What people are saying about (or to)
Ryan Forsythe (and/or) Dick Cheney Saves Paris
"There is no way in hell I'm gonna read this, much less blurb it." --Brian K. Vaughan, author of Y: The Last Man and Writer for TV's Lost
"I'm afraid I've stopped doing blurbs. I'm not blurbing anyone." --Stephen Elliott, author of The Adderall Diaries and Happy Baby
"Congratulations! You made honorable mention in the Creative BFF (Best Friends Forever) Contest. Thank you for participating. Please reply with your mailing address." --Paris Hilton Entertainment
" " (no response) --Dick Cheney, author of In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir
"You are better than google." --The Way We Sleep, an anthology of prose and comics
"I'm totally going to teach DCSP in some class some day in the future." --Chris Hall, adjunct professor of English
"You should write about vampires because those are big right now." --Peggy Forsythe, mother of the author
Dick Cheney Saves Paris
a personal and political madcap sci-fi meta- anti- novel
By Ryan Forsythe
Published by Love Earth Publications at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Ryan Forsythe
Reading group guide Copyright 2011 Ryan Forsythe and Love Earth Publications
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is purely coincidental. Okay, maybe not totally coincidental, given the subject. But the lawyers want us to say that anyway. Also, some of the parts about the author might not be used fictitiously, though that might depend on your definition of fictitiously.
Cover and book design by Paul Forristal
No Paris was harmed in the making of this book.
Table of Contents
Begin Reading Dick Cheney Saves Paris
This one's for you, Dick
consider it a small gift among half-ninth cousins, twice removed
And for Paris
thanks for the cologne, darling, but I already have a BFF (my wife)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Those items used fictitiously have been exaggerated, re-imagined, and/or placed in an entirely fictional context. Lest there be any doubt, both publisher and author assure you: Dick Cheney Saves Paris is not authorized by former U.S. Vice President Cheney and none of it is true. We are certain that in no way would the real Dick Cheney behave as portrayed herein,* including traveling from the distant future, ordering two Filet-o-Fish sandwiches (and a small fry), and working closely with Ralph Nader. And we most definitely believe he wouldn't act as the character "Dick Cheney" and release a memoir on August 30, 2011, populated with made-up facts. It's not real, folks. No need to sue.
* Exceptions may include (among other things): voting against the safe water drinking act and the release of Nelson Mandela; encouraging Republican senators to not sign off on the Iran-Contra findings; participating in the neo-conservative Project for the New American Century; and disappearing to a secret location with Donald Rumsfeld to plot altering the traditional line of succession for the presidency—all of which Dick Cheney has done, though presumably not for the reasons listed in this book.
Believing as I do that man in the distant future will be a far more perfect creature than he now is, it is an intolerable thought that he and all other sentient beings are doomed to complete annihilation after such long-continued slow progress.
—Charles Robert Darwin, Life and Letters
If reality becomes surrealistic, what must fiction do to be realistic?
—Joe David Bellamy, Superfiction, or The American Story Transformed: An Anthology
DICK CHENEY SAVES PARIS
A man sits reading in a chair. Nearby stands a younger man—no, he is a boy. A young teenager, though he is confident, carries himself like a man. Really just a big kid, perhaps a football player or a wrestler. The boy listens as the man rages at his newspaper.
"I tell you, this all started with that god-damn, no-good, good-for-nothin'..."
The boy shrugs his shoulders and tunes out, tries to spin a basketball on his finger. Or rather, the boy will shrug his shoulders, will tune out, will try to spin the basketball. For none of this has happened yet. Not unless you are reading this sometime after the year 2791—has some rebel engineer hacked your digital book to outlive its planned obsolescence? If so, maybe past tense is more appropriate: the boy has shrugged his shoulders, has tuned out, has spun a basketball on his finger.
Or: The boy did shrug, was shrugging, had been shrugging—heck, he will have been shrugging. I could go on, depending on when you're reading this: does shrug, will shrug, is shrugging, etc. Let's just say the boy is always already shrugging his shoulders, always already tuning out, always already spinning that damn ball.
This is awkward. Maybe we can do without tenses, without verbs altogether. Let's try...
A man. A younger man, no a boy. Confident. Maybe a football player. Wrestler? Older man with his newspaper. Rage. Words.
"I tell you, son, it all started with that god-damn, no-good, good-for-nothin'..."
A shoulder shrug. A basketball. Still more words. "Son, promise me this. If you ever get the chance to save the world from that godforsaken Gore presidency, that you'll do it." Silence. "Promise me!" A pause. A promise made. A laugh. And then: "You're a good kid, Dick. You're a good kid."
A smile.
Okay, maybe we've moved a little farther into the story. But this is even worse, if that's possible.
You know what? You're a bright reader, you figure it out. Let's go back and begin again, but this time, choose your own tense. If you must, alter the sense as you read, depending on whether you're reading this before 2791 or after 2791, or at the same time the action is happening. Whatever.
So, yeah. I call "do-over."
. . .
A man sits in a chair, a half-empty beer to his side. Nearby stands a younger man—no, he is a boy. Obviously a teenager though he appears more confident. Perhaps a football player or a wrestler, he carries himself like a man. The boy looks at his ball but is clearly listening as the man rages at the newspaper.
"I tell you, son. This all started well before your time. Centuries ago, with that god-damn-forsaken, no-good, good-for-nothin' Gore. That's when the party went to shit. I'm almost ashamed to call myself a lifelong Democrat. 'Party of Zee-brox-K04,' my ass."
The man drains the bottle before tossing it at the wall a few feet from the boy's head. The boy is not startled by the pop against the wall or the falling rain of glass. He turns away, but the man stops him. "Promise me, son. If you ever get the chance to save the world from that Gore presidency, that you'll do it."
The boy is unsure if the lecture is over.
"Promise me!"
The boy pauses. "I promise." The first words we hear from him, they somehow defy his stature. A body that exudes strength, confidence; a voice of reserve. Withholding something?
