DAY 96: A Meeting with Mark Zuckerberg

Tonio and Shan took turns stealth-punching each other in the shoulder.  They found themselves in a Palo Alto suburb, ready for their 11 o'clock appointment with Mark Zuckerberg, ready to present their world-changing idea for his consideration.  At least, they were sort of ready.
"I think I'm gonna puke, Tonio."  Shan lurched over, his hands on his knees, trying to breathe.
"Dude, what are you doing?  Your sister set this up!"
"She's always telling me to put up or shut up.  At first, I didn't believe her when she said she was his favorite barista."
"-and now you think she's lying?"
"No, I think she told him about us, so he could shut me down for good, and I can go back to med school like my mom wanted!"
"That's insane!  Besides, that would be on both of us, and your sister loves me!"
 "Yeah, she-  huh?"
"We've been turned down by everybody," Tonio said, grabbing Shan's shoulder. "If we got one swing left, we gotta swing for the fences!  Now, how do they look?"
Shan looked at Tonio's earlobes.  His right ear had a 12-gauge piercing, a blinking red dot. His left lobe had a 2-inch piercing, glowing an unmistakable blue, almost touching the lapel of his suit jacket.  "You look lopsided."
Tonio offered two thumbs up, and buzzed the gate.

After passing through security and his assistants, Zuckerberg met with them.  The boys had been prepared for a business presentation that their host seemed unaware of.  "My wife's hosting a party on the lawn.  Can you guys help us move a couple couches to the backyard?"
They agreed, and found themselves relocating 17 couches from outside his house.  "They're not all from the house," he said.  "I'm actually renting most of them for the occasion, although we want to cut down on the grass stains, if possible.  Her family's coming up, and we wanted to whip up something comfortable for the movie."
"Movie?"  Tonio raised an eyebrow.
Zuckerberg pointed to the 14-foot screen mounted below the trees.  "Yeah, we're going to watch out here.  Dirty Dancing came out this weekend, or something - ask her."  He pointed to Tonio's earlobes.  "Don't those get hot?"
"No, sir!"  Tonio went into salesman mode.  "And the little red has over 200 gigs of music, ready to find with a voice command.  The blue one holds almost a Tet!"
"Neat.  Or you could make those bluetooth-ready."
Tonio reeled for a half-second.  "This style's been popular so far- but I think they'd like your idea even more!"
Shan was hyperventilating under his corner of the couch.  "Yeah, or phone calls, gps..."
"It's great," Tonio said, "to talk with somebody that sees the potential in them!"
Zuckerberg let out a laugh.  "I can't put any money in this.  We don't do hardware."
They set the couch in place.  Zuckerberg led them to the next one, while out of view, Tonio let out a heavy sigh, then caught up with the others.

As they carried the last couch onto the lawn, Mrs Zuckerberg made her appearance.  She was delighted with the furniture arrangement, and began placing reservation cards on the couches.  As her husband introduced his help for the day, Mrs Zuckerberg complemented Tonio's ear decorations.  "That's wild!"
"They're music players," he replied, and twisted off the red piercing so she could hear the music.
Her face lit up when she recognized the music.  " 'Be My Baby!'"
"He said what movie you were watching tonight, so I've been listening to it since we started."
Mrs Zuckerberg wiped off the piercing, and put it on.  Excited, she danced over to her husband, humming the tune.  He gamely swayed with her, tossing his phone to Shan.  Understanding, Shan took a few pictures of the couple dancing.  When the song was over, she pecked Zuckerberg on the cheek, and returned to the house to check on aperetifs.
Shan handed the phone over to Mr Zuckerberg; Tonio tilted his other ear slightly toward Mr Zuckerberg's sightline.  But he looked at his phone, shaked their hands, and said, "I'm still not buying in.  But somebody's going to.  Keep swinging."

It was a big house.  With no one to give directions, it took far too long for Tonio and Shan to find their way back to the front gate.  Tonio was morose, shellshocked.  Shan, pulling him along, drank the view in with every step, as if it was the last.
Shen took his phone off silent when they got to the gate; in the time it had taken them to leave the house, his sister had called six times, and left five text messages, each more urgent than the last  "Don't sign anything yet!  You're trending!  I got Bose and a half dozen others that want to talk to you!"



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Elon Musk's Hyperloop: A Pragmatic Vision of the Future"

DAY 91: The Heat is On

At halftime, Jay-Z sent one of his guys to trade seats with me.  Actually, he wanted to keep me in the coach's line of sight.  Everybody on the team was wearing fitbands, giving me heart rates and body temps.  My role on the statistics team was graphing performance trends based on physical condition - identifying "hot streaks".  After I delivered my second analysis to the coach, they had an 8-game win streak - all on the road.  The team bought me flowers the day they came home, and courtside seats.

