Sunday, November 29, 2015
Thought For The Day
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
From the Diary of E.A. Keller
EAK Diary -- November 24, 2015
On this day in my original life I was put to death for crimes against the state. As a result of my actions in this life that state does not exist. And as a result of my actions the path of life for everyone has changed.
Has it changed for the better?
For those myself and who value life the answer is yes. For those who value power the answer is a very clear no. Although there are still mass graves from coast to coast the contents of those graves have changed. Those who were the destroyers of life in this world are now dead or have been driven away.
Do I regret my actions in this life?
I do regret my failures but otherwise no. I did the best I could with the information I had.
So what of the future?
I don’t know. I’ll just do the best that I can.
On this day in my original life I was put to death for crimes against the state. As a result of my actions in this life that state does not exist. And as a result of my actions the path of life for everyone has changed.
Has it changed for the better?
For those myself and who value life the answer is yes. For those who value power the answer is a very clear no. Although there are still mass graves from coast to coast the contents of those graves have changed. Those who were the destroyers of life in this world are now dead or have been driven away.
Do I regret my actions in this life?
I do regret my failures but otherwise no. I did the best I could with the information I had.
So what of the future?
I don’t know. I’ll just do the best that I can.
Sunday, November 08, 2015
Another Segment
The first story written and sold by H. Beam Piper was based on the idea of psychic time travel. I'm having a go at the concept to explain the differences between our real universe and the fictional universe:
Diary of E.A. Keller, October 14, 1975
I also had an encounter with Stephanie Kane today.
Miss Kane appears to be a narcissistic personality, that is someone who sees herself as the most important, if not the only person, in her private universe. This materially manifests as a habit of dressing to project the appearance of being sexually attractive. And though she wears normal clothes for the climate outside of school hours she changes over to the attractive mode and back in the girl’s restroom before and after class.
Up to this time she had ignored me as I was properly seen before the change as a long term loser. As I am not trying to hide the change to an adult mental state, and especially with the adult manner of grooming and speech, I’ve suddenly become a “chick magnet.” If I wasn’t an old man in a young body I wouldn’t be bothered by this but as part of the change I’ve not only picked up a moral standard but an esthetic standard as well.
What can I say about Miss Kane apart from that she looks ridiculous?
But Miss Kane came on to me so I replied to her.
“Miss Kane, I don’t know a nice way to put this, but you look like a common prostitute.”
She was shocked. I continued.
“Seriously, apart from the needle tracks and related heath issues, you look like one of the hookers working on Block E, or worse, one of those on Lake Street.”
She asked me what Block E was.
“It’s the west side of Hennepin Avenue between Sixth and Seventh Streets in Downtown Minneapolis. I don’t know offhand what the east side is called but it’s probably worse.”
She then asked me how it could be worse.
“There’s an actual porno theater on the other side.”
At this point she just stared at me and at this point I made a suggestion.
“Stephanie, everyone is privately laughing at you behind your back, you don’t need to slut up, just be yourself.”
I don’t know if there really is a self for her to be but I had to say it.
Diary of E.A. Keller, October 14, 1975
I also had an encounter with Stephanie Kane today.
Miss Kane appears to be a narcissistic personality, that is someone who sees herself as the most important, if not the only person, in her private universe. This materially manifests as a habit of dressing to project the appearance of being sexually attractive. And though she wears normal clothes for the climate outside of school hours she changes over to the attractive mode and back in the girl’s restroom before and after class.
Up to this time she had ignored me as I was properly seen before the change as a long term loser. As I am not trying to hide the change to an adult mental state, and especially with the adult manner of grooming and speech, I’ve suddenly become a “chick magnet.” If I wasn’t an old man in a young body I wouldn’t be bothered by this but as part of the change I’ve not only picked up a moral standard but an esthetic standard as well.
What can I say about Miss Kane apart from that she looks ridiculous?
But Miss Kane came on to me so I replied to her.
“Miss Kane, I don’t know a nice way to put this, but you look like a common prostitute.”
She was shocked. I continued.
“Seriously, apart from the needle tracks and related heath issues, you look like one of the hookers working on Block E, or worse, one of those on Lake Street.”
She asked me what Block E was.
“It’s the west side of Hennepin Avenue between Sixth and Seventh Streets in Downtown Minneapolis. I don’t know offhand what the east side is called but it’s probably worse.”
She then asked me how it could be worse.
“There’s an actual porno theater on the other side.”
At this point she just stared at me and at this point I made a suggestion.
“Stephanie, everyone is privately laughing at you behind your back, you don’t need to slut up, just be yourself.”
I don’t know if there really is a self for her to be but I had to say it.
Friday, November 06, 2015
Saigon Special
Part One
In a flash of light a black arrowhead shaped vessel appeared above the north polar region of the planet Mars.
It had been a hard journey.
The frigate UMCS Nguyen Loan was returning to Freya from its last scheduled deep space mission. Nguyen Loan had been the first unit of a class of frigates and was the first scheduled for retirement. There had been a discussion of the mission at the fleet command level, was it necessary to use this ship to transport a diplomat and show the flag? Or should the mission be performed by another ship that was in better condition?
There was no question now of it.
On what was scheduled to be the last jump through hyperspace for elderly vessel had clearly gone wrong. The first clue was general sense of nausea felt by all aboard during the jump. The feeling of nausea was a known indication that the hyperdrive had malfunctioned and the ship misjumped. The second sign of a misjump was the complete absence of traffic in the home system. There was no communications or any other sign of a human presence in the system. Furthermore the point of exit from hyperspace completely wrong. The ship exited hyperspace further than planned from the primary and secondary stars of 10 Ursae Majoris.
As the navigator examined her data it appeared that something else was wrong. The planets were all in the wrong positions. On the possibility that there was a temporal factor to the misjump she checked the planetary positions against the shipboard database.
“Let me get this straight,” said the captain, “we’ve also jumped backwards in time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Commander Susan Glasgow was one the rare women in her family to pursue a military career. Although she wasn’t observant Susan could trace some of her ancestry back to several Israelites who fled to Scotland after the fall of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Her most famous recent ancestor was Dave Glasgow, who served in the United States Army with Al Keller and was the commander of the Special Unit during The Reformation. All members of the Special Unit and their families would go out on the first load of civilian colonists to the planet Mars.