"What's that? Speak up, goddammit."
"I promise!" Almost shouting, before teeth clench tight.
The man laughs. "You're a good kid, Dickie. Yeah. You're a good kid alright."
The boy attempts a smile back, tries to leave before any more promises must be made, before any more questions must be answered.
"Ah, enough of this," says the man. Tossing aside the newspaper, he calls out to the departing boy. "Hey Dick, slow down. Come tell me how school was today. Hey—get back here!"
. . .
The teacher stands in the classroom, talking to himself. "Who can help me with this one? How about you, Richard Bruce 'Ricky'? No answer? Okay, well then how about you, Richard Bruce 'R.B.'?"
Richard Bruce "R.B." mumbles something unintelligible.
"What was that, Richard Bruce 'R.B.'?"
"Oh, that wasn't me. Richard Bruce 'Dick' was saying he had something to add."
"Oh, great. Go ahead, Richard Bruce 'Dick.'"
But Richard Bruce 'Dick' is not paying attention. He is thinking of Katie Driscoll, the most popular girl in his small town school of 912,897,300,982. Not that he ever gets to see her, given all the class time she spends at her friend Lynne's house.
"Richard Bruce 'Dick'? Are you there?"
. . .
In the future, state budgets will continue to spiral out of control.
The bulk of budget cuts will fall on the education system. With forecasts of record population growth in the coming decades, politicians will worry. One plan, hatched in early 2019, will peg class size to the rate of population growth. Sure, class sizes will only get larger, but at least there will be a plan in place to handle it. Teacher unions will agree, mostly out of fear that if they disagree they will be disbanded by government fiat, as will have occurred in many states earlier in the decade. Plus, they will know what to expect. A few more students each year—at least they have time to prepare.
At the time, the average class size will be 36.9 students. But with an average annual increase to the population of around 3.0% (though it will vary between .14% and 8.6% over the next few hundred years), class sizes will soon grow out of control.
The formula for classroom growth is this:
Cx = Co (1 + y)x
where:
Co = Initial classroom population,
Cx = Classroom size after x years,
x = Years passed, and
y = Average growth rate of population
Hence, by the year 2791 we have the following:
Cx = 36.9 (1 + .03)(2791 – 2019)
= 36.9 (1.03)772
= 300,167,617,784
Yes, average class size will top just over 300 billion. Those reading this in the present may find it hard to believe they will be able to fit so many students in one class. But with technology being what it will be, students can attend classes while eating, exercising, or even shopping on their mallpods.
Sorry, reader? Say again? Oh—you thought when I said the teacher was calling on the students, that he was actually in the classroom? Oh, ha! That's rich. So pre-22nd century. But no. I thought I made it clear when I wrote, "The teacher stands in the classroom, talking to himself." Oh, you thought I meant... Anyway, compulsory classroom attendance ends in 2107 with 512 students per class, when it is determined that five-year-olds can't concentrate on the lecture. Too much squirming in their seats. Sure, by second grade, kids are broken down enough, er—let's just say "socialized"—are socialized enough to zombie their way through a full day in the big classes. But no, the kindergarteners won't be able to hack it, thus ruining for everyone our once proud tradition of compulsory classroom attendance.
The politicians will revisit The 2019 Plan. Rather than reconsider the population growth equation, they will notice other budget areas they can further slash. One administrator will realize that if they transmit the lecture via students' videophones, they can drop the cafeteria, janitorial, and administration budgets. And by outsourcing the actual teaching, they will further cut costs.
So yes, one teacher lectures streaming live to a class of 300 billion, give or take 167,617,784. This naturally makes it difficult to differentiate among students, especially when schools find it most cost-effective to organize the students alphabetically—the first 300 billion on the list to teacher #1, the next 300 billion to teacher #2, etc. One class could have several million students with the same first, middle, and last names.
Hence, nicknames will be an absolute necessity.
. . .
"Are you there, Richard Bruce 'Dick'? We're still waiting to hear from you? Richard Bruce 'R.B.' says you had something useful to add."
Dick suddenly realizes the teacher is calling on him. "Shit."
"What? Who said that? Speak up."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hillyer. This is Richard Bruce 'Dick.' It's just that I'm, uh, feeling sick. I need to unlink for a moment."
"Fine, fine. But hurry back. We're eager to hear what you have to say."
. . .
As I sit revising this, a story on NPR says a biography of Gandhi may be banned in India because of suggestions he might have been bisexual. The book mentions that he lived with Hermann Kallenbach in South Africa for a while and wrote letters telling Hermann how much he loved him. The book hasn't been released yet, but already it's getting four minutes from Corey Flintoff, NPR News, New Delhi.
It's amazing what hints about someone's sexuality can do for a book's publicity.
. . .
Did you hear this? There's this book about Richard Bruce "Dick" Cheney that suggests he may have been bi-. Or was it sex with horses in Wyoming? I'll have to check my notes.
Oh, and I do of course mean this book when I say "there's this book." Don't want you to get confused and go trying to ban some other book.
. . .
Eleven years pass in the blink of a sentence. Richard Bruce "Dick" Cheney stops by to visit his best friend and the only high school chum he still talks to, Richard Bruce "Kimo" Levernson.
"Say—you wanna head over to Nebogipfel for the long weekend?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. My bro is out of town, so he said I could borrow his Filby. I was actually thinking of checking out Firenze 1481 or maybe Nantes 1847. Wanna come with? We could always hit Nebogipfel next month."
Dick smiled. "Dude, you've been wanting to go to Nantes for years, but something always comes up. What makes you think you'll actually make it this time? Let's just hit Natrona 2780."
"Hell, no. High school is a thing of the past. You need to move on, dude."
"Well, Nantes 1847 is even more past."
"You're stupid."
"No, you're stupid."
"I'm not the 28-year-old with the hots for a 17-year-old."
"Hey—Katie Driscoll is not 17. She's the same age we are."
"True," says Kimo, smiling. "But then you don't want to go to Natrona 2791, now do you?"
