Science Fiction-A Memory
Doesn't Cal know the whole thing smells--smells to high heaven-- sitting there without a seatbelt the lone passenger in a DC-9 converted for space travel? No captain, no co-captain, just a flashing atom on the dashboard and the blip-blip-blip of the oscilloscope . . . .
Even when he touches down he still doesn't get it-- transported to a faraway world that looks a lot like Arizona with exciting new techniques to abolish poverty, hunger, war-- Though Cal should know something is wrong with the equations filling up the blackboard and that the female in the white coat with the hairdo and no ankles has more on her mind than interplanetary physics.
No, secretly the high council insists that Plan A must continue and even the music of Mozart cannot redeem these Plato-quoting bubble-heads with their larger cranial capacity and triangle-shaped television-- They know what we know-- that Cal will never return to Sunny California whence he came But must remain forever in Arizona, a lab-rat performing parlor tricks for his evolutionary betters, a walking sperm-bank for a slave race. As the camera pans to the bulging forehead of the High Leader we know we're all done for-- Him, her, you, me us, hunched over buckets of popcorn in the dim limbo of the Aztec theater, circa nineteenhundredandfiftyseven greasy-fingered, hormonal, pubescent, two rows back from the couple going at it like lemurs, That's it--exactly--our future-- and there ain't a damned thing Any of us can do about it.
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