Commander Glasgow asked the question.
“So what day is it now?”
“September 2, 2014 Standard, ma’am.”
Commander Glasgow mentally cursed.
While The Reformation was winding down in the United States there would still some years to go in The Final War on Earth.
“Okay,” she said. “I need to think on this.”
When Commander Glasgow came to a decision she called a meeting of the command staff. She began by explaining the full effect the temporal misjump and then she announced her decision.
“We’re going to Earth.”
Everyone was dumbfounded at the decision, some of those present had even dropped their jaws.
The chief engineer, Lieutenant Dennis Sterling. was the first to respond.
“Ma’am. I have to disagree with that, we’ve just came through a misjump and I wouldn’t attempt another jump without a full overhaul of the system.”
Now the navigator, Junior Lieutenant Lisa Holland, spoke up.
“Ma’am, we have two perfectly good worlds here in the home system, we don’t need to go to Earth.”
Junior Lieutenant John Keller, the leader of the SURFER team responded.
“I have to disagree with you there Lisa. This was our home system and it could be again, but we don’t have the numbers or the right gender balance to set up a viable colony. And even if we did we wouldn’t be able to maintain our technology and culture. When John Vance and the Endeavor drop into the system in 2125 he will find a stone age community if we were fortunate.”
The first officer, Rav Seren {1] Uri Stern of the Masada Defense Forces, spoke up.
“We’ll have to go over the hyperdrive with a fine tooth comb. We will have to carefully nurse the drive and we may have to make single parsec jumps instead of full jumps, but we will reach Earth.”
With careful nursing of the hyperdrive it would take six months to the cover the 54 light years from 10 Ursae Majoris to the Solar System, and there would be two suicides along the way, but they would make it. The initial meeting ended with a long discussion on how to contact the people on Earth.
Junior Lieutenant Mark Keller, who was a history geek off duty, spoke on the the current mess on Earth.
“Apart from some holdouts under siege in New York, Boston, Chicago, and the San-San Strip in California, the Reformers are in full control of the United States, The State of Israel is gone and the survivors have been evacuated to the United States. France, Russia, China, and the various Islamic states are gone. The good news is that British Spacelift is still sending out OTV’s with supplies to support the Mars Expedition.”
In the history of the Mars Expedition one the female members of the mission accidentally became pregnant and had given birth to a daughter at the Lowell Base. There was some debate as to the feasability of being able to bring the infant girl home to Earth.
Commander Glasgow asked Keller a question.
“So how should we contact Earth?”
Keller answered.
“Given that the ballistic missile defense systems of the Omaha Pact are still up I recommend that we contact the Mars Expedition directly.”
“Right.” She replied. “Let’s do that.”
In normal space above the Martian northern hemisphere Rav Seren Stern supervised as the fire control and navigation sensors began to scan for the Mars Expedition.
He then spoke up.
“Ma’am, there’s a problem.”
Commander Glasgow stepped across the command deck to the fire control station.
“What’s wrong?”
Rav Seren Stern replied.
“There’s no sign of an expedition on the planet.”
“What?”
“There should be at least two orbital transfer vehicles in orbit around Mars at this time also there’s no infrared signature on the surface for Lowell Base.” He replied.
“Are you using the active sensors?” She asked.
“Yes, apart from what may be a robot orbiter there’s nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Yes, ma’am.”
“And there’s nothing on the surface?”
Rav Seren Stern shook his head.
“Even in broad daylight the heat emissions from the base should be lighting up the fire control sensors, but there’s nothing here at all.”
Commander Glasgow thought for a moment and made a decision.
“Take us in for a closer look.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The close examination of the martian surface revealed that there were two active unmanned rovers on the surface. Commander Glasgow ordered Lieutenant Keller to recover one for examination.
Later in the city of Washington NASA Administrator Charles Bolden, Jr. was very, very, annoyed.
The loss of the Mars Excursion Rover Opportunity to an obviously human act was a major event. But the effort to notify the President ran into multiple walls of bureaucracy and outright idiocy. The fact was the the planet Mars and the future of Humanity meant nothing to President Obama. Not even the apparent fact that there were now humans on Mars apparently meant nothing to him and the effort to schedule an appointment to see the president was a virtual nightmare.
But the photograph in his briefcase was about to change that.
[1] Equivalent to Major or Lieutenant Commander.
In a flash of light a black arrowhead shaped vessel appeared above the north polar region of the planet Mars.
It had been a hard journey.
The frigate UMCS Nguyen Loan was returning to Freya from its last scheduled deep space mission. Nguyen Loan had been the first unit of a class of frigates and was the first scheduled for retirement. There had been a discussion of the mission at the fleet command level, was it necessary to use this ship to transport a diplomat and show the flag? Or should the mission be performed by another ship that was in better condition?
There was no question now of it.
On what was scheduled to be the last jump through hyperspace for elderly vessel had clearly gone wrong. The first clue was general sense of nausea felt by all aboard during the jump. The feeling of nausea was a known indication that the hyperdrive had malfunctioned and the ship misjumped. The second sign of a misjump was the complete absence of traffic in the home system. There was no communications or any other sign of a human presence in the system. Furthermore the point of exit from hyperspace completely wrong. The ship exited hyperspace further than planned from the primary and secondary stars of 10 Ursae Majoris.
As the navigator examined her data it appeared that something else was wrong. The planets were all in the wrong positions. On the possibility that there was a temporal factor to the misjump she checked the planetary positions against the shipboard database.
“Let me get this straight,” said the captain, “we’ve also jumped backwards in time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Commander Susan Glasgow was one the rare women in her family to pursue a military career. Although she wasn’t observant Susan could trace some of her ancestry back to several Israelites who fled to Scotland after the fall of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Her most famous recent ancestor was Dave Glasgow, who served in the United States Army with Al Keller and was the commander of the Special Unit during The Reformation. All members of the Special Unit and their families would go out on the first load of civilian colonists to the planet Mars.
Commander Glasgow asked the question.
“So what day is it now?”
“September 2, 2014 Standard, ma’am.”
Commander Glasgow mentally cursed.
While The Reformation was winding down in the United States there would still some years to go in The Final War on Earth.
“Okay,” she said. “I need to think on this.”