Dick had been to Natrona 2780 a few weeks earlier, but wasn't sure he wanted Kimo to know just yet. Even though Katie Driscoll totally hated his guts back in high school, 2780 Katie was developing a crush on 2791 Dick. But that's not the type of thing Kimo could ever let him live it down. So he let it drop. "How about Rosebery the middle of next week?"
"Dude, the middle of next week hasn't happened yet. How the hell are we going to know if it's worth our time? Besides, I heard there were some super fine ladies in Nantes 1847."
"Whatever, Kimo. Count me in."
More than spending time with Kimo, Dick looks forward to another weekend away from his old man and his eternal "If you ever get a chance to save the world" lectures. If his dad had so much as one ounce of booze or was anywhere near a newspaper, he was off and running on his favorite topic.
They make plans to meet the next day at the D & P.
. . .
Fortunately, Gandhi's great-grandson Tushar opposes all efforts to ban the book. And I agree. Just because someone questions another's sexuality, doesn't mean you should repress their freedom to publish.
But you should definitely give them four minutes on All Things Considered.
. . .
If it's true what I say about Cheney's sexuality, he would not be the first once and/or future V.P. with such rumors.
William Rufus de Vane King, U.S. Vice President under Franklin Pierce, was widely rumored to be gay. He and James Buchanan lived together for fifteen years before Buchanan became president. The wigs and scarves Pierce wore prompted Andrew Jackson to call him "Miss Nancy." Aaron Brown called him "Aunt Fancy."
. . .
While on the subject of Cheney sexuality, I should note that I'm absolutely not going to mention Lynne Cheney's romance novel Sisters or Dick and Lynne's lesbian daughter Mary.
It may work for John Kerry, but let the record show that such cheap jokes and references have been done to death. Besides, in our tale, Mary hasn't been born yet. So why would I mention her?
Nope, nothing to see here, move along, please.
. . .
United States Senate Committee on Foreign Relations
One Hundred Eighth Congress, First Session
November 23, 2003
Subcommittee investigation into the vaporization of Paris Hilton
The committee met at 9:23 a.m. in room SH-216, Hart Senate Office Building, Hon. Joseph R. Biden, Jr. (chairman of the committee), presiding.
Committee Members Present: Senators Biden, Lugar, Hagel, Chafee, Brownback, Boxer, Alexander, Coleman, Nelson, and Rockefeller.
[Partial Transcript]
Senator Lincoln Chafee (R-Rhode Island): Mr. President, I'm trying to understand something. Can you tell us again what day it was that you discovered that the General Electric Epoch Phase Transmitter 5400 DL 1.0 was not actually transmitting individuals to different time periods, but was, in fact, vaporizing these individuals in our own time period?
Senator Joseph Biden (D-Delaware): (Sighs.) Can we please move on. Now, I don't know how many times President Gore is going to have to answer this same question. I mean, have each of us asked him this?
Chafee: If you'll let me pursue this line of questioning, I think you'll appreciate where I'm going. May I proceed or do you need to interrupt some more?
Biden: Alright, go ahead. Ask him what day he found out, so he can tell us again it was June 16.
Chafee: President Gore?
President Al Gore: It was June 16.
Chafee: Mr. President, you say that you were first informed on June 16 regarding Ms. Hilton. As we've discussed, according to the timeline of events, the incident occurred late in the evening on June 14. Now, I don't mean to be presumptuous here. But it seems to me there was a breakdown in communication somewhere. Paris is vaporized and the President of the United States does not learn of it for forty-eight hours. Is that correct?
Gore: It was thirty-eight, senator.
Chafee: Excuse me?
Gore: I learned about it thirty-eight hours after the incident. The incident occurred at 8:47pm on the 14th. I was briefed at approximately 10:45am on the 16th. That's just less than thirty-eight hours.
Chafee: Fine, thirty-eight hours. Even so. Would you like to explain for my colleagues here what exactly was happening on June the 15th? And why it took so long?
Gore: As I've detailed at length, our intelligence officials were examining the recording of the Iranian scientist. The translator was relatively new at the department. Naturally, they wanted to confirm his version. Unfortunately, the agency has few members with advanced knowledge of contemporary Persian.
Senator Richard G. Lugar (R-Indiana): Excuse me, but wasn't it one line of dialogue that needed to be translated? How much knowledge do you need to translate one line?
(Gore consults lawyer.)
Lugar: Well?
Gore: I refuse to answer that based on my fifth amendment rights.
Lugar: Can you at least tell us what he said?
(Gore consults lawyer.)
Lugar: What was it that the good scientist said?
Gore: I believe his exact words would translate as "Oh, my god. They are being vaporized."
Lugar: Oh, my god. They are being vaporized. Huh. Celebrities are being vaporized and the analysts decided right there to slow down, call for a second opinion. Maybe brew up some tea. I'm guessing stop and check their email, too. Mr. President, these are difficult times and as Commander-in-Chief, I hope you are not saying that we as a nation are not prepared for the response that may be needed when an enemy nation vaporizes our cultural landmarks such as Paris Hilton.
Gore: You don't need to lecture me, Senator. You'll recall I saw this coming—I tried repeatedly to shut down the time travel program.
Chafee: You tried to shut down the program? Perhaps you should have worked just a little harder, Mr. President. Perhaps we as a nation would not be mourning the loss of Paris Hilton. Or Rob Schneider, for that matter.
Gore: Yes, I should have tried harder. But perhaps if a majority of the Senate had not overridden my veto, including you, as I recall, Senator Chafee, perhaps I would have—
Senator Sam Brownback (R-Minnesota): If I may, Mr. Chairman?
Biden: Please.
Brownback: Thank you. Mr. President, we've been hearing that there may have been conversation between some of the Iranians and the U.S. scientists who built the machine that, uh, vaporized Ms. Hilton. Is it true that a second cousin of Dr. Ferdinand of Lawrence Livermore Lab had a brother who married an Iranian?