Ashford saw me from the bench, and gave me the stinkeye.  When Anthony went on the injured list, Ashford got the call-up from Erie.  He wants to make the most of his moment out of the D-League, but he's been frustrated with some of the coach's calls.  In my report, I calculated that Ashford had 90 seconds from peak heartrate before dropoff from fatigue.  It appeared that Ashford found out.  Coach Mike, however, was a believer; he had me on the tablet, flagging which players were ready or done.  If someone was close, I'd text their jersey to his assistant, and he'd make the call.  

Later, on a Miami time-out, Coach got the team around him - and Ashford's sub, Number 14, over his shoulder.  I could see Ashford arguing for more time.  Coach gave me the look:  how many shots does he have?  I glanced at my numbers, and flashed him two fingers.  Coach nodded, and gave Ashford his two-shot warning.

30 seconds later, Ashford got his first shot.  He tried his second from in the paint, but missed; Miami took the ball.  Number 14 stood by the scorekeeper's table, waiting for the end of the play.  

But Ashford was not going to wait.  He managed a steal, and then the kind of cross-court shot usually reserved for beating the buzzer.  He didn't even watch it go in; he was walking back to the bench.

He didn't approach me after the game, but he saw me.  With his hand, he signaled, "You: two.  Me: three."



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Climate Change May Lead to More Wars"

DAY 89: Function = 0

"Anybody seen C0dy?"
Orson peeked out from his cubicle.  "Oh, yeah- nope!  Still recovering from his drinking games with Redbone last night.  I emailed him about the contact page.  I also got my phone auto-dialing every 3 minutes; soon as he comes back from the dead, he oughta pick up.  If he doesn't fix the page by lunch, can you take care of it?"
Elise nodded.  "I'll take care of it now.  But is he coming in today?"
Redbone shrugged his shoulders.  "He was still in bed when I got up.  Maybe he went to the lab, get some hours in with the English majors."
"No good, " Elise said.  "He didn't show yesterday, either.  They think he's on a campaign..."
"Not without me, he isn't!"  Orson logged into his workstation as he made a call to a
guildmember on speed dial.  "Terry, is C0dy logged in?   He's AWOL..."

Elise sat down at C0dy's station, and got his password on the third try.  By that point, Orson and Redbone had exhausted their search efforts.  Elise brought up the source code for C0dy's pages-

the code was gone.  C0dy had wiped out every line, except for one:   "function=0"



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "An Activist's Tragic End: Remembering Aaron Swartz"

DAY 86: Squeak

He came up to my counter with a smile and a flip phone from 4 years too late, asking if I could provide twelve more.  I tried to upsell him on the new ones, but he wouldn't budge unless they could 'sing the same song'.

He earned the phone back in Uganda, from a volunteer doctor.  In his village, he was one of the men who learned to maintain, repair, and protect the village generator.  He also made sure the doctor's technical equipment would remain freshly charged - including her phone.
One night, she did not remember to take the phone home.  In the middle of the night, he woke up to a strange noise; it disappeared before he could find it.  An hour later, it happened again, and it was gone before he could find the noise - but he found the phone.  An hour later, the phone chirped in his hand, and he knew he had found it.
The next morning, he returned the phone to the very grateful doctor, who explained that the noise was to keep crickets out of her room.  There happened to be a cricket nearby as she was talking to him; she set the phone to 'chirp', and the cricket couldn't hop away fast enough!  And that gave the young man an idea.

His mother's garden was suitably fortified from larger animals, but it didn't keep out the crickets.  He bargained with the doctor, and she gave him the phone, teaching him how it worked.  He made a scarecrow for his mother, with a place in the scarecrow's head to hold the phone.  He set the phone to 'chirp' a few times each hour, throughout the night.  A month later, his mother served their first dinner harvested from her garden.
That was two years ago.  Last month, he had been given a plane ticket to the US, to talk to churches and look at colleges.  But he dreamed of making a dozen more scarecrows, for the entire village - which
brought him to my store.
The phone was retired - but the chirp wasn't.  I helped him find the sound on some of our display phones, and sold him a dozen floor models for 20% retail.  The kid knows how to bargain.



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Low-Tech Solutions for High Stakes Problems"

DAY 81: Carbon Copy

Gran checked the oven, setting the timer for six minutes.  Down the hall, she heard Beatrice shout from the kitchen, "Granny!  Granny!"