When Commander Glasgow came to a decision she called a meeting of the command staff. She began by explaining the full effect the temporal misjump and then she announced her decision.
“We’re going to Earth.”
Everyone was dumbfounded at the decision, some of those present had even dropped their jaws.
The chief engineer, Lieutenant Dennis Sterling. was the first to respond.
“Ma’am. I have to disagree with that, we’ve just came through a misjump and I wouldn’t attempt another jump without a full overhaul of the system.”
Now the navigator, Junior Lieutenant Lisa Holland, spoke up.
“Ma’am, we have two perfectly good worlds here in the home system, we don’t need to go to Earth.”
Junior Lieutenant John Keller, the leader of the SURFER team responded.
“I have to disagree with you there Lisa. This was our home system and it could be again, but we don’t have the numbers or the right gender balance to set up a viable colony. And even if we did we wouldn’t be able to maintain our technology and culture. When John Vance and the Endeavor drop into the system in 2125 he will find a stone age community if we were fortunate.”
The first officer, Rav Seren {1] Uri Stern of the Masada Defense Forces, spoke up.
“We’ll have to go over the hyperdrive with a fine tooth comb. We will have to carefully nurse the drive and we may have to make single parsec jumps instead of full jumps, but we will reach Earth.”
With careful nursing of the hyperdrive it would take six months to the cover the 54 light years from 10 Ursae Majoris to the Solar System, and there would be two suicides along the way, but they would make it. The initial meeting ended with a long discussion on how to contact the people on Earth.
Junior Lieutenant Mark Keller, who was a history geek off duty, spoke on the the current mess on Earth.
“Apart from some holdouts under siege in New York, Boston, Chicago, and the San-San Strip in California, the Reformers are in full control of the United States, The State of Israel is gone and the survivors have been evacuated to the United States. France, Russia, China, and the various Islamic states are gone. The good news is that British Spacelift is still sending out OTV’s with supplies to support the Mars Expedition.”
In the history of the Mars Expedition one the female members of the mission accidentally became pregnant and had given birth to a daughter at the Lowell Base. There was some debate as to the feasability of being able to bring the infant girl home to Earth.
Commander Glasgow asked Keller a question.
“So how should we contact Earth?”
Keller answered.
“Given that the ballistic missile defense systems of the Omaha Pact are still up I recommend that we contact the Mars Expedition directly.”
“Right.” She replied. “Let’s do that.”
In normal space above the Martian northern hemisphere Rav Seren Stern supervised as the fire control and navigation sensors began to scan for the Mars Expedition.
He then spoke up.
“Ma’am, there’s a problem.”
Commander Glasgow stepped across the command deck to the fire control station.
“What’s wrong?”
Rav Seren Stern replied.
“There’s no sign of an expedition on the planet.”
“What?”
“There should be at least two orbital transfer vehicles in orbit around Mars at this time also there’s no infrared signature on the surface for Lowell Base.” He replied.
“Are you using the active sensors?” She asked.
“Yes, apart from what may be a robot orbiter there’s nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Yes, ma’am.”
“And there’s nothing on the surface?”
Rav Seren Stern shook his head.
“Even in broad daylight the heat emissions from the base should be lighting up the fire control sensors, but there’s nothing here at all.”
Commander Glasgow thought for a moment and made a decision.
“Take us in for a closer look.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The close examination of the martian surface revealed that there were two active unmanned rovers on the surface. Commander Glasgow ordered Lieutenant Keller to recover one for examination.
Later in the city of Washington NASA Administrator Charles Bolden, Jr. was very, very, annoyed.
The loss of the Mars Excursion Rover Opportunity to an obviously human act was a major event. But the effort to notify the President ran into multiple walls of bureaucracy and outright idiocy. The fact was the the planet Mars and the future of Humanity meant nothing to President Obama. Not even the apparent fact that there were now humans on Mars apparently meant nothing to him and the effort to schedule an appointment to see the president was a virtual nightmare.
But the photograph in his briefcase was about to change that.
[1] Equivalent to Major or Lieutenant Commander.
Monday, September 07, 2015
Another Unused Portion
I was attempting to rewrite (steal) the Watershed scene from The Tactics Of Mistake by Gordon R. Dickson but I wasn't happy with it:
For Colonel Thomas Kearney the operation had gone off without flaw and with no casualties for his men. The objective of this operation was a small mining town on one the minor outer colony worlds.
Vance was a barely habitable and tidally locked moon of a Jovian class gas giant that in turn orbited a red dwarf star. The initial settlement had served as a way station for the exploration and colonization of better worlds further out from Earth. But a more detailed survey of the world had found recoverable minerals in the platinum group and a rare earth element used in the manufacture of hyperdrives.
The world was named for Sir John Vance, an Australian astronaut employed by the Martian Relocation Project. Although the MRP had set up their own outpost on this world they also opened it to settlement dissident groups from Earth. What made the operation possible was the fact that not all of the settlements had joined the newly independent central government. But for Colonel Kearney this action was also a step forward in the recovery from two disasters. The minor and most recent was the defeat of the unit that left him with a bit less than three hundred effective soldiers out of was once a first class mercenary regiment. The more distant and most devastating to him was the loss of the home world and his family to what was in practical effect a band of invading savages.
The first part of operation was a night march through the forest bordering Federal Republic of Vance and the dissident colony of Vermillion. The march to the objective was illuminated by the reflected light of the gas giant planet that was permanently fixed on the southern horizon. The objective of the operation was the town of Runoff and the mining sites surrounding it. Which was a cluster of homes, small businesses, and offices. Very few of the people were awake at the time and once the mercenaries were in position their unit simply walked in and seized the town.
With the streets, the government buildings. and the local militia armory of the town secured Kearney ordered the transmission to the client of the code for the successful mission. But as Kearney waited for arrival of the sponsors there was unfinished business to be dealt with.
Kearney sat at the official desk as the Mayor of Runoff was dragged in. The Mayor was barefoot, unshaven, and hastily dressed. He looked around the room and shook his head before speaking to his captor.
“So you think you’re special?”
“We’re professional soldiers.”
“You’re only criminals.” The Mayor replied. “Did you kill anyone yet?”
“No.” Kearney replied.
There was no resistance from the police or any of the civilians that were awake.
