the consultation. Together we can persuade them to embrace progress!

(Goverment questions in purple. My reponses in black.)

#

Choice on Units of Measurement: Markings and Sales – Response Form

Consultation Questions

1             For All,

a)            Are there any specific areas of consumer transactions that should be a priority for allowing a choice in units of measurement, and why?

b)            Are there any specific areas that you think should be excluded from a choice in units of measurement, and why?

c)            If an item is sold in imperial measures, should there be a requirement for a metric equivalent alongside it?

It is important before I complete my responses to this consultation that I set out a number a number of factors which have guided my answers.

Firstly, it is my belief that the current mixture of measures is burdensome, confusing, and reflects a failure of leadership by previous governments.  This is now an opportunity for a complete structural overhaul of the system of measurement in use in the UK.  Thus I believe that there shouldn’t be a choice, all measurements should be standardised on one new imperial system.

If we are going to level up, we should use this set of changes to iron out historical inconsistencies within the two old systems of measurement to create new efficiencies across the whole of British society.  We must carpe diem! 

I propose a new imperial system to replace all existing units, which contains the following principles from both the old imperial, and the metric systems:

1) The metric system contains a number of units based on the names of famous British scientists.  We should make these more prominent, by ensuring their (re)introduction into everyday life.  These include: Newton, Faraday, Joule, Kelvin and Watt.

2) The yard was initially set based on the average stride of a man.  The modern man can stride 9.35% further than that ancient man, and I propose that the New Imperial Yard (NIY) reflect this.

3) To help bring the metric indoctrinated into the new imperial system, it makes sense to use the kilo, centi, micro system to provide the gradations of units.  Thus centi-yards or kilo-pints will be acceptable.

Some basic measures will help explain this further.

Length – the NIY is defined as above.  The New Imperial Foot (NIF) is, to bring gender equality into the measurement system, as the average length of a modern woman’s foot.  With a slight rounding, this brings 4 NIFs to a NIY.  The New Imperial Inch (NII) has to be adjusted to take into account this size change, thus there are 5 NIIs to a NIF.  It has to be acknowledged that this has altered the ratios somewhat, but it is important that we honour the gender which has received the least recognition in prior measurement systems.

A New Imperial Mile will be set at 4 kiloNIYs to represent what the average sedentary modern person can walk in one hour.

Weight – the kilogram has incorrectly been used as a measurement of weight for many years.  The correct measurement is Newtons.  All weight should therefore be measured in Newtons, thereby giving due prominence to one of Britain’s greatest scientists.  However, to offer choice and bring the old imperial system into line, the New Imperial Pound (NILb) would be standardised as 5 Newtons.

Volume – a New Imperial Pint (NIP) should be expressed as the volume of water which weighs one NILb.  This NIP is slightly smaller than the current imperial pint, which will help reduce alcohol consumption.  Using NIPs to measure fuel would also reduce the prices at petrol stations.

A New Imperial Non-US Gallon (NING) would be 8 NIPs.  Fuel economy would simply be expressed as New Imperial Miles per NING.

Obviously these standards can and should be applied across the whole gamut of measurement, and I do not need to go into all the details here.  Nonetheless, I believe there are two other areas which need urgent attention and should, in my opinion, be brought into this consultation.

Calories are an example of the steps which need to be taken to get to an optimal system of measurement.  They were, once, perhaps useful.  But they should be abolished entirely and all measurements of energy should be in joules.  Not only will it highlight an important British scientist, but it will help ameliorate the obesity crisis, as all food energy will show higher numbers and help people make better food choices.

Temperature is another area where standardising on a single system will reduce confusion, and help to pay homage to another great British scientist.  To achieve this, use of Fahrenheit should be banned, and all temperatures must be in Kelvin.

With this clarification in place, I will answer all the questions twice.  Once in reference to the forward looking, control taking and levelling up methodology embodied in the New Imperial Measurement system (NIMS) as defined above.  The other will be in reference to the nonsensical, backward looking and more or less useless, old imperial system.

1a) NIMS – everything should be defined by the new system.  Old imperial – none.  In fact, it should be ruled out entirely as an utterly useless waste of time which fails to take the country forward.

b) NIMS – there should be no choice in units, it should all be under NIMS.  Old imperial – if there is an existing metric measure it should be used exclusively.  Continued use of the anachronistic imperial system is rather embarrassing.

c) NIMS – no, it should only be in NIMS.  Old imperial – it should only be in metric.  Having two systems in parallel borders on the ludicrous.

2             For Businesses,

What would be the consequences of your business having the freedom to sell products in imperial measures, if you wished?

               NIMS – with the new system this would make everything much easier for everybody and I would wholly support it.  Old imperial – nothing, why add additional cost for literally zero benefit.

3             For Consumers,

a)            If you had a choice, would you want to purchase items:

(i)            in imperial units?

(ii)           in imperial units alongside a metric equivalent?

b)            Are you more likely to shop from businesses that sell in imperial units?

c)            Do you foresee any costs or benefits to you from businesses being permitted to sell:

(i)            solely in imperial units?

