What If? a Collection of Short Fiction by J. Paul Cooper Read online

  What If?

  A Collection of Short Fiction

  By J. Paul Cooper

  Copyright 2016 By J. Paul Cooper

  Copyright registered with the Canadian Intellectual Property Office

  “The Equation” was first published in Next Stop Hollywood: Short Stories Bound for the Screen, St. Martin’s Griffin. (2007)

  “How Jason and George Saved the Earth” was first published by www.Pages of Stories.com (April 2010)

  “The Dinner Guest”was first published in Canadian Tales of the Fantastic Volume 1, Red Tuque Books(2011)

  “The Poodle and the Golfer” was first published by The Maple Tree Literary Supplement www.mtls.ca Issue # 20 (November 2015)

  All characters in these short stories are fictional, any resemblence to persons alive or deceased is purely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes: Thank-you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commerical purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank-you for your support.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Science Fiction

  The Equation

  How Jason and George Saved the Earth

  The Dinner Guest

  Erlok’s Problem

  The Cold Climate Tourism Assignment

  The National Resource Allocation Protocol

  Other Stuff

  A Singed Tail on Christmas Eve

  The Poodle and the Golfer

  About the Author

  Introduction

  For a writer, a story idea is like a marble rattling around in a tin can. You aren’t going to find any relief until you write the story. Before you’ve finished writing the first story, however, you’ll have several new ideas. The rattling in your head never really stops; all you can do is start working on the next project and hopefully keep the rattling in your skull down to a manageable volume level.

  I hope that you enjoy reading this selection of short stories. If after you’ve read a story you either hate or love the characters, then I’ve done my job as a writer.

  J. Paul Cooper

  May 2016

  The Equation

  Professor George Anderson hung up the phone and looked out his office window. He watched students walking across the campus, and wondered how the news he had just received would change their lives. He had finally been invited to present his research on light-speed travel at a prestigious science conference.

  In one month he would be standing in front of scientists from around the world at the conference in Los Angeles. By the end of the speech, they would either consider him a genius or an idiot from Canada.

  He’d told himself a thousand times that it didn’t matter what others thought, but he knew it wasn’t true. He wanted to be recognized as the scientist who discovered light-speed travel. He wanted to be there when the first light-speed vessel left earth’s orbit to explore the galaxy and beyond. Perhaps he could arrange for the first light-speed vessel to begin its historic voyage on a Tuesday at 8:15 PM. It was 8:15 PM on a Tuesday evening when the theory first began to take shape in a karate class.

  Sensei Johnson was talking about how to deliver devastating power with a reverse punch. Even if you were running towards your opponent, your feet had to make contact with the floor, but only for the instant when the fist started moving towards the target. Shoulder muscles had to be tense enough to producer power, but fluid enough to allow lightning-fast delivery of the technique. It was all about balance and flow, using the natural movement of the body to transfer kinetic energy to the target.

  Professor Anderson was convinced that light-speed travel involved plotting a course so that a vessel continued moving through one planet’s gravitational field to the next in a constant slingshot action. The vessel would be close enough to use the force of a planet’s gravitational field, without being drawn toward the surface. Properly timed bursts of energy from a rocket or fusion engine would maintain the slingshot process, until the final destination was reached.

  He looked at his watch and realized that he was going to be late for his next class. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. When the Professor arrived at the classroom, he was breathing heavily from running across campus. He walked over to the podium, grinning from ear to ear, and began laughing. He had no other way to express his emotions. Years of self-doubt had instantly faded away.

  He took a moment to calm down before he addressed his students, because he always stuttered when he spoke too quickly. It was simple a case of letting the mouth catch up with the brain.

  Professor Anderson relaxed and smiled at the confused students. “Just in case you think a case of insanity might get you out of writing your final exam, you’re out of luck. I want to state for the record that I am perfectly sane.”

  Several students responded with nervous laughs, others stared in silence.

  “Several years go I began developing a theory of light-speed travel, but no one was willing to listen. I’ve lost count of how many rejection letters have been mailed to me by the editors of academic journals around the world. A few minutes ago, that all changed. I have been invited to present my theory of light-speed travel at a science conference in Los Angeles.”

  Irzak Sullar, President of the Thorzalene Planetary Council looked out the conference room window at the busy streets of the capitol city. In the distance she could see the Monument to the Ancestors at the gates of Thorzalene City Park. Naturally, the monument was a statue of a deep-space freighter captain. Thorzalene was not rich in natural resources, so it’s prosperity was due to the skills of the officers and crews of the inter-galactic merchant fleet. Now, because of one human’s discovery, it appeared a new trade route would be opened to the planet Earth. The problem was it threatened to draw trade away from Thorzalene.

