It was several seconds before Chris realized that the baby in the sky was headed straight for him. Chrisdropped his clear plastic clipboard and raised hishands to intercept the baby’s trajectory. “Spontaneous babies!” he shouted, as he caught the baby safely in his arms.“Well, that’s surprising,” Marty piped up through a grey-white beard only a scientist could maintain. “He sureknew how to spend the taxpayer’s money appropriately.”“Wonder what Vernon’s intentions were with thisdevice,” said Chris as he patted the hack job of a machine with his hand. A large coil of copper surrounded a small cold fusion reactor that was ducttaped to a General Electric microwave plugged intoan old Apple iBook and a couple of external hard disk drives. It was in a rusted out wheel barrow. I invented it.“Mate, I don’t want to know,” muttered Marty, “I can’timagine what kind of Nobel prize this gizmo wouldwin.” “Can’t say generating infants out of thin air has muchof a purpose.” “Except for football practice, it seems,” Marty chuckled.“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back downstairs and put this baby somewhere safe,” said Chris. “I hear you. I am being exposed to far too much Sunfor a linux user.” Chris and Marty took the baby into the daycare sectionof the Pseudo-Sciences underground complex. Victoria,an impatient post-grad student, was ambivalent totaking on a new child. She was a particle physicist
and considered her position as a gloried babysitter
with much disdain. Her crush on the young, blondeChris gave her some much needed job motivation.Chris barely noticed Victoria blushing at him as hedropped off Spontaneous Baby. His social phobias barely allowed him to squeak out a hello or thank youwhen required. He was different around his friends, of course. Those friends grew thinner as we were pluckedup by government agencies and military sub-contractors.These days he only had old crotchety Marty.Chris was now wheeling my old contraption down
hallway C towards his new - my old - ofce. Marty
caught up with him, spending two thirds of his energyreserves. He grabbed his shoulder and in a puff, hewhispered in Chris’ ear. “I know what Vern’s machine is for. It’s a Santa Clausmachine.”“A fabricator? No, it’s not. That’s impossible!”
Remind me to thank Chris for the vote of condence.
“Look, the readout on the microwave - that’s thehuman genome - we made a baby!” “Surely we just plucked a baby out of an alternateuniverse or a pocket dimension. What you’re saying isabsurd, Martin!” Chris tried to be reasonable. “No, man. Watch this.”
Marty plugged in “iPhone 5G 1TB” into the modied
microwave keypad. He placed his ageing Nokiafrom 1999 into the microwave and hit the START button. The whole device began to rumble and hum,
as is required with all Pseudo-Scientic devices from
2006 onwards. The door of the microwave sprung
open and out ew a brand spanking new iPhone 5G.
The limited edition one with Bono and Steve Jobs’ peckers etched into the sterling silver backplate.“Well, fuck me upside down,” Chris blurted.Somewhere in the facility, Victoria’s ears darted up.
Santa Claus Machine
by Peter Greenlees