Selection

by J.R. Blackwell | Oct 21, 2005 | Story

“Sex complicates things.” Professor Dawkins looked at Joe, whose broad shoulders nearly touched the sides of his tiny book-lined office. Joe was from one of the Midwestern public schools that concentrated on test scores, leaving students with a broad range of knowledge, but little depth. “Sex adds an extra element to the process of reproduction, and although that allows for greater variance, simplistic asexual reproduction is still the most popular model.”

Joe squirmed in his seat. “So there aren’t any animals that take the best DNA from many individuals in the population to make the best offspring?”

Dawkins wondered what Joe had been reading. “Best DNA? “Best” really isn’t a concept that we use. Would adding more organisms, more genetic variety, increase fitness?” Joe scrunched his forehead and rubbed his brow, a motion which reminded Dawkins of his wife. “Nature favors incremental change. Any major mutations are likely to kill an individual.”

Joe pushed up his glasses. “What if there was a major mutation that was very favorable?”

Dawkins sat on his desk facing Joe and smiled. “I’m not saying that’s impossible Joe, just highly improbable. There are no examples of such an event. Animals are an interactive whole; any major change is likely to have a detrimental effect on that whole.”

“So humans just couldn’t learn to fly or anything.”

Dawkins loosened his collar; the office had become quite warm. “Well, if what you mean is that they couldn’t develop, say, functional wings for flight in a generation, then that is true. In the case of wings, humans might have to develop lighter bones for flight and every change towards lighter bones would have to increase reproductive viability. Each step is a final product in itself.”

Joe ran a hand though his short black hair and bit his lip.” What about on other planets?”

Dawkins blushed, feeling suddenly aroused. “Other planets? I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Would evolution work the same on other planets?” The office was very hot.

“Well, since we haven’t been to any other planets with life it’s hard to draw any conclusions. Personally, I would speculate that our model of natural selection, variability and heritability would likely be similar for other planets. We recognize evolution as a logical process which separates the chaotic forces of the universe and translates them into the obvious order of an organism. There are several examples of different organs evolving similar structures independently, for example, the eye has evolved independently several times. Light sensitive cells to a concave surface to a lens, each step helping to give an organism a reproductive advantage it’s a good logical design that follows basic rules. “

The book on Joes lap slid onto the floor, but neither of them noticed. “Professor Dawkins, I think you’re just about the smartest man I ever met.”

Dawkins laughed. “What about your friend Jerry. He’s a clever boy, don’t you think?”

Joe blushed. “Er, yes, clever, but that’s different than smart.”

Joe’s hair was soft and short, and it felt lovely between Dawkins fingers. Joe pulled Dawkins toward him, and Dawkins leaned into his touch.

“I think.” Joe said, his cool breath on Dawkins lips “That species on other planets might do things differently.” Joes tongue shot into Dawkins mouth, the buds on his tongue sharp, breaking the skin on the inside of Dawkin’s cheek. Dawkins moaned in a lustful stupor and put a hand on Joe’s broad chest, his ribs like segmented scales.

Mercy Mission

by Jared Axelrod | Oct 20, 2005 | Story | 0 comments

“They say there is no God in the outer planets! Those who say this clearly do not have any understanding of the Lord and his teachings! They clearly have not been here!”

From deep within in the control deck of “The Laz’rus,” high in standard orbit, Anastasia allowed herself a grin. Reverend Horseshoe was an old-fashioned man in most respects, and his preaching was no different. Whereas most men in his line of work liked to open their revivals with holographics and pyrotechnics, Horseshoe did it the old-fashioned way. That is to say, he yelled his ass off.

“Who among you could dare say where God is not, on this world or any other? I say his spirit is everywhere, and I have yet to see evidence that this is not the truth! I even carry the notion that His love and His grace is more here than anywhere else in the cosmos!”