(ii)           in imperial units alongside a less prominent metric equivalent?

d)            Do you have experience of buying solely in imperial units?

a)

i) NIMS – no choice required, everything in NIMS would be perfection.  Old imperial – I see little value in this antediluvian system, so under no circumstances can I see myself wanting to purchase items in imperial units.

ii) NIMS – only one system is needed.  Old imperial – is this the previous question rephrased?  Or is this back to the two systems at once question?  Either way, it seems somewhat pointless.  Why add the additional cost and complexity?

b) NIMS – all shops should sell in these units, so it wouldn’t change my habits.  Old imperial – I’d probably avoid shops selling in old imperial units, as it either shows that they are backward looking and incapable of adapting to the modern age, or are trying to defraud me in some way by using an outmoded and hard to understand set of units.

c)

         i) NIMS – no because the whole country would be on a single, sensible and coherent system.  Old imperial – if they’re wasting time and effort on adding such an irrelevant additional set of data on their products then they’ll either be charging me more for the privilege, or reducing quality to recoup the cost.

         ii) NIMS – no because there will be only one measure.  Old imperial – it seems odd to prioritise an arcane system, but either way this seems an inefficient option.  Additional weighing and printing costs to have two measures will absolutely add cost.  And having metric less prominently may mean I have to buy new reading glasses. 

e)            NIMS – not yet, but I hope the day will come.  Old imperial – yes.  And I’ll be honest, it never made much sense.  The biggest mistake made in the adoption of metric has been the failure to complete the job and wipe out the incongruity of the old imperial system.

4             For Trading Standards,

What potential impacts might there be on regulatory activity, including any costs or benefits?

<No answer>

###

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March 26, 2022 · 15:54

Sixth Book Published!

A few months ago, I published my sixth book via KDP Publishing. Well, the sixth book I’ve written. Well co-written. It is in fact mostly the work of my co-author, my wife Alex, but I did write the second section which contains lots of hopefully helpful advice.

The blurb:

Infertility Madness is a book about the rollercoaster that is infertility, told with brutal honesty. Principally told from Alex’s perspective; but with a separate section with Jason’s experience and advice. It is the story of their seven years of hell whilst attempting to conceive, their tour of all the infertility options the world has to offer, medical and not-so medical. Their desperate search for a child took them from New York’s finest fertility specialist to a faith healer in a Hampshire hamlet. They became fully paid up members of the IVF industry, from glitzy top London clinics offering it all but actually pedalling persuasive half-truths to more down to earth clinics which admitted the medicine behind the fertility industry hasn’t changed since the 1950s. The book focuses on the mental health toll caused by continually failing to get pregnant whilst living in a world seemingly entirely peopled with big fat pregnant women rubbing their bellies with huge smug grins across their faces. It examines the impact of infertility on what was a seemingly perfect marriage and it chronicles how, in different ways, Alex and Jason struggle to cope when everything starts to unravel but also find a path through the madness that is infertility and come out the other side.

Cover:

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July 19, 2021 · 15:47

It’s Not Me, It’s My Hind-brain

by Jason Gibbs

“Dr Myrhe?” said Stanley hesitantly, to the tall dark haired man who answered the door.

“Yes, but my friends call me Magnus, can I help you?”

“I don’t know, I have a strange request, may I come in and explain it?”

The doctor smiled a little uncertainly and then said, “Of course, please do.”

He waved him into his living room, where a large Norwegian flag was lying across the table. Stanley stopped and stared at it.

“Ah yes, I am fixing the flag, it’s become a bit tattered with all this weather we’ve been experiencing recently. Please, can I get you something to drink?”

Stanley shook his head and sat down on the edge of a chair. He looked around a little uncertainly. Magnus sat down and waited patiently.

“Um, well it’s very strange, but um, look when I woke up this morning I found myself writing on a piece of paper,” Stanley started, and paused while he reached into his pocket.

“This one, and the thing is, I don’t understand it.”

“You wrote something a bit strange? Maybe you were having a dream…?”

“No, well maybe, but it’s not that I don’t understand the words, or it is, it’s that I don’t understand the language. It looks like a Scandinavian language maybe, but, well the only thing I could understand was this bit at the bottom, where it says ‘take this sheet to Dr Myrhe’ and your address. So I’m here. Please take a look.”

Magnus was regretting letting this strange man in, but decided to humour him, and then get him out of the house as quickly as possible, so he reached across and took the sheet. He started reading it.

“Well, yes, it is Norwegian in fact, indeed…” he stopped suddenly and looked at Stanley.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Stanley shrank back a bit from the look of irritation on the man’s face. Visions of marauders from the north flashed through his mind.

“No, no, I assure you, I am as mystified as you are.”

“Hmmm,” said Magnus. He then spat out a set of Norwegian words and watched Stanley. The man just looked more confused, and considering what Magnus had just said regarding Stanley, his mother and a horse, he should be looking angry. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ thought Magnus.

He read a bit further and then made up his mind.

“Well, yes, I think I need a bit of time. I will read this further, and think about it. Please come back tomorrow, or Monday actually, can you come to my office, I’ll give you my address.”

“But, can you explain…”

“No. I cannot. But I will find out. You may rest assured of that.”

He found a business card, gave it to Stanley and then ushered him out. He then sat down again and read the note he’d been sent.

It said:

‘Dear Dr Myrhe, Please do not translate this to Stanley. He would not be able to understand. I need your help, at least to have someone to communicate with. It’s difficult to explain, and I imagine will be hard for you to understand, I’m not sure I do, but, I am Stanley, well I am his hind-brain. I am the entity which uses the deep parts of his mind. I cannot control him, and I have to answer the questions he occasionally sends me, but otherwise, well, I’m quite bored.’

Magnus paused, and shook his head, and continued reading.

‘I learned Norwegian by watching the television. Stanley leaves it on when he goes to sleep. And from 2-4 every morning there is a free access Norwegian course. Most of the rest of the programming is a bit dull, though I know a lot about geometric optics and the husbandry required for camels. I don’t know where your name came from, Stanley must have read it but not remembered the context, so it just appeared with me one day.’

‘Dr Myrhe – will you help me? Yours sincerely, Stanley’s hind-brain.’

