Unfit Magazine: Vol. 1

UNFIT MAGAZINE

VOL. 1

EDITED BY

DANIEL SCOTT WHITE

LONGSHOT PRESS

Copyright

Published by Longshot Press

ISBN: 978-0-9981243-3-9

Unfit Magazine Vol. 1 © 2018

by Daniel Scott White

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, without the written permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

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Unfit Magazine is an imprint

of Longshot Press.

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Compass

Overture

The River of Time

by David Brin

To See the Invisible Man

by Robert Silverberg

Sexbot’s Lament

by Eric Del Carlo

Persistence of Memory

by LJ Cohen

In the Garden, a Late Flower Blooms

by Jerry Oltion

Ever After

by David R. Grigg

Moon Trees, a Gentle Ontology

by Joe Taylor

Alternate Universe Ernies

by Emily Devenport

Iron Man

by Bruce Golden

Your Turn

About the Editor

More from Longshot Press

Acknowledgments

All stories used by permission of the authors.

Thanks to Colin Behrens for his contribution to the cover artwork.

Overture

This magazine is the first in what will hopefully be a really long series. As I’m writing this, Vol. 2 is already in the works, with more unfit stories on the way. This magazine is about fiction that isn’t fit for ‘them’. What do I mean by ‘them’? Who in particular are ‘they’? They are the government. They are your parents. They are your teachers. They are everywhere.

In science fiction circles these days there’s a strong movement to stick to real science in fictitious stories. With this magazine, we hope to push back against that, to put more speculation back into the art of storytelling. In particular, we aim to bring you stories focused more on quantum fiction than science fiction. I’ll explain what I mean by that in just a moment.

I’m not saying I’m strictly against real science in fiction. Some of it is excellent work. For those who are knowledgeable about science, reading fiction which ignores known scientific facts can throw them out of the story. It’s a struggle to suspend their disbelief. But let me push back for a moment against that. Let me stretch your mind to speculate a whole lot more. Consider the possibilities of quantum fiction—or the idea of similar universes existing side by side—as a storytelling device.

In Schrodinger's classic thought-experiment, a cat may be simultaneously alive and dead due to quantum indeterminacy. We won’t know until we open the box and take a look. It’s only when we observe the result of the experiment that reality collapses into one possibility, one where the cat is alive or one where the cat is dead.

If quantum theory is serious science, can’t quantum fiction be strong fiction? Maybe, just maybe, in speculative fiction, the cat can be both alive and dead at the same time. You won’t know how reality collapses until you turn the page. As we go down the rabbit hole, we find endless possibilities.

-In David Brin’s fantastic story The River of Time scientists are coping with co-existing streams of time as some of them move faster and some slower. It says: A number of physicists, who thought they’d figured out what was going on, went mad, committed suicide, or quietly changed professions. And then reality continues to twist: "I have contemplated the possibility that the Universe at one time truly did circle around the Earth.... And later, much of traditional science is thrown out: Naturally, we had to begin a total rewrite of physical law."

-Robert Silverberg brings us another future in his classic story To See the Invisible Man. Is this is a stretch of science or a possible reality we may one day encounter?

-In Eric Del Carlo’s story Sexbot’s Lament a robot is confused about reality.

-In LJ Cohen’s story Persistence of Memory we find a man struggling with different tracks of memory, wondering who his wife really is.

-In Jerry Oltion’s In the Garden, a Late Flower Blooms the fantasy universe takes over as a woman tries to find her missing husband.

-David R. Grigg’s story Ever After gives us more exploration of the quantum possibilities as we go deeper in to the realms of speculation. One character says: All that quantum stuff, I’d never heard about it before. But you said that your wiz...your scientists, they believe that there are an endless number of worlds, is that right?

-Joe Taylor’s Moon Trees, a Gentle Ontology plays with reality again, convincing us with argument that the unreal is real: The existence of trees on the moon, hitherto unsuspected, is now a foregone conclusion. How do I know this? Because of my dream.

-In Emily Devenport’s Alternate Universe Ernies at the outset we find: I’ve seen this idea—maybe on one of my social media sites?—that sometimes our dreams aren’t just flights of fancy or the random firing of synapses as we pass from one brain state to the next. Sometimes they’re glimpses into alternate universes.

-Lastly, we come to Bruce Golden’s Iron Man in which a hero is fighting for freedom against a society that has grown him in a lab.

You have officially entered the unfit universe. Now, all you need to know is this: is the cat really dead or alive? How will reality collapse? Hold on, because here we go.

