Artificial Salvation

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"A research lab, in every house, will be the marking of a new philosophical age!" Sir Kevin II exclaimed, standing on a small podium, in front of a large audience. The crowd applauded, rising to give standing ovations.

"Over the top," Jessica commented, as they headed backstage to rest.

"Not at all," Kevin responded, wiping his face with a towel. "This isn't just about making toys and utensils anymore, Jessica. We can make a difference, with our organisation," he emphasised.

"We already are," Jessica sat down for her mug of hot coffee and smiled to herself. Kevin was not always so ambitious. They had both seen hard years of little funds and no support from others, before they finally made it big. Well, as big as any small successful group. Not rich, anyhow.

In the meanwhile, another organisation was forming its first branch. A group of young and learned activists, with their hands on the beating pulse of society.

"In hell," James began, sitting down, holding a bottle of unlabeled homemade beer, "nothing has a price tag."

"In hell, nothing has a price tag?" The second James, James Mallorie, wondered aloud. "How did you reach that conclusion?" He asked, and turned to look at the first James.

"Entire industries are shutting down. The markets are becoming desperate. People are losing jobs," James finished, and examined each face in the circle of chairs about him. They all seemed... Interested... But maybe not in the same topic, that was all.

"But new jobs are being made. People are becoming more free, to do what they wish with their lives," Mallorie played the devil's advocate, smiling as he spoke.

"I wasn't saying it's evil," James responded reasonably. "Only that we should tread more carefully with this new technology. Ask more question, and make sure we don't go around hurting people, right?"

The circle nodded in consensus.

Atlas from the game Portal, made with a 3D Printer, by Psychobob.

Personal Creator Lab, commonly referred to as PCL, had become a household brand. In modern society, at the edge of technology, there was hardly a house or apartment without such a device. Simply speaking, it was a small automated factory; suitable for the needs and resources of an individual.

With a minimal investment, any random Joe could now purchase the machine, buy the necessary materials, buy or find the plans for whatever it is they wanted to make, and in the push of a button, it was made. Modern age magic!

Kevin and Jessica, departing from their plane and on route to their hotel, inhaled the fresh moist air of the Mexican jungles.

"Printing Malaria medicine and all sorts of drugs," Jessica began saying, ducked a low branch and continued, "those drugs will make the third world seem like paradise."

"Paradise," Kevin echoed. "Enter paradise, by pressing a button," he grinned, his eyes reflecting dreams and ambitions.

Jessica looked at her mobile, and heard the news in one ear: "Political activist groups calling for regulation of PCLs," and, "Congress discussing a new law that would require printing permits and licensing, that may limit what and how much each person can print."

She moaned silently. She should not bother Kevin with such nonsense. Politics is not what they do, anyway.

An Eternal Nemesis - The Unspeakables

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Back at the interstellar mesh of space; the material from which the entire universe was formed; the source of all matter; the realization of all sources; a fleet of Unspeakables held parley with the Ancients; those who had escaped the galaxy, which now hosts the Coalition; their true nemesis.

"My lord," began the foremost Unspeakable, a vague shape, hardly occupying any space. "We have," the thing paused to cough, and the time display, inside the Elder Ancient's enclosed helmet, moved back a year, blurred, and returned to normal. The Elder shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He suspected that this meeting was a very bad idea. He had no choice. He had his orders. "We have started the invasion of the Coalition. Our devices have yet to identify any significant life forms."

"You have not reached their home planet? The red one?" Asked the Elder.

"Red?" Asked back the foremost.

A classical depiction of an alien invasion.

"Red. I mean, their base of operations. Where they dwell and reproduce," explained the Elder, lifting its' massive claw in the general direction of Earth, although no eyes seemed to follow his gesture.

"We have already reached their home planet, and it is entirely under our jurisdiction now," answered the foremost. Another voice, not dissimilar to the previous, spoke from behind the vague shape.

"We have already begun preparation to return to our own ventures, now that this war is through," it informed the Elder.

"None of our scouts have seen your attack," the Elder responded, patiently. Patience was, after all, the most venerated ideal of the Ancients. "We have no evidence of your conquest, my," the Elder hesitated, as one of his subordinates shouted, "great allies!" The Elder nodded and continued, "my great ally."

The fact of the matter was that the Unspeakables have indeed reached and conquered the planet Earth - the same, one and only. The Unspeakables had actually already taken over the entire galaxy of the Coalition, and any resistance was evidently futile. Other than a few roaming spirits, which actually had no claim on those planets, there was no resistance, at all. This fact had not surprised the Unspeakables. Their inferior allies, creatures of mere flesh, found the greatest hurdles in the easiest of challenges.