So much for the sea of armed civilians. Kearney thought.
The Mayor looked directly at Kearney and spoke.
“Then if you leave right now and cross the border back into Vermillion you and your unit may yet get away.”
Kearney mentally dismissed the statement and placed a document on the desk before the Mayor.
“Sign it.” Said Kearney.
The Mayor briefly scanned it and then replied.
“No.” Said the Mayor. “You are nothing, you have no authority and thus no power over any of us.”
Kearney stared at the Mayor for a moment.
How can he say that? He thought.
“I can have you shot.” Kearney replied.
The Mayor looked Kearney straight in the eyes and then calmly replied.
“In that case you will actually become something, but it would only be a diseased animal that should be put down quickly and with mercy.”
Kearney could not believe what he had just heard.
Is he insane?
The Mayor spoke again.
“Now you should lay down your arms, go home, grow up, and get a life.”
For Kearney and his men this wasn’t possible--there was no place they could call a home. With
the refusal to sign the surrender document Kearney sent the Mayor downstairs to the town jail with the police officers that were on duty and other elected officials.
The local sun was beginning to rise as the gee-vee arrived with two well dressed civilians. The first man represented the sponsor of the operation, the Superior Mining Company, and the other was an official of the official central government. Superior Mining originated on the Iron Range of Minnesota in the late 19th Century and the firm had barely survived into the Interstellar Era. But under new management the firm would expand again by exploiting the resources found on the colony worlds and shipping them to Earth. Or it did until the extinction event that killed most of the population and the advanced civilization of Earth.
For Colonel Thomas Kearney the operation had gone off without flaw and with no casualties for his men. The objective of this operation was a small mining town on one the minor outer colony worlds.
Vance was a barely habitable and tidally locked moon of a Jovian class gas giant that in turn orbited a red dwarf star. The initial settlement had served as a way station for the exploration and colonization of better worlds further out from Earth. But a more detailed survey of the world had found recoverable minerals in the platinum group and a rare earth element used in the manufacture of hyperdrives.
The world was named for Sir John Vance, an Australian astronaut employed by the Martian Relocation Project. Although the MRP had set up their own outpost on this world they also opened it to settlement dissident groups from Earth. What made the operation possible was the fact that not all of the settlements had joined the newly independent central government. But for Colonel Kearney this action was also a step forward in the recovery from two disasters. The minor and most recent was the defeat of the unit that left him with a bit less than three hundred effective soldiers out of was once a first class mercenary regiment. The more distant and most devastating to him was the loss of the home world and his family to what was in practical effect a band of invading savages.
The first part of operation was a night march through the forest bordering Federal Republic of Vance and the dissident colony of Vermillion. The march to the objective was illuminated by the reflected light of the gas giant planet that was permanently fixed on the southern horizon. The objective of the operation was the town of Runoff and the mining sites surrounding it. Which was a cluster of homes, small businesses, and offices. Very few of the people were awake at the time and once the mercenaries were in position their unit simply walked in and seized the town.
With the streets, the government buildings. and the local militia armory of the town secured Kearney ordered the transmission to the client of the code for the successful mission. But as Kearney waited for arrival of the sponsors there was unfinished business to be dealt with.
Kearney sat at the official desk as the Mayor of Runoff was dragged in. The Mayor was barefoot, unshaven, and hastily dressed. He looked around the room and shook his head before speaking to his captor.
“So you think you’re special?”
“We’re professional soldiers.”
“You’re only criminals.” The Mayor replied. “Did you kill anyone yet?”
“No.” Kearney replied.
There was no resistance from the police or any of the civilians that were awake.
So much for the sea of armed civilians. Kearney thought.
The Mayor looked directly at Kearney and spoke.
“Then if you leave right now and cross the border back into Vermillion you and your unit may yet get away.”
Kearney mentally dismissed the statement and placed a document on the desk before the Mayor.
“Sign it.” Said Kearney.
The Mayor briefly scanned it and then replied.
“No.” Said the Mayor. “You are nothing, you have no authority and thus no power over any of us.”
Kearney stared at the Mayor for a moment.
How can he say that? He thought.
“I can have you shot.” Kearney replied.
The Mayor looked Kearney straight in the eyes and then calmly replied.
“In that case you will actually become something, but it would only be a diseased animal that should be put down quickly and with mercy.”
Kearney could not believe what he had just heard.
Is he insane?
The Mayor spoke again.
“Now you should lay down your arms, go home, grow up, and get a life.”
For Kearney and his men this wasn’t possible--there was no place they could call a home. With
the refusal to sign the surrender document Kearney sent the Mayor downstairs to the town jail with the police officers that were on duty and other elected officials.
The local sun was beginning to rise as the gee-vee arrived with two well dressed civilians. The first man represented the sponsor of the operation, the Superior Mining Company, and the other was an official of the official central government. Superior Mining originated on the Iron Range of Minnesota in the late 19th Century and the firm had barely survived into the Interstellar Era. But under new management the firm would expand again by exploiting the resources found on the colony worlds and shipping them to Earth. Or it did until the extinction event that killed most of the population and the advanced civilization of Earth.
Friday, August 14, 2015
Tuesday, August 04, 2015
Somewhere in Space, Time, and Stereo
If a mere human could perceive this being it would appear to be a giant bat like entity with alien features and if that human could hear the name it would sound like Skippy.
And the being truly hated to be called Skippy.
And now it this point in space and time it would appear to be speaking to another being like itself.
“Les, we need to talk.”
The other being turned to reply.
“I’m not Les--I’m The Other Les.”
Skippy winced and replied in annoyance.
“I know that,” it said. “but we still need to talk.”
“What about?”
“It’s this new timeline of yours, The Committee was very clear that you were to do no more displacements.”
“It’s not a displacement--it’s a duplication.”
“What?”
“On the original timeline the Resolution will arrive at the intended destination and The Old Man will see what had happened to the Earth as a result of the Yellowstone Eruption and then expire. Then the ship’s company will bury him on the grounds of the old Fort Snelling National Cemetery with full military honors and with a printed American flag–The End.”
“What?” Said Skippy. “Why not bury him at the Arlington National Cemetery?”
“The Old Man is from the Twin Cities, it’s a Minnesota thing.”
To a solidly material being it would appear that Skippy had paused to think for a moment before speaking again.
