Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
The Renaissance of Believing
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
CEO Lawrence Peachtree examined the innocuous-looking pill. It was gray, small, looking like a hundred other experimental drugs. He looked up at his chief chemist. “The biggest thing since Zoloft, you said.” He palmed the tablet and flipped it into the air like a coin. Caught it. “Explain.”
Gadalee Bass could practically taste the biggest success of her career. “Depression. Before it was identified as a disease, it was merely people feeling a bit blue. But then pharmaceutical companies brought drugs to market to, ah, ‘cure’ depression. Now one in ten Americans takes antidepressants.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Zoloft, Xanax, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Prozac, Paxil, Lexapro, Celexa –”
Peachtree held up a hand. “You’ve found a cure for something that wasn’t a disease… yet.”
“We did. Religion.”
“Religion?”
“There’s a part of the brain, the parietal lobe-” she tapped her head just above and behind her right ear, “-part of the cerebrum. Researchers found that function in the right parietal lobe is different between religious adherents and nonbelievers. Couple an effective drug there with one that affects the limbic system and we can alter religiosity.”
“Adverse reactions?”
“We haven’t tested on humans yet, but side effects would likely include loss of inhibitions, early-onset Alzheimers, in https://homecareassistance.com/blog/5-mindfulness-exercises-relieve-caregiver-burnout you can search for caregivers for any of your family members to help with everything including the deficit to the patient’s spatial sense. We expect reactions in less than one per thousand, but the brain is tricky. There could be unintended consequences.”
Peachtree, after a moment of silence, said, “Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You want a clinical trial on a drug that takes away religious belief.” He shook his head. “Do you realize how many Baptists there are on our board of directors?” He started to push the tablet away, across the desk, but looked up to find Bass smiling.
“Ah,” she said, “That’s why there’s another pill. That one attacks religious fervor.” She pulled a small box out of her pocket and revealed an identical tablet. “This one aids it.”
Peachtree returned her smile. “Now you’re talking.”
When pigs fly
Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010
The satellite was old. It just barely fit in the empty part of the cargo hold. Radiometry indicated an age of 1.2 billion years, give or take 100 million or so. No telling how much it would be worth, especially if he could get it working. Darren squinted at the symbols etched into its surface. The script was recognizable, but the syntax! He slammed his fist against the deck plates. The instructions read like they were written in Betelgish and translated into Centauran-A by someone who only read Vegan! He opened an access hatch, blew nonexistent dust off of some weird-looking integrated circuits (?), scratched his head, and put the hatch back on. Beneath another hatch were rows of buttons with strange shapes printed on them. They were no script he recognized. Nothing ventured nothing gained — mentally flipping a coin, he pressed the button whose icon looked like copulating pigs.
A grinding and shrieking emanated from the interior of the satellite. Bits of corroded metal sifted down onto the deck. Hastily he pressed the button again and the sound stopped. A moment later, a previously invisible door slowly ground open, stuck halfway, then fell off with a clang. He smelled dust, and something else. A staccato tapping sounded from the interior, and a small blue-furred critter shot out of the satellite. The pseudo-pig hit the deck running and disappeared into the dark recesses of the crowded hold.
“Sacred waste products” Darren exclaimed, leaping to his feet and running after the suoid. There were a thousand places in the hold where something that small could hide. He ran back and forth among stacked crates, moved boxes, shone lights, even called to it, to no avail. Finally, he went to his tiny refectory, dialed some stew from the Chefmaster, and put a bowl full in the middle of the hold.
The blue pig trotted right out, even let him scratch its back while it ate. After, it burped, curled up beside him and went to sleep. When it started snoring, Darren walked back to the satellite. The next button in line bore an icon that seemed to have wings and horns, lots of them. Darren reached for it, hesitated.
The end