Magnus was intrigued, but wasn’t sure how to approach the problem. He felt he’d have to sleep on it.

#

The next day Magnus awoke to find himself writing. The piece of paper was covered in what he could only assume was arabic, at the top in his own English capitals was the name and address of a Dr Ahmed Al-Saleh. So his hind-brain wasn’t sure of the answer, and was asking someone else.

Magnus got himself ready, called in sick to work and went to see Dr Al-Saleh, who, a quick Google informed him, was a clinical psychologist.

#

(Some years later.)

“And to sum up, ladies, gentlemen… and hind-brains,” Magnus paused for the appreciative chuckles.

“To sum up, that is how we started the HBRN – the Hind Brain Research Network. I’m extremely excited that today we’ve been able to open up this wonderful, brand new building. A hotel for scientists as some have called it, but as we all know, this is also the place where a lot of deep research will be possible. I’ve booked my first holiday here to start next week, and I have high hopes of getting at least two papers out of… sharing credit of course!” he tapped the back of his head at this, to more appreciative laughs.

“Finally, I’d like to thank Stanley Lipkins, without whom this whole process might never have started.”

He clapped, and Stanley stood up, looking a little bemused and embarrassed, Magnus waved him to the mic.

Nervously he said, “Um, well I don’t think you should be thanking me. It’s not me, it’s my hind-brain…”

###

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December 16, 2020 · 16:47

Keyboards

by Jason Gibbs

“Hi, I’m Lucy, welcome to CABComms… I’ll be taking you round the office,” her tone was a little flat he thought, but perhaps she did this a lot.

“Ah thanks, I’m…”

“Dunstan, yes, I know. So let’s be going. I believe all your interviews were remote?”

Dunstan Howard nodded, slightly taken aback by the brusque nature of the woman. He thought she was pretty, in a careful low maintenance sort of way, and was wondering whether there were company rules about asking out colleagues when he realised that she had turned and was walking off at a pace. He trotted after her.

She waved to her right, “Lawyers.”

A few paces on, she waved to her left, “Accountants.”

And a little later, “Toilets.”

Every word with the same tone, as if the information was clear and equally valid. They turned a corner and she carried on at the same pace.

She stopped and turned to him, “Could you remind me, your keyboard rating was?”

“Ah, um, 98 wpm.”

She stared, nodded and said, “Basic. Yes, I recall, this way.”

He was feeling a bit bruised by her attitude, and was thinking that 98 was really rather good, certainly faster than anyone at his last place, when he was distracted by the sound of music. It was lovely, with a celestial feel.

“Ah, um, Lucy, what is that?”

She turned back to him and answered, “You should teach yourself to stop that.”

“Ah, stop what?”

“The ahs and ums. Inefficient, and you’ll need to be efficient to prosper here.”

She turned again and started to walk off.

“What is the music?”

She rounded on him, nodded and gave the hint of a smile.

“That is the top level communicators. By the sound of it they’re composing a new policy. Now, we must move.”

With this she headed along the corridor again, faster than before. As they went there were further one word descriptions, coffee, admin, supplies and suchlike. Dunstan thought he was unlikely to remember it all, and after three more turns they stopped at a door which said in big black letters “Basic”.

“This is where you will be starting. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we have done a full loop so the entrance is just there,” she said pointing to her right.

“Yes…”

“Good luck, I will see you at the end of the day to gather your feedback, now please go in.”

She was off before he could say anything. He took a breath and opened the door.

Inside the room were desks in rows of three. On the desk there was, as he expected, a large computer monitor. What he didn’t expect was the keyboard underneath it, it wasn’t qwerty, or even Dvorak. It looked rather like a piano keyboard.

He was still staring at it when an imperious voice said, “Sit.”

He did, and then looked around. At the end of the room was a woman on a slightly raised platform. She was petite, with grey hair in a tight bun, the stereotype of a perfect typist of the last century.

“You are fairly fast Mr Howard on a standard keyboard. You will be slow for a while until you have mastered this style.”

“Ah…”

She stared at him sharply, and he swore to himself he would never um or ah again.

“We do not select candidates with piano training, so do not ask. They have learned the wrong language and helping them unlearn it is painful. We used to only take those with no music training at all, but those standards have been relaxed.” It was clear what she thought of that decision.

“Look at the keys. You will see they have letters on them. Some have more than one letter, and most letters appear more than once, some, such as E and S, no less than 8 times.”

He stared down at the keyboard feeling even more at a loss than usual for the first day at a job.

“Carefully type the quick brown fox…”

He started tapping at the keys, using just two fingers. The first key caused a note to play which surprised him, though he guessed it shouldn’t have, but after looking up to see a scowl, he carried on. It was slow, and the sounds didn’t really follow, but he got to the end. He’d normally been able to type that in about three seconds.

“Not appalling. Now, use the left hand for the first word, the right hand for the next and alternate. You’ll see that the letters flow more logically than.”

He did so, and it was faster, and the sounds produced were almost a melody, like they fitted. He looked up at the screen to see that the sentence had appeared.

“Excellent Mr Howard.”

#

They carried on for the rest of the morning. He’d not been able to ask a single question, and at lunch time she’d merely said, “At 1300,” and disappeared. He’d left and found a sandwich shop, bought a sandwich, headed to the park and sat and pondered the morning. He could make neither head nor tale of it.

#

“Mr Howard, can you hear the errors?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you making them? Do you like torturing your ears?”

“No.”

“Well then, try again.”