Gore: Senators, there is no proven link between the Iranian scientists who developed the faulty time machine, and our scientific community who copied their work piece by piece.
Brownback: What about the letter our CIA intercepted indicating that the Iranians were trying to buy faulty time machine parts from Nigeria?
Gore: Our intelligence community found no basis for that letter. They were deemed forgeries, and poor ones at that.
Brownback: Still, it sounds like our intelligence community was a little unprepared for this time travel debacle.
Biden: Moving on, gentlemen. Mr. President, would you care to comment on why it took so long to notify the national media? It occurred on the 14th, you learned about it on the 16th. The White House press conference wasn't until the 3rd of July.
Gore: When a popular celebrity is vaporized, there is a fine line between the public's right to know and the overriding concern for public safety. You're on the Senate Armed Services Committee, Senator, so I'm certain that you're aware of such considerations, through discussions we've had there. I met with the joint chiefs, I consulted the members of my cabinet. We all agreed informing the public would create a panic. We anticipated heavy rioting in most major urban centers, a run on banks and most financial institutions, dangerous upheaval in the markets, and a resultant increase in unemployment, inflation, and the value of the yen against the dollar. We took steps to shore up these and other important institutions before the announcement.
Brownback: And yet, you still found time to sell your shares of Hilton Worldwide before the press conference?
Gore: As I noted earlier, my Hilton shares are in a blind trust while I serve as President. At no point do I have access to them, nor do I have the ability to buy or sell. It is administered by Grants Global.
Brownback: I guess I find it a little convenient that you would seem to have profited off the loss of Ms. Hilton. Hilton shares were at an all-time high when you sold on July 1st. On July 3rd, after your announcement, the stock plummets. You sold high, and got out just in time.
Gore: Again, I did not consult or share any privileged information with Grants Global, nor did I even speak with them anytime prior to notifying the public on July 3rd. My last contact with them was in February.
Senator Charles T. Hagel (R-Nebraska): I feel this is not getting us anywhere at the moment. If I may, I'd like to return to an earlier topic, that of your attempt to delay the formation of this commission until December. Now I understand your desire to delay this proceeding until after the election. It will play better for your potential re-election if you're not under indictment for murder, Mr. President.
Gore: I did not vaporize that woman—Miss Hilton. The American people should know the pain in my heart for the loss. And I resent the implication that I would delay anything for political reasons. You may find it hard to believe, but as President of the United States, I am an extremely busy man, and the more I have to come here to answer the same questions from each of you—
Biden: Gentlemen, gentlemen. Can we please—
Senator Barbara Boxer (D-California): Ahem.
Biden: And gentle-lady. Sorry. Can we all please try to calm down. No one is trying to insult anyone here. We are just trying to get to the bottom of things here. Mr. President, I hope you can appreciate that we as a committee have been served with a task, that of uncovering any relevant information. And that means asking questions, lots of them. I do appreciate that some of them may be asking you for personal information, ome may be asking questions regarding classified information—
Gore: If you will allow me a moment to respond.
Biden: By all means.
Gore: What amazes me here is that we are focusing so much on what happened to one celebrity, ignoring the larger questions of humanity. What does it say about us as a people that we care so much about one vaporized hotel conglomerate heir, and yet we neglect larger issues that affect all Americans.
Chafee: Mr. President, I'm not sure what you're getting at. But perhaps if you could enlighten us with an example of one thing that would affect us more than this incident. I think we'd be happy to hear it.
Gore: Alright. One example. We have recently uncovered information that Saddam Hussein has been meeting secretly with Kim Jong-Il and Rupert Murdoch to develop a terrorism shopping network. Terrorists will be able to buy tanks, sorties, even nuclear warheads, from the privacy of their own underground bunkers. And if they can manage to steal credit card information, who knows what damage could—
Lugar: Now call me a dumb hick from Indiana. (Laughter.) But as best as I can tell, vaporizing Paris Hilton does most certainly affect all people, moreso than some voodoo home shopping network.
Boxer: Plus, Mr. President, if this was something we should be dealing with, shouldn't it have been brought to our attention earlier?
Biden: Uh, if I may interject. I think we're approaching some sensitive areas of discussion. I'd like to move that we discuss this in closed session. No media. A second?
Chafee: Second.
Biden: Any opposed? Seeing none opposed, I now must ask the media to evacuate the room. In order that this be accomplished in a timely fashion without disruption to the proceedings, I move that we adjourn for thirty minutes.
Chafee: Second.
Biden: Alright. We'll reconvene here in closed session at…10:50am. Thank you, all.
. . .
When I was thirteen or so, I wrote my first political parody type thing: "Muammar Quadafi Wants to Rule The World" sung to the tune of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears.
I think other seventh graders had different concerns. And perhaps I too should have been memorizing all the words to the Beastie Boys' License to Ill.
The next summer, I spent a fair amount of my days watching the Iran-Contra hearings. Why wasn't I off playing M.A.S.K. toys (Mobile Armored Strike Kommand) or quoting Crocodile Dundee while sucking on Jolly Ranchers and lounging in my Jams?
Previous summers found me biking the nearby trails or hanging around the pool. And I'm sure I did the same those summers.
Just not until I got my daily fill of the hearings.
. . .
I have the report for you, sir, said Lackey #1. He handed it over.
The man quickly glanced over the document. Good god, said the man. This says that it happened sometime between 2001 and 2008.
Yes, sir.
When exactly was it—I need to know.
It's not entirely clear, said Lackey #1. But we've definitively pinpointed it to those coordinates.
Just the time, not even a location?
No, sir.
The man sat back and sighed. Well, then. I hate to do this. But we have no choice. Alright. His entire presidency has to go.
But, sir—that means no Declaration of Universal Peace with North Korea! That means no 'Axis of Hope' with Syria and Burma! Why, this would mean—(gulp)—no mandatory free internet access at all filling stations.
