It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the hungriest of times.
The great Corn Wars of 2235 had wiped out the last of that crop, and along with the extinction of the sugar-cane, the inexplicable disappearance of the world’s bee population almost a century before, and the overharvesting of all other sugar-substitute bearing plants, the world was in dire straits.
High-fructose corn syrup stores were quickly depleted as the genetic plant disease known as Fischer’s Curse ran rampant throughout the world. Well-preserved sugary goods would last another five years or so, but after that, there would be nothing sweet left to dip in the milk produced by the cow-sac farms.
Scientists tried to synthesize sweeteners from the remaining plant species of the world, but every time they succeeded, that species would immediately disappear in a flurry of triad wars. By the Autumn of 2241, mankind had been reduced to a diet of salted oatmeal and recycled meat. Waistlines would have decreased, but trans-fats stepped bravely into the breach and kept the world’s population from the brink of health. Spirits, however, were low. All across the world, the blandness of food seemed to directly create a kind of blandness in life. Carnivals and circuses shut down. Cinema goers could only choose lightly salted pebbles, and not caramel pebbles, pebble being the chosen replacement for popcorn. A dangerous black market trade in sugary substances sprang up as hucksters peddled rough-crystal salt as sugar, cocaine as low-carb sweetener and motor-oil as honey. These activities soon ceased as the world realised that the days of sugar were over. There was nothing sweet to be had. Not a crunchy mouthful. Not a silken drop. Economies collapsed as industry giants like Coca-Cola and Haagen Dasz went bankrupt, taking various banana-republics with them (although bananas, along with all other fruits, had long since died out). Hope was lost and the nations of the world grew inured to rumours of a new sweet-source, hunkering down over their bowls of nutrient-rich meat-and-fibre-O’s
Then, on March the 3rd, 2242, a discovery was made in the library of an ancient university called MIT. Unfortunately for the world, the discovery was made by an amateur team of researchers, their findings live-updated to the Interweb in real-time. The researchers found transcripts documenting an experiment undertaken in 2087 by a small team of food-geneticists who mapped the DNA of not only the common corn plant, but also the sugar cane and the maple tree (extinct since the USA-Canadian war of 2114). The researchers had modified the genetic makeup of these plants to make them superflora, plants capable of withstanding all temperatures, diseases and insect attacks. The researchers had given the plants a shortened evolutionary cycle, allowing them to evolve defences through the spread of pollen and pheromones. They theorised that if someone set fire to one side of a plantation of super-corn, by the time half of it had burned, the other half would have evolved flame-retardant sap.
The super-plants would grow at incredible speeds, yield crops far above average volume and grow anywhere. The experiment had been discontinued when Alfred Bush Jr. had been elected to the American presidency and had declared science to be heretical, but according to the transcripts, the genetic information for this technological saviour for mankind could be found in a research facility on one of the smaller islands of Hawaii, Nihao. In a bizarre homage to the king of all things sweet, the MIT scientists had encoded the genetic information of the superplants into the ‘chips’ of a chocolate chip cookie, a cookie made with the super-sweet sugars of the superplants themselves.
The researchers, excited by their scientific discovery, did nothing to halt the stream of information flowing out of their recording gear and onto the Interweb and within seconds every government and private agency keeping an eye out for possible sweet-source discoveries was aware of the island and its choc-chip treasure trove.
The response was swift. Communications experts went on TV to explain to the public that there was nothing to worry about while at the same time threatening rival powers with thermonuclear destruction. Sleeper cells all over the world were activated and directed to cause havoc in an attempt to distract attention and military resources. With dizzying speed, sub-orbitals, dropships, submarines and jet-packed jump troops converged on Nihao. Mayhem broke out as black ops teams parachuted, rocketed and glided into the grounds of the ancient research facility, opening fire on everyone in sight. Unmanned gunships buzzed around the area like locusts, cutting down men and machine alike with gun and laser. For seven hours and twenty-three minutes, the island of Nihao was World War Five.
When the smoke cleared and a missile-net had been set up around the island, it was the Americans who had won the day. Five-star general Grant Colquinez marched across the overgrown garden of the research compound, ignoring the bodies and machinery the littered the area. His men were getting the last of the fires under control, and with a number of friendly attack satellites in geosynchronous orbit, there was little to fear. A science advisor followed on his heels with a dogged expression on his face, trying not to look at the grotesquely maimed bodied they passed by.
‘We have the cookie secured?’ the general snapped with rather more venom than usual. The mission has been so quickly organized that there had been no time to come up with a codename for the cookie, lending the entire operation an unprofessional air.
‘Yes, sir’, said the advisor, who’s name was Wilt, ‘The cookie is in a cryostatic chamber that has kept it fresh,’ he paused, ‘…viable since 2087’.