Beatrice had a chair against the burners, watching the water boil.  Gran pulled her down in an instant.  "Young lady, that is too dangerous!  You leave the chairs with the table where they belong!"

"But Gran, I want to see what's happening!"

"Cooking takes time, and you don't make it any faster by watching.  Where are your strings?"

Beatrice pointed to a foot-long ruler, with several strings tied along it.  Gran spaced them 

evenly, nodding her approval.  

"Okay, Beatrice, I'll add some more sugar, you give us the countdown."  Beatrice turned her attention to the microwave, yelling along with the final seconds.  "5... 4... 3... 2... 1...Beep Beep!"  She shouted her beeps even after the sound ended.  

Gran poured the mixture into several Mason jars, lining them in one of her refrigerator shelves.  Beatrice held tightly to the ruler, insisting to dunk the strings.  Gran brought a chair up to the shelf , and Beatrice dropped each string with such pride.

"And now we wait," Gran said.

"How long?"

"Those strings will be ready in 5 to 7 days."

"Aww!  I wanted candy now!"

Gran reached into a cookie jar.  "Well, I guess you'll have to have one of these," and she presented Beatrice with a finished rock candy medallion.  

Gran ushered her granddaughter outside, and returned to the workshop.  She wiped the fog off of the oven window; the microchip was almost done.  "Perfect."



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Meet the World's First Carbon Nanotube Computer"

DAY 79: Woo Woo

As the first images came from the scanning electron microscope, Omar started laughing, loud enough to catch the lab's attention.
He was analyzing samples sent in from Arjun, a former colleague who had abandoned his masters program a semester early, to accept an engineering job.  In press releases, he merited a benevolent mention, a testament to the kind of opportunities the Chemistry program could attract.  In the hallways, it was seen as a mercenary decision: the college already possessed a significant percentage of the patents Arjun had acquired as a student, and were legally interested in whatever developments he would manage in the immediate months following his exit.  In an attempt to throw shade upon Arjun's reputation, someone remarked that he 'wasn't interested in being a real scientist anymore, just being an engineer.'  After that, in his absence, whenever his name was brought up in the lab, his former labmates would call out "Woo woo!", yanking an imaginary train whistle.  The intention was entirely up to interpretation.

Arjun had been working on MOF's, molecule-size architectures that allowed crystalline analysis of things that don't usually have a crystal form (carbon dioxide, for example.)  It was the work that got him the genius label; it was the research that got him the job.  The lab had split the MOFs he left behind; half the team were finding new gases and compounds to use, and the other half were reverse-engineering the MOFs, to figure out how to make their own.  Clandestinely, one of the guys had contacted Arjun, to reconnect and gain insight on his research.  That was a month ago, and this package had been the response.

Eddie made it to Omar's station first, helping Omar off the floor.  He saw the images, and let out "Woo Woo!"  That brought the entire lab over, just as the printer let loose the last of the pictures.
To the naked eye, the frameworks are a fine powder, a disguise of their intricate construction.  At the molecular level, MOFs are hollow blocks latticed together into intricate filters.  For industrial purposes, it was sufficient to weave them into layers, stacked like a lasagna.  For his colleagues' amusement, Arjun had managed a replica of the campus in crystalline form, with a railroad track along the perimeter.  Spelled out below, the words read, "Woo woo..."



inspired by Discover Magazine article, "New X-Ray Vision for Chemists"

DAY 76: Nobel Prizes for everyone!

STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN - The Nobel Committee of 2035 presented the world with their first recipient born in the 21st century - or, perhaps, its first thousand recipients.  Randall Hapitha was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, for identifying, in theory and practice, the upper limitations of dihydrogen monoxide crystallyne formations.  As a graduate student at Cal Polytech, he first presented his calculations that posited that the forms of isolated ice crystals were, in fact, finite.  He was surprised by the controversy that his theory generated, and set upon constructing a means to prove it - by harnessing the power of citizen science.  He co-created a game and website that began comparing the presumably infinite quantity of snowflake shapes in the upper northwest Minnesota region to snowflake samplings found in Siberia.  It took three weeks for the first matches to be positively identified.
Critics argued that his research only served to make the world a 'smaller, less wonderful place,' but Hapithha insisted that recognizing the variety of crystalline structures - and the most common among them - could lead to the development of new alloys and materials of unanticipated properties.  Enough people agreed to award him the Nobel Prize, which he accepted on behalf of the nearly 1.2 million game players that provided the proof to his theorum.  After leaving the ceremony, he was bludgeoned to death by snowballs by protesters.