It had been a much tougher afternoon. He was now typing more complex sentences. He’d either have a document he’d have to copy, or sometimes dictation, played out of a speaker when he clicked on the icon. At first it had been jarring hearing the words and the sounds he was typing, or should that be playing? He was used to that now, but he was still bemused.

He didn’t know what it was all about, or indeed how to consistently play, or perhaps type? Occasionally the woman, whose name he still didn’t know, would give him a hint, at other times she’d just criticise.

He tried again, using alternating hands and various of the other techniques, and it seemed like he could feel the melody as he was typing. He was starting to enjoy it when he mistyped and the dissonance stopped him short. He looked up.

She looked approvingly at him and said, “I am Miss Eagle. You are progressing very well Mr Howard, I believe you almost found the line there. Now try the next piece.”

#

At the end of that day Lucy had met him at the door, enquired politely as to his progress, nodded and wished him good night. He wondered why. Yet each morning she would greet him, and each night she’d be there to see him out. She never responded to any attempts at further conversation.

After a month of practice he’d not done anything he could identify as work. He’d also never seen anyone else in the practice room.

He was left at the door by Lucy as usual, and he entered. He looked up, expecting to continue as before, but Miss Eagle was just watching him.

“Mr Howard, what was your typing rate before you joined us?”

“Just under 100.”

“98 in fact.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what you sustained in yesterday afternoon’s session?”

“No,” he said quizzically.

“Just under 200.”

“198?” he couldn’t help himself.

There was a dead silence, and then she answered, “199.98 to be exact.”

“But… how is that possible?”

“You have passed Basic. The theory will be explained after you have passed Advanced. Tomorrow you begin Intermediate. You may take today off.”

She disappeared, and he walked out of the door even more bemused than before. Lucy was waiting, which was unexpected.

“Dunstan, you must read and sign these documents before tomorrow to continue your evolution.”

She handed him a stack of papers, smiled almost warmly, and conducted him to the door.

#

He’d started to read the documents and begun to have a nagging feeling of recognition. He was onto his third page before he realised he’d typed them, and then, suddenly, he just knew the whole document, what it meant and what it meant for him. It was a switch, a sharp refocussing of knowledge.

He also realised it was a good deal for him, more money and benefits, so he signed happily.

If he’d expected Intermediate to be different he was somewhat disappointed. Lucy led him to the same door, and Miss Eagle waited for him. The sessions were similar, though tougher. The dictation was faster, he sometimes had to copy from scraps of paper, and on a couple of occasions had to type up recorded conversations.

Now and again he’d get flashes of knowledge from what he’d written, but not in the same way as that contract. He didn’t know why. But he wanted to know.

The end of Intermediate was similar to Basic. His typing speed was now up to 300, which was unreal, and he could follow multiple lines at once. Miss Eagle even expressed mild approval.

Once again Lucy presented him with a pile of documents, and a real smile this time.

“Dunstan, you are progressing well,” she said. He thought she looked very pretty when she smiled.

“Lucy…”

“You will need to pass Advanced,” was her curt reply, even before he let the question out, but he could see that she was just communicating the rules, and it was not a personal rejection.

He read the document, and before the third sentence the knowledge had refocussed sharply. He now understood the process, and he signed the contract.

#

“Today we start on dissonance,” said Miss Eagle.

For the very first time she was sitting down, at a terminal like his own.

“Let us begin.”

She started typing, and music flowed. He clicked on his typing source file, and voices started and he commenced typing.

At first their lines inter-weaved and the music was pretty, beautiful even, and then, it started to clash. Just a note here and there at first, and then worse and worse. He forced myself to keep going but after only a few minutes he stopped, panting with the effort.

“Good Mr Howard, but you must focus. Hold yourself above the music and you will be able to continue for longer, you have allowed yourself to fall into the lines themselves.”

She was right, and over the next few days he was able to build up his tolerance until he could play with, or perhaps against, her for an hour without needing to stop.

“Excellent. And now true harmony,” she announced one day.

This was different. He had thought it would be a relief, but if anything it was harder. Holding the harmony with hers for long minutes. While dissonance was easy to hold at bay it was tempting to fall into the harmony, and if he did then it collapsed and he would receive a sharp rebuke from Miss Eagle.

“Mr Howard, that instrument is one of pleasure. Do not abuse it.”

He concentrated and improved, and one day while in mid-harmony he came to understand what it was that they were writing, he could actually understand her part too. It was perfect communication, and he began to vary it, and she did too, responding to him. It was like magic.

“Why Mr Howard, it has been some years since I’ve enjoyed a practice that much. Excellent. I believe you will be ready to pass soon.”

Soon was still another three weeks, the harmonies became more complex, and more beguiling, and then he had mixed harmonies and dissonance, and dissonant harmonies. She called these ‘Synthesis’, but he often didn’t know which of them was leading the Thesis.

Then suddenly, “Mr Howard, congratulations, you have passed. You may take a week’s holiday, and then you will be starting work.”

She walked over and shook his hand. She was petite but very strong, and there was a twinkle in her eye.

He left, and once again Lucy was waiting for him.

“Here are your documents. You may take me for coffee.”

They went for a nice coffee. She refused to talk about work, but that wasn’t a problem.

#

He took the week off to relax, signed the contract and went back to work.

Lucy met him and for the first time in months they did not walk to Miss Eagle’s room, instead they went the other direction, to where he’d heard that music on the first day. As they walked she said nothing, and he listened. He could hear documents in the air, and could pick out bits of the words, of the meanings.

“It is probably best that you don’t listen like that too much, it can sometimes be painful,” said Lucy.

He shot her a guilty look and she smiled, “Don’t worry, we all do it sometimes, but it’s just… well, if you get caught by a bad dissonance, it can be jarring.”

