THE RAIN MACHINE A SCIENCE FICTION STORY.

THE RAIN MACHINE by Apryl Fox

            It was in the year 2156 that mankind invented the rain machine.

            It started out as nothing more than a joke.  Inventor James Smith was watching television in the living room of his apartment.  He was thinking to himself how horrible the news was and what wicked people lived on the planet.  Suddenly, it grew dark.  Clouds spilled out over the world.  Rain thrashed at the windows and pounded on the glass.  His front door rattled.  He hadn’t had time to batten down the hatches, because he was trying to earn money to buy a moped, and was thinking of something new to invent, like cereal boxes-well, cereal boxes had been invented a long time ago, but he didn’t think anyone would know the difference, because, well, it was a long time ago and no one could remember back that far. 

James loved mopeds.  He pictured himself cruising down the street in one of them, but he also needed the money for his coal supply and food. 

James didn’t have a car because he felt he didn’t need one.  Cars were for wussies, and they polluted the environment, besides.

            “What horrible, wicked creatures humans are!” he fumed to himself.  “I wish I could do something about them!”  He thought, “I don’t think we even need half these shows on television!  Tv should be for meteorology only!”

            He was about to turn off the television.  A brilliant idea popped into his brain.

            He thought, “I want to invent a television that only records the weather!  That’ll teach people to watch violent things on tv!”

            He scurried down to his basement as the rain and lightning flashed.  And, the clouds-they were thick, and black, and angry.  Steam rose up from the blacktop of the street in front of his house.  The sky was dark as night even though it was pretty much daytime, still.

            James took out his tools and spread them on a table.  Then he took out one of his old televisions-a flatscreen he bought from a thrift store some odd years ago-and started banging on it with a hammer.  Nothing happened.  He frowned, scratched his head, and tried again.  Nothing happened, still.  Maybe the rain was making him think harder than he had to.  He wasn’t sure.  His stomach growled.  He ran upstairs and started taking food out of the refrigerator.  He had bread, salami, and sandwich spread.  He made himself a sandwich.  The rain slowed down some; the clouds dissipated and the sun shone brightly through the windows.

            He forgot about his invention and went upstairs to bed.

            That night, he had a dream.

            He dreamt he was flying through the sky on a dragon.  His name was Sarvich.  He had brown scales and a long tongue and he called James “Sir.”  That made him feel nice and happy inside.  He woke up the next morning, and the dream ended, but he remembered his invention and returned to work again. 

            That afternoon, he went for a walk through the forest.  The trees were much darker than the ones that lived on the planet over a thousand years ago, back when things were a simpler time.  He watched old television shows on his flatscreen tv many a-times.  He stopped and smelled the flowers-tulips and roses and wildflowers, that tickled his nose and made him sneeze.  He came to a small waterfall and splashed his feet in the small whirlpool that foamed and fizzed and spouted different colors.  He looked up.  A dragon, exactly like the one from his dream, stood there. 

            “Why, hello!” the dragon exclaimed in surprise.  “Whatever are you doing here?”

            “I’m taking a walk, but, you see, I stopped to rest.”  James laughed, because the water was tickling his feet.  It was a nice feeling.  He didn’t want it to end. 

            “Why, you’re in my dream!” the dragon said.  “I wish you’d get out.”

            “I don’t know how,” he replied.  He thought for a minute, then said, “What would you like to happen in your dream?”

            “I want you to build me something, James,” the dragon said.

            “What do you want me to build?” James asked in a curious voice.

            “A machine.”

            “What kind of machine?”

            “A machine that tells us when it is going to rain,” the dragon explained.  “A rain machine.”  The dragon smiled.  He had rows of sharp, white teeth in a grinning face.

            “We already have that,” James explained patiently.  “It is called the National Weather Service.  It is a giant balloon that encompasses the planet and tells us when it is going to rain.”  He smiled, pleased that he knew about such things.

            “No, no, no!” the dragon exclaimed.  “I want you to make a machine that actually tells us the second it is going to rain!  The very second, and not a moment too soon!”

            “All right,” James promised.  “I will.”

            He walked slowly home, thinking about what the dragon had said.  It didn’t occur to him that dragons shouldn’t exist, that they shouldn’t talk, or know anything about such things as rain machines that didn’t even exist.

            James made a nice pot of stew for dinner.  It smelled nice.  He thought about his invention while he ate his dinner.  It had been nice all day and he hoped it would stay that way because he needed to think about how he was going to build his machine.

            He went down into the basement the very next day and gathered his supplies.  He took out the flatscreen tv he had been working on, and took out a fresh sheet of paper and began to build a design for his rain machine.  Nineteen days and nights passed, and he worked and worked.  He hired a maid to clean his house so he wouldn’t be disturbed.  She brought down his dinner every evening, and every morning, she woke him out of a sound sleep.  He didn’t have an alarm clock because he had taken the parts out of it the week before to help build his machine.  At long last it was finished.  He put down his screwdriver and admired his handiwork.  The machine was splendid.  It was a tall, metal thing with interwoven pieces.  There was a radio attached at the end.

            “At last!” he exclaimed.  “My work is complete!”  He smiled, and, with a flourish, turned on the machine.  It hummed and churned, talking to itself as it wove to life.  It shuddered once, and died.

            “Drat!  Something’s wrong with it!”  He kicked the machine with his foot.  Ow.  That hurt.  Jumping up and down, and thinking while he was jumping, he realized he was going to have to tinker with it some more.

            The next day, he went to the store and bought more nails and bolts and a battery.  He gathered everything in his arms and took it home, then pulled the rain machine from behind the furnace and began to hammer it.  He inserted the battery.  With a hum and a whimper, it spluttered to life.

            “It’s working!” he screamed.  “It’s working!”  He jumped up and down, banging his foot one more time.  The basement grew dark, and he looked up in surprise.  It was going to storm.  He went upstairs and out the front door, to wait for the rain to come.  The clouds became thick and menacing, but nothing happened.  He waited some more.

            Still no rain, but a nice, cool breeze brushed across his face.  He winced.  Nothing was going right at all.  He wanted so badly to invent the rain machine, and to be able to buy a moped, but it looked like that was not going to happen for a very long time.  Or maybe not at all.

            Then, suddenly, a quick lightening flashed in the sky, and thunder smacked against the clouds, shaking the ground in which he stood.  The entire world opened, and the rain flooded the land, the rain that was plentiful and good.

            James swelled inside.

            He had done it.  He had invented a rain machine.

            Now, he could sell it to a computer company, and buy a moped.

            He skipped back inside, slamming the door behind him.

THE END.