It seemed like magic long ago, as I
look back on it all now. When we all had energy worries and
struggles, from how to fuel our vehicles, to heat our homes and the
like. When two inventors came up with a solution for achieving
fusion reactions. All while lolling about after a night of
partying. The rest is history.
Martin and Jack were known for good
sex parties. Often on weekends one could find them sleeping on the
floor, amid a tangle of blankets, mattresses, lube and sex toys. A
tangle of human bodies that had spent every spare drop of their
reproductive seed in an orgiastic frenzy. The two
twenty-somethings awoke from one of these, one drowsy Sunday morning
over three decades ago. They looked at the woman between them, and
grinned. Martin extricated his lanky frame, covered with blonde-red
fur, carefully from the woman, Lydia's, limbs, and crawled around to
Jack. He laid down next to Jack's dark-haired, slender body, and
tousled his hair. Then lay facing each other, and whispered.
“That was one amazing night,
man,” said Martin.
“Yeah, wasn't it great,”
replied Jack, grinning.
“Suitable exercise for us.
Tomorrow is the next firing of the LLNL Dielectric experiment”
“Think we'll get there this
time?”
“Probably not. Just another
burst.”
“Another particle orgasm, yeah.
Then, nothing.”
They looked at each other, and
stared. Martin spoke first;
“You know, I was thinking.
Humans can expend so much reproductive resources in one orgy. All
that life, in one party. How can we make the Fusion process more
lifelike?”
“You mean trick up a fusion
reaction somehow?”
“Yes. I mean, instead of
simply blasting the fuel with a billion-watt EMF charge, why couldn't
we modulate it. Inform it with a pattern?”
“A pattern?” said Jack,
looking bemused.
“Yeah. Instead of the typical
oscillation, change it. I mean, when I look at the Sun through a
filtered telescope, and watch the undulating flames and coruscation,
it is almost as if there is some kind of burn pattern going on
there.”
“Hmm. And you think if we could
create some kind of a pattern firing or burst, we might create some
kind of a reaction that would be self-sustaining. Kind of like AC
Current, which alternates and therefore sustains itself through much
longer distances.”
“Yes, only much more complex.
Come on up to my room, I want to sketch it out a bit....”
So the two naked, bi-sexual
20-somethings left the sleeping Lydia on the floor, and headed
upstairs.
Sitting on his bed, Martin got out
a spiral-bound notebook, lay it on his lap and began scribbling
equations.
“Hmm, yeah, yeah. Wait, let me
add something here...,” said Jack.
Within an hour they had sketched
out a rudimentary regime for oscillating and modulating a
high-frequency RF source to create a plasma and engender fusion
compression. The two high-fived each other, not noticing the soft
clink of a door shutting.
“OK you can have first shower
dibs. I ought to go check on our guest...”
But when Martin went down to
check, Lydia was nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen, the
downstairs restroom, nowhere. He peeked out, and of course, her car
was gone. His next thoughts were darker.
He looked around at the living
room. And there, on the floor, were both of their wallets. The
paper was gone, but the bitch had left their credit cards. As if
that would make some kind of difference. But hey, at least we don't
have to cancel them. Goddamn it.
He started to yell, then realized
Jack was in the shower. He sat down heavily, and sighed.
No more cash. But at least we
have an idea for a sustaining fusion reaction. If that works, we
can write our own ticket. Modulate the firing intensity and
pattern. Make a song – the fusion song. And if we hit the right
notes, we could be rich.
“Who cares about that bar
bitch. We might just make ourselves rich,” Martin finally said
aloud.
“What...” came from the
stairs. Jack was standing there, drying himself with a good bath
towel.
“That Lydia just helped herself
to our cash, and then left.”
“What the hell? That effing
bitch.”
“Well, I didn't have a lot.
And anyway, we are rid of her. Meanwhile we have one hell of an
idea.”
“Yeah, if it works. I'm
calling the cops on her.”
“Um, really?” Martin
motioned around the living room scattered with remnants of last
nights party, to the coke powder residue, and joint roaches.
“Fuck! Maybe not,” said
Jack, shaking his head.
“Chalk it up, dude. Tomorrow
we are going to make history.”
“If it works.”
“It will work. It has to be
better than we've been doing.”
“Anything is that, dude.”
Well, those two succeeded beyond
their wildest hopes. They got several others interested in their
idea, and then they managed to calculate and program a modulated
power burst. That succeeded in sustaining a twenty-five second flash
with Sun-like temperatures. A seven-to-one energy profit return.
Succeeding attempts produced ever longer sustained reactions.
Today, thirty-three years later,
we have had a Fusion reaction going for several years that shows no
sign of lessening, and we are drawing off power from it. New Fusion
plants are under construction around the world. And for once, things
are looking up on the international scene. Optimism is the latest
dominant theme in the media – that is incredible in itself. I
guess you just never know. Of course, now the two young scientists,
Martin and Jack, are billionaires. And I hear they are going to
name a local high school after them. I don't know what ever
happened to the one-night stand that took their money and ran. She
may still not realize that she had sex with, and then stole from, two
guys who changed the history of the world.
