Prologue
“I’m a genius,” Dr. Dr. Shimon Kipha Angelo whispered to himself at the urinal. He stared at a fly he was giving an undignified drowning and he thought over every detail. Dr. Dr. Angelo was so used to constantly being wrong that he checked the math four times before he zipped up. Then he ran over the implications of his new formulation as he cleaned his hands in the sterilizer.
“I’m a genius,” Dr. Dr. Angelo repeated, more sure now than before. He made his way to his desk and mapped out which components he would need to replace. The good news was that the prototype was almost perfectly conceived the first time, the bad news was that it would need to be rebuilt from scratch using new, more expensive materials. This was a bad sign since the last prototype had been built using 24-karat gold, platinum and diamond-encrusted rubies along the side.
“I’m a genius.” Dr. Dr. Angelo said, more sure now than ever. This machine, if used and powered properly, would work. Finally.
He called out to an underling to get his funding sources online. He dreaded asking for more money, especially since they had thought the previous machine was far more expensive than it should have been. However, he was sure the committee would approve the request as he had finally figured out the reason the machine had never worked before. It wasn’t that it did not have enough power — okay, it was, but that wasn’t the main reason it failed. It wasn’t that it was not made of sufficiently strong materials — okay, that too, but that would be fixed shortly. No, it was because they had been using the machine incorrectly. No Machine could look into the past. Such an idea was B-rate, hack science fiction at best. No, the machine had to be aimed forward! The past had already occurred; the only thing one could see was the future.
This was the secret that had eluded him for the past ten years. It was this way that he could make his mark on the world and win a Nobel Prize in one blow.
“I bet that would get me a lot of tail,” Dr. Dr. Angelo muttered as the underling walked by.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, Martha Jule, I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Are you– are you making rude hand gestures at me??” Martha Jule stared, dumbfounded.
“I told you I was thinking out loud. That was sign language, my dear, sign language.”
“That wasn’t sign language, that was the shocker… Are you drawing a diagram of a vagina now??”
“No, it’s a Georgia O’Keeffe.”
“Ugh, your meeting is ready now,” and Martha Jule left, unsure of what to make of the situation.
Dr. Dr. Angelo walked into his meeting room and sat at the head of the table as the holograms of the various members of the committee appeared, one by one.
“Why am I only seeing the back of someone’s head? Dr. Angelo, are you sitting at the head of the table again??” said the loud, gruff voice of Dr. Linus Q. Ball, the head of the committee.
The committee members looked bored. All except for one particularly dignified looking man who was staring intently at another hologram’s breasts as if trying to find his magic eye.
There was a reason the committee looked bored. His contracts were already stretched to their peak as Dr. Dr. Angelo hadn’t had a breakthrough in years. His associates were growing restless and his underlings’ adulation was beginning to fade, yet everyone had held their tongue as they knew they could not rush genius.
“I’m a genius,” Dr. Dr. Angelo stated firmly.
“Well, rush on with it, we haven’t got all day,” Dr. Linus Q. Ball said.
“Single Dr. Ball,” Dr. Dr. Angelo began, “I have solved the logical problem that made the last attempt a failure. I am sure of it this time. I believe that as soon as a new machine is built, we will be able to use the chronoscope to view… the future.”
“The future? How can you be so sure?”
“I had another breakthrough while urinating.” The committee murmured sentiments of approval. “I am so sure, I’d be willing to bet the rest of the budget on the Google 49ers!” The committee murmured sentiments of being impressed.
“Dr. Angelo, you said you were sure last time. You said you were so sure, we could spend the rest of the money gold-plating the blasted machine and gambling it away!” Dr. Ball exclaimed.
“I didn’t expect you to actually do it! It was a metaphor!” Dr. Dr. Angelo responded, peeved.
“Actually sir, I was the one that gold plated the machine. But I thought it was a hyperbole, if I had known it was a metaphor, I never would have authorized such an expense,” said the dignified man, without looking away from his colleague’s breasts. His gaze seemed to make everyone uncomfortable but himself. He was well groomed and spoke in a distracted manner, as if he were doing something far more important and couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.
Dr. Dr. Angelo stared, dumbfounded. He was not alone, Dr. Ball nearly shrieked, turning to his colleague: “Anacletus, is this true? Did you really waste 9 billion dollars of the defense budget gold plating a chronoscope??”
“No sir, I believe the challenge was gold plating AND gambling,” the man replied.
Dr. Ball looked furious, Dr. Dr. Angelo stared, then took advantage of the tense moment: “So, can I get the funding, then?”
Briefly startled, Dr. Ball glanced at him and said, “Yes. Sure. We’ll check back in three months” and the connection terminated abruptly.
—————
Eight months later
The committee, various heads of government, and Dr. Dr. Angelo gathered around a giant monitor as the system slowly powered up. This platinum-turbonium chronoscope was laced with adamantium and was slowly gathering two Godzillas worth of power.
Suddenly the room dimmed and the monitor shimmered.
