tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-388768712024-03-12T21:17:50.547-07:00The Science Fiction SiteDedicated to Science Fiction stories, movies and an interest in all things Science FictionKRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-11637624796076642382022-05-30T09:36:00.001-07:002022-05-30T09:36:09.313-07:00Time Changer - A Belated Review<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Those of you who visit
here, or have looked at the books I have written, you’ll realize that I’m a
sucker for time travel stories. I consider them to be fantasy because, by the
definition that Bob Tucker, Bob Cornett and I agreed on decades ago, science
fiction dealt with what was possible at some point but fantasy was, well, just
that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, when I saw a movie
called <i>Time Changer</i> that was described as a professor from the 1890s
traveling into his future, which would be, of course, our present, I thought I
would take a look at it. <i>Time After Time</i>, that Nick Meyer movie of
decades ago had, sort of, the same thing going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we had H.G. Wells traveling into modern
San Francisco, though now, it was a couple of decades ago. The sense of wonder
and the fish out of water aspect of that movie was part of the enjoyment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Here, we are treated to
a professor, Russell Carlisle (D. David Morin) as the time traveler. He has
written a book dealing with modern morality, that is, that morality in 1890. He
needs the approval of a committee at his college so that his book might be
published. All by one, Norris Anderson (Gavin MacLeod), are on board, but
Anderson objects.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">His quibble is over a
single paragraph that seemed to remove Jesus Christ from the discussion.
Anderson believed that this was an important omission and refused to endorse
the book without some modification. Here we delve into a rather protracted
discussion of morality and the place that Christianity has in the discussion.
By leaving that out, by calling on humanity to maintain moral standards, the
importance of religion is ignored.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I thought the
discussion went on longer than necessary, but then it was setting up the story
because Anderson had a time machine. Anderson attempts to get Carlisle to visit
him at home to carry on the discussion, but Carlisle doesn’t believe it will do
any good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As you can imagine,
given the title of the movie, Carlisle does visit Andernson, and is eventually
convinced that he needs to travel into the future. The trip is on with very
little instruction from Anderson, although Anderson does provide Carlisle with
some money from 1890 and suggests that he sell those coins to a coin dealer in
the far future. While a good idea, it relies on the idea that all coins from
more than 100 years ago would be extremely valuable, but you can find, today,
many coins selling for twenty or thirty dollars. Rarity is important but it
seems that no effort is made to find coins that would be worth a great deal
based on rarity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’d go into greater
detail with this problem, but it is just a small part of the movie. Carlisle,
then moves around the modern world but there isn’t much in the way of a sense
of wonder. He seems to understand television and cars and probably flight.
True, in the 1890s these things were discussed or envisioned but he is just too
comfortable with them<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Then there is a scene
that would have gotten him arrested. A little girl, what 10 or 12, steals his
sandwich, and he is off, chasing her through the park. No one seems to worry
about this adult male chasing a female child. No one makes an inquiry about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And then, we are
treated to more philosophical discussions of religion and its importance in
living our lives. It becomes ham-handed and it is clear that the message of
this movie is that religion, or rather Christianity, is an important part of a
good life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This is where I break
from the movie. While the earlier discussion sets up the reason for the time
travel, now it is just tedious. I wanted to shout at the TV, “I’ve got it. Move
on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Carlisle returns to his
own time automatically and his view of the world altered by what he had seen.
