A long time ago in a town approximately one hundred and thirty miles away, I was a sophomore Biology major. I think I owe my choice of major to a single National Geographic article about bioengineering. It predicted that novel therapies for cancer were on the horizon. The bioengineered antibodies were drawn like floating space ships mounted with lasers or large scythe-like blades. They blasted or cut those cancer cells to hell and back. I figured majoring in Biology might be a little like that, like watching a science fiction story unfolding under a microscope. So, I took Physics III, Differential Equations and Organic Chemistry all the while thinking that someone would eventually hand me a microscope. I also took Calligraphy, Survey of Forms: Poetry and Fiction Writing just in case the spaceships and lasers never appeared under the lens. A lifetime and a PhD later, I don’t remember a thing about Differential Equations, but I do remember that my Fiction Professor tried to give me a “D”. It took me twenty years to realize that he was an idiot. I am writing now to bring back the lasers, the warp drives, the time machines and all that joyful noise. Did I cure cancer? No. But I’m damn well going to create some worlds where someone might.