They walked on a little further, “This is us.”

She was pointing at an office with two desks in it.

“Us?”

“Yes. We have been paired.”

“Ah, is that good?”

She gave him a withering look, and sat down at her desk, and started to play.

She was using music.

“What?”

He did, and she played.

There was a playful a note in her response.

She continued with a more serious note.

She smiled at him, and her music smiled too.

He smiled, as did the harmony he wove with her. He was way beyond words per minute, he was now able to communicate perfectly whenever he wished, and he would be able to help others do so too.

###

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November 19, 2020 · 17:55

Own the Octopus

By Jason Gibbs

“Basically we want to stop anyone from being able own the Octopus. We want to be free!”

The cry of revolutionaries everywhere I thought. Well, except perhaps for the bit about the Octopus.

“I agree the current system isn’t entirely fair, but…”

“Isn’t fair Brandon? Isn’t fair! We work for almost nothing, while the algae farmers live in luxury. Look at them, up there, on the top vent, wallowing in luxury, while the rest of us struggle just to eat.”

“Luke, they did save us, and I’m not so convinced about that luxury.”

“Propaganda. Lies. They stole from the real algae farmers. Before we had to retreat from the surface the algae farmers were considered peasants. They’d never have been able to build the mechanisms of control our rulers have in such a short time.”

“Look, brother, I understand your anger, but it’s only been a couple of centuries, we can’t go back to the surface.”

He looked at me steadily. Weighing me. Deciding if he could tell me something. When at last the decision was made, it was in my favour.

“I can’t tell you it all, but I will say, it doesn’t involve going to the Surface. Or attacking the Main Bag, if that’s what you think.”

My eyes had swung to the giant algae and oxygen balloon which floated high above the main vent. At this time of day it was quite visible as a glowing green bulb. All our oxygen came from that one frail bag.

Luke pointed at it and said, “The Council of Algae Farmers, our rulers, destroyed all other balloons in the last purge. They now own the only source of life. And with that, our city, the Octopus, is theirs.”

I’d heard it before, and there was no point arguing, but I was worried about him…

“OK brother, but you know what will happen if they even find out you’ve been speaking against them?”

“I’ll go for a naked swim over the lower tentacles. I know.”

We both looked out over the lower city. Each district following one of the ridge lines, particular encrustations near each main vent. I had no idea who had first described them as tentacles, but it had stuck.

It was rumoured that the execution points were at the tips of two of the lowest arms, far away from the main vent. This was in part aesthetic, as allegedly our rulers didn’t want to see dead people floating around their pleasure palaces, but it was also practical, there was the possibility a corpse might interfere with the Bag. There was little chance of that if they were released so far away, as the fish and other creatures who swum at the edges of our realm would consume them quickly once they were released.

I doubted it was true, but I didn’t want to argue with him again. Before I could say any more, he looked at his watch, and sighed.

“I have to go. Keep safe big brother.”

“Keep safe Luke.”

I was worried about him. He was likely to do something foolish.

#

When I was sure Luke had gone I made a call.

“Hi sir, it’s Brandon.”

“Brandon, I have told you before, call me Douglas,” the white-haired man on the screen smiled at me.

“Si… Douglas, thanks. I’ve just spoken to my brother, and I’m worried…”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure he’ll be OK?”

The old man sighed, and said, “Brandon, as long as he doesn’t do anything violent, he’ll be fine.”

“I hope he’ll understand.”

“He might struggle at first, he has been fed a lot of… well let’s call it misguided information.”

I nodded.

He went on, “So now Brandon, let us discuss the plan.”

#

Several hours later, I was staring at a work screen when I heard the front door slam open. I quickly shut down the app I was using, and brought up the news channel. Luke stormed in, and I muted the screen.

“They’ve announced a total shutdown. This is it Brandon, this is where they’re going to purge anyone who disagrees. They know there’s many of us…” he stopped and looked at me strangely. Actually, not at me, at my screen.

I looked at it, and saw a picture, mine next to Douglas. Chief Farmer Douglas to be exact.

“What is this… no… you’re with them… how could you…”

He stared at me, and then ran to the door. It slammed again.

I turned back to my screen, wishing I’d not picked the news channel. I’d lost track of time and hadn’t realised… still.

I turned the sound up.

“… and the farmers believe that this technology will allow us to operate more independently under the water. Several researchers, including…” she gave a list of my co-workers, and then, “… Brandon Bridges, have been working on this, and in some cases have undergone the procedure themselves.”

‘Undergone the procedure’ I thought. Hardly that. Just a few pills and then… symbiotic algae in the lungs. My contribution had been the salt exchange process. And to be a guinea-pig.

My comms chimed, and I clicked a button, Maria’s face appeared on screen.

“Hi Maria…”

“Sorry Brandon, we have no time, we’ve been following your brother, and others. We think they were planning something, and this announcement may have forced their hand. They’re heading towards the Bag.”

“He said that…”

She frowned, and said, “Look, just come to the west main shaft entrance, I’ll have a unit there waiting for you.”

She cut off before I could answer. I guess being head of Octo Security allowed her some measure of rudeness.

#

I arrived at the entrance twenty minutes later, panting. I needed to rest, and also pass on this information to my colleagues. We’d done some exercise tests, but not this high adrenaline combination, or not enough. I shouldn’t be short of breath after such a short run.

“Brandon… Bridges…” I panted to the armoured figure.

She flicked a switch and I could see her face, it was Maria wearing a wry smile. She knew who I was.

