Baikonur Sleigh Ride

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The Bilderberg Group was not a bunch of happy campers. Earth was filled and emptied by 7.8 billion genetically inconsequential appetites. Resources were exhausted. Garbage piled high and deep. Oceans were vacuumed of everything krill-sized and larger. Science was an oozing putrescence of abstract theorists and diverse wackadoodles farming hidden variables.

An act of intellectual puberty erupted.

The Bilderberg Chairman spoke, "We have nowhere to go and no way to get there. There are only two possibilities: yes or no, life or death, do or do not. We must inappropriately touch reality. We need a working answer in the worst way possible..."

A collective groan filled the Great Hall as faces collapsed into squiggly deformations. 98% of the planet’s wealth wanted to keep it that way. It was turd in the punch bowl, "drink the Kool-Aid" time.

"...Dr. Schund’s way."

Dr. Abfällig Matsch Schund had offhandedly suggested the citrostellar device to a 15-year old girl for her high school science project. A thinly sliced grapefruit ended all armed conflict – or else. Nobody knew why it worked; Dr. Schund was not telling.

Mainstream physics was quantum degenerate. Gravitation did not quantize, supersymmetry was empirical hornswoggle, dark matter never appeared. Baryogenesis, net excess of matter over antimatter after the Big Bang, was impenetrable. The National Science Foundation’s annual budget was in the fat ten figures. It was all that and much more, or a phone call to Dr. Schund.

Tubular Bells played. Click!

"Schund here. $53 million to build it."

"You bastard. How did you know?"

"The Earth is dead, folks want to leave. Now, $63 million. 18 months to grow the guts, a year to build and debug the Instron Parity Drive."

"The what? We want the entire project costed, with PERT Charts. What does our money buy?"

"$13 million gets you a star drive. $50 million is my fee, plus royalties, tax free."
"YOUR FEE! What on Earth entitles you to $50 million when you already know the answer!"

"You don’t."

Some 30 months later, a 53 foot long, 8 foot wide, 8.5 foot high, 2.65 TEU shipping container arrived at a very pleasant island, along with a pilot and Dr. Schund. It had an airlock, a line of portholes left and right, and bright billowing flames painted on its sides. It was a starship, The Donald. Folks were curious, aside from one Bilderberger who stroked out.

Inside, to the rear, were two lines of eleven squat maraging steel igloos rotated at odd angles to one another: One pair each for the three spatial dimensions, one pair for time, one pair each for seven compactified dimensions of M-theory sullenly glared at their buyers. ("Extra" six dimensions loosely comprise one charge dimension, two isospin dimensions, and three color dimensions.) Each igloo of each pair enclosed a faceted huge single crystal, one in crystallographic space group P3(1)21 the other P3(2)21. They were parts-per-billion pure, Grade Aaa cultured quartz cut from +X y-plate dislocation-free wave plate. Their atoms’ positions summed to maximally opposite geometric parity objects, perfect pairs of opposite shoes.

Physics knew the vacuum was exactly mirror symmetric toward massless boson photons. Dr. Schund knew it had a part-per-billion left-handed bias toward fermion massed quarks, hence hadronic matter in excess of antimatter after the Big Bang. "Dark matter" was Noetherian leakage of angular momentum non-conservation, Milgrom acceleration, from trace chiral anisotropic vacuum.

The vacuum was a trace left foot. Opposite shoes embedded with different energies. Naughty things could be done with the difference.

Each bowling ball of crystal was hydraulically subjected to a complex tessellation of reciprocal torques – the Instron Parity Drive. A guppy is every bit the miracle of life that is a whale, but a whale is bigger. So with a grapefruit’s opposite chirality amino acids versus sugars and the IPD.

Dr. Schund shouted, "Let’s go for a Baikonur sleigh ride!"

19 exceptionally wealthy people and Dr. Schund sat down. The seats lacked seatbelts. What difference would it make? Each was accompanied by a stout orange pillar topped with a wide opening labeled VPORT, and an engraved arrow pointing inward and down.

"Nobody stand behind The Donald!" blared a speaker. The pilot popped the clutch. "Behind" turned out to be negotiable, a football field of "behind" gently not being there any more.

From inside The Donald black space suddenly looked horribly wrong as the ship slipped through progressively decompactified dimensions in exponentiating IPD starflight. Wealth beyond comprehension on its first slide down the glistening haft of spacetime swallowed most of a long long scream.

"By the way," said Dr. Schund, "we don’t have the crystals perfectly balanced yet. If you had a big breakfast, use your vomit port when we brake. 19 pampered nether bungs suddenly hovered hard behind pearly white incisors, demanding exit.

"Here we are, Pilgrims! Red dwarf GJ 273, Luyten's star, and its two planets. In four years GJ 273b will receive a long radio message from Earth saying "Eat us." The dominant lifeform here is deep sea anaerobic bacteria. We have no life support, so we’d best be going home."

And thus it was that remaining post-grapefruit human life on Earth crashed into a Stone Age decorated with cell phones on altars. The rest of the Milky Way was mostly Pacoima...

...with a very few quiet entanglements.

About the Author: 
Uncle Al is product, 1958 National Defense Education Act output. The grotesque horror of its success forced President Johnson’s 1965 "Great Society" that ended gainful US education. Mediocrity is a vice of the doomed. ... Somebody should look.