The preaching continued but it was not very subtle, unlike some of the other
Hollywood productions in which the message is somewhat disguised, though <i>Time
Changer</i> probably isn’t a standard Hollywood production. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m rather ambivalent
about this movie. I don’t plan to watch it again and those movies I like, I
tend to review them periodically. Who can’t watch <i>The Thing from Another
World</i> with Ken Tobey or the original <i>The Day the Earth Stood Still </i>more
than once? <i>Time Changers</i> isn’t one of those.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I suppose I’ll just
say, if you have a couple of hours to waste, don’t waste them here. Find one of
the classic, 1950s or 1960s science fiction films. They were well craft, well
written and well-acted. This one just sort of hangs there with its flaws for
everyone to see. As I say, I think I’d have avoided it had I known a little
more about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For those who like
these things, the movie was released in 2016 though seems to have a copyright
date of 2002. It runs an hour and thirty-five minutes and had an estimated
budget of $825,000. There are several actors, with minor roles, who are well
known including Hal Linden and Jennifer O’Neill and the above mentioned Gavin
MacLeod. <o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-78688419219001014782022-04-19T08:58:00.004-07:002022-04-19T08:58:57.631-07:00Kill or Be Killed<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17Jdv3R7UtCQVlhNpcA_AcxHJbg11feUEdn6h8UDGHHHsbJyJYN-N8hbEgmALbedqssfoU8r_5xEF1U50r5beTm-6V1sUcs9QD1QHqgpuvib21JBWu9CE13EKHQKKmwqMVq-SysJ-5yRG51ELULZGx86NkNwKTgpccM-U5YUd5b2oCxQ/s943/DSC00132%20(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="937" height="562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17Jdv3R7UtCQVlhNpcA_AcxHJbg11feUEdn6h8UDGHHHsbJyJYN-N8hbEgmALbedqssfoU8r_5xEF1U50r5beTm-6V1sUcs9QD1QHqgpuvib21JBWu9CE13EKHQKKmwqMVq-SysJ-5yRG51ELULZGx86NkNwKTgpccM-U5YUd5b2oCxQ/w559-h562/DSC00132%20(2).JPG" width="559" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(Note: Bob Cornett and I wrote this story decades ago. I don't know who wrote what parts or whose idea it was. I can tell you that on the manuscript, Bob's name was first, but the story was typed on my typewriter (which, of course, gives you an idea of the age because I have been using a computer since 1985). The return address on the manuscript is mine as well. What this means is that here is a story for which both of us are responsible, written at the beginning of our collaboration. We wrote it prior to starting Seeds of War, which also puts it in the 1980s.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Captain
Robert Tucker, Air Force Public Affairs Officer, stood blinking at the studio
lights behind the TV cameras in the crowded press room. He waited for a moment,
as the last of the reporters sat down and got out their handheld cameras and
their cell phones to record the event.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Gentlemen
and Ladies,” he said, clearing his throat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
there seemed to be no reaction, he said it again but louder, “Gentlemen and
Ladies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">As
the last of the noise died, he began. “I’m sure that all of you have heard by
now, and are a bit confused by, all the reports of aerial combat that occurred
this evening over downtown Galveston, Texas. We’re here to clarify the
situation and to let everyone know that no one on the ground was at risk at any
time during the dogfight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
was a murmur that seemed to travel around the room. When it fell quiet again, Tucker
continued, “At this time, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Major Charles Caldicott
McKuen, the squadron commander of the First Sub-miniaturized Bravo Defense
Force, and the first pilot to successfully engage, in aerial combat and destroy
a killer bee.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">That
last bewildered the reporters, but rather than shouting questions and demanding
attention as they usually did, they sat quietly. It might have been respect for
the military officers present, instructions given to them as the entered the
press room, or just confusion about what was being said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Tucker
gestured to his left and said, “Major McKuen, if you will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
moved to the center stage, stopped behind the lectern and then adjusted the microphone
to his satisfaction. He was in his mid-thirties, about 5 ten, with dark hair
cut so short it looked like a shadow on his head. He was wearing a sweat
stained flight suit that might have been more for show than necessity.
