Clever Magazine, "Fall, 'o6, Global Warming " (www.clevermag.com)

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Global Warming

a short story by Martin Green

By the year 2016 global warming had become so intense that in Los Angeles 100-plus degree days in July and August were not uncommon. Julian Huxtable sat in his workroom, sweat dripping down onto his glasses, staring at a blank piece of paper. Julian made a modest living as a science-fiction writer, supplementing the income from his books with assignments to “doctor” sci-fi movie scripts. It was one of these that now lie scattered across his desk while he tried to come up with some novel twist on yet another invasion of the Earth by super-intelligent but malevolent creatures from outer space.

Julian was sweating because the air-conditioner of his house, like most of those in Los Angeles, had given out after days of unrelenting heat and he had as much chance of getting a repairman as finding a way to end the terrorist wars the United States was engaged in. And he had to get his revised script in by tomorrow.

“Here’s some cold lemonade, dear.” It was his wife Sally, tiptoeing in. “I’ll just leave it here. I know you’re busy.”

It wouldn’t do any good, Julian knew, but he drank the lemonade anyway. In a minute, his throat was parched again. His skin felt hot, as if he had a fever. Worse, his mind felt like a pot of boiling water, thoughts shooting everywhere. The heat was unbearable. It was like a monstrous beast holding him tight, impossible to escape. He had to get away. He couldn’t bear it one moment longer. He had to get away. He blacked out.

* * *

Julian looked around. He was on what appeared to be a tropical island. Palm trees swayed in a cooling breeze. Delightful smells filled the air. He heard the sound of waves gently lapping up on the beach. Was he dreaming? No, he was sure he wasn’t.. What had happened? Suddenly, he knew. He remembered a story by Alfred Bester, a sci-fi writer he’d read as a kid, in which a man in an impossible situation, he thought it was being caught in a fire, found himself transported to safety. Somehow his body had reacted to extreme danger to save itself. The man, as he recalled, had then figured out how to consciously do this, teleportation it was called, and soon everyone could do it and society was transformed. Julian had done the same thing, only it was his mind that had transported itself. Faced with an extreme situation, in which it might be going mad, it had teleported him, mentally at any rate, because he was sure his body was still back in Los Angeles, to this tropical island.

Julian walked along the beach, feeling the cool sand between his toes. What about getting his mind back to Los Angeles? He’d worry about that later. Meanwhile, he’d enjoy the paradise he’d transported himself to. He filled his lungs with sea air. For the first time in days he felt good. A beautiful woman stepped out from behind a palm tree.

“Did your airplane crash, too?” she asked.

“No. I, well, it’s hard to explain.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve been waiting for someone to come.” She stepped forward and embraced Julian tightly. She kissed him. What about Sally?, thought Julian. Then he stopped struggling. They parted, both breathing hard. Then it dawned upon Julian that this woman greatly resembled Kate, a character on a television show which was popular about ten years ago and which he, along with millions, had watched avidly. He was about to question the woman about this when a man suddenly appeared on the beach. He was tall and muscular, good-looking though unshaven, and he held a club. It was another character from the show, Julian realized, Sawyer.

“Well, Specs,” said Sawyer. “Where’d you come from. And what’re you doing with my girl?”

“I’m sorry,” said Julian. “This is very confusing.”

“Yeah. Well, maybe this’ll un-confuse you.” Sawyer grabbed Julian by the shoulder and lifted his club.

* * *

“Julian. Julian. Wake up.”

“Huh?” Sally’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him.

“What happened to you? I thought you were asleep, but your eyes were open. You seemed to be in a trance. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s this damned heat. It must have knocked me out.”

“Drink some lemonade.”

“All right. I’m okay now. Really. I have to get to this script.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work.”

Julian rewrote the script, having the earthlings, in their fear of the invaders, teleporting themselves to a distant planet, away from all interstellar wars. Well, after all those years Al Bester wouldn’t mind, he thought. But he and Sally would have to move. There was a growing colony in Antarctica, one of the few remaining cool places in the world. Moving there from Los Angeles would hurt his movie work, but it would have to be done.He didn’t want to wait until his mind transported him to that island again and Sawyer finished swinging that club.