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Science For the People, By the People"

DAY 72: Arsenic and Old Rice

Jiro was trying to talk himself out of eating sushi.  He had two phones and a tablet by his plate, to help him..  The tablet identified the components of his dinner - a list of ingredients in the Crunchy Rainbow roll, under sesame sauce and presented with a side of wasabi.  In the phone to his immediate right, he searched for documentation of identified toxins with each ingredient.  In the other phone, he calculated the estimated toxin levels he could expect to be exposed to, down to the piece.

He had been proud of his dietary lifestyle: not as doomed as the bacon cheeseburger worshippers, not as pretentious as the vega-ova-terrestrials... just chicken, fish, and the kind of stuff that gets a B-to-B-plus on the nutritional report card.  But then the local news reported that a sister location of his favorite grocery store had recalled a week's worth of chicken breasts sales, after several families contracted a previously unidentified strain of avian flu.  He started reading headlines about the risks in foods that he had trusted, to the point that he recognized he was becoming phobic about the act of eating.  He compromised with his fears, and began his dietary audit.

Jiro had been eating sushi since he was 13 years old.  Now, he sat in front of his favorite order, trying to figure out how many more pieces he could eat in his life.  He attempted to ascertain the levels of mercury in the fish, arsenic in the rice, lead in the seaweed...  He looked up from his mathwork, and eyed the colorful plate.  By his own determination, this plate of sushi would be his third-to-last ever, to be safe.
He was studying his food so intently, he did not see the waitress refresh his drink.  He shifted his gaze to the glass of tap water...  and he froze.


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Arsenic-Tainted Rice is Harmful to Humans"

DAY 71: Morning at the Smart House

"Abe!"  Edith called out.  "Where are you?"
From the speakers, a cranky voice responded, "I'm here, picklehead!  What you yelling for?"
"Abe, I need help out of the bathtub!"  Edith started to push down on the bathtub rim with her arms; two aide-bars telescoped from the walls, scooping her under her pits, easing her to her feet.  When she was almost upright, the automated fans began to blow warmly on her fragile body.

Another aide-bar presented a robe for her reach.  "Abe, we're not getting enough hot water in the bathtub.  We need to fix that."
"Alright, alright..." Abe's voice chimed in.
Edith walked toward the sound, and the room lights switched on to lead her way.  "And I want to get more of those lavender salts.  But not that Hershey Salts!  I think it's making me break out."
"Alright, alright..."

Edith was in the bedroom now, by the vanity.  She took a seat to brush her hair.  "Did you get a call from Mandy yet?  Nathan said he was gonna make sure she called today."
"It's her birthday, today.  She's working today, too."
"That's true.  But what are you taking her side for?  You think it's alright for her to act like she doesn't have family?"
"Of course not.  She should call her mother."
"She's a workaholic.  There's taking care of your family, and there's paying for not having to do anything with them!  She didn't learn that from me!"
"Of course not, hun.  At least she got your brains.  Your beauty, too."
Edith stopped, studying her reflection.  "Well, it had to go somewhere.  It's not here anymore."
"Picklehead!  How can you say that?"  The lights on her makeup mirror adjusted to a warmer glow, bathing her face in a glamorous light.  "You're beautiful..."  His words made her blush.  "And now, you're being shy?  Enough of the sappy stuff.  You know what time it is..."
Edith nodded, and turned to the mechanized cart entering the room.  It carried her morning medicines, water, jam and toast.  Edith reached for the toast first, but a tutting sound came from the speakers.  "Medicine first, hun..."  She complied, swallowing every pill.  When she returned the empty cup to it's saucer, the rim turned green.  "Thank you, hun.  Breakfast time..."

Edith munched on her toast, humming along with the sublimated music playing through the house.  She cleared her throat and called, "Abe!"
"Yes?"
"I miss you."
"I know.  I love you, picklehead."
"I love you, too."


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "A Moon Shot for the Brain"

DAY 69: Interfacing

Marlon adjusted his glasses and turned to his wife.  "How do I look?"
"Like a supervillain?"  Peggy replied.
The jokes were not going to stop with her.  But that was the price he would have to pay to wear the glasses to the reunion.  His cover was that he had to keep them on for work.  But the truth was, they were his crutch; if they worked correctly, he would know any family member's name before they got the last syllable of 'hello' out of their mouths.  It had taken all week to convince his wife; saying that her family members all looked alike had not helped matters.  But she relented, on the condition that his subterfuge would remain undetected.