Normally, those at press briefings were in Class A uniforms, complete with
awards and decorations and qualification badges. He stood straight, with both
hands gripping the sides of the lectern. He surveyed the audience as if waiting
for something or maybe expecting an assault.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">A
woman, in the back, stood and without being recognized shouted, “Major. Sally
Behr, Fort Worth Evening Press. I have a question that I’m sure everyone else
has. Just what in the hell is the First Sub-miniatured Bravo Defense Force?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
grinned, as if asked an easy question, and said, “To start with, I think we
should go into the sub-miniaturization process itself, and then perhaps a brief
history of the enemy, which brought about the first practical use of the sub-miniaturization
process in aerial combat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">One
of the reporters for a television or cable station, standing next to her
camera, shouted, “Is this some kind of secret project?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
asked, “Is there another kind?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
the laughs died, he continued. “Approximately twenty years ago, a team of
government physicists, working in the strictest secrecy at Los Alamos, became
interested in the possibilities of utilizing the excess space that exists
between various subatomic particles that make up the atom. The theory was put
forward, at that time, by a scientist who wished to remain anonymous, that it
might be possible to squeeze these elements together, thereby compacting the
atom without altering its properties. The theory proved to be totally wrong,
but it did lead to work in a related area which suggested that it is possible
to actually shrink the atom rather than merely compacting it. This process resulted,
not only in a reduction in size, but in a reduction in weight as well. The
nature of the process is, quite naturally, classified for reasons of national
security. Suffice it to say that it does, in fact, work, and subsequent tests
proved it safe for use on organic creatures, as well as inanimate objects?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
good is that?” asked a reporter who didn’t bother to identify himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
looked at the audience and spotted a man in the middle of the crowd. He was
glaring at McKuen as if McKuen had called him a dirty name and slandered his
family.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
said, “Well, if you wanted to put a colony on Mars, and you could reduce the
crew and colonists sufficiently, then you have the ability to send a great deal
more food, equipment and colonists than you would if everything and everyone
remained at a normal size.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“How
small?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“There
is a limit to the process. I can say that it is possible to shrink a human to a
height of less than a millimeter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Is
that what this process, as you call it, was created to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
took a deep breath and said, “We are getting off topic here. I wanted to…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Another
voice yelled, “You just said that we could reduce a human to something that is
nearly microscopic and I assume all the food and equipment needed to build a
city on another world. But it seems to me that a raindrop would be of
sufficient size to crush your human or drown him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
would enlarge him to normal size at the other end. There would just be many
more humans available, and all their equipment and food could be carried in the
rockets that are available to us today. We just need to design the proper capsule
for them. But again, we are getting off topic here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Are
you telling us that we have already launched such a mission?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No.
NO! Let me finish.” McKuen surveyed the crowd and then continued. “As you are
aware, entomologists in this country have been concerned about the advance
toward our southern border of a deadly strain of killer bees. These are even
worse than those that arrived a couple of decades ago. It all started from genetic
experiments in crossing a strain of the African bees with the more passive
South American bees, which would create a docile bee that would produce more
honey. Well, the experimental bees escaped and weren’t quite as docile as
everyone hoped. Now, the original, more aggressive, and somewhat larger bees
have also escape and are at our southern border. This is a threat greater than
that posed by the original Africanized bees and one that we were tasked with
neutralizing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
hesitated and then said, “The First Sub-miniaturized Bravo Defense Force, then,
is an elite Air Force unit created specifically to deal with the bees on their
own terms.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Another
voice interrupted. “Howard, Smythe, The Times, London. If I follow you Major,
you actually miniaturized a whole squadron of Air Force fighter planes and sent
them out to kill bees.” It sounded as if he couldn’t believe that he had heard
what he heard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I didn’t miniaturize them myself…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
the laughter died, he added, “But we did go out to kill bees.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Isn’t
that a bit drastic? Wouldn’t it have been easier to simply spray them with
Raid?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We
couldn’t find a can big enough,” said McKuen and then, “Actually, this strain
of bee is resistant to most pesticides. The concentration needed for a lethal
dose would have been ecologically and environmentally unacceptable, and we
worried about persistence of the chemicals in the environment. Since we had the
technology to reduce sophisticated warplanes to a level where they would be
effective against the bees and since no other means could be found to deal with
this particular menace, the decision was made, at the highest levels of our government,
at the civilian end I might add, to proceed with the formation and then
activation of the First Sub-miniaturized Bravo Defense Force.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
looked out at the reporters who now seemed to be somewhat reserved, as if
stunned by the direction the conference had now taken or maybe believing that
this was some sort of joke, though they couldn’t see the purpose. Filling the
silence, McKuen said, “Not lost on the Pentagon brass, however, was the
training benefits. Out pilots could build dogfighting skills by engaging the
bees without a great deal of danger to themselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
pointed to another reporter who said. “Karl Harbstreet, host of the Weird
Things Podcast. Can you describe the battle as it occurred?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
can do better than that. Lights, dim.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Responding
to the command, the lights dimmed and curtains descended, shutting out the
sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Replay,
initiate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">A
solid ball of light appeared in front of the reporters, hovering five feet in
the air. It fractured into a thousand bits which spun around rapidly, finally coalescing
into a static display made up of tiny representations of the F-45 fighters, and
the black and brown killer bees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
began his narration. “I was leading a squadron of eight sub-miniaturized
fighters. We had been scrambled from Bowie Air Force Base about an hour
earlier, when a spotter from the reactivated Ground Observer Corps reported
contact with a swarm of killer bees approaching Galveston from the South. Our
sub-miniaturized squadron had been carried aboard a modified Cessna mothership.
