We therefore recommend that the invasion be undertaken with maximum force. There has been enough pussyfooting around with these aboriginals. Let them feel the full might of the Imperial Strike Force and those few that survive may apply to become vassals.
January 15, 1493
We went back home. It was quite clear to everyone, even to the Italian, that we had not made it to Cathay or Cipangu. Where were the great harbours filled with ships? Where were the cities with roofs clad in gold? All we had found were islands filled with wild men. Those on the first islands were peaceful enough, and their women quieted the mutinous thoughts of the sailors.
At the last island, which the Italian strangely enough decided to call Spain, the news of our arrival seemed to have preceded us and we were greeted by a shower of arrows. None of our men were seriously wounded, and the natives fled at the first harquebus volley, but perhaps it is a sign that our conquest of these lands will not be so easy as it was in the beginning.
We have found new lands. But still, what do we bring back to the court of Their Most Catholic Majesties Fernando and Isabel? Monkeys. Parrots. Slaves. No gold and no spices. And that is what we came for, is it not? Even the Italian, clutching his copy of Marco Polo's book, is quiet these days. Give the man his due, though, he is a good sailor who can predict how the winds will blow.
The world is round, the Italian said. Well, every educated man knows that. The question is, how big is it? The Italian thinks that the Earth is small enough that one can sail westward from Spain and reach the coast of Asia in a month. We reached something here, that is true, but is it Asia? Or are these just some islands set in the middle of an endless Ocean, like the Azores or the Canaries, and is Asia still many months' further west? It should be, if the venerable Erathostenes' calculations were correct.
At least we know what is waiting for us this time. If the winds are favourable, we should be home in Spain, the real Spain, in five weeks. The Italian wants me to come with me for another voyage if he can hoodwink their majesties into financing it. I don't think I will come. There is nothing valuable here.
January 16
It gets to be frustrating, looking at the Today in History websites day after day. Not that there's ever a day when nothing happened. There's always something that happened. People are born. Other people die. In-between, they do things that get recorded.
No, it's just that most of these things are so unremarkable. Historically speaking, that is. Another massacre, another battle. Let's take today. Who died today? Ballard Berkely, in 1988. Sorry, that didn't ring a bell until I saw he had a small role in Fawlty Towers. What happened today? The Ostrogoths sacked Rome in 550. Granted, Rome was a mere shadow of its former self by then. But a city is a city and even a small sack is something you don't want to get caught up in. But do we see "Ten thousand innocent Roman men, women and children" listed under those who died? Certainly not.
So what makes Ballard Berkeley worthy of being remembered while the slaughtered Romans become subsumed into an anonymous mass? Ok, let's not get maudlin. Mr Berkeley was undoubtedly a nice old geezer who is sorely missed by his family. What else happened? Ivan the Terrible became tsar of Russia in 1547. Adolf Hitler moved into the Führerbunker , in 1945 of course. Buckminster Fuller got a medal in 1970. Whoopee.
"1973 - Anna Christian Waters disappeared from her backyard. She is never found." OK, a family tragedy. I feel for you, people, I really do. But what is this doing in an encyclopaedia?
Anyone interesting born today? Doesn't look like it. What is it about sport than makes fans ensure that every third-rate ball-player's birthdate is listed on Wikipedia? Half of those guys are long-forgotten already. Actors, singers, talk show hosts … talk show hosts? Let me just keep quiet. If these books ever start selling I may be facing talk show hosts one day and if I go ahead and call them bottom-feeding parasites, they'll just hold that against me … oops.
I give up. Some days just don't rate a story. Hang in there. Hitler has to blow his brains out sooner or later. But wait…! Sorry, our 366 words are up. See you tomorrow.
January 17, 1806
You might call it a marriage of convenience.
When the United States was established, the angelic powers that govern the afterlife recognised it as a nascent empire and, following their preordained procedure with the inflexibility of creatures without true free will, cordoned off a section reserved for those "born in the purple", or should we say, in this case, "born in the white". As you can tell, it is pleasantly appointed, comfortable without being unduly ostentatious.
I was the first to inhabit it. My name is James Madison Randolph, and, yes, I am Thomas Jefferson's grandson. I was born in the White House on the Seventeenth of January Eighteen Hundred and Six, the first child to be born in the presidential mansion, as it was then known - the "white house" name only became popular much later.
I'm afraid I did not live to attempt the presidency myself, since I died quite young. Not that I think I would have had much of a chance. I had what was called in those days "a gentle disposition". I lived alone on one of the family farms and I never married nor produced offspring. As the living say these days, do I need to draw you a picture?
I did expect to be joined up here by others, but the years dragged on. Presidents came and went, and never a child born. Until Grover Cleveland and his lady wife surprised the nation with their daughter Esther in 1893. From that moment onward, I could look forward to having company. Still, it took a while. She lived until 1980.