Not that the Reverend didn’t make use of current theatrical technology to its utmost: the larger-than-life holographic crucified Jesus with the laser-beam eyes was a personal favorite of his. The laser-beams had been the brainchild of Rojhaz, the ground manager. But despite Rojhaz’s urgings, Horseshoe never started his show with such things. Even the robot gospel choir stayed silent while Horseshoe was opening.

“Now, I know some of my colleagues say I do not preach enough fire! That I do you poor folk a disservice by not bellowing about how you are damned souls who need to change your sinful ways! But I know better than that! I am here as a representative—no! Not a representative, but a servant! A servant of the Lord! And as a servant I come not as a judge! But as a beacon!”

Anastasia was proud of the robot choir. She had added a pre- and post-show dialogue loop, allowing the chubby androids to convincingly chew the fat as the audience filed in and out of the tent. It added a verisimilitude that she felt that were lacking in all the other garish ideas Rojhaz had cooked up. It was show business, she understood that. But Anastasia felt that they owed their audience a little more.

“A beacon of the Lord! Of His love! Of His grace! And, most importantly, of His hope! I am a beacon of hope!”

At that cue, Anastasia flipped the switch, and the electro-luminescent material of the Reverend Horseshoe’s containment suit glowed with a brilliance that rivaled the sun. Indeed, it even rivaled the laser beams that came from Jesus’s eyes.

“What’s the crowd look like, Rojhaz?” Anastaia said into her earpiece. The robot choir had just started; she didn’t have another cue for a few minutes. “How long have they got?”

“They seem pretty into it, I’ll bet they’ll stay in the tent the whole three hours,” came the slightly muffled response.

“No, I mean, how long do they have?”

There was a strange noise as Rohjaz suddenly became very aware of his own containment suit and adjusted it. “Weeks. If that. The plague’s hit this town pretty hard.” His voice lightened. “They’re engaged though, even the blind ones. We’ll get a powerful haul out of this one. Most of their livestock’s already succumbed, so we’re talking heirloom pieces, furniture. Definitely stuff we can get real dosh for.”

“You think it ever bothers Horseshoe, fleecing these people before they’re about to die?”

“Girl, do you even listen to what the Reverend says? He’s giving these people hope. They’ll get a fair more use out of that than great-grandma’s silver these next few weeks.” Behind his voice, Anastasia could hear the robot choir finishing out the opening number. “Besides, how much would you pay for hope?”

Anastasia couldn’t answer. She just sat there, high in orbit, as the robot choir reached their crescendo.

“Amazing grace,” they sang. “How sweet, the sound…”

Equinox

by J. Loseth | Oct 17, 2005 | Story | 0 comments

The snow falls on my smile like that old fairy tale—you know, the one about the dwarves and the cannibal queen, the one with the apple. The tableau would be better if it was sunset, because I always liked sunsets best, but you take what you can get.

I’m drinking in the buildings, the river, the empty streets where cabbies used to curse at pedestrians who never bothered to listen. I’m eating the silence that comes with snow. Everything is filling up white, though there’s a grey cast to the new blanket, not like the picture books I used to read about Christmas when I was a kid.

I know they will have missed me by now, but no one will come back. The overseers won’t let them. It’s too dangerous now. I can’t feel it, though—my body’s still strong, still perfectly capable of walking and talking and breathing in the last of my home. They’ll say I was crazy, I’m sure, but I love this city, this state. I’d go crazy for real if I had to leave it all behind. I never got how people could live underground. It’s the air, I think, that would get me. I can’t live without the wind on my face.

The snow is thick now, and I think I can feel a little of the numbness setting in. That’s the way they said it would be: slow but painless. I did the research. I knew what I was getting into. My body feels stiff and I can’t quite tell if the snow is cold when I pick it up with my bare hands. It’s so beautiful. I know what it means, but all I can think is that it’s beautiful.

I throw my handful in the air and let it fall down with the rest, laughing out loud as it brushes my fading skin. In all my life, it has never snowed like this in New York.