I will note here that mine was not the only squadron carried into the battle,
nor was our mothership the only one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
allowed the display to advance, showing his squadron diving toward the bees. He
said, “Our target, meaning my squadron’s, was the queen and we went after her
as the other flights engaged the bees surrounding her. The bees formed a cocoon
around her, rotating slowly in a clockwise direction. As you can see, as we
approached, a force of bees broke away to intercept us, but they were attacked
by the supporting squadrons.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Now
everyone had his or her attention fixed on the swirling mass of tiny points of
light as they gyrated in the glowing cloud spinning above them. One of the
fighter’s lights winked out as bees attacked it with their stingers but it was
the mass of bees that overwhelmed the plane, knocking it from the sky. The
fighters used their machine guns to engage the bees, the nearly invisible lines
of tracers looking like tiny rays from some sort of futuristic battle. Bees
began to fall but their images disappeared before they hit the floor. The fight
turned into a giant furball as the opponents engaged.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
said, “We had opted for gun pods rather than missiles. We weren’t sure the heat
seekers would be able to home in on the bees, and the radar guided missiles
might be lost in the bees’ stealth capabilities.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">A
reported shouted, “You are saying that the bees had created way to defeat
radar?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
smiled. “Not at all. They are soft targets without the solid surfaces that the
radar required. Their bodies, covered with fur were theorized to have a stealth
capability by absorbing the radar signal rather than reflecting it. Besides, we
could not carry enough missiles to be practical. Twenty-millimeter cannon were
a more effective weapon to use against them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
waited to see if there would be a follow up question and when there wasn’t, he
said, “We selected the gun mode on the fire control system, and attacked.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
glowing ball that had been showing the whole engagement, narrowed the focus to
the bees that were surrounding the queen, and the tiny jets that were
attacking. Dodging right and left, with all the fighters in his squadron aiming
for the same target, they closed on the largest of the bees. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">McKuen
began his narration. “After missing on our second pass, my wingman and I
executed a high-speed yo-yo maneuver.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Although
McKuen was gesturing with his hands, the display showed his aircraft, along
with the wingman completing the maneuver. He said, “This brought us out high
and to the rear of the queen. We pushed into a vertical rolling scissors, and
snapped out of it just on the tail of the queen. At this point, my wingman had
to peel off to deal with the stiff resistance on the drones nearest to the
queen. I continued to close and when in firing range, squeezed off a short
burst from the Vulcan cannon, shredding the queen’s wings and her body. She
disintegrated in front of me and the rest of the swarm, without a leader, just scattered.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
was a shout from the back. “This is quite obviously an experience that no one
has had before, Major. How did it feel?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
guess it’s like warfare has always been.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
do you mean, Major.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Killer
Bee, killed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /> </p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-69264285784172370812022-04-02T15:24:00.005-07:002022-04-02T15:24:40.622-07:00Bob Cornett, My Friend is Gone<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Just
yesterday, April 1, Robert Charles Cornett, “Bob,” sometimes known as R C
Squared, passed away. Bob and I had been friends for nearly a half century. We
met while we were both taking Air Force ROTC at the University of Iowa in the
early 1970s. We shared an interest in science fiction and writing and a few
other things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
had originally majored in both physics and Russian which seemed to be a very
difficult path to follow. Eventually, he changed majors, and we both graduated
in 1975. Bob remained in Iowa City.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
was in 1975 that I learned the Project Blue Book files had been declassified
and were open for public scrutiny at Maxwell Air Force Base. Bob and I drove to
Maxwell and began a search of those records. We might have been the first two
outsiders to see those records. At the time, the names had not been redacted
and we spent two days going through the index, writing down the names of all