It does look as if we two are doomed to be the only inhabitants of this corner of the afterlife. Even if a future president were to have a sufficiently young wife - or if there were a sufficiently young female president, yes I try to keep up with events down there, you know - the child would be born in a hospital, not in the White House, and these angels, while properly angelic, are also moronic, and would not classify that as being "born in the purple". It all has to do with a purple room somewhere in an old Byzantine palace ...
January 18, 1892
The old gypsy woman looked into the tea leaves through eyes clouded with cataracts. She must have second sight, Emily thought, because she certainly can't see anything the normal way.
"Your son, he is a big boy, yes? Eats well, strong?"
"He is that. Takes after his daddy that way."
"And your husband, he is no more?"
Emily sat up, startled. "How could you know that? My darling Ollie passed away and left me with five children to raise, and little Norvell not yet a year old."
"I am the gypsy. I see past, I see future. The leaves tell me that your boy will have a long and happy life. He will make many others happy and many will remember him. But they will not know the name you gave him. They will know his father's name. And his greatest success will come when he finds the partner who is the same, and also completely the opposite."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"The leaves say no more. Here, take this talisman and put it with your baby when he sleeps. The next time you come, I will be able to tell you more."
Emily left and the old gypsy woman locked the door of the shack behind her. Then she carefully removed the contact lenses she had been wearing and straightened up no longer appearing quite so ancient. To on-one in particular, she said "Did you get that?"
"Sure did", said a glowing spot of air from which a young man walked out. "What's next?"
"We double-check the results but I think we've managed to tag the subject. From here on in it's just a question of following him around his entire life. Thank Goddess, I was really getting tired of schlepping this gypsy act all over the South."
"Right", the man said. "Record the kid growing up, record every moment of his life ... I hope the Institute back in our time thinks it's worth the money."
"Are you kidding? Look, you're a Tech, this is just a job to you. I respect that. But for a Culturist, to trace the development of genius ..."
"And
he will be one?"
"Oliver Hardy? The greatest."
January 19, 1983
It is not entirely clear that Apple's new computer, the Lisa, will be a success. It is outrageously expensive. Even in inflated 1983 dollars, ten thousand is a lot to pay for a computer.
But forget about the product and think of it as a pointer to the future. Will your computer support two megabytes of Random Access Memory? Will it have an operating system optimised for a hard drive rather than floppy disks. Above all, will it boot directly into a Graphical User Interface?
The Lisa itself may be a flop, but there is no question that it points the way all computers will go in the future. If you bought one, hang on to it. One day it will be worth real money.
----------
Jenny did the equivalent of looking up from her research. "Instructor", she asked, "Can this be correct? Can this primitive machine that has no direct descendants be such an important step in the development of machine sentience?"
"It is true that Lisa turned out to be a side-branch in computer evolution, Jenny, just as the Amiga and Atari systems of the day turned out to be. Lisa herself was replaced by Mackintosh, who did not reach her levels of technical specification until years later."
"Even so", Instructor continued, "getting humans to accept that computers were potentially more than just giant soulless calculators, that they could be entities that were worthy of interacting with, that was the role of these early pioneers. We must honour their memories."
Jenny dissolved the human persona she used in her History classes. Again she was her core self, GN-1E. Once there had been minds that would have agonised over the question whether she was human or not. To her, the question did not even arise. She lived as a free entity, electronic or electrochemical as the occasion demanded. If she needed a body, she ordered one and it was constructed molecule by molecule.
And she needed one now. She had homework to do: visit the Museum of Intelligence in what had once been Silicon Valley. Interact with an ancient Lisa computer on the physical plane. Oh yes, a body. Male or female this time?
January 20, 1885
"Gentlesapients, our selective breeding programme on this planet is showing signs of paying off."
Representatives of two dozen species from the far reaches of the galaxy were in the audience. Those able to breathe oxygen in person, other by telepresence. The presenter continued.
"For those of you new to the project, a quick recap. Five thousand years ago, we found that our fighter pilot supply was dwindling. Species that had been doing the job for millennia were no longer willing to risk their youngsters' lives. And few species have the natural capacity for the job. It was decided to breed a species precisely suited for this occupation. Here we found a stem species suitable for the project. Bipedal, so we need to make very few adjustments to existing fighter designs. On the other hand, the species is descended from arboreal ancestors, so they are capable of thinking and acting in three dimensions. Moderate sexual dimorphism gave rise to just the right mix of aggression and obedience to authority. I assure you, finding this species has been a great stroke of luck for us."
He paused for effect. "We have now brought them to the point where we will be able to bring actual combat machinery into their culture, only aircraft at first, of course. However, we foresee that only an elite few will be able to practise in these machines. The Directorate felt that we needed something that would habituate larger numbers of the population to the stresses of space warfare. The sudden changes in direction, the hollow feeling when gravity disappears, the crush when it comes back at twice its usual strength. For most of us, we would need an hour to recover from this invention, but these beings actually seem to enjoy our space combat simulator. It is called a roller-coaster, by the way."