“Remember gentlemen,” Dr. Dr. Angelo stated in a plot-furthering sort of way, “this is a representation of the time that is being observed by the wormhole we have created. The actual portal is represented in the secure room of another facility. Obviously, since we do not know what effect this amount of energy might have on normal humans, all non-Mexicans have been evacuated from that facility.”
“Then it works?” asked one particularly jovial young man.
“Yes, Señor Adolfo de Jesus Constanzo, it works. I have checked my figures numerous times.”
“Well, then, what should we see first gentlemen?” asked Dr. Ball, as proud as he’d ever been. “This is going to be an historical event, we should choose to observe something we think is important or beautiful, yet predictable so that we can observe it fully and wholly.”
“We can look to the next inauguration of the republic of Mexico! That way, we can determine if democracy has thrived again and the PAN’s candidate has been elected for the 12th straight time!” Señor Constanzo said, eager.
“That is ridiculous, Guatemala has six times the economy Mexico has, we should observe that!” a man with a ridiculous moustache shouted out.
“How about the next World Series? The curse of the Yankees could finally end this season!”
“Or the Olympics?” shouted another.
“The last ice cap?” soon, the entire room was deep in dispute.
“What is that??” One man suddenly yelled. “Is that a man checking his own prostate?”
“Phew!” Dr. Dr. Angelo said. “I’ve been looking at the near future with this thing for twenty minutes. I ran out of things to see, so I fast-forwarded a month to my regular prostate exam, just to see if I have anything to worry about. Any of you would have done the same.”
The crowd murmured sentiments of approval.
Dr. Ball looked peeved. “Gentlemen, I gather our organization could have been improved. Dr. Angelo’s point is well taken. Very well, we have ten more minutes of power left to run machine and we have paid a hefty sum to even be here.” Dr. Ball chuckled to himself. “Señor Constanzo, I believe you stated your preference first. What scene would you like to witness? Remember, we only have enough power stored to work the machine for ten more minutes.”
“Yes, then. Thank you very much. I would like to see the Mexican presidential inauguration next year in Tijuana.”
Dr. Dr. Angelo looked up the coordinates and exact time in his device. Then he did some quick mental calculations and manipulated the controls. The monitor shimmered momentarily. Then, the image changed to a torch-lit scene of brutal riots. Tijuana residents were throwing Molotov cocktails through store windows. There was looting, severe language, beatings, a gang rape of a local TV anchor and— at the center of the scene — an old man kicking a puppy down the street.
“Ah, I take it we were reelected. And look: the crowd is excited! Good, good. Thank you. I take it the honorable chancellor will choose next?” Constanzo said.
“Yes, but this will have to be the final selection, this machine is as revolutionary as it is costly,” Dr. Ball said.
“Very well then,” the elderly Asian man said. “I confess, I am curious where civilization will go in the next 50 years. I will not live to see this; I would be satisfied to witness any part of the world.”
Again, Dr. Dr. Angelo consulted his device to pinpoint where the Earth and solar system would be in 50 years. Then he maneuvered the controls. The scene flickered for a moment before the whole monitor went white. Dr. Dr. Angelo paused, then consulted his device yet again.
“What happened?” The elderly man said.
“Is the machine out of energy?” said another.
Dr. Dr. Angelo moved the controls then calculated a point 25 years into the future and set the controls. The screen flickered back to a dark scene of a moonlit island in the ocean.
“In the machine working Dr. Angelo?” Dr. Ball rushed.
“Everything appears to be working…” Dr. Dr. Angelo bit his lip. “This next scene is exactly 37.5 years from now.” The screen shimmered again, but this time a man in his twenties appeared on the screen.
There was a murmur of confusion among the spectators.
For a while nobody said anything, then the man on the screen spoke: “This message is for Dr. Dr. Shimon Kipha Angelo.” He cleared his throat and spoke forcefully. “The universe is going to end exactly 38 years, six months and 12 days from your present time. You must act quickly if you’ll ever have a chance of saving all of existence, because — after the ending of slavery, the freeing of Tibet and the beginning of the Ice Cold War, the future is all but doomed. You can check how dire it is by realizing that the reason you cannot observe anything past next year… is because there is nothing left. Oh, and I should add that the cause of the end of the world is simple. I should say it before you run out of energy and can no longer hear me. That way, instead of the future that currently exists, perhaps we will be able to cut out much of the hardship we have had to endure because the future version of myself that you all saw didn’t get to the point soon enough so that the machine you’re using became overloaded and never worked again. Nevertheless, and without further adieu, this is the cause of the end of the world that I am now currently going to tell you. I emphasize how dire this is and how you and I are the only ones that can do anything to prevent this terrible catastrophe to come about. Very well. Let me get on with it and tell you what causes the end of the world… Existence ends in 38 years because——” and the transmission ended.
There was a murmur of general disarray among the spectators. Dr. Ball looked blanched, and Señor Constanzo looked like he smelled poo.
Dr. Dr. Angelo turned to his device and pressed a button to connect him with his underlings in the other building.
“Yes sir?” They answered.
“Tell me we just taped this.”