  The President glanced at her reflection in the window and wondered how a human would react to her appearance. Like other Thorzalenes, she had light grey skin, red eyes and no exterior formation for auditory organs. White hair formed a triangle on her forehead, with the tip starting at the bridge of her nose. As it reached the top of her forehead, her hair became red and then became grey as it flowed over her shoulders. She held up her hands and tried to comprehend what it would be like to have two less digits on each.

  The President turned to face her cabinet ministers seated around a large, oval conference table of polished metal. “Are you absolutely sure that he knows?”

  The Minister of Military Operations pointed a small device at the wall opposite the table, and a large screen appeared. On one side of the screen was an e-mail message sent by Professor Anderson to a colleague at another university. On the other side was the translation in Thorzalene: “I’ll see you at the West coast conference. The title of my presentation is called ‘A Theory of Light-Speed Travel.’”

  “Normally,” began the Minister, “any mention of light-speed travel by humans is ignored. It’s nothing but harmless speculation about the future. However, because of the potential impact that the development of light-speed travel might have on our planet, our long-range scanners are programmed to search for the Light-Speed Equation in all human electronic media. Our scanners have detected The Light-Speed equation stored on Professor George Anderson’s computer at the university where he teaches, and on the computer at his residence.”

  “We could destroy the data on his computers, but that won’t solve ou
r problem. He has the Light-Speed Equation memorized. If we are going to stop him from presenting The Light-Speed Equation at the conference, we will have to take drastic action.”

  President Sullar looked over at the Minister of Science. “Have you confirmed that his theory would result in light-speed travel?”

  The Minister of Science sighed heavily. She feared what her answer might set in motion, but she believed in speaking the truth regardless of the consequences. “Yes. His theory has been tested using computer simulations. Professor George Anderson definitely has a working model of The Light-Speed Equation.”

  The Minister of Military Operations slowly let his gaze fall on everyone at the table. “I warned you they were becoming too advanced, but no one would believe me. We have to strike now, before the humans build light-speed travel vessels and make contact with the Trade Commission.”

  The Minister of Trade and Economics cleared his throat as a three dimensional image of the sector of space that included Thorzalene and Earth appeared above the table. “In this case, I reluctantly agree with the Minister of Military Operations. Once the humans have light-speed vessels, they will explore this sector of the universe and make contact with the Inter-Galactic Trade Commission. As with all newly discovered planets, they will be invited to join as full members of the Trade Commission, and a new trade route with Earth will be established. It’s inevitable that some of the space freighter traffic will be diverted to Earth and we will lose jobs that will never be replaced. We have to do whatever it takes to protect our economy and our way of life.”

  The President looked at the three-dimensional map above the table as she addressed the Minister of Trade and Economics. “I understand that we might face trade competition from the humans, but we might also benefit by trading with them ourselves. A large-scale military action is our very last option, because I don’t think it’s possible to hide a war from the Trade Commission. They’ll notice.”

  Leaning forward, the Minister of Military Operations looked at his colleagues around the table. “If we use fusion weapons, there will be no war, just one massive strike that eliminates the humans as a threat.”

  The Minister of Science shook her head. “And how will we explain the nuclear explosions?”

  “Years ago, in this very room, we agreed never to tell anyone that our long-range scanners detected intelligent life on that planet,” replied the Minister of Military Operations. “We’ll just say we decided to harmlessly dispose of some weapons of mass destruction on a lifeless planet. Most of the Trade Commission members are bleeding hearts; they want planets to cut back on military spending. They’ll probably thank us for being responsible citizens of the universe.”

  The Minister of Science glared at the Minister of Military Operations. “So Thorzalene, the planet that has always prided itself on justice and equality, is going to wipe out an entire civilization, just to keep from losing a few jobs.”

  The Minister of Trade and Economics slammed his fist on the table. “We’re not talking about a few jobs! If planets start diverting their freighters to Earth, our transfer facilities will not be used. The consequences will be devastating. Before you start feeling pity for the humans, consider the sacrifices our ancestors made so Thorzalene could be a modern planet with a strong economy.”

  Irzak Sullar leaned her head back and ran her fingers through the white hair on her forehead. “What about sending a long-range patrol craft with a stealth configuration? Our technology is more advanced, so we should be able to drop off an infiltration team without being spotted. All they’d have to do is kill the Professor, and return home. Then we could use long- range scanners to send a signal and wipe out the data on his computers.”

  “It’s possible,” replied the Minister of Science, “but we’d have to dye their skin, use contact lenses, and make replicas of human external auditory organs. We’d also have to remove two digits from each of the agents’ hands, and reattach them upon their return.”

  “I suppose it’s too great a risk,” replied the President. “If one of our agents was injured, he or she might be taken to an Earth medical facility. It wouldn’t take them long to discover that his or her internal organs were very different.”