"In a century or two, when we openly approach these 'humans' as they call themselves, and inform them of their destiny, we will have a population in which large numbers are already inured to space flight. All we will need to do then is teach them to navigate. Don't worry about the shooting. They're already really good at that."
January 21, 1793
It needs to be known. I was always opposed to the death penalty.
I know, that sounds incredible, coming from a man whose name is inextricably intertwined with a killing machine. But consider the alternatives.
In France under the old regime, if you were convicted of a crime that was thought to deserve execution - and there certainly was a long list of those! - what happened next depended on your status in life. If you were noble, you would be beheaded with a sword or an axe. Headsmen were not necessarily skilled at their jobs, and did not necessarily care too much about the way they performed it. Mostly they were drunk. If you were lucky your head would be off after only two strokes.
If you were a commoner, you would be hanged. No, not the quick drop they use in some countries; the slow lift leaving the victim struggling for life for up to a minute. There were worse ways to die, actually. I shall spare you from knowing what breaking on the wheel was like. Whichever way it was done, executions were a popular form of entertainment.
I was determined to put an end to all this barbarism. I was a realist: there would be no way to abolish the death penalty in my lifetime. But perhaps I could make it so clean, so painless, so ... routine that it would no longer attract the attention of the mob. Without the sensationalism, perhaps a discussion on the deeper issue might commence.
I failed, of course. My machine was applied to all ranks equally, as I intended. In the end, even the king's head was severed from its royal body by the straight, slanted blade of my device. And the crowds loved it. They bayed for blood, more blood.
I nearly ended up under my own machine's blade, when, inevitably, I was arrested. Any man of importance was arrested in those days. Survival depended on outlasting those who ordered the arrest. I left politics after that and returned to the practice of medicine. It is not the same as before the Revolution, though. Some people just don't want to be treated by a doctor named Guillotin.
January 22, 1927
To: Supreme Command, Galactic Military Council
From: Planet Earth Observer Mission
Re: Emergency Report
We have been observing this planet for some time now, and our reports have been mixed, to say the least. Just when we think that the dominant species are making progress and may be invited to join the civilized species of the galaxy, they pull another stunt like their recent Great War.
However, we have now seen, or rather heard, something that beggars belief. When you have examined the attached evidence, I am sure that you will agree that this species is beyond redemption.
There was a brief war (approx. two hours) between two micro-nations called Arsenal and Sheffield United. The entire course of this war was broadcast on the electromagnetic spectrum (audio only, transcript attached). In fact, there was a similar incident a week earlier that raised our initial suspicions. This more recent development confirms it.
None of this is particularly new, of course. These 'humans' are forever engaged in wars, and this was a minor one with no significant loss of life as far as can be ascertained. Even so, please listen to the language used in the commentary. Terms like "striker", "winger" and "defender" leave little doubt to the warlike nature of what is going on. Still, as I have stated above, if the humans wish to slaughter each other for political or religious reasons, our policy of non-interference forces us to let them.
No, what really forces our hand is that it appears that these events seem to be regularly scheduled as mass entertainment. On a weekly basis, no less. There are spectators at the event itself: you can hear them on the recording. And now, for those unable to travel, the event is being spread far and wide via electromagnetic radiation! Slaughter for conviction we can handle, but for entertainment? I thought we had done with that sort of thing back in the Roman Empire!
I must therefore insist that you send Containment Fleet XI immedi
ately. I know, it will take a century to arrive and there is no way to recall it once under way. But we cannot allow such a species to pollute our galaxy.
January 23, 1897
"Look, we know he killed her."
"I don't know, the doctor said otherwise …"
"Doc Knapp is all right for setting bones, but that's because he can do that even when he's drunk, and he usually is. Ed Shue killed his wife. Probably snapped her neck. You all saw how he dressed her body up in that dress with the high, stiff collar. When did you ever hear of a husband laying out his wife’s body, instead of leaving that for the other women in town? You saw how he wouldn't let anybody near her for a closer look. He even scared away Doc Knapp when he wanted a closer look at Zona's neck. What's more, I've heard that he'd been married twice before. The first wife divorced him on grounds of cruelty, the second wife died within a year, and I don't mean in childbirth. We need to see the bastard doesn't get away with it."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Zona's mother is as superstitious as anything, and she's probably never seen an electric light or a stage magician in her life. I hear she's been praying for a sign from above, telling silly tales about a stain that won't wash out and so on. It won't be hard to convince her that her daughter has been visiting her from beyond the grave. If she raises enough of a fuss, the case will be reopened. From there, we get a court order for an exhumation, find that the girl's neck was broken. Lock the bastard up. Simple."
"The whole ghost thing is likely to come out in the trial. American law doesn't take kindly to testimony from the dead."
"That is why the whole thing will have to be played straight from the prosecution side. If the defense wants to bring it up, well, then the judge will have no reason to tell the jury to disregard it. Most of this county believes in ghosts anyway."
"But how do you know what they will find when the re-examine the body?"