Their timing was perfect: the first of the grilled masterpieces were being served.  Peggy's mother, Lorraine, 58, greeted them by herself.  "You made it!  And Marlon's trying to look like he's money!"
"If you knew how much I paid for these, you'd know I was, Lorraine..."  He leaned in to get his cheeks kissed.  "Your daughter'll make me a cabana boy any day now.  If not, you need one?"
Lorraine giggled.  "The boys are over by the grill and the beer, of course."  She shooed him away, taking her daughter with her.

The grill was unmanned when he walked up to it.  His glasses were already sizing up the nutritional values and remaining cooking time for all the meat selections, when a large hand gripped his shoulder.
"Marlon! You made it!"  Marlon turned to face... who was this?  "Peggy wouldn't let you talk your way out of it, huh?"
The glasses started to work as soon as they detected his voice.  In the right-hand corner, Marlon saw
          Ed Solowitz, 48, Lubbock, Texas
"Ed!"  Marlon shook his hand, as he rapidly watched his glass. "Geez, Ed, how long you been here?"
          Current Wife: Emma, 26 ; Dogs:2 - Rusty, Lady Marmalade
 "First thing!  Emma wanted to help Mom out-
          First wife: Doreen, 45 ; children: Mark, 17 ; Ellen, 15; Neil, 8
"-as in I get to make all the trips to the grocery store.  You lucked out!"
          Traffic citations: 1998, 1999, 2001, 2005, 2006, 2009
"Yeah, thanks for taking that bullet, Ed.  How are you and Emma doing?"
          Emma Solowitz, 23, dance instructor, Lubbock, Texas ; owner, Stripocize Fitness, Inc.
"We're doing great!-"
          Employed: Southland Resources, VP Finance, Dallas Division, 2008-present
"We had a good quarter-
         HEADLINE: Southland Resources VP harrassment suit dismissed 
"-might get a vacation redo sooner than I thought."
        HEADLINE: Norovirus strikes again in Corpus Christi cruise ship
"Well, you deserve it, Ed."
Ed raised his beer can.  "Don't I know it!"  In the corner of Marlon's eye, a pair of luscious lips blew him a kiss.
        Coors Lite: Tap the Rockies
Marlon looked at the beer can in his hand, then back at Ed; he was wearing a virtual handlebar mustache.
        OLD MILWAUKEE: The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous!
"Hey, Marlon - why's your eye twitching?"  Marlon blinked hard and focused his gaze on Ed's square face.
       ALOPECIA: male pattern baldness, afflicts up to...
"I got a thing."
"Is that why you're wearing the glasses?"
Marlon tried to focus his eye square at Ed's head.  "Yeah, it's supposed to help."
       ROGAINE: Use it or Lose it!
Marlon took the glasses.  "...but I think I need a break."


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Google Glass: A Futuristic Fantasy that Already Feels Retro"

DAY 58: Doesn't Taste like Chicken

"Martin Hamilton," the boy said.
The house opened its front door and said, "Welcome home."

Martin slung off his schoolbag and dropped on the couch.  "Mom!"  The speakers of the house echoed with the dialing ringtone, connecting to Mrs Hamilton's office phone.
She picked up after the second tone.  "Hi, honey!  How was school?"
Martin said nothing, grinding his face into a couch cushion.
"Martin honey, give yourself fifteen minutes and then get on with your schoolwork while it's fresh in your head.  I've already set the house to block the network until you zip it to me, so the sooner you send it to me, the sooner you can get to killing zombies, which is a very incorrect phrase - so, whatever you do, you're doing homework first!  Call me if you need anything!"
The phone disconnected with a chirp, and Martin slumped to the kitchen.

"Open," Martin said, searching for his afternoon snack.  Half the shelves were full of his mother's pre-cooked entrees (fancy dinner for four, table ready in ten.)  He peered through the shelves, looking for something to sate him.  "Fruit," he said; the carousel spun around to offer the drawer of watermelon slices and grapes.  He didn't want that.  "Pudding."  The fridge buzzed; an overhead monitor asked, "would you like to add to list?"  Martin kept looking...
At the 25-second mark, the fridge started to beep, and the doors prepared to close.  "Wait!"  Martin caught the door.  He was about to surrender when he saw-
"Yummy Putty."  The fridge opened its doors, and the carousel spun to a tube of translucent white paste.  "Pork Barbecue sauce... buttered potato sauce... Bacon Cheeseburger sauce... Cinammon Bun sauce..." Martin grabbed up the selections, and headed for the microwave.