  The President stood to her feet and started pacing. “There must be another option. I’m not prepared to slaughter the entire population of another planet, when their only crime is progress.”

  “What about a probe?” asked the Minister of Science.

  “We don’t need to send another probe to gather information!” shouted the Minister of Military Operations. He lowered his voice, struggling to control his temper. “We already know enough about the humans. A probe is just another excuse to avoid making a decision.”

  The Minister of Science ignored the interruption. “We can design a probe to find Professor Anderson, and deliver a minute dose of Theroxium-Calide.”

  She winked the Minister of Military Operations. “We only need a small amount. I’m sure that if someone was to try really hard, he might be able to find some Theroxium-Calide for a worthy cause.” The Inter-Galactic Trade Commission had banned the production, storage, and distribution of Theroxium-Calide, but the military had hidden stockpiles.

  The Minister of Military Operations shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ll see what I can do. It’s possible that when the troops were destroying the remaining stockpiles of Theroxium-Calide, that they might have missed a small amount. No one’s perfect.”

  President Irzak Sullar wasn’t comfortable with an assassination, but was relieved there was a better option than destroying the planet. “We have a plan. A probe will kill Professor George Anderson with Theroxium-Calide. When our long-range scanners send a signal to wipe out all the data on his computers, The Light-Speed Equation will die with him.”

  Professor George Anderson stopped in front of the restaurant. He looked around to see if his wife Carol was lurking in the shadows, ready to catch him in his sin. Believing he was in the clear, he opened the door.

  As soon as he was inside the restaurant, the Professor walked up to a waitress wearing a nametag that read ‘Francine.’

  “I think I’m safe.”

  Francine shrugged her shoulders. “Bad news Professor, it’s been really busy today, and your favourite table is taken. If you had been here five minutes ago, you could’ve had it. All we have left is a table by the window.”

  The Professor knew a window seat increased the likelihood he would be caught, but it was worth the risk. He followed Francine through the glass door that separated the smoking section from the rest of the restaurant. When she tried to hand him a menu he just laughed. “I don’t need that. I’ll have a steak sandwich and fries, a large side order of onion rings and a chocolate sundae for dessert. I’ll also have a coffee, and please make sure I don’t end up drinking that decaffeinated poison.”

  Francine smiled and put a hand on her hip. “When was the last time you actually gained a pound?”

  “Well, I’m forty-seven years old, and I only weigh five more pounds than the year I started my undergraduate degree in Physics. I was eighteen then.”

  “You know,“ replied Francine, “if I even look at a meal like that, I gain thirty pounds.”

  “The funny thing is,” replied the Professor, “I’m as skinny as a rake, but my wife’s convinced I’m going to drop dead at any moment from high cholesterol. Ever since she went back to university to become a Dietician, she’s been complaining about what I eat. This is the only place where I can enjoy a good meal in peace and quiet.”

  Smoking wasn’t allowed in the faculty dining room, and he suspected one of the professors was a spy reporting back to his wife. She always knew when he had a hamburger and fries instead of a salad.

  Forty minutes later he took a final sip from this third cup of coffee, finished off the chocolate sundae, and put a half-empty cigarette package back in his jacket pocket. He walked back to the non-smoking section, and paid for his meal at the counter. He was ab
out to leave, when he froze in his tracks. His wife Carol was walking through the front door. He deftly slipped the cigarette package out of his jacket pocket and dropped it in a plant holder. He hoped she wouldn’t see it behind the wide plastic leaves.

  Carol Anderson walked up to her husband and breathed in deeply through her nose. “I smell deep-fried food and cigarette smoke on your clothes. I want to see the receipt. Now.”

  Professor Anderson shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry. I paid cash and I forgot to ask for a receipt.”

  She wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Who served your table?”

  The Professor pointed at Francine, who was carrying a tray of empty plates back to the kitchen. Carol Anderson stepped in front of Francine and pointed at her husband. “What kind of deep-fried garbage did my husband have for lunch?”

  Francine looked at George Anderson as if it was the first time she’d ever seen him. “Hmmm, let’s see. He was table fourteen. He had the spinach salad with low-fat dressing, a small fruit cocktail, and decaffeinated coffee in the non-smoking section.”

  Carol Anderson glared at Francine for a moment, then turned and walked out of the restaurant. There was no way to prove it, but she knew the woman was lying. Francine smiled at Professor Anderson. “I’d hate to lose a good customer.”

  When George Anderson stepped outside, his wife was waiting for him. “You’re going to have your cholesterol levels checked, and you’re going to have x-rays taken of your lungs. If you won’t believe me that you’re killing yourself with your lousy eating habits and cigarettes, perhaps you’ll believe a doctor.”