“What The Committee is really upset about is that you didn’t finish your last project.”
“It was spinning out of control,” said The Other Les. “I didn’t expect the people in Tienanmen Square to lynch Chairman Mao.”
“And what did you expect?” Said Skippy, “The Spanish Inquisition?”
As if on cue the familiar red-clad figures of Cardinals Ximenez, Biggles, and Fang appeared at that point of space-time.
Skippy spun suddenly and shouted at them.
“GO AWAY!”
“Right...” Said Ximenez and they vanished just as suddenly.
Skippy was annoyed to no end. Ever since the Spanish Inquisition Sketch had been broadcast the three characters were popping up all over time and space. It was as if they were now an inherent component of space and time.
Skippy then returned to the matter at the immediate manipulator appendage.
“So you didn’t expect Mao to be lynched?”
“No,” said The Other Les, “the people loved him.”
Skippy replied.
“Les, what you have to remember is that totalitarian states operate on the principle of Doublethink--Freedom is Slavery, War is Peace, and so on--when the principle of Doublethink is applied to the concept of Love what comes out is Hate. And given what that terminal orifice did to the Chinese people it would have to be pure unalloyed hate.”
The Other Les nodded.
“Okay, I can see that.”
Skippy then spoke again.
“And the other thing The committee is upset about is the reboot of your current project--why?”
The Other Les replied.
“It’s easier to write from an objective perspective and I missed the opportunity to show an interesting meeting between historic figures.”
Who?” Said Skippy. “George Orwell and Ayn Rand?”
For a moment The Other Les stared out into the yet to be defined dimensions of time and space.
No, no, NO!” Skippy shouted. “DON”T YOU DARE!”
Saturday, August 01, 2015
A Decision
I've decided to follow the example set by Ayn Rand and place the novel I'm writing in a slightly different universe.
One difference is obvious.
On this evening it was beginning to snow.
In most respects it was just another Monday for Evelyn Alexander Keller. After a day of classes at the Minneapolis Technical Institute he had just finished another two hours shift at the Fanny Farmer candy shop on the northwest corner of Fourth Street and Second Avenue in Downtown Minneapolis. The part time job was the source of income that paid for the tuition and covered the financial burden of his hobbies.
And on the day before his twentieth birthday he decided to treat himself a bit early. TSR had just released the Deities and Demigods book for Advanced Dungeons And Dragons. Although his primary interest was in science fiction and the Traveller role playing game he was willing to play D&D on occasion. And of course he kept himself up to date on the rule books.
His immediate destination was The Little Tin Soldier Shop. This was a small store just off the southwest corner of Lake Street and Bryant Avenue in South Minneapolis. The owner was a veteran of the Korean War and in the retail area up front he sold war games and miniature combatants to adults and role playing games to naive young fellows like myself. In the back of the store was the gaming area with several folding tables where war games were played during business hours and on some nights after closing time. Except on Thursday nights when the floor was open for gamers to try to sink each others carefully painted miniature warships with imaginary cannon fire.
When he arrived there was one copy remaining on display of the book. As he picked it up someone spoke. It was a teenage boy and by the accent and attire he had to be a rich kid from the Kenwood section of Minneapolis.
“I want it.” He said.
Keller turned to the boy and replied.
“Kid, you should ask Don if he has any more copies in stock, or when the next shipment from TSR is due.”
The kid responded.
“Don?”
Keller replied.
“Don Valentine, that’s the gentleman behind the counter, and if it looks like he’s been through Hell it’s because he has.”
The kid looked at Don and then spoke to Keller again.
“My uncle’s the Vice President.”
Keller was not impressed, there were a number of things he could have said about outgoing Vice President Walter March, but he decided to be polite.
“Kid, one thing that you have to learn is that Reality is Real and that in reality you’re not entitled to a damned thing. Your relatives and the social and economic status they have means absolutely nothing in the real universe.”
He then had a thought--and then a second thought--it may be a bit early to introduce the lad to Metaphysical Realism.
Keller spoke to him a last time.
“Kid, just to the the south of Lake and Hennepin is a store called Orr Books. Take the money you were going to use for Deities and Demigods and ask the clerk for a copy of A Collection Of Essays by George Orwell. And when you get home go straight to the essay titled Politics And the English Language, it’s a real eye opener.”
And it’s a real mind opener, too. He thought.
With the conversation over he paid for the purchase, skipped the planned visit to a nearby record store and went directly home. Upon arrival he went straight to his room and turned on the radio. KQRS, the local album rock station was now reporting that John Lennon had just been shot to death in New York.
Shit. Keller thought.
One difference is obvious.
On this evening it was beginning to snow.
In most respects it was just another Monday for Evelyn Alexander Keller. After a day of classes at the Minneapolis Technical Institute he had just finished another two hours shift at the Fanny Farmer candy shop on the northwest corner of Fourth Street and Second Avenue in Downtown Minneapolis. The part time job was the source of income that paid for the tuition and covered the financial burden of his hobbies.
And on the day before his twentieth birthday he decided to treat himself a bit early. TSR had just released the Deities and Demigods book for Advanced Dungeons And Dragons. Although his primary interest was in science fiction and the Traveller role playing game he was willing to play D&D on occasion. And of course he kept himself up to date on the rule books.
His immediate destination was The Little Tin Soldier Shop. This was a small store just off the southwest corner of Lake Street and Bryant Avenue in South Minneapolis. The owner was a veteran of the Korean War and in the retail area up front he sold war games and miniature combatants to adults and role playing games to naive young fellows like myself. In the back of the store was the gaming area with several folding tables where war games were played during business hours and on some nights after closing time. Except on Thursday nights when the floor was open for gamers to try to sink each others carefully painted miniature warships with imaginary cannon fire.
When he arrived there was one copy remaining on display of the book. As he picked it up someone spoke. It was a teenage boy and by the accent and attire he had to be a rich kid from the Kenwood section of Minneapolis.
“I want it.” He said.
Keller turned to the boy and replied.
“Kid, you should ask Don if he has any more copies in stock, or when the next shipment from TSR is due.”
The kid responded.
“Don?”
Keller replied.
“Don Valentine, that’s the gentleman behind the counter, and if it looks like he’s been through Hell it’s because he has.”