As a matter of personal interest and research, the Unspeakables have decided to leave behind a query - a platoon of their order, so that they could document their explorations. The inferior creatures that swarmed this galaxy were considered harmless, and thus were given a short explanation, in regards to who, and what, the Unspeakables were.

"We are," began, reassuringly, the first among equals, leading member of the community, Zata Ha Ha Ha Lahar, as most creatures near by began imploding, in quick succession, "the superior beings of the third galaxy, of this same universe."

By the time the introduction of the Unspeakables was over, a large segment of planet Earth was quarantined, by the humans, and extreme measures were taken, in order to shield any further repercussions.

After acts of aggression failed to make any impact on the intruders - what seemed a bulk of shadowy plasma, the Coalition unanimously decided to cover the threat with stuff. Anything. From metals, to glass and plastic, and even some biological scraps, that may, or may not, stop the ensuing destruction of living tissue, emanating from their guests.

There were those who had different devices recording the event. It took only three days for the message to be decoded and translated. Again, unanimously, the Coalition had decided to declare the Unspeakables, thus named, "our greatest ally and friend." No one dared to say otherwise.

This is the second segment, in this now expanding science-fiction satire universe. Please, check back again, for the next installment in the series.

From Alien Versus Creditor

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In the material recycling department of SciGen Incorporated, Cyril hid in a dumpster. The dumpster was very clean, other than the accumulating dust, and so the array of rejected pills seemed safe enough to eat.

There were pills of many colors and shapes, and Cyril enjoyed all of them. But, most of all, he enjoyed the small red and white pills that tasted like sugar, and were not chewy.

"Ferring soft pills," he murmured, and spat out an odd purple pill that was unfamiliar to him. "Ferring facilities and their inventions. Can't they just make more tasty pills?" He asked no one in particular.

"Who's there?" The voice of an older man echoed.

"Shit," Cyril whispered to himself, and tried to hide in a corner. The container opened from its' top lid, and the old hairless man stared directly at Cyril.

"What are you," the old man began, but Cyril was already jumping through the open container, and back to the dumpster hall. Without pause, he ran to the back door, from whence he came, and disappeared into the streets, where only the night, cats, and the occasional deployment vehicle roamed.

These were not real public streets, but the streets within the SciGen industrial compound. A vast maze of transportation routes, between warehouses and ever-rumbling factories. As he shifted from a jog to a regular walk, trusting the night to mask his presence, he heard a far away explosion, followed by shouts.

He could not make out the words, and the noises came from many places at once, but all from the same direction. The entrance, the front entrance, of the factory building he just escaped. He paused and tried to make sense of the scene. Some windows reflected strong lights, as if a fire was loose. Was it a machine accident?

Cyril decided to go back and check things out. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could learn something that SciGen did not want anybody else to know. Maybe, if he was lucky, he had something to gain, here.

Reaching the factory building, Cyril jumped in surprise, as a figure burst out of the top floor window, and crashed into the ground. Under the ambience of light projectors, Cyril could make out a dark haired man, in a white lab coat. He was not on fire, so why did he jump?

Cyril entered the building from the side door - another opening that he knew was unlocked, most nights. He heard noises. As if something was pounding against the walls, from the inside. As sirens began screaming, the boy knew that he had only a few minutes, before the entire platoon of guard patrol cars arrived. He was not planning on being caught by anyone. The consequences would be dire.

He approached further into the factory, and went to open another door, just as the safety mechanism kicked-in. The door locked, and heavy glass shielding began lowering, from the hollow above the door.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Cyril turned, and saw a man in uniform behind him, holding a pistol. "Come on, we have to get out of here, now! They are coming!"

Who is coming? Cyril wanted to ask, but the guard grabbed his arm, and pulled him away. Instead of going outside, as expected, the guard pulled him beyond another door. As it closed, it locked, and began lowering its' glass shielding. Cyril tensed, and felt himself sweating, with the realization that something terrible, quite more than he had imagined, was taking place.

"What is with all the explosions?" Cyril asked the guard.

"There was an accident with the test subjects. The pills killed them, and then turned them into something else," the guard hesitated. "Not human."

"Like, undead?" The boy asked.

"No," the guard stopped, and turned to look at Cyril. "Like monsters," he said, showing surprise on his face.

As they approached the other end of a storage chamber, the door behind them burst open. Through the locking mechanism and the glass shielding, which Cyril knew was much more than just simple glass. The guard started running, pulling on Cyril to speed up. Cyril had to look back, and see what it was that followed them.

It was a person in a white lab coat. Just a person. Cyril saw him jogging slowly towards them, as if nonchalantly escaping the terrors behind.

