The Traveler

In the great green room there was a time machine, a lead suit, and a picture of the first man on the moon. The man in the lead suit was assisting another, the traveler, into the machine. The year was 1995. The traveler's destination was 25 years into the future.

Strapped in and secured, the traveler relaxed into his seat and prepared for the journey. He was excited, anxious, appropriately nervous, and absolutely thrilled by the expedition into the unknown he was about to embark upon. This was to be the first Future Jump for his team. The machine had passed a rigorous testing phase, and the traveler had logged hundreds of hours in the simulator. It was now time for the initial human-piloted trial run.

The assistant in the lead suit exited the machine chamber and went to his terminal in the console room. All was going according to procedure. Mankind was on the threshold of an incredible new era. It was the dawning of the age of space/time mastery - a giant evolutionary leap. For reasons known only to his ultimate, mysterious superiors in the shadowy cabal that authorized, funded, and oversaw this mission, the traveler was being sent to a very specific time in the future. He could speculate, however, and he suspected it had something to do with gathering information on a possible catastrophe. Prediction and simulation software can only reveal so much about potential future scenarios. In order to obtain hard, usable data, one needs to be physically present to gather it. The traveler, recruited for his strength and stamina as well as his mental fortitude, would be the individual to cross the abyss, enter the brave new world of the next millennium, and gather this information.

The machine came to life, a rumbling, flashing, cacophonous beast of metal, glass, and wire. The traveler closed his eyes, held his breath, and gripped the arms of his seat. The walls of the chamber took on a shimmering, translucent appearance. Strange lights of indistinct color began to swirl around the machine. The traveler felt an unpleasant pressure building in his skull. A high-pitched wail rose in his ears. He thought maybe he was screaming, but he couldn't be sure. His mind was collapsing into a dissociative void...and then, suddenly, silence, darkness, an eerie calm.

As if waking from a deep sleep, the traveler slowly regained consciousness. He was no longer in the machine. He was now seated on a bench on a large, busy street in a city of considerable size. Vehicles of models and varieties he had never seen before zipped by him at a dizzying rate. Pedestrians, seemingly oblivious to his sudden appearance, walked up and down the sidewalk. He was exuberant. The machine had worked! If the engineers were successful, he should now be in the year 2020. It was almost unfathomable.

The traveler took a moment to marvel at his surroundings, and the significance of what had just just transpired, and then began to do the job he had been trained for – diligently observing his environment and the people within. His superiors would no doubt be interested in every little detail. The traveler sat on the bench and scanned his immediate surroundings. A woman was approaching. Her head was down, and she walked slightly hunched over, her eyes on an object in her left hand. The object was a device of some sort. The traveler could see it emitting a faint, green light. The woman was entirely captivated by the device, not once lifting her gaze as she approached. As the woman got closer, the traveler was shocked to see that she was essentially naked. Two small, fabric skulls covered the nipples of her exposed breasts. She wore skimpy panties emblazoned with another large, leering human skull. On her feet she wore pink combat boots. The traveler was astonished, but what really shocked him was what the woman had done to her face. Her nose and lips had been surgically altered to resemble those of a cat. Whiskers and black and orange stripes had been tattooed on her face. Were those cat ears poking through the brightly dyed hair on her head? The traveler watched her pass by in abject disbelief.

A nasty smell caught his attention. He was able to pry his eyes away from the catwoman in search of the source of the stink. It was easy to find. Here now, following closely (too closely) behind the woman was a vision directly out of a horror movie – a menacing, lumbering caricature of a villain. It was an absurd sight. The man was wearing a black leather trench coat embellished with spikes, chains, and animal bones. He wore a dirty, tattered top hat and carried a large staff with a human skull affixed to one end. It was not immediately apparent if the skull was real or not. The man's features were entirely obscured by a muddy, brown mask. The traveler realized the man had a thick layer of human feces caked on his face, the stench of which grew as he approached. The man in the poop mask was obviously trying to intimidate those around him. He walked the street like a predator. As he passed the traveler, he lunged in his direction and sneered, revealing sharpened teeth and a modified tongue. The traveler could only stare, dumbfounded, as the ridiculous character walked up the street with an exaggerated, silly swagger, leaving a trail of excrement behind him.