“Brandon, I’m sorry, but, they’re in the control area. All eight of the Gang of Four, and a couple of others, including your brother. If they blow the Bag…”

The Gang of Four had started with just four, but grown, and either been unable to agree a new name, or, more likely, thought it was clever to keep the original name. Confuse the authorities.

“Have they made any demands?”

“Yes, the usual. They want the algae farmers put into custody awaiting trial, and all the political prisoners freed.”

“That should be easy… freeing nobody!”

She looked at me witheringly, “This is not the time for joking Brandon. If the Bag goes, we’ll lose…”

“Three quarters of our citizens,” cut in another voice. We turned round to see Douglas standing there.

“Si… Douglas!”

He smiled, “I’m going in to see them. Maybe I can reason with them…”

I grabbed him, “No! You can’t…”

“Why not?”

“The Gang of Four includes Stephen Cran, he’ll kill you, any chance he gets. He’s sworn it.”

He looked quizzically at Maria, “Commander, were you aware of this?”

She looked uncomfortable and said, “There was rumour…”

“My brother saw it, Cran cut his palm as he swore. He blames you for the death of his brother.”

“I see,” said Douglas.

Jonathan Cran had been one of those who had tried to save the auxiliary bags when they had been attacked. The attack was by a school of large fish, attracted by the new lighting we’d put in, and not some form of government purge as had often been alleged on the conspiracy forums. Douglas had shown me the raw footage, and the studies they’d done afterwards. If the farmers hadn’t turned off the lighting in the main Bag… well we wouldn’t be alive. But several people had died in all the confusion. Stephen had never believed it was an accident, and Douglas had been in charge of the rescue effort.

“So what do we do then Commander?”

Maria said, “I think we need to get up there, work out what they’re doing and if necessary knock them out.”

She made it sound easy, but I was worried.

“Agreed, please proceed. Let’s hope they don’t do anything foolish…”

#

“What’s the status Commander?”

A crackle and then Maria’s voice, “We are at the hatches. We’ve connected listening equipment. It’s difficult to determine what is happening, but it seems like there’s an argument going on.”

“Might we be able to take advantage of it?”

“… hope so …”

I wondered why the signal was so bad, Douglas looked at me and shook his head.

“I think they’ve got jammers up. It will make it harder…”

Maria’s voice suddenly came through clearly, “I think they’re going to push Luke…”

More crackle.

“What?” I was shocked.

“Calm down Brandon, let’s just think. Where would they push your brother?”

I took a deep breath. The only way to help Luke was to use my brains. I thought about the control area. There were only three external points, one to come down the shaft, one up to get to the Bag’s maintenance crawl-ways and the emergency hatch.

“The emergency hatch.”

He smiled at me, “I agree. What can we do?”

He liked this Socratic method, and to be honest I usually enjoyed it, but it seemed a little inefficient given my brother’s life was in danger. I took a deep breath and thought.

“Well, I, I could go outside and catch him.”

“With two sets of oxygen, it seems unlikely you’d be able to get to him quickly enough?”

“I… I know. I’ll let him use the oxygen,” I looked him straight in the eyes as I said this. He nodded, gravely, but I could see he was pleased.

“Right, well go then, quickly, you have no time to lose.”

‘And now he wants to rush…’ I thought to myself, but I headed off to the next maintenance point.

As with most adult members of the Octopus I had training in how to use the suits and the emergency hatches, though as Luke often pointed out, there just weren’t enough suits for everyone. He claimed that the farmers had stacks of them in store rooms, but just wouldn’t release them in case the people rose up. I’d mentioned this to Maria once, and she had laughed.

“We barely keep the ones we have properly tested and with enough oxygen. If there was a store room full of them? Well we wouldn’t be able to keep them maintained anyway. It’s not equipment we lack, it’s people.”

“Well maybe we can do something about that?” had been my answer. I smiled at the memory.

I got to the maintenance point, got the suit on, and attached the oxygen. Making sure it was all ready, I hit the button and the airlock started to fill with water. Before I knew it I was swimming up towards the control point.

The water was a little murky, but as I approached I could see the metal clad bulge of the control point. It was on top of a long spine, sitting under the Bag, like an olive under a melon as someone had once described it. All on one giant toothpick.

Suddenly there was a big rush of bubbles coming from one side, and I could see the emergency hatch opening. A body fell out, arms waving. It was Luke. I pushed myself harder to get to him.

I grabbed him, and saw that he was holding his breath. I quickly took my oxygen breather out and pushed it into his mouth. He sucked a breath in. He offered it back to me, and I shook my head. I was looking towards the control area. I could see through the glass. Maria was in there, and someone was aiming something at her. There was a flash, she fell back.

Something took hold of me, a surge of adrenaline, and shrugging off the oxygen tank to leave it for Luke, I kicked towards the emergency hatch. I knew what I had to do. I kicked hard at the safety, and then turned the release and the inner door popped. Air bubbles started to boil out, and the water started to drag me, I tried to kick away, but the current, while temporary, was too strong. I hit my head on a metal plate, once, twice and darkness.

#

“Is he OK?” said Luke’s voice from far away.

“Yes, he needs rest, now please…”

#

“Is he OK?” said Maria’s voice, far away, but closer than Luke’s.

The nurse repeated her injunction, with perhaps a little weariness in her voice.

“Are you OK?”

“For the hundredth time Luke, I am fine. My head hurts, but the doctor said no permanent damage, though if I notice any spots in my vision I need to call him.”

“But your lungs…”

“Yes, are filled with mutant algae, so I can breathe under water for a period of time. Which is at least an hour… but we haven’t fully tested it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” it was almost a wail.

“I… I don’t know Luke. I didn’t want you to be angry with me, you know for working with the farmers.”