Martin squeezed out the Putty onto a plate, and shaped it into a shallow bowl.  He applied the barbecue sauce, and the aroma of 12-hour marinated pork overtook the kitchen.  The putty began to flake into strands of meat, the color of deep cherrywood.
He squirted a few drops of Buttered Potato sauce in the center, and watched the spots change from reddish-brown to cottony white; the scent of creamy melted butter greeted him.  He put his creation in the microwave, on the 'culturize' setting.
As he waited, his eyes rested on the tube of Cinnamon Bun sauce.  He grinned a crooked grin, and took the tube in his mouth like a baby bottle.

When Mrs Hamilton arrived home, Mark was inconsolable.  The floor was a mess from his incomplete trips to the trashcan and bathroom.  His attempts to answer his mother's questions were incomprehensible; the only words the admittng nurse could understand was "I taste like cinnamon! I taste like cinnamon!"


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Lab-Grown Meat Tastes... Boring"

DAY 54: The United Minds of America

"Well, we just crossed the state line to Montana," Norm said, staring into the sunset.  "I don't even need to touch the steering wheel for an hour."
In the navigator's seat, Miles kept his eyes on his laptop.  "Should I set the cameras to sleep?"
"Dude, we're not coming up on anything before dark.  We're done for the day."
Miles continued to monitor as the Street View cameras shut down.  "You know, it's a beautiful thing we're doing here."
"Yeah, it's a nice sunset, I guess."
"No, not that.  I mean, this: cruising around, cataloging this country, one road at a time.  And what we're doing here is gonna be seen by millions of others-"
"Hundreds, dude.  We're in Montana, remember?"
"-but you get what I'm saying, right?  These highways and byways and roadways, bearing the traffic of goods and services and people and ideas, Norm! Ideas!  I mean, we're on this road that connects to all the other roads and highways in the US Interstate system.  But we're also on the road that connects to all these counties and cities in this concept called the State of Montana.  And this path we're on aligns with cellular coverage that connects our phones with everybody else's, our computers with everybody else's.  And there's all the other threads we have to connect us with all kinds of things on this planet!  Our families, our contacts lists, our peers in demographics, in idealogy...  We are visualizing the connective tissue of our society!  We're quantifying the neural nets of the Mind of our nation!  Once we're all connected, what happens when we share the same vision?  Not just the video images and pop songs, but real ideas and concepts!  What could we make real just because we believe in it?"


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Human Brain in 3-D Detail"

DAY 49: A Moment in Skull Valley

They were stalled on the side of the road, 50-odd miles shy of Surprise, Arizona.  In the time it would take for a tow truck to bring some fuel, the sun would be overhead to juice them up.  So they waited for the end of the darkest part of the night.

Jesse flexed his grip on the steering wheel as he watched the horizon, intermittently re-forgetting that the morning light was not going to let him charge out of the gate.  But they'd get navigation back before they were on the road again; he'd find a selection of breakfast eateries to offer her, then wake her with some music from the playlist she set up for the trip, get her far enough down the road that he could apologize... But all he could do now is wait for sunrise, and let her sleep.
Gloria let him think she was asleep, while her phone, still tethered to the car charger, shifted silently in her hand.  The phone had lasted twenty minutes longer than the car - enough time to call a tow truck and decide to wait it out.  That phone was heavy with sweat, long past ready to drop, but she wouldn't make a move; she was waiting for a snore.  And so they waited for the dawn, as the silence roared.


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "On a Wing and a Photon: Solar Impulse Flies Across America"

DAY 4: Starbucks is Everywhere

Nikki pretended to read the menu.  None of the waiters had approached, so she had had plenty of time to pretend that she could read Cyrillic.  But truthfully, it was no different to her than Korean, Arabic, or the ham-fisted keyboard poundings of an inebriated chimpanzee.  She thought about her dyslexic cousin Carl, and muttered an apologetic prayer for him.
A worker in milkmaid braids placed a tall drink beside Nikki, and offered the first Russian smile that Nikki had seen all day.
"That's a vente mochacino," the man at the next table said, in a flat American cadence.  "I'm gonna warn you; it's even sweeter than you remember.  Hope you enjoy it."
"Thank you," Nikki replied.
He leaned closer, without leaving his seat.  "Also, I told her you were Nikki Minaj, without the wig.  She's still a thing here.  It's the only way you're going to get anything close to Starbucks service around here."  He pulled out his camera.  "If I take your picture, do you think you can do that caffeinated, 'Got Milk' smile thing she does?"
Nikki obliged with a pose.  The stranger showed her the result; it was perfect.
"Y'know," he said, "I could have also said you were the grown-up little cousin from 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air'.  That's still a thing here, too."
Nikki sipped her drink - and reeled from the sweetness. "Wow, you weren't kidding!  Thank you.  You can sit here, if you like."
The stranger shook his head.  "I'm here with somebody - and you should be.  Where's your entourage?"
"My family's at the hotel.  We're on our way to Sochi, but we're being tourists first.  They're upstairs planning the next leg of the tour, and I just wanted to go someplace like home ...ish."
"Yeah, it's not quite, but it's close enough to get me out of my apartment: sweet coffee, internet signal, some james taylor on the stereo once in a while.  For a minute or two, I think I'm home again.  The next minute, I see or hear something, it snaps me out of it."