If that's what it means, that's what it means. We have no choice, Lackey #1. It's our last best hope for survival. And if it began with him, then it must end with him.
Yes, sir.
Al Gore must go.
. . .
In the past, the record for distance traveled into the future was 20 milliseconds (or 1/50 of a second).
This method of travel was only used by astronauts, as it involves orbiting the earth. The longer a person is in orbit around the earth, the younger he or she will appear relative to a person observing from Earth. Some believe the Apollo astronauts hold the record for longest distance traveled into the future. However, they were only in orbit a few days, which kept them from getting more than a millisecond or two into the future.
The 20 millisecond record was accomplished by astronaut Sergei Avdeyey. He traveled in orbit around the earth for 748 days, at a speed of approximately 17,000 miles per hour. At that rate, Mr. Avdeyey could have eventually zoomed twenty-four hours into the future had he continued orbiting for approximately 8.85 million years.
As can be seen, a process that takes 9 million years to move a person 9 million years and 1 day into the future is not a highly efficient method of time travel. To get one year into the future would take over three billion years.
So the scientists kept looking.
A second method is simply traveling faster than the speed of light. However, it would theoretically take an infinite amount of energy for an object to be accelerated to a speed faster than the speed of light. And that's a lot of energy—perhaps too much to make the trip reasonable for time travel. Heck, even with traveling at almost the speed of light to a distant star, then turning around and traveling the same speed back, the amount of energy needed would make the whole thing cost-prohibitive.
A third means is the use of wormholes and what is known as Alcubierre 'warp' drive. A wormhole is a type of warped space-time, permitted by Einstein's general relativity. But let's just say travel through a wormhole is complicated, and leave it at that.
A fourth means is the use of cosmic strings and black holes. But even the scientists don't really want to test them. Because if their theory is wrong, well—you know what they say about black holes.
Other possibilities include time dilation or suspended animation, which, while prohibiting travel to the past, could potentially allow travel to the future. This is the time travel that Walt Disney is hoping to make—should technology be able to revive his frozen self. But this is technically not time travel, as the individual wouldn't be able to make the return trip. It's one thing to be dormant for thousands of years and wake up to a new universe; it's quite another to be able to benefit practically from such an adventure.
For the present, the scientists continue thinking, theorizing, positing, postulating, discussing, debating, examining, analyzing, and attending Star Trek conventions.
But there is another way. Or rather, there will be.
Soon.
. . .
Actually, my first attempt at political humor may have been the year before that Tears for Fears rewrite.
Sixth grade, 1984-85. Ms. Stefancin had us write a report on any country in the world. I don't remember why, but I chose Syria. Perhaps it was assigned to me.
My report took the form of a faux travel brochure. As best as I recall, the cover was something like this:
Visit sunny Damascus!
—just be sure to leave your binoculars at home
(or they might think you're a spy and arrest you)
. . .
Dick and Kimo stop off in Natrona 2780 anyway, to pick up Mr. Hillyer, their history teacher. Sure he was like thirty-five when they were in high school. But now that they are almost thirty themselves, they find he's a pretty fun guy to hang with. Plus, every year they look back it seems their history grades get better and better. It won't be long before they can expect straight A's in history.
"You know, Hillyer. If I hadn't had you for sophomore history, I probably would have liked you a lot more. It's too bad I got stuck with you, huh? Instead of Mrs. Watchett. Or maybe we'd have been friends a lot sooner."
"No—I'm sure I still wouldn't have hung out with you guys back then. I saw firsthand what happened to Mr. G. Ever since I've made it a point to never chill with my students, or their classmates, until at least five years after graduation. That's my self-imposed statute of limitations."
"Whatever you say, Hill."
"I've told you guys before. Please. Call me Larry."
"But, dude. You were always Mr. Hillyer to your face. Or I guess I mean to your voice. We never really saw you. And just Hillyer behind your back. I just don't know if I can get comfortable with 'Larry.' Sorry, but anyhow—how's it been hanging?"
"Oh, you wouldn't believe the week I've had. In fact, it seems that since we started hanging out, your high school selves have been giving me a bit of a hard time."
"Ha ha!" says Kimo. "Maybe we're just jealous of all the time you're spending with us."
Dick knew that in high school he had no idea that they were hanging out with Hillyer after school, but Kimo's joke makes him wonder. Is it possible that he somehow could have known? Perhaps it really wasn't Hillyer giving them a hard time back then, but Kimo riding Hillyer's ass for fun or something. Hmmm. What would Katie Driscoll say about him hanging out with Hillyer after school?
"Hi, Dick."
There she is! Katie Driscoll.
"Hey, you! I had such a great time the other week—how come you haven't called?"
Kimo's ears perk up. "What's this now?"
"Yes, well, no. I mean. I'm sorry, Katie—I don't know what he's talking about. Kimo, can I talk to you a second. In private."
"Sure thing, bro."
"Um, I'll catch you later, Katie. I'll call you next week."
Around the corner, Kimo confronts Dick. "You've been holding out on me, Dick."
"I know. I should have told you."
"Dude, she's seventeen. You're almost thirty."
"I know, but please do not, I repeat, do not ruin this."
"Let me say it again. She's seventeen. Gimme five!"
"What?"
"High five, Bro."
"Wow. I definitely should have told you sooner."
"Dang skippy you should have. Bitch."
"Sorry. I guess I didn't think you'd understand."
"Well, now you know how understanding I can be. But now you've totally got to forget about her. At least for the weekend. Fine-ass Nantes bitches, here we come! Let's fill up the yogurtank and get on our way."
. . .
Up next: another book scandal.
This time it's Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea, joining the ranks of James Frey, Jayson Blair, Stephen Glass, and others who have taken liberties with the facts in their stories or books. A segment on 60 Minutes questioned the truthiness of Mortenson's best-seller about building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Author John Krakauer wrote a 75-page article on it.
But we all know that when it comes to fabricating the truth, politicians put journalists to shame. So how come these stories never mention political memoirs?