The kid looked at Don and then spoke to Keller again.
“My uncle’s the Vice President.”
Keller was not impressed, there were a number of things he could have said about outgoing Vice President Walter March, but he decided to be polite.
“Kid, one thing that you have to learn is that Reality is Real and that in reality you’re not entitled to a damned thing. Your relatives and the social and economic status they have means absolutely nothing in the real universe.”
He then had a thought--and then a second thought--it may be a bit early to introduce the lad to Metaphysical Realism.
Keller spoke to him a last time.
“Kid, just to the the south of Lake and Hennepin is a store called Orr Books. Take the money you were going to use for Deities and Demigods and ask the clerk for a copy of A Collection Of Essays by George Orwell. And when you get home go straight to the essay titled Politics And the English Language, it’s a real eye opener.”
And it’s a real mind opener, too. He thought.
With the conversation over he paid for the purchase, skipped the planned visit to a nearby record store and went directly home. Upon arrival he went straight to his room and turned on the radio. KQRS, the local album rock station was now reporting that John Lennon had just been shot to death in New York.
Shit. Keller thought.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Sunday, July 19, 2015
Sunday, June 28, 2015
A Scene from The Novel
Carl Grant had arrived on Freya and checked into a hotel in one of the suburbs of Landfall.. But he had to wait a full local day for the scheduled meeting with the defense secretary as all local government offices were closed on what would have been a normal business day.
Why was this?
Grant left the hotel early for the meeting and hailed one of the taxicabs waiting at the cab stand. It was a Ford Galaxy sedan that had seen service as a police car and was now painted in the company colors of red and white. The driver appeared to be entering middle age with glasses, a mustache, and a fringe of blond hair. And he wore his old style M1911A1 in a shoulder holster.
The driver asked a question.
“Where to, sir?”
“The Planetary Government Center in Landfall.”
“There are multiple buildings on the site,” said the driver, “so what department are you visiting?”
Grant answered.
“The Department of Planetary Security.”
“Okay.”
The driver switched on the meter and electric motors hummed as the cab pulled away from the hotel. But something about the way the driver responded to him seemed a bit odd to Grant. It was as if he were speaking with a long term veteran soldier.
“Is there a problem?” He asked the driver.
“No sir, it’s just that the Founders wanted to call it the War Department, but the groundhogs
wouldn’t allow it.”
Grant responded.
“The Federation authorities?”
“Yes.” The driver replied.
And then the driver asked his own question.
“Are you a writer, sir?”
“Yes.” He replied. “Of military theory for the most part, of works such as On War by Clausewitz.”
The driver’s response was a surprise to him.
“Vom Kriege by General Karl Maria von Clausewitz.” He said. “I tried several times to read the complete Standard English edition and the damned thing always put me to sleep.”
“Well military theory is not for everyone.” Grant curtly replied.
The driver quickly and clearly responded.
“The thing is that Clausewitz began to write at a time when Kant was barely cold in the ground and Hegel had just started his emissions. At that time the intellectual culture in Germany was already in deep trouble with clarity and brevity already going out of style.
Grant had not expected a lecture on intellectual history from a common working man.
But he responded.
“I wrote a book on military doctrine titled Future Forces: Organization and Doctrine.”
“I’ve read it.” Said the driver.
“So how do you feel about it?”
“I think Colonel Simmons wrote a fairly good review of it. He clearly understood how the citizens out here on the colony worlds would respond to an invasion by your Future Force but didn’t explain the why...”
Grant sneered.
“Simmons...that moron...”
The driver solidly interrupted the sneer
“I served with him when he was a battalion commander in Afghanistan--and we don’t give out Sky Blue Berets as supermarket promotional items--even to West Point graduates.”
“So you were in the Quarantine Force and then retired out here?”
“No.” The driver replied. “I enlisted here and served on Earth.”
“Why?”
The driver smiled before answering.
“Because that’s where the enemy combatants are.”
Grant thought for a moment and then spoke again.
"Do you feel that the Quarantine Force are all true warriors?”
“Hell no!’ The driver suddenly snapped back. “The goal of every warrior is to impose his will upon his victims. And our mission in the Quarantine Force is to hunt down and kill warriors.”
Present tense. Grant thought. He spoke with hostility in the present tense.
Grant was now concerned for his own safety.
Is there a round in the chamber of his gun?
The cab then entered the main drive of the Planetary Government Center and stopped at the DPS Building. Grant paid the fare in cash and without a gratuity.
Why was this?
Grant left the hotel early for the meeting and hailed one of the taxicabs waiting at the cab stand. It was a Ford Galaxy sedan that had seen service as a police car and was now painted in the company colors of red and white. The driver appeared to be entering middle age with glasses, a mustache, and a fringe of blond hair. And he wore his old style M1911A1 in a shoulder holster.
The driver asked a question.
“Where to, sir?”
“The Planetary Government Center in Landfall.”
“There are multiple buildings on the site,” said the driver, “so what department are you visiting?”
Grant answered.
“The Department of Planetary Security.”
“Okay.”
The driver switched on the meter and electric motors hummed as the cab pulled away from the hotel. But something about the way the driver responded to him seemed a bit odd to Grant. It was as if he were speaking with a long term veteran soldier.
“Is there a problem?” He asked the driver.
“No sir, it’s just that the Founders wanted to call it the War Department, but the groundhogs
wouldn’t allow it.”
Grant responded.
“The Federation authorities?”
“Yes.” The driver replied.
And then the driver asked his own question.
“Are you a writer, sir?”
“Yes.” He replied. “Of military theory for the most part, of works such as On War by Clausewitz.”
The driver’s response was a surprise to him.
“Vom Kriege by General Karl Maria von Clausewitz.” He said. “I tried several times to read the complete Standard English edition and the damned thing always put me to sleep.”
“Well military theory is not for everyone.” Grant curtly replied.
The driver quickly and clearly responded.
“The thing is that Clausewitz began to write at a time when Kant was barely cold in the ground and Hegel had just started his emissions. At that time the intellectual culture in Germany was already in deep trouble with clarity and brevity already going out of style.
Grant had not expected a lecture on intellectual history from a common working man.
But he responded.
“I wrote a book on military doctrine titled Future Forces: Organization and Doctrine.”