the witnesses for the unidentified sightings. At the time, this was a unique
record but today the information is available on the Internet. That search translated
into a few magazine articles about Project Blue Book and sparked Bob’s interest
in UFOs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Writing
had always been one of his goals, though I suspect he was more interested in
writing science fiction than he was in writing about UFOs. We had written a
book of science fiction short stories that was never published, but some of
them have been posted to www.thesciencefictionsite.blogspot.com. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
had suggested that we talk to James van Allen about UFOs because he, Bob, knew
van Allen. I thought it was just that Bob had taken a class from van Allen and it
was a sort of nodding friendship. But, one day, in the Physic Building, van Allen
got on the elevator with us. Van Allen looked at us and said, “Hi, Bob.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
Bob said, “Hi, Van.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Van
Allen sat down with me for two hours to talk about UFOs. Bob missed the meeting
for some reason but it would not have happened had he not known van Allen. That
van Allen would talk to me about UFOs said something about Bob.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyZIZQhCmWcjxBy9G4LRHUQwPuM-x41j9yqAOc1z1b_pjqFPcWPNaak6gLxDLNhhUTt4mvumU86N5ttn15BrG_4q1Sg_VRYqZ-FLTCBpF1vHTRrAYHs1f9zROd87vOodgYf1raTIFWaV6EGGxApBw2hcQb3xhCu5aEDyTwYuxUF-kCKY/s912/Cornett%20and%20files.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="912" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyZIZQhCmWcjxBy9G4LRHUQwPuM-x41j9yqAOc1z1b_pjqFPcWPNaak6gLxDLNhhUTt4mvumU86N5ttn15BrG_4q1Sg_VRYqZ-FLTCBpF1vHTRrAYHs1f9zROd87vOodgYf1raTIFWaV6EGGxApBw2hcQb3xhCu5aEDyTwYuxUF-kCKY/w490-h347/Cornett%20and%20files.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob doing UFO research in Colorado.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">We
did investigate cattle mutilations for APRO. Jim Lorenzen had called me, asking
me to look into them. With Bob, we went to Minnesota and spent a week to ten
days there, learning what we could. We had been told that these mutilations
were part of Satanic rituals, but we found no evidence to support that claim. Nor
did we find anything to suggest that UFOs had anything to do with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">All
this resulted in Jim Lorenzen introducing Bob at a UFO convention as one of his
top investigators. The irony was that Bob belonged to the rival NICAP. But the
recognition did help Bob place some stories about UFOs in the magazines that
were popular at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">We
began to attend science fiction conventions with an eye to meeting the editors
working for publishers. We thought that if we met them, if they knew who we
were, then we might have a leg up when a manuscript was submitted. I’m not sure
if that ever worked in our favor, but we did meet Sharon Jarvis, an agent
looking for writers. She recognized our military connection and one day called,
wondering if we could write books about the Green Berets in Vietnam. We said
yes and set about creating those books, now all recently republished under the
banner of <i>Vietnam Ground Zero</i>. This did not erase our quest to write science
fiction, and I don’t know if those books helped or not, but we did finally publish
science fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
was at home one night when Bob called and told me he had started a novel that
dealt with a war in space. We planned to meet the next day and he suggested
that I bring along something. His “chunk” of the book, as we came to call them,
was in the third person but mine was in the first person. Before we were done,
the book, <i>Seeds of War</i>, had five first person narrators, not all of whom
survived the conflict, and the third person beginning in which Earth declared
war on another planet. I mention this only because we used Lyndon Johnson’s
Gulf of Tonkin speech as the basis for the one in the book. We didn’t have do
change much. It was a commentary on war. It was a strange attitude for us because
of our connections to the military.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
and I attended many science fiction conventions, even after we had books
published. At a party hosted by Berkley Books, we ended up as volunteer bartenders
about two in the morning. A very drunk science fiction fan wanted a Scotch, but
we had run out of Scotch. He was so drunk that we didn’t think he would know
the difference, so we made some Scotch for him, using gin, Pepsi, some wine and
worked hard to make it look like Scotch. The man took it away happy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
was popular on the science fiction circuit. I think it was a combination of
things, including some of the stories that he wrote. He would do readings
periodically, and I noticed that the fans sat quietly listening to his stories.