Or should we just assume that when a memoir comes out, like, oh, I don't know, what's an example? Hmmm. Oh! I got one. Let's say Dick Cheney's In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir (available August 30, 2011, where fine books are sold). When such a book comes out, should we just assume it will be free of muddled facts and half-truths?
I'll be looking forward to how detailed John Krakauer gets on that one.
. . .
In the present, time travel is no longer a thing of the future. It is upon us.
In early 2003, the United States was convinced that Iran had a secret plan to develop nuclear bombs. President Al Gore worked closely with the United Nations to draft a resolution calling on the Iranians to give up their plans. The resolution was passed unanimously by all member nations of the Security Council. The Iranians naturally complied, voluntarily giving up all their uranium. There was nothing else they could do, with the power and strength of several hundred words against them.
Or so the U.S. government thought at the time.
In reality, the words meant nothing. The Iranians were not interested in having a nuclear threat, a nuclear deterrent, or a nuclear arsenal. Nor were they concerned with the nuclear family. For them, the extended family network was vital. For in Iran at the time, as in the rest of the world, it took a village to raise a child.
No, they were developing something even more powerful. And once they realized that enriched uranium had nothing to do with it, they were more than willing to comply with U.N. demands to part with uranium. Of course, we'll comply with your resolution—especially if it means those pesky weapons inspectors will lower their guard, skip town, and let us continue business as usual.
It's quite amazing how long they managed to keep it secret. Americans in those days liked to have their eyes and ears everywhere. With their massive network of informants, spies and double-agents, wiretaps, satellites, secret prisons and torture tactics, and—most notably—their dexterity with search engine Google, the government was able to know most everything about most everyone.
Again: or so they thought at the time.
Perhaps the U.S. should have known better. After all, science in Iran has a long and storied history. Significant contributions in nature, mathematics, and philosophy came from Iran—from the discovery of Algebra to medical uses of alcohol. Persians invented the windmill, ornate carpets, chess, venetian blinds, the postal service, chain mail, a uniformly accepted currency, and lasers. And any culture responsible for both the postal service and lasers has got to be considered a force to be reckoned with.
Furthermore, Iran's theoretical chemists and physicists regularly published findings in important journals. Their scientists were at the top of their fields in experimental areas such as polymer chemistry. On top of that, by 2003, Iran had the world's fourth largest population of bloggers. So it should come as no surprise that the Iranians continued breaking new ground, blazing trails in new scientific and technological areas such as the emerging field of bio-time-istry.
But in reality, it was a huge shock. As finally became clear in the transcripts of the Senate investigative hearings, it turns out all entry-level administrative assistants in the U.S. intelligence community were expressly told they just needed to be able to find out any information using Google—they were not, in fact, required to find the information using Google, or to even try to find it.
What the U.S. didn't know until it was already happening was that Iran was developing a real-life, honest-to-frickin'- goodness time machine.
The latter half of the twentieth century saw the arms race develop and take root, with the U.S. and the Soviet Union stockpiling surface-to-air missile upon surface-to-air missile upon surface-to-air missile. But Iran's work brought the start of the times race. Granted, it wasn't much of a race with the head start the Iranians had.
Once they figured it out, they kept going back in time, to buy more and more time. They'd work on it for ten years—say to 2006—and then take that knowledge back to 1996, when, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, their time travel research began. Then they would keep working, but with the ever-growing knowledge they had. Imagine starting that second time in 1996 already with ten years of study toward time travel. But they kept doing this, over and over again.
Of course, the more they did it, the harder it was to keep secret. It was mid-2003 when the Americans finally figured it out. By that time, the Iranians—working nonstop since 1996—had 397 years of study. Compared to nil for the rest of the world.
Also again: it wasn't much of a race.
. . .
"Man, the I-5 has got to be the most ass-crack boring freeway in the world. Why'd you take this anyway?"
Kimo was at the wheel, with Dick riding shot-gun and Hillyer perched in the center of the backseat. Cruising down Interyear 5 toward Nantes 1847, Dick popped in their favorite traveling music, Instrumentals for the Mental by Generation Welfare.
"It's balls faster," said Kimo. "You take those lame scenic roads and you're looking at forty extra minutes, easy."
"But it leaves me staring at these god-awful super tankers, making their way to prehistoric times. The fumes are just killing me."
"You know what they say—steal from the poor dinosaurs, give to the rich Americans." In fact, this was the slogan of Texhobo Oil, whose tanker they were stuck behind. Late in 2064, they had abandoned the oil fields, mostly due to there being no oil left in the world, and moved into polymers and finally yogurt. But in 2193, CEO William "Burt" Langerson realized that if they could go back millions of years, fill up some tankers, and then deliver it to the 2060's, they'd be back in business.
"Thanks for picking me up, guys."
"No worries, Hill—it's the least we could do. I mean, I understand not having your own wheels."
"Hey, I've got wheels."
"Sure you do. But bicycles don't travel through time, Teacher-man."
Hillyer was well known throughout Natrona High as that wacky teacher who rode his bike to school. He strongly believed that if he could consume less, he would be doing his part to help the nation become independent of the multi-national yogurt companies. But he was generally open to riding along if someone else was already in transit.
As they rode down through the centuries, Kimo kept his eye on the road ahead, but Hillyer and Dick were able to take in the scenery. Just as they reached the 2100's, the Generation Welfare track "Across the Way" popped on, serving as background music for a montage of famous moments. There was the 2198 inauguration of Canadian Prime Minister Peter "Rock" Mulvaney and soon after, the keosturing of Naza. And—hey, look—it's the Fourth World War in 2179!
"Looks like the U.S. was telling the truth" said Dick, as they watched an asteroid nearly sink Cuba in 2150. "They didn't have anything to do with it."
"You say that because you caught three seconds of it while we were passing by at 200 years per hour?"
"I say that because I just saw an asteroid nearly take out Cuba."
"I'm staying out of this," said Kimo.
"But that tells you nothing."