The traveler took a moment to compose himself. He was only 25 years removed from his own time, but what little he had seen of this world was vastly, frighteningly, different. These people seem so primitive, he thought. The technology appears to be sufficiently advanced, yet the populace has apparently regressed. Everywhere he looked he saw examples of this unexpected dichotomy. The cars on the street were, to his eyes, appropriately futuristic, yet the drivers had the appearance of tribal throwbacks -, hairy, unkempt, tattooed, near-nude, atavistic specimens with dull expressions on their slack faces. Fantastically sophisticated devices and high technology were abundant, yet he began to spot signs of an extremely anti-intellectual, escapist culture. Such a strange juxtaposition!

He noticed that many of the pedestrians who passed by were drinking the same beverage. He found an empty can on the ground at his feet. The garish writing on the over-sized can proclaimed the fluid inside to be Narconade, a potent mixture of chemicals promising “12 hours of bliss!” Across the street, a group of children were exiting a clinic, The sign above the door read “LobotoMart.” The children were no more than 12 years old, and each had a freshly sealed incision across their forehead. They were giggling, drooling, and stumbling down the street. Above the clinic, a massive billboard announced an upcoming sporting event. The sign displayed animated depictions of graphic violence. Two uniformed teams of men were locked in brutal, close quarters combat, stabbing, slicing, and disemboweling each other in an obscene display of carnage. Interspersed with these images were shots of deliriously excited, cheering spectators. The next game was scheduled for this very evening. The traveler was appalled. In his short stay, he had gathered enough information to provide a rather grim assessment of the near future to his superiors.

Despite his training and innate strength of mind, body, and spirit, the traveler was beginning to feel strongly uncomfortable – threatened, even – in this hostile, unfamiliar environment. He decided the best of course of action would be to find a newspaper, collect as much data as he could from its pages, and then find a safe, quiet place to wait for the engineers to return him to his own time. He spotted a trashcan on the corner. He walked toward it calmly, confidently, attempting to attract as little attention as possible from the other pedestrians on the bustling street. He was nearing the trashcan and preparing to inconspicuously examine its contents in search of a newspaper when he heard voices directly behind him. He quickly, reflexively spun around, ready to defend himself, and there before him stood the LobotoMart children, each clutching a can of Narconade, their forehead incisions still oozing pink fluid. A few of them were pointing their mobile devices at him. Were they filming this encounter? He wondered. Why? Two of the larger children approached him, their black, lifeless eyes locked on his. They were vaguely grinning and leering at him like murderous idiots, breathing heavily from their open mouths.

The LobotoMart children closed in on the traveler. While a few stood back to record the assault, the rest began to strike in a disorganized, chaotic flurry of tiny arms and legs. Despite being half the size of their target, they were furiously aggressive and strangely fearless, like a pack off wild, rabid dogs. The traveler was forced to defend himself. He did so easily, using his training and considerable strength to fight off the feral children efficiently and systematically, until they were piled upon each other at his feet. The traveler expected the rest to launch an attack, but they simply turned around and walked away unfazed, leaving their bloody and battered companions lying in a heap on the sidewalk. The other pedestrians paid no attention to the sudden violence. No one even looked away from their mobile devices.

The traveler was finally able to continue his search for a newspaper. He examined the trashcan and was not surprised to find it full of empty Narconade cans. There were, of course, no newspapers. For as far as he could see, in fact, there were no newsstands or newspaper vending machines. There was a bookstore across the street, however, but according to the signage, it specialized in pornography of the most lurid and perverse kind. The pictures displayed in the windows were revolting. Do people even read anymore? The traveler decided to continue on his way in search of a secluded spot to await his extraction.

He had not gone far when he heard a deafening roar above and behind him. Something was approaching with a thunderous din. He looked up and felt true fear for the first time. Hovering now, mere feet above his head, was a nightmarish contraption. It appeared to be a large, robotic flying machine held aloft by four powerful rotors. It was black and menacing, equipped with a variety of instruments and weapons. He was utterly astonished. A high-pitched, ear-piercing metallic shriek promptly penetrated his head, driving away his thoughts and forcing him to his knees. Pain and panic immobilized the traveler. The craft then emitted a thick green mist, which completely enveloped him. His eyes burned. He gagged and frothed at the mouth. He felt like a cockroach at the mercy of some omniscient, omnipotent exterminator. As his consciousness ebbed away, he couldn’t help but admire the extraordinary design and magnificent engineering of the machine.