I might get more than one reader curious if I suggest I have evidence that we're living in an experiment, which has been going on at least as long as we've been alive. The previous generation, we know, will deny all knowledge of it. If they are to be believed we might begin to think the world on which we live is an experiment itself. But now, except by making changes which are the hallmark of the plagiarist, my story cannot differ from the one by an English science fiction author who blamed the mice.
But the man who wrote the trilogy in four parts died of a heart-attack, and then there was a quick buck to be made. Clearly intended to sanitize the story of all satire, the makers of the film also clearly did not intend to look at the word trilogy, let alone consider the satire in a series called a trilogy which goes boldly on like an infant who's learnt how to bounce along the Real number line and sees integers as labels only there to stop our fun.
The fifth part of the trilogy, however, was written for me alone.
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
The author also warned of people who were trying to see things instead of doing something about it when they begin to. But magic is as convenient an excuse as computer error, when it comes to covering up our misdemeanours. This leaves a programmer with a choice, who did get the satire. A programmer who knows that microcomputers are mostly harmless doesn't need to be told that the matter of who will own the perfected code must be the last concern but one.
No married person will deny the existence of occult powers. No parent can deny what comes of allowing their children to invoke magic in their stories. No bachelor will be listened to if he talks about childbirth.
But while watching her child being born in a manner which involves no risk and no pain--assuming she was not given a sufficient dose of anaesthetic to keep her unconscious--will a new mother not recall all the times she said to boys that girls are inherently more brave, and are born with the greater stamina, on account of what they must face when having a child the natural way?
Will she go kayaking with the crocodiles in order to at least hold her head up amongst women?
But now we return to experiments. Experiencing the force of acceleration which people like to use the letter g for doesn't require any risk. But now we need a fully equipped hospital in our space habitat: unless we can find men and women who are not red-blooded but are yet ready to risk their lives for an experiment, we must try to attract a loner to the idea of going to Mars and dying for the sake of posterity.
Up until occult powers told me through the ants that here lies a demonstration of the thanks I'll get if I make it back alive, I thought that there lay, at least, a way of becoming known, in a way in which none could deny my bravery.
But I keep forgetting that no matter if I took a one-way ticket to the heart of the sun there would be those saying of me that a real man would have the rather stayed at home for his wife.
'I know I can't win; but my heart just won't give in.'