"It tells me the damn asteroid nearly destroyed Cuba."
"And how does that say anything about any possible U.S. involvement?"
"Because if the U.S. was involved, they would have taken out Cuba."
"Hey, you guys. What's that?" asked Hillyer. They were approaching Vreebul 2111 when something appeared up ahead, just off the side of the road. "I think it's a hitchhiker. Stop. Let's pick her up."
As they got closer, they could see the woman. She held a hand-painted sign that read DeS Moines 1996 or BuST.
"Damn, you got some eyes on you, Hill. You must have spotted her from five years out. I'm not even sure how you knew she was a she."
"Lucky guess. I guess."
"But I'ma gonna keep driving."
"Would you just pick her up, please?"
"Um, that would be…no."
"I'm staying out of this one," Dick decided.
"She obviously needs a ride and we're going right past where she wants to go."
"We don't have the space. Now drop it."
"What are you talking about? There's the whole back seat here." Hillyer slid all the way to the left, behind Kimo.
"Why would we pick up some roadside hag when we could save the space for a hot chick we might run into later? Think, Hillyer, thi—"
"Will you stop the car? She needs a ride."
"What's your prob—"
"Just pick up the damn hitchhiker!"
"Fine. Fine. I'll pick up the fricking hiker girl. But just know that if we find some piece of hot candy, hag girl is back on the pavement. And you alongside her, Mr. Hillyer. Shit-ass. I knew we shouldn't haven taken the fuckin' 5."
Dick pulled over and Hillyer pushed open the door for her. She stared at him a second before slipping in.
"What's your name, sweetie?"
"Call me…Apple pie."
. . .
You may be feeling a bit disconcerted over the transition in that last section to the past tense. But now that we've left the present, and are barreling through the past in a Filby XJ, obviously the tense must keep up. Trust me, I know what I'm doing.
I think.
. . .
In the future, time travel will be under control. Totally figured out. But in the recent past, many mistakes were made.
The earliest errors involved engineering. Later lapses included flaws with the force of fluid flow, faulty facilities, setbacks and slip-ups in set-up (not to mention safeguards), problems purchasing the proper permits, mismanagement of marketing methods, and many more miscellaneous mishaps, missteps, and miscalculations.
One of the greatest blunders the Iranians faced was when, convinced they had perfected the technology that would achieve time travel in our time, they sent that first person out.
His name was Mohammed Salami, a member of the special Qods Force of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps and a volunteer for the cause. Though all operations were highly classified up to this point, a grand parade was planned for his return. This would be the announcement to the world. Take notice: We have the power of time travel and you do not. And we are not afraid to use this power. We will harness this technology to bring every citizen of our nation to first world status.
This was a time when celebrities were willing to pay $20 million dollars simply to leave earth's orbit once. Imagine what the Iranians would make from offering short-term guided visits to other eras. And yes, they absolutely would be guided tours. You can't just rent people a time machine for a day and ever expect to see it again. Or if you did see it back the next day, you couldn't guarantee that they hadn't gotten more than one day out of it. Someone would realize they could use it for 20 years and just return it the day after they rented it. Similarly, they would have to be all-inclusive package tours. You can't take 24 people to the Metazoic and have them wandering off to find lunch on their own. Liability is too great. Lunch is included, the lawyers would make sure.
These were but a few of the details the Iranians were working out while awaiting Mohammed Salami's return. Only he did not come back that day.
There was no parade and certainly no announcement to the world. There were only questions: Did something terrible happen to him? Did he get transported to a place where there was not a place for him to be—what if we sent him to a place where there was a brick wall—what would happen to him?
Or what if he saw something so unexpected that he had a heart attack? How would we know if it is the machine or his own machinery—a bad heart, say—at fault for his disappearance? And what about the machine itself? Was every piece in its proper place and functioning properly?
Perhaps traveling backward is always a suicide mission, because you are changing the past and thereby making the future different and so there is not a place for you to return to. Once you change the past, the future of that past has not happened yet—you just changed it—so there's no future to return to until you experience it going forward.
Or maybe Salami found a place he wanted to stay forever. Had this decorated military vet made the decision to junk the time machine and flee to a quieter, happier time, perhaps before tanks, missiles, nerve gas, fighter planes? Had he finally found peace? He had a wife and child, but perhaps he was defecting to this other era, his desire to flee Iran greater than his love of family.
In fact, this was the chosen rationalization. An official reason had to be given, always. And thus Mohammed Salami was dishonorably discharged from the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps. Not only had his wife lost her dear Mohammed, but being the wife of a dishonorably discharged vet, the law was clear: she was killed with large rocks.
Not knowing what was happening, the team of scientists chose to push forward, try again. Of course, they had a steady stream of volunteers. For success meant history. Everyone in the world would know the name of this person: the first to travel through time. And return.
The second was Mostafa-Hossein Safavi, a strong patriot from a small oasis near the eastern desert basin of Dasht-e Kavir. His comrades had been interviewed and all were clear: There was no way he would defect—he loved his big salty desert of a home just too much to live elsewhere.
He also did not return. Nor did Mohammed-Reza Mousavi from Tehran or Abdol-Ali Hejazi of Yazd. After these four failed attempts, they stopped sending members of the elite Qods Force, and instead took volunteers from the people's militia, the Basij paramilitary volunteer forces.
But after a few dozen of them went missing too, the scientists revisited their work. They pored over every calculation, then over every centimeter of machinery. They took the thing apart piece by piece and reassembled it piece by piece. Everything was in its proper place.
They decided to write out all the calculations by hand. Perhaps in simply reading over them, their brain missed something that their eyes would see.
They stared at the big wipe board, scratching their beards. Finally, one man stepped forward and stared at a spot in the lower right of the board. The marker fell from his right hand as his left hand rose to cover his mouth.
"They are being vaporized," he said.
(Unfortunately, at the time in Iran this was a euphemism for "The shepherd who carries his oldest lamb to the slaughtering table must never choose the youngest blade." It therefore took a while for his colleagues to get his meaning—why was he talking about shepherds? But yes, eventually they get his point.)