Colquinez flipped a salute at two soldiers guarding the entrance and strode into the compound building, Wilt following behind. Inside, mag-lamps had been attached to the walls in orderly rows illuminating the dank corridors of the research station. They passed more soldiers, who pointed them in the right direction and the quickly made their way into the underground levels. Wilt noted that the complex was remarkably well preserved, and the air-conditioning still seemed to be working. The research station was powered by a magma-generator and would have lasted another five hundred or so years if it hadn’t been reopened. Now it would become the centre of the great rediscovery of sweet foods.
Wilt idly wondered what one of the triad leaders would pay for a slab of sweet milk chocolate. Korea, probably, he thought.
Wilt almost walked into General Colquinez’s back as they suddenly emerged from the tunnels into a well-lit room. The walls were as white as the snow Wilt had seen pictures of in books. The room was strewn with ancient scientific equipment. Microscopes, Centrifuges, Beakers and test-tubes. There was even an ancient Bunsen burner in the corner. And there, in the very centre of the room, was a smooth metal capsule, with a small window from which a weak blue light was shining.
‘Report’ barked general Colquinez to no one in particular. A captain stepped forward and snapped off a crisp salute.
‘According to the computers, the…target is still viable, sir. We’re defrosting it now.’
‘Good. Show it to me.’ said the general. The captain stepped back and led the General and Wilt to the capsule in the centre of the room. The general looked in through the window and gave a little grunt of satisfaction. Wilt peered over his shoulder and saw the cookie. It was perfect. Just enough dough to be called a cookie, but with enough chocolate chips to make it a thing of beauty. It was roughly made, and yet it seemed the perfect expression of what a circle was meant to be. Thick, but not too thick. It looked soft, but crunchy. Wilt immediately started salivating, but he was careful to keep his expression neutral. It would not do to start drooling in front of the general.
Everyone waited impatiently as the defrosting process took place. Wilt took the time to make sure the audio/video feed to the Pentagon was live. Eventually there was a ping and the light inside the capsule turned off. Wilt thought he detected a slight tremble in the hand of General Colquinez as he pulled on a pair of medi-gloves and pressed the release button on the capsule. There was a hiss of decompression and then the smell wafted across the room. The capsule had heated the cookie, as if it had been in an oven. The delicious scent of dough, butter, chocolate and perhaps just a hint of maple syrup wafted across the room and Wilt heard a few of the soldiers groan. General Colquinez slowly withdrew his hand from the capsule and gazed at the cookie in the palm of his hand.
‘It’s warm’ he whispered reverently. Every soldier in the room was dead silent as they stood witness to the rebirth of everything delicious in the world. Every soldier stared as the general looked closely at the choc-chips. What secrets did they hold? Would this discovery bring the world back from the depths of depression? Would the superplants spread throughout the world, ending starvation and midnight cravings? Every soldier sighed as the general took a deep whiff of the heavenly choc-chip aroma.
Every soldier froze as General Colquinez popped the cookie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Three thousand miles away in the Pentagon, the secretary of defence had a stroke and was ignored as he shuddered and thrashed in his chair.
The general finally swallowed and nodded. ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘My ma used to make ‘em better when I was a kid, but not bad.’
Of course that’s not what happened! No one is that much of an idiot! how depressing would that be? I would never do something like that to you. Here’s what really happened:
The general took a deep breath, drawing in the heavenly choc-chip aroma and turned to Wilt. ‘Scan it’,’ he said. Wilt unhooked the scanner at his belt and ran it over the cookie. After a few seconds, a number of lights turned green.
‘It’s still viable!’ Wilt breathed. ‘Good,’ said the general, putting the cookie back in the capsule and snapping the lid closed, ‘Let’s get it back to base.’
Three months later, most of the Midwest was covered with verdant fields of swaying golden corn. Most of the South-East had become a sugarcane plantation, and the entire of Camerica was a forest of tall Maple trees. America had been generous, promising to release the genetic information, seedlings and off-cuts of the superplants a few months after their first harvest, securing both massive export profits from the first crop and hefty rights fees for itself. Happy enough at the prospect of eating something sweet again, the rest of the world played ball, waiting impatiently for the first harvest. There were pre-orders for pixie-stix, chocolate bars, fudge, brownies, fudge-brownies and every other kind of sugary food. The excitement climaxed as the first combine harvesters crept across the corn fields, great blades flashing in the Autumn light.
Then, almost as one, the tractors, chainsaws and harvesting machines stopped, and the screaming began. All over America, previously harmless corn stalk developed the ability to fire their suddenly-hardened leaves at nearby humans with chilling accuracy and armour-piercing power. In Camerica, tree-sappers were overwhelmed by a strange gas that emanated from the bark of the super-Maples, asphyxiating on the acidic vapours the trees had developed to protect themselves. Sugar cane harvesters, faced with a crop that had suddenly developed the ability to move independently, were impaled and sliced to ribbons. Within minutes it was over, and within hours the sugar cane plantations, further evolving a desire to pre-emptively protect themselves, had launched millions of tiny spores into the air that began to travel the trade winds, spreading across the world.
Humanity wept as they were brought low and replaced by the murderous superplants. They cried bitter, salty, sour tears. but not sweet tears. Oh no.
The Quest For Jon 