Nikki took a second sip, savoring the drink this time.  "So, what are you doing here?  In Russia?"
The stranger, smiling, paused to size her up.  "I work in IT.  So, are you enjoying it out here?"
"It's too cold!  I thought I dressed for the weather, but I had to buy this when we got off the plane!"
"You got gouged, I'm sure."
"And people are so... I don't wanna say rude-"
"Cold?"
Nikki chuckled.  "Is that bad?  Am I being rude?"
"They are the way they are, with strangers.  But they're warm with friends; you'll have to be a friend, first.  The older you are, the longer it'll take.  I got a landlady who acts like she still lives in the Soviet days, I still can't tell if she's going to kill me in my sleep.  My friends swear no, but I can't tell."

A bald man, reading a newspaper at another table, glared at Nikki.  Nikki smirked and said to her stranger, "Maybe she thinks she's being watched."
The stranger leaned toward her conspirationally and replied, "How does she know she's not?"
Nikki laughed, but the stranger continued.  "Seriously, she probably remembers back in the day when all the walls had ears, and you never knew what you could be arrested for, or pulled into.  Eyes and ears everywhere - and you know what?  She's got a point.
"You're going to Sochi, where Russia's trying to show how far they're come - but you count how many cameras you see, how many cops, how many soldiers with Kalishnikovs you see walking around with the public.  Now, you may think, 'Russia's still pretty hardcore', but check out Paris on your way home, or London.  And you might - might - be seeing the future of New York, DC...  who knows?  I mean, you're from Atlanta, I'm from Carolina -"
"How do you know I'm from Atlanta?"
"um, accent - the point is, America's becoming more like the world, even as the world's becoming more like America.  And it's not all going to be a perfect fit - I mean, we're sitting in a prime example right now, y'know?  And all the countries are trying to pick and choose what changes they're going to embrace, and what they're going to keep, but the truth is - they won't be able to keep everything they want."
The stranger saw the worry on Nikki's face.  "I'm sorry, my coffee's kicking in  Not so great at keeping stuff to myself, people say.  I don't want to mess up your trip, so - there's a poet that said something like, we journey and journey, and when we get home, we see it for the first time.  Do that.  Enjoy Sochi.  Take home lots of good memories.  And when you get home, see all the stuff that's only at home, and embrace it, for as long as you can.
"I have to go-" The stranger looked at his phone as he stood up.  "-so I suggest calling somebody from your 'entourage' to get you.  Maybe your dad or your cousin."
"How did-"
The bald man was standing, waiting to follow the American stranger out.  "I just found you on Facebook.  Let me leave you with a joke:  do you know the recipe for a Black Russian?  It's coffee and vodka."
Nikki sighed, and smiled.  "All I need's the vodka-"
"-and you'll fit right in.  But don't overdo it."  And the stranger left.
As she had her final sips, she thought casually about the stranger, and the things he said.  But it was drifting from her mind before she emptied her cup.  Then, she called her family at the hotel, so they would know where she was.

inspired by the Discover Magazine article, "Edward Snowden, the NSA, and the Never-Ending End of Privacy"

DAY 3: The Rising of the Rio Grande

Mawi watched the captain's raft drift off toward the Siberian fleet. The Rio Grande was holding its position in the tropopause, until it had a clear path to its parking spot in geosynchronous orbit. Until then, Mawi had to babysit the zeppelin and supervise the beginning of its ascent, before he could leave. "Looking good, Captain," Mawi chirped into his mouthpiece, and pantomimed a wave.
"You always wanted to play captain," the captain answered back. "You got five minutes. Don't linger."

 Mawi looked over the controls. The ship was fine; only its cargo required decommission. The hydrogen cells and jet tunnels were in pristine condition; even though the Rio Grande was the length of two football fields, its engines could turn the ship around a city block. The empennage panels were still drinking up sunlight and radiation for the fuel cells and ionizing chambers; it could still lay down a quarter inch of ozone in a week that was wide enough to shade New York City.
 The main screens monitored the rafts progress to the Siberian fleet, a half-dozen zeppelins attending the Rio Grande's wake. They would continue to sail the stratospheric routes, and anytime some crew needed a spare cruciform fin or grand ionizer, they could float up to the Rio Grande's grave and pick at her perfect bones.