“But…”

He held his head in his hands. He still couldn’t quite get his head around what had happened. He’d believed the Gang of Four had a plan, and followed them into the control area. Once they’d arrived Cran had admitted to him they were just going to threaten the Bag. He’d challenged him, said he couldn’t mean it, and then Cran had hit him. Cran said that he’d rather everyone died then continue to live under the shadow of the Bag. That’s when, finally, Luke had seen the real madness in Cran’s eyes. He’d tried to fight back, but the others still supported Cran and they’d thrown him out of the lock.

They had all drowned when I opened the inner airlock.

“Oh my valiant knight is awake again,” said Maria, and she came and gave me a kiss. Luke’s eyes widened.

“Um… Commander, Brandon, um, what?”

She laughed and then winced. Her shoulder was bandaged from the shot she’d taken. Fortunately she had been wearing a protective vest, but apparently it still hurt. She hadn’t drowned as she was another of the guinea pigs with algae lungs, though she had complained, playfully I think, about being knocked about a bit by the water.

Maria turned to Luke and smiled, and said, “So this is my future brother-in-law?”

He spluttered.

#

Luke was sentenced to six months of additional maintenance work, with the judge taking into account his attempt to stop the Gang of Four from destroying the Bag.

When he’d finished his sentence he took the algae pills. He lives just along the tentacle from us.

We have two little ones now. They have algae lungs too. I look up at the Bag from time to time. We still need it, for the moment. But soon we won’t, and we’ll be able to expand across the sea floor as far as we like. We will no longer be tethered to the Octopus, like pets to an owner.

###

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May 31, 2020 · 12:29

Gods of War

By Jason Gibbs

Riel signalled right and two of his rangers peeled off.  They padded silently into the forest.  A signal left, and two more went, giving them the start of a skirmish line.  He looked at his Chief, standing silently in the centre of their line, right on the path.  He didn’t know why the Chief had ordered them to close together when they formed up after clearing away the tents, but it made him nervous.  He took it on his own initiative to spread the line more.  This would give them much greater flexibility.

Suddenly the Chief stirred.  He indicated forward, and called back the skirmishers.  They were to progress forward as a tight group.

“Oh no, another amateur.  No idea how to use us.”

“Shush Perel.  He might hear you.”

“He can’t hear me, and he’s not even real, you know that.”

Riel did have his concerns about the Chief, but he was clearly real.

Perel went on, “We’re skirmishing troops, I mean look at us.”

He pointed down to his green tunic and brown trews.  He was indicating the lack of armour.  This made them light, and fast.  But it also meant they’d be cut down if they were forced into a straight fight.

“I know, I know, but maybe this is just his way of travelling quickly, and when we get close to the danger area…”

“How will we know?  We have no scouts out!”

“He is guided by a higher power, I’m sure it will tell him what to do.”

“Right, like that time it told us to turn around just as those orcs were charging us?”

“Yeah, but we got out of that, didn’t we?”

“Did we?  I don’t actually remember.”

In truth Riel couldn’t remember much more than a tremendous pain in his side, and then waking up again, ready for war.  He just assumed the healers had got to him in time.

They walked on for a little while before the Chief indicated they should jog.

“Right, let’s tire ourselves out.”

“Perel, hold your tongue.”

“Bah.”

Riel was itching to get the company to spread out, and figuring that as the sub-Chief he had some control he signalled again to the left and right, and several of their troops peeled off.  They jogged like this for a while.  The bulk of the company was on a path, but the troops had such affinity with the woodlands that even those on either side who were dodging trees could easily keep up. 

Riel had assumed that his Chief’s failure to countermand his order meant he approved. 

“Bet he hasn’t noticed.”

“I’m sure he has.  I just wish we could prepare our bows.  Not having a decent weapon in my hands is making me nervous.”

While it would take moments to string and prepare them, those seconds might be critical, and they were now entering unknown territory.

The Chief waved, angrily it appeared to Riel, to the left and right, and the scouts reluctantly fell back in.  It was obvious from the way they dragged their feet that they were unhappy with the order, they’d relished the chance to dance among the trees.

“Told ya.  Bloody amateur.”

“Perhaps he has some intelligence of the way ahead?”

“He has no intelligence.”

Riel looked sharply at Perel, who was chuckling to himself.

He whispered harshly, “You may think that, but don’t say it so loudly, we don’t want the rest of the troop to notice.”

“They have no intelligence either Riel.  Just look at them.”

Riel inhaled sharply, he tolerated too much of Perel’s ways, and now he’d insulted their companions.  Yet there was nothing from them, no retort.  He looked around and realised he barely knew any of them.  They all had long handsome faces, pointy ears and almond shaped eyes.  He couldn’t actually think of their names.  They had received a lot of replacements after the last fight; perhaps that was why?

“Oh Riel, don’t worry, they don’t care that you don’t know their names.  They haven’t been around long enough to earn them.”

“That’s too much Perel.  You are cruel.”

“When will you realise…”

There was a roar ahead of them.  The Chief indicated they should stop, and the whole troop gracefully came to a halt.  Some seven hundred yards along the path, up a hill, they could see a band of orcs.

“Now let me see, notwithstanding that if we’d been running through the woods they wouldn’t have spotted us, what would be the correct thing to do here?”

“Fade into the woods and regroup.”

“Or try and get around them, then shoot them from behind and fade again.  Constant hit and run.  I’m prepared to guess that instead we’ll approach them slowly.  Set up with our bows and shoot at them while they charge us.  Then we’ll pull our hunting knives and fight bravely until we’re all dead.”