“I’ve read it.” Said the driver.
“So how do you feel about it?”
“I think Colonel Simmons wrote a fairly good review of it. He clearly understood how the citizens out here on the colony worlds would respond to an invasion by your Future Force but didn’t explain the why...”
Grant sneered.
“Simmons...that moron...”
The driver solidly interrupted the sneer
“I served with him when he was a battalion commander in Afghanistan--and we don’t give out Sky Blue Berets as supermarket promotional items--even to West Point graduates.”
“So you were in the Quarantine Force and then retired out here?”
“No.” The driver replied. “I enlisted here and served on Earth.”
“Why?”
The driver smiled before answering.
“Because that’s where the enemy combatants are.”
Grant thought for a moment and then spoke again.
"Do you feel that the Quarantine Force are all true warriors?”
“Hell no!’ The driver suddenly snapped back. “The goal of every warrior is to impose his will upon his victims. And our mission in the Quarantine Force is to hunt down and kill warriors.”
Present tense. Grant thought. He spoke with hostility in the present tense.
Grant was now concerned for his own safety.
Is there a round in the chamber of his gun?
The cab then entered the main drive of the Planetary Government Center and stopped at the DPS Building. Grant paid the fare in cash and without a gratuity.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Another Thought
I could describe House Harkonnen (from Dune) as subhuman garbage fit only for extermination but that would be an insult to subhuman garbage for only for extermination.
Monday, April 06, 2015
Legacy Part Six
October 1994
Al Keller stepped off of the Northwest Airlines flight from London upon arrival at the Twin Cities International Airport just to the south of Minneapolis. He had been dressed casually for the flight with his old M-65 field jacket in the BDU camouflage pattern. During the flight he was seated next to an obviously Kosher teenage girl and she insisted on having a conversation with him.
“So what do you do?” She asked.
“Security.” He replied.
This wasn’t too far from the truth. After his medical retirement from the Army after being wounded during Operation Desert Storm he returned to Minnesota and was hired by a local security company. During the weekdays and on overtime during the weekends he guarded office buildings in downtown Minneapolis. When his old friend John March returned from Oxford they had a long conversation. And at the end of it he accepted John’s offer. There were moments during the training course that he would regret accepting the offer but now that he survived and passed the course he was back on American soil and out of the immediate reach of Commander Corder.
The girl was still curious.
“Security?” She said.
“Yes.” Al replied. “I was babysitting office buildings in downtown Minneapolis but I got an offer to do bodyguard work and I just completed the the training course in the U.K.”
Al had decided to tell the truth but to spin it to appear legitimate. The actual course covered the basic black operations of the security services and the objective of his final examination was to hunt down and terminate a journalist in hiding. As part of the operation he took part in the execution and in dumping the body in a vacant lot while pretending to be an Irish terrorist.
In effect there was no way for him to return to an innocent state.
“So who will you be protecting?” She asked.
“An old friend from the Army.” Said Al. “He’s from an old money family and he unfortunately is the type of person that members of home grown Marxist liberation fronts tend to kidnap for ransom.”
“Oh.”
Al continued.
“So anyway--after being wounded during Operation Desert Storm he was medically retired and continued his education at Oxford. Now he has a teaching position at the U of M.”
“University of Minnesota?” She said. “Wouldn’t they disapprove of a combat veteran?”
“Depends on his ideology.” Said Keller. “But in this case he has an endowed chair and they have to accept him.”
The girl nodded.
After the flight Al Keller didn’t expect to ever see the girl again.
Sonya Newman would grow up and graduate from a Journalism School. She would begin her career as a televison reporter at the Twin Cities affiliate of the Fox Network, KMSP Channel 9. From there she would cover the campaign of John March for Governor of the State of Minnesota.
Al Keller stepped off of the Northwest Airlines flight from London upon arrival at the Twin Cities International Airport just to the south of Minneapolis. He had been dressed casually for the flight with his old M-65 field jacket in the BDU camouflage pattern. During the flight he was seated next to an obviously Kosher teenage girl and she insisted on having a conversation with him.
“So what do you do?” She asked.
“Security.” He replied.
This wasn’t too far from the truth. After his medical retirement from the Army after being wounded during Operation Desert Storm he returned to Minnesota and was hired by a local security company. During the weekdays and on overtime during the weekends he guarded office buildings in downtown Minneapolis. When his old friend John March returned from Oxford they had a long conversation. And at the end of it he accepted John’s offer. There were moments during the training course that he would regret accepting the offer but now that he survived and passed the course he was back on American soil and out of the immediate reach of Commander Corder.
The girl was still curious.
“Security?” She said.
“Yes.” Al replied. “I was babysitting office buildings in downtown Minneapolis but I got an offer to do bodyguard work and I just completed the the training course in the U.K.”
Al had decided to tell the truth but to spin it to appear legitimate. The actual course covered the basic black operations of the security services and the objective of his final examination was to hunt down and terminate a journalist in hiding. As part of the operation he took part in the execution and in dumping the body in a vacant lot while pretending to be an Irish terrorist.
In effect there was no way for him to return to an innocent state.
“So who will you be protecting?” She asked.
“An old friend from the Army.” Said Al. “He’s from an old money family and he unfortunately is the type of person that members of home grown Marxist liberation fronts tend to kidnap for ransom.”
“Oh.”
Al continued.
“So anyway--after being wounded during Operation Desert Storm he was medically retired and continued his education at Oxford. Now he has a teaching position at the U of M.”
“University of Minnesota?” She said. “Wouldn’t they disapprove of a combat veteran?”
“Depends on his ideology.” Said Keller. “But in this case he has an endowed chair and they have to accept him.”
The girl nodded.
After the flight Al Keller didn’t expect to ever see the girl again.
Sonya Newman would grow up and graduate from a Journalism School. She would begin her career as a televison reporter at the Twin Cities affiliate of the Fox Network, KMSP Channel 9. From there she would cover the campaign of John March for Governor of the State of Minnesota.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
An Old Story
I found a file of a short story that I wrote in my Libertarian Days. I did update a few minor deatils on it.
It was March in Minneapolis and it was cold and wet. There wasn't a proper rain, only a drizzle from a low cloud ceiling. From where I worked the cash register of a parking lot one could not see the upper floors of the Wells Fargo and IDS towers. Or for that matter, the top of the skeleton of the aborted Starfire tower.