"You deserved better..." Mawi whispered, as he stroked at the ship's panel. He could see the Siberian fleet, He began to fantasize about programming the Rio Grande for re-entry, landing on the captain's doorstep, cratering the entire county... The alert pulled him back to the present: "Three minutes to alignment." He left the bridge...

 The rafts were his best option. He was pre-pressured for the orbit; new hires needed at least two months to prepare their bodies for the trip. A trip home was an even bigger committment; it took at least six months to bounce back enough to make the trip again. Easier to wait in orbit, if you wanted to keep working. At the most, it was a week's wait at the elevator, then hop on board another scrubber.
 He took the walkway to the shuttles, to get another look at the Earth. The captain barked in his ear, "Mawi, alignment is imminent. How far away from the rafts, son?"
From the window, Mawi could see the curve of the Southern Hemisphere, the shimmering white between the Earth and the stars. Reflexively, he blurted out, "I gotta check the hothouse, sir!"
 He tucked the captain's cursing in his pocket and ran for the jungle...

Mawi reached the entrance to the catwalks, the grid that crisscrossed the ceiling of the hothouse. Just above, the 'scrubbers' draped down to over 30 yards in length. Thick as tree trucks, clever as kudzu, resilient as the toughest weeds - that's how the 'scrubbers' had been designed. They provided the raw material that the zeppelin churned out as O3. In six years, they had become the corporate mea culpa of choice, to repair and restore damage (or, at least, present the image of such) to the earth.

Like every grand solution, it came with its own sets of problems. The Rio Grande crop had developed a blight that had reduced oxygen production by half; financially, the ship was a losing proposition. But the plants themselves were exactly as difficult as you'd expect a cross-breed of kudzu and redwoods to be; if they ever managed to take root on Earth, it would be its own global catastrophe. There was even some dispute if the cold vacuum of space was enough to kill the scrubbers; many eyes were watching the fate of the Rio Grande with great interest.

 "The ship's aligned! Get on a raft already!" The captain's voice heated Mawi's earpiece. "That's an order!" 

Mawi caught sight of the zipline that extended to the jungle floor. "There's only one captain on this boat, sir!" 

"Mawi, get over your death wish and get the hell off my boat!"

"I ain't dying, I'm finishing my job!" Mawi secured the line and plunged into the jungle. He knew there were exit suits by the cargo doors; when he-

THWAK! He smacked his head up against a low-hanging scrubber vine. Mawi reeled from the hit, but kept moving downward. He struggled to regain his bearings, not overshoot his target...
He dropped off the line three feet from the floor, and tumbled. Limping, he turned left and faced the cargo doors. "Easy as cake," he mumbled.

 Mawi grabbed a suit and kicked on its heater. As he suited up, the captain chirped in, "You're out of range, Mawi. Nobody's coming back for you."
 "Didn't expect it, captain." Mawi looked at the suit's wrist-guide; he had just missed his window for the suit's first triangulated landing spot; off the coast of Sydney. The countdown for the next landing spot reset to 2 minutes; Mawi waited...

 As the seconds passed, the captain sighed in resignation. "You know... no captain even went up with his ship."
 Mawi checked his oxygen supply: 30 minutes. "So where are they transferring you, sir? I didn't know anybody needed a new captain. You signing with the Siberian fleet? Trillemarka? Wuda? Or they giving you one of them new models?"
 "Nope. They got a desk for me, in Detroit. I'm going home."
 Mawi looked under his feet, beyond the glass, at the outline of South America. "Yeah. Me, too."
 His hand hovered to release the doors in 3... 2... 1...

 The air stampeded out of the ship and into the void, pulling Mawi along with it. His suit went bezerk with alerts, flashing colors furiously as he spun. If he could steady himself, the helmet would stay green, to let him know he was pointed earthward. He struggled: red, green, red, green, red...
He focused on the receding sight of the Rio Grande; he could finally see the stars surrounding it, embracing it. He could turn himself slowly enough to see the Siberian fleet, circling the Southern pole. Finally, he faced the planet until its expanse stretched beyond his periphery. The green light bathing his face told him that he was doing fine, he was going home...


inspired by the Discover Magazine article, "Carbon Dioxide hits 400 ppm - Does it Matter?"