He was sometimes slow in getting the story written, but it was always a good
one. He was an imaginative writer, with a keen ear for human speech.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
was habitually late for nearly everything. We were to meet in Iowa City one day
but I got interested in a movie and figured that Bob would be late. So, I
watched the end of the movie and was more than an hour late. Bob showed up
about twenty minutes after I got there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
eventually left Iowa City, moving to Moulton, Iowa, and our writing sessions
waned at that point. We did a number of limited series, including one about
time travel that started with <i>Remember the Alamo</i>, in which the time
travelers return to 1836, to win the battle for the Texicans by using modern
weapons.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_uDDrAyRqFo2ZCu2ArgzUbRee01zyAhuhCFBddK1simQaJ6nxhGPt8uVQdgpMmeCSicx7HIF0AtrE6gXHj78ekkt5aeI_3Sgb998v8nx24X7GVK-XHoHSVRNwpLpPsKidpgrprA-zE12ht6zaknSZx3vLs5GXPybi6zzHtsr4WYK2p4/s789/Cornett%20in%20the%20field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="789" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_uDDrAyRqFo2ZCu2ArgzUbRee01zyAhuhCFBddK1simQaJ6nxhGPt8uVQdgpMmeCSicx7HIF0AtrE6gXHj78ekkt5aeI_3Sgb998v8nx24X7GVK-XHoHSVRNwpLpPsKidpgrprA-zE12ht6zaknSZx3vLs5GXPybi6zzHtsr4WYK2p4/w534-h352/Cornett%20in%20the%20field.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob with a UFO witness. Bob's in the raincoat.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
with the move to Moulton, our contacts, lessened. I became involved in UFO
research and Bob stuck closer to the science fiction. I think the last science
fiction convention we attended together was in 1991, about the time of the Gulf
War. We hadn’t writing much together by that time. The <i>Vietnam Ground Zero</i>
series had wound down and we didn’t have any contracts for science fiction novels.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob,
had trained as an EMT while living in Moulton and at some point, had become a
letter carrier. With his wife, MaryAnn, he eventually moved to Albuquerque
where they hosted a few conventions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bob
was interested in firearms and had a massive knowledge about them. Some of the
writing about Vietnam showed just how much he knew about weapons. He was very
good at describing the combat of the time. He was honorably discharged from the
Air Force and later the Marines.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
was a very good friend and I wish that I had been a better friend to him. I knew
that his health had been poor these last few years. I had him on the radio
version of <i>A Different Perspective,</i> and was sadden by what I heard as we
talked about UFOs. He just wasn’t as sharp as he had been when he was younger.
You can listen to that show here:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.spreaker.com/episode/19655144"><span style="background: white; color: #336688; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">https://www.spreaker.com/episode/19655144</span></a>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">In
the last several years, maybe the last couple of decades, he had lost his fire
for writing. Bob Tucker, who turned out to be a good friend, had said in his
later years that he had retired from writing. Neither Bob nor I could
understand that attitude… but sometimes writing is a very difficult task. I
think Bob retired from it without really saying that he was retired.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
had thought of writing a tribute to my friend, but this turned into more of a
remembrance. I’m surprised by how much I miss him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
was only 69.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-87372027581836272752022-02-15T09:28:00.001-08:002022-02-15T09:28:31.271-08:0011.22.63 - A Mini Review<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Yes,
yes, I know that I have been delinquent in posting here, but I had three books
due in the last few months and have been struggling to get them finished. No,
none were science fiction, unless, of course, you consider UFOs to be in the
realm of science fiction rather than reality. That’s an argument for another
time. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
will be a couple of thoughts about <i>11.22.63</i>, the mini-series that is
available on Hulu, which I just joined the other day. This is the time travel
tale by Stephen King about the Kennedy assassination. When it popped up, as I
was scanning what was available on Hulu, I immediately clicked on it to see if
it was what I thought it was. Having read the book, I knew the story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
then I almost turned it off when I noticed that J.J. Abrams was one of the
executive producers. I had seen what he had done to wreck the <i>Star Trek</i>
franchise and knew that he just didn’t get some of the finer points. But then
Stephen King was also an executive producer and I figured that King might have
held some of Abrams’ radical ideas in check. The story might just follow the
book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">In
that opening chapter, when Jake first returns to 1960 (rather than 1958 as in