I was off duty at sixteen hundred (my employer, a security company, used military time). It had been in the Chinese sense an interesting day. We raised the half hourly rate for the second
time in a month. Not unexpected given government economic policy and I was still receiving curses and dumbfounded stares from the customers. One woman called me a Consentist son of a bitch.
I thanked her for the compliment.
Although it was damp I walked outdoors. On the skyways the enclosed bridges between buildings some people would ignore the convenient informational signs. They would see my security uniform and assume I knew all the answers to their stupid questions: "Where is the elevator? Where is (a building demolished five years ago?) Are you toxic? And have you been saved?"
I crossed the plaza of the old Federal Reserve Bank and started walking south on the mall. A street person probably male demanded change for bus fare. He/she/it cursed the Universe and me for not giving him/her/it an unearned existence.
Beyond Seventh Street, under the Skyway to Nowhere, was a clump of people being haranged. I looked at the boarded up skyway for new graffiti. Yes there was some. On the bridge between the
IDS tower and the terminally incomplete Starfire tower, someone had painted: "BEWARE OF FALLING DRAGONS".
I hadn't the faintest idea of what it meant.
I didn't stop as I passed the crowd. The man standing of on a home built platform was describing the evils of material existence. If he really believed what he uttering, he could have jumped off any of the convenient bridges in Minneapolis, or off the incomplete Starfire building. The fence around the abandoned work site wasn't really secure. The City Council was tiffed about that particular mess, but they only had themselves to blame.
I was halfway between Ninth and Tenth streets when somewhere behind me a bomb went off.
My first action was to jump into the convenient alley. I leaned against the north wall and counted off ten seconds. No other explosions or gunfire. I looked out. The antimaterialist speaker and his audience were gone,. I saw rising smoke, broken glass, and lumps of what looked like well dressed hamburger.
I ran back to the mess. Some cops had already arrived at the scene. I could read their faces. The older ones survivors of The Revolution showed no emotion. On the younger cops it was: "At
last someone who isn't a ghoul! Someone with first aid training! Can you do this sucking chest wound?"
Of course I could.
A Channel Four newsclown with his camera crew appeared. Many corespondents from that station are hired by the networks and one even got himself shot by a cop down in Nicaragua. The clown recorded his segment and left.
He'll probably get a Koppel Award for it.
After those who could be saved were evacuated, I gave a statement to the police. I described everything I saw and heard including the speakers platform at what was now the center of the
blast area.
The cops gave me a lift to my flat. I lived in a small apartment two blocks off of Lake of the Isles. I locked the door and took a long, hot shower. I have never really felt clean after messes like today's. Of course this time it wasn't a grunt hunt.
I opened a Diet Coke (the real thing was too sweet for me), switched on the anti-surveillance system, and booted up the PC. When I was finished, I placed the report on the day's incident with
the data I had gathered on the local politicians.
And once again I had the thought that I should have stayed home and helped Dad on his hemp farm outside of Rockstone, Guyana.
It was March in Minneapolis and it was cold and wet. There wasn't a proper rain, only a drizzle from a low cloud ceiling. From where I worked the cash register of a parking lot one could not see the upper floors of the Wells Fargo and IDS towers. Or for that matter, the top of the skeleton of the aborted Starfire tower.
I was off duty at sixteen hundred (my employer, a security company, used military time). It had been in the Chinese sense an interesting day. We raised the half hourly rate for the second
time in a month. Not unexpected given government economic policy and I was still receiving curses and dumbfounded stares from the customers. One woman called me a Consentist son of a bitch.
I thanked her for the compliment.
Although it was damp I walked outdoors. On the skyways the enclosed bridges between buildings some people would ignore the convenient informational signs. They would see my security uniform and assume I knew all the answers to their stupid questions: "Where is the elevator? Where is (a building demolished five years ago?) Are you toxic? And have you been saved?"
I crossed the plaza of the old Federal Reserve Bank and started walking south on the mall. A street person probably male demanded change for bus fare. He/she/it cursed the Universe and me for not giving him/her/it an unearned existence.
Beyond Seventh Street, under the Skyway to Nowhere, was a clump of people being haranged. I looked at the boarded up skyway for new graffiti. Yes there was some. On the bridge between the
IDS tower and the terminally incomplete Starfire tower, someone had painted: "BEWARE OF FALLING DRAGONS".
I hadn't the faintest idea of what it meant.
I didn't stop as I passed the crowd. The man standing of on a home built platform was describing the evils of material existence. If he really believed what he uttering, he could have jumped off any of the convenient bridges in Minneapolis, or off the incomplete Starfire building. The fence around the abandoned work site wasn't really secure. The City Council was tiffed about that particular mess, but they only had themselves to blame.
I was halfway between Ninth and Tenth streets when somewhere behind me a bomb went off.
My first action was to jump into the convenient alley. I leaned against the north wall and counted off ten seconds. No other explosions or gunfire. I looked out. The antimaterialist speaker and his audience were gone,. I saw rising smoke, broken glass, and lumps of what looked like well dressed hamburger.
I ran back to the mess. Some cops had already arrived at the scene. I could read their faces. The older ones survivors of The Revolution showed no emotion. On the younger cops it was: "At
last someone who isn't a ghoul! Someone with first aid training! Can you do this sucking chest wound?"
Of course I could.
A Channel Four newsclown with his camera crew appeared. Many corespondents from that station are hired by the networks and one even got himself shot by a cop down in Nicaragua. The clown recorded his segment and left.
He'll probably get a Koppel Award for it.
After those who could be saved were evacuated, I gave a statement to the police. I described everything I saw and heard including the speakers platform at what was now the center of the
blast area.
The cops gave me a lift to my flat. I lived in a small apartment two blocks off of Lake of the Isles. I locked the door and took a long, hot shower. I have never really felt clean after messes like today's. Of course this time it wasn't a grunt hunt.
I opened a Diet Coke (the real thing was too sweet for me), switched on the anti-surveillance system, and booted up the PC. When I was finished, I placed the report on the day's incident with
the data I had gathered on the local politicians.
And once again I had the thought that I should have stayed home and helped Dad on his hemp farm outside of Rockstone, Guyana.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)