Daniel Scott White

Sept. 2018

The River of Time

David Brin

I don’t think anyone knows exactly when it began. It seemed a fatal disease, at first. Dozens, possibly hundreds, were buried or cremated before the ComaSlow epidemic was recognized for what it was—a pseudodeath that struck without warning. There was no precursor, no symptom that gave any clue to its coming.

Victims were often found in bed, apparently asleep, yet rigid and unrousable. They were discovered on sidewalks, vacant-eyed and poised precariously in mid-stride. At office desks the ComaSlow were found staring blankly at papers, pencils poised above undotted i’s.

These corpses remained warm. Under careful scrutiny, they were found to consume oxygen and give off carbon dioxide. Their stiffness shared only one attribute with rigor mortis...an adamant resistance to motion.

Nobody ever saw anything like it before. A public investigation was launched.

Several weeks after the epidemic was recognized, the wheels of government reaction creaked far enough to pull me into this mess. By the time the Emergency Management Agency got around to drawing from its Crackpot Consultant list, I had seen the new death strike several acquaintances, two close friends, and—before my eyes—my agent.

Larry Carpis was treating me to lunch at Goldfarb’s, a medium-priced restaurant not far from his office, where he traditionally took his clients in the bright, young, and promising category. I had barely touched my steak, so involved was I with my own brilliance. I made grand gestures with my hands, telling Harry about my idea for another Harold Freebooter novel.

Carpis ate slowly, as a rule, and spoke little over a meal. He had a tendency to pause and consider beforehand when he did comment. Because of this, it was hard for me to tell exactly when the change occurred. I noticed that he had taken on a particularly bemused expression, a forkful of chef’s salad midway to his mouth. He looked my way attentively, but when I shifted in my seat I saw that his gaze didn’t follow.

I never did find out what Larry thought of my novel. It was a pretty good idea, if I do say so myself. Naturally, it never got written.

One stricken day later I was awakened early by a pounding on my door. Bleary-eyed, I opened it to face two very large, very starched military policemen.

Are you Daniel Brand, the sci-fi writer? the larger of the two asked.

Um, that’s science fiction. Besides, I write a lot of fact articles...too.

I was speaking on automatic pilot. Here were two big MPs on my doorstep, and I was giving them one of my standard cocktail party responses. Rise and shine.

Sorry, sir. Science fiction. I’ll remember that. He nodded. Mr. Brand, we have orders to ask you to come with us. Your special commission with the Emergency Management Agency has been activated.

I must have stared like a dummy. All that was getting through to me was that I was about to be taken somewhere by two Brobdingnagians with guns...and before my morning orange juice!

At this point, one of my characters would have drawn his laser pistol...or spoken up loudly so that the robot doorbell could later tell his best friend what had happened. Or he’d have coolly disarmed his would-be captors and escaped out the bathroom window. I managed to surpass those schemes by grunting, My what?

Your special commission with the Emergency Management Agency, sir. You’ve been receiving yearly emolument to keep your name and address on a list of unconventional consultants for hypothetical national crises. Surely you remember, sir?

Never let anyone tell you a giant can’t fit his mouth around twenty-dollar words.

I did recall, at last. My yearly stipend had been a paltry one hundred bucks, ten percent going to Larry because it had been his idea to have me sign up in the first place. In exchange I agreed to advise my country should little green men ever land, or dinosaurs rise up out of the sea, or whatever...and I promised to drop a card to a bored corporal in a small office in a Pentagon subbasement, should I ever change my address. The program had been budgeted for fifty years in advance by one of our workaholic Presidents, when he found out the U.S. didn’t have a game plan in the event a giant comet or something was discovered headed for the Earth. I think he used money stolen from the White House janitorial budget.

They want me, I said.

Yessir, the erudite truncheon-wielder confirmed. Now, if you’ll please get dressed ...?

I was allowed to take my e-briefcase and a toothbrush. The rest would be provided when I joined the crisis team.

As we left my apartment building, we saw two ambulances pull away, carrying a few more of the night’s catatonics. The bystanders watched with none of the typical detachment of New Yorkers. One could tell they were afraid.

Am I finally going to meet Neil DeGrasse Tyson? I asked as the MPs hustled me into a green government Plymouth.

No sir, the one with the vocabulary answered. "I believe he’s already become a victim. The computer chose you as the surviving consultant with the best set of qualifications. We’re now taking you to the main medical team