"That's odd," he said, and wondered how come bursting through the door seemed to draw no impact on the person's body. The face seemed calm, even emotionless, and there were no signs of torn clothing or blood.

"Over here," a woman guard shouted from above a short ladder. "Quickly, come up here," she said, gesturing them to hurry.

As they entered the upper chamber, the glass seal locked behind with a hiss of air pressure. Cyril looked back, and wondered what happened to that other person. He approached the seal, and looked through.

Somebody else was hurrying through a side door, into the storage chamber they had just escaped. He approached the strange lagger. Suddenly, the other jumped several meters into the air, landing on top of the newcomer, flattening him against the cement floor.

Cyril inched his eyes closer into the glassy seal, trying to make sense out of this bizarre scene. After a moment of lingering, the lab coated figure stood up, and turned to stare at the upper seal.

Cyril would have sworn, had anybody asked him, that the strange person now had a completely different face.

Replace Plastics & Metals With Plants

It is my personal dream that someday, soon, all our useful and brilliant electronic devices will be made from organic materials, from fresh plant sources that do not harm the environment. A biological computer that resembles its' current predecessor, without any relation to the horror movie notion of a man-eating computer-brain monster, if you will.

Step One: Replace oil-based plastic with (fresh) plant-based plastic.

Is it possible to make plastics from fresh plants? Yes! Apparently, using plant starch will let us create bio-plastic, which can have different properties - just like regular plastic does - when mixed with different materials. There are loads of information resources online for this, so you can find different plants (potatoes, corn, others) and different methods (stove, oven, microwave!) for your needs.

Step Two: Replace mineral-based materials with bio-plastic materials.

Is it possible to make electromagnetic devices from plastic? Yes! Sadly, the topic is shushed by the big corporations, due to its' extremely lucrative nature. The first reported discovery of a plastic polymer (mix) with magnetic properties came from America in 2001. Soon afterwards, another report came from England in 2004. Remember that magnetism and electricity go together, so when this competition is over with, we should see a market boom of electric devices made entirely from organic polymers (bio-plastic), with all the benefits of the material.

For some textual specifics, you can check out the Wikipedia page about this.

Why I Have Never Chosen To Become Politically Active

There is no person out there, who is completely satisfied, with how others live their lives. I am sorry, if this sounds a bit confusing. Let me rephrase...

While, all people have many things in common; eating, drinking and the sort included, no person ever lives exactly like another person does. Never the less, we all share the private task of self care, and sometimes, we even help each other with that. It is a simple trade, in which one person helps another, so that they could fairly ask the same treatment, in the future.

Our tools of the trade, in a manner of speech, are sympathy & empathy. If I have suffered or enjoyed the same thing another person is going through, then I can empathize with them. Likewise, if I can relate, in my mind and imagination, to the suffering or joy another person is experiencing, then I am able to sympathize with them.

When a group of people, even an entire nation, stand behind a representative, they are collectively sympathizing. They are generalizing their views of wrong and right, suffering and joy, in order to turn their ideas and emotions into actions and reality. That is to say, that they are enforcing their own opinions on others.

Whoa, now! What did I just say? That they are "enforcing their own opinions on others," is it? Yes. You heard me right. They are not "collaborating, in order to help others and/or themselves." Neither are they "joining forces in order to achieve a task that cannot be achieved by the small and few."

The first scenario, of collaboration, demands that they are all actively involved. The second, of managing a greater task, demands that the task at hand can only be achieved by grouping. Neither of these represents politics.

In politics, a person gives up their own choice of action, so that another person can act on their behalf. Also, most tasks are those that the person does not wish to get involved with, not because of its' dimensions, but rather, because of its' nature. Not every person feels comfortable being a judge or lawyer, for example.

 

So, why have I never chosen to become politically active?

If I were to join politics, I would, in both principle and action, be asking people (see, "strangers") to either grant me my wishes - if they supposedly match their own - or, to make others stop from denying me my wishes - again, if it matches their own wishes.

In other words, I would be asking the masses to support the enforcement of my own personal wishes, over those of others. Sadly, that will never match into how I view things. I am not proud enough to insist that I am on the right, more so than another person, in general; nor am I righteous enough to lower another person, simply because they make different mistakes than I do.

While, I may choose otherwise in the future, I am not able to do so, until I find justification that stands under my personal judgement. Naturally, this article does not answer the "How do I...?" part of getting my own wishes to come true; but, at the very least, it does clarify my moral grounds. Without those, I may be powerful and almighty, but I would never be able to look myself in the eye again.

This article has been influenced by debates between different philosophies, including the recently enthusiastic Libertarian political movement.