“That would be stupid, our Chief would never…”

The Chief signalled forward.  Riel tried to avoid Perel’s knowing eye, and jogged, hoping this was some kind of feint.  He couldn’t think of any way this was going to work out well for them.

The next signal was to charge.

“Dear gods, we’re six hundred yards away, lightly armoured and they are heavy shock troops.  What does he think is going to happen?”

“I don’t… understand how… you can still… speak… Perel.”

“Practice.”

They were now pelting towards their enemy.  Without armour, and with natural elvish athleticism they were fast, but it was still quite a distance for them to run at full pace, especially uphill.  The orcs seemed initially surprised by the move, but then prepared to receive the charge.  Riel thought that if the orcs were to charge down towards the elves at the last moment they’d scythe through them in seconds.

Suddenly the Chief signalled a stop.  They were perhaps a hundred yards from the orcs.  They stopped for a while, and the party started to shuffle a bit.  The orcs watched.  Their harsh shouts dwindled to confused mutterings.  Why was the troop just standing here?  Why weren’t they doing anything?  Riel thought that at least it gave them a chance to catch their breaths.

Finally the order to string bows came.

“Genius,” muttered Perel.

A ferocious roar came from the orcs, and they started down towards the troop.  The slope gave them added pace, and it was like facing a juggernaut.

“If we could just step out of their way, I suspect they’d run straight past and we could pepper their backs.”

“Now you’re thinking Riel, we’ll make a war captain of you yet.”

Instead they were ordered to fire.

“Hmm, three arrows maybe?”

All around Riel the company drew and fired, a smooth motion.  The arrows flew true, as only elvish arrows can, and embedded themselves in orcs.  Several fell, but their heavy armour, and stubborn constitutions allowed them to shrug off most of the attack.  Twice more the elves managed to fire, the last time at almost point blank range.  Perhaps some forty orcs had fallen, without the loss of a single elf.

Unfortunately there were still dozens of orcs left, and the fighting was now to their advantage.  A beast of an orc charged at Riel, his axe aimed for the elf’s head.  Riel managed to twist sideways and catch the orc across the head with his bow’s shaft.  It knocked him off balance and the elf behind Riel, another whose name he didn’t know, managed to cut the orc’s throat with a swipe of his hunting knife.  There was no time for thanks as Riel ducked the next attack, managing to draw his own knife out in time to deflect a saw tooth blade heading for his side.

They fought.  Many died on both sides, but more elves than orcs.  The elves could dance, and weave, but if a flailing orc weapon caught one of them, it would do serious damage.  The same could not be said for the elven knives.  Most of the time the knife attacks bounced off the orcs’ armour, or their thick hides.  Soon there were only a few elves left, gathered around the Chief.

He signalled they should run.

Perel nearly collapsed laughing.

“Run?  Now?  Where too!”

He was right, they were surrounded.  Yet the Chief and the others started to run back the way they’d come, and they were cut down quickly, leaving only Perel and Riel standing back to back.  The orcs just stared at them. 

“I see you’ve been careless and caught a wound in the side.”

“Perel, I don’t need the feedback.  Also, I recall your hair being long and blond, not matted and red.”

“New barber, not sure I’ll be going back.”

Riel staggered.  The blood loss would kill him if the damned orcs didn’t do so first.

His world went black.

#

“Aww, you cheated!  There’s no way your orcs should have won.”

“Little brother, I even gave you a points advantage, why would I cheat.”

“Then it wasn’t possible.”

“It was, look do you want to try again, and I’ll give you ten extra elves?”

“Twenty!”

“OK.  But you need to remember elves are better at skirmishing…”

“Don’t you try and confuse me; I know what I’m doing.”

#

Riel awoke.  The memory of the blood and pain was so fresh that he reached for his side, expecting his hand to come away slick.  Instead there was nothing.  The healers must have got to him, but he couldn’t imagine how.  Orcs never left anyone alive unless they were chased off.

He might be alive, but he was exhausted.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.  Maybe he could grab a little more rest.

“Morning Riel.  Ready for another pointless march, foolishly managed battle and near death?”

He looked up grumpily at Perel. 

“How come you’re so cheery?”

“In this hell is there any choice?  Oh, here comes our new Chief.”

They were ordered into close formation, and started marching along the path.  Then jogging.

Perel shook his head, “I just wish they’d learn.  It’d be nice to win this one.  At least it’s a larger troop.”

Looking around, Riel realised that their troop was all different from the last one.  Yet with the same variants.  There was one with an eye patch, one with an extra-large knife, and even one who was probably female.  He didn’t know their names, and he suspected Perel was right.  They wouldn’t survive long enough to earn ones.

“Maybe this is a feint.”

“Riel, why do you have to be so naive?  This is the same joker as last time.”

“Perel…”

Up ahead there was a roar and a formation of orcs straddled the path.  The elven troop was brought to a halt, then jogged forward.  As they were once more ordered into a charge, Riel was knocked to the side and hit a tree.  He slumped down.

“Sorry Riel, I had to do that.”

“What?  Wait… Perel, we need to get back to the troop.  They’ll be slaughtered without us.”

“They’ll be slaughtered anyway.  This way we have a chance.”

“For what?”

“For a life without continuous stupidity and death.  Over that ridge.  I get the feeling that once we’re out of the sight of the higher powers, we might have a chance.”

In the distance he could hear the sound of the orcs readying a charge, and he knew in his heart they’d make no difference.  Perel offered him a hand up, and he took it.  The two friends jogged towards the ridge, and the hope of a different life.  Behind them nameless troops hacked at each other, and died.  Before the battle had ended, Perel and Riel were over the ridge, and in a different world.

###

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