. . .
In November 2010, former German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder read George W. Bush's Decision Points. "The former American president is not telling the truth," Schroeder wrote.
Let's let's not gang up on Bush just yet: Couldn't Schroeder have been talking about any president's memoir?
I mean any president but the first, of course.
. . .
You remember George Washington?
Old guy on the almighty dollar bill. He always told the truth. Age six, chopped down a cherry tree.
Parson Mason Locke Weems describes the scene in Chapter II of A History of the Life and Death, Virtues and Exploits of General George Washington:
"George," said his father, "do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden?" This was a tough question; and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of all-conquering truth, he bravely cried out, "I can't tell a lie, Pa; you know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet."
How come we don't expect the same integrity and honesty of all our politicians today?
. . .
Sirs, if I may.
Yes. Go ahead.
If we don't act soon, we are going to lose our chance—
No, no, no. From our perspective, 2000 is not going anywhere. It's been history for over 500 years—501.46 to be exact. I think we can afford to wait a few more years to deal with it.
You're wrong, gentlemen. We've got to do it now.
Tell me again, Agent 4. Why it is you refuse to wait for the ballot?
I'll say it one more time. There is no guarantee that if we do wait, that it will even make it on the ballot. Hell, it's almost five years until the next vote anyway.
In time—
I mean, the Irish potato famine, the Crusades, the World Wars—these are all pet ballot measures of some wingnut group or other. But they've all been around for years. You know that unless it's a slam-dunk first-ballot like the introduction of slavery or when Yoko met John, then we'll be expected to wait our turn, like everyone else.
But we have connections with F.R.M. We may be able to sway the counting of the vote. Plus, don't forget the power of effective advertising. When you've got five or nine World Wars, why is someone going to care about erasing any one of them? You've got to make people care. Advertising can do that. The WWVI guys have just never taken advantage of that.
I have to agree with my colleague. The Crusades, the potato famine—these guys have never mounted an effective ad campaign. I mean, It's right for the people, it's right for the potato? What is that?
Yes, yes. You're right, gentlemen. The right advertising can help. But at the same time, it can hurt us. I'm not so worried about the issues that have been around. I'm worried about the new old issues that the historians trot out every few years. Twenty years ago no one cared about Princess Di. And look what happened. A flashy ad campaign. Free sneaker giveaways. And boom—they win the vote and her limo never shows that fateful night. I fear, gentlemen, what it will mean to wait.
If we…if we go along with this, Agent 4, would you object to our continuing to work toward the ballot on this issue?
I suppose that would be fine, sirs. That way we at least have the chance that we're operating legally.
No, actually it would still be highly illegal. You'll recall that if our campaign wins, we can't choose the agent. That's still the F.R.M. guys. So even if it wins the vote, we'll never be authorized.
Then why proceed?
If we win the vote and Gore has not been eliminated as of yet—that is, if you, Agent 4, have not been successful, then we will see to it personally that all evidence of this present discussion is eliminated. Do we make ourselves clear?
Yes, sirs.
Good, then it's decided. We will proceed with the ballot initiative. And if we can swing the vote before you succeed, then you are history, Agent 4. Get me Hillyer on the line.
You're not going to—
Yes. We have no other choice.
But—
Apple pie time.
. . .
Maybe because it never happened. The cherry tree story, that is. That's why we don't expect the same integrity in our politicians.
Parson Weems says of his anecdote, "It is too valuable to be lost and too true to be doubted." But doubt it. I mean, you ever hand a hatchet to a 6-year-old and let him wander off? No, Weems totally made it up. And was there any scandal about Weems playing with facts? Actually, we value the story for its moral lesson on integrity. We fill children's books with its heartfelt story of honesty.
Maybe Weems didn't have the time for fact-checking. George Washington died December 14, 1799 and the book was published in 1800. Weems had to rush to get his tome to the people while still timely.
. . .
We the people, in Order to form a more perfect Union, do ordain and establish that the manufacture and fabrication of lessons on truth are even better than the real thing, in particular when such fabrication doth provide for the common Hero mythology, promote the general Bestseller, and secure herein the Blessings to ourselves and our Posterity of blissful ignorance.
—Done in Convention by Unanimous Consent, In witness whereof We have hereunto subscribed our support.
. . .
In the past, very few countries actively pursued a time travel program.
The U.S. eventually got their act together and found out what the Iranians were working on. Their spy cameras and microphones caught everything—the calculations, the movement of large trucks through the desert, the long nights scribbling on the giant wipe board.
The U.S. immediately went to work to replicate the technology. Within his administration, President Gore was against funding the program, but he supported it publicly in hopes of firming up his base of liberal electric car-driving movie stars prior to the 2004 election. The word was out: for a mere 100 million dollars, the U.S. would offer a trip to anywhere in the world—any era.
With the proceeds, Gore was able to fix the deficit, strengthen the worsening education system, shore up social security, fund a universal healthcare program, and get homeless people off the streets in popular tourist destinations.
For celebrities, it became the in thing—each trying to outdo the others with their intended destinations. Who was hipper—Madonna with her goal to visit Jesus Christ in 32 AD to warn him about this Judas character? Or Michael Jordan with his plan to bring $10 million to Rome 742 to develop basketball programs for inner city kids? Or Michael Jackson heading to Motown 1968 where he was universally adored?
NBC debuted a new reality TV show, Only Time Will Tell, with Regis Philbin interviewing the celebrities both before and after: Tell me, Robin Williams, what do you hope to achieve by bringing comedy to Hitler in 1937? Do you really think that you can penetrate that cold heart and make him more accepting of all people? And later: Now that you've returned, how did you find Hitler? Did you find his humor a touch anti-Semitic?
Many of the "Before" segments were taped and aired, but NBC was having trouble getting the celebrities to return for the "After" segments. Where were they? Lawyers were consulted, lawsuits prepared.