the book), I saw all the old cars parked on the street and driving by. Of
course, they weren’t all that old for 1960, but something bothered me about
them. Took a moment to realize they were all in pristine condition, looking as
if they had just driven off the showroom floor. Of course, they would have been
found in the hands of automobile collectors and they were all beautifully
restored… not a dent, not a sign of rust, and no mud or dirt anywhere. Not a
big deal, just something I noticed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
will also point out that in some of the reviews I read about the mini-series,
it was suggested that those who had read the book would be disappointed. Well,
not me. I understand that the book will be filled with richer detail and that
time limitations would dictate the construction of the movie. They just
couldn’t go through some of the problems that Jake ran into as he worked to
complete his mission.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">So,
no, I wasn’t disappointed, though I would have liked for there to be a second
season of the mini-series. The story here was just a little more linear than it
was in the book, but that was understandable. Instead of multiple returns to
the past, there was but a single trip and I don’t think I’m giving away any
spoilers here. Besides, the copyright date on the series of 2016, so it isn’t a
new show.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Anyway,
for those who have read the book, I don’t see why you’d be disappointed in <i>11.22.63</i>.
It’s well done with careful attention to detail (except for all those clean
cars, some of which show up in Texas after we’ve seen them in Maine). If you
have the chance, have Hulu and have the time, this is well worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-57354209340784449312021-11-25T09:16:00.002-08:002021-11-25T09:16:59.852-08:00The Demolition Man - A Belated Review<p style="text-align: justify;"><b> (Blogger's Note: Yes, I have been a little lax in posting here but I've had three books due this fall. Two are now completed and the rough draft of the third is almost done. In other words, I'll have more time to devote to this site... I have notes for two short stories in mind that are somewhat intriguing. I'll try to get those done soon. And, for those interested, two more of the Jefferson's War novels have been published. The cover to the first it on the right... You can find them at Amazon a ebooks... Take a look.)</b></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Just
the other day I happened to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Demolition Man</i>, that Sylvester Stallone movie from the late 20<sup>th</sup>
century. While it is a fun film with some predictions that are frighteningly
close to the mark in the world today (language monitored with fines levied for
the use obscene words) there were others that were way off the mark. There was,
for example, no huge earthquake in California in 2010 and there was no Nine
Years War (I think that was what they said).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LcY-LvBCNxs/YZ_EtyLiG9I/AAAAAAAAEys/cqe4ZXwH7sgucOHghNYp1_TbWD07KwqKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s340/220px-Demolition_man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LcY-LvBCNxs/YZ_EtyLiG9I/AAAAAAAAEys/cqe4ZXwH7sgucOHghNYp1_TbWD07KwqKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/220px-Demolition_man.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
were a couple of flaws that inspired me to comment on them. Things that the
writers and the director should have thought of as they made the film. One of
the minor points was Simon Phoenix, the really bad guy, was working some sort
of computer station that had a keyboard but no letters on that keyboard. He was
approached by a number of police officers who, if some in our world had their
way, would be more social worker than law enforcement, he saw one of those
officers standing near a wall. Phoenix attempted to activate the anti-graffiti
electrodes. He was told that there was a human too close by but Phoenix was
able to override that inhibition. The electrodes activated, killing the police
officer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Here’s
the point. Why would Phoenix be able to override the safety command? There is
no positive benefit for the ability to override that system. It was system was
designed to prevent injury. Overriding it could, and in fact, did result in the
death of the police officer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
that’s not the problem that caught my attention. Simon Phoenix, and by
extension, the hero, John Spartan, needed to find firearms. Of course, in the
world of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Demolition Man</i>, no one
has firearms and everyone is somewhat docile. They don’t swear, they sing along
with mini-tunes which we think of as advertising jingles, and they don’t seem
to have a bad thought in their barbecued brains. Why, they don’t even swap
bodily fluids in the course of what we think of as normal activities… You know,
they don’t kiss and use a machine to engage in sexual intercourse (can you say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sleeper</i>?).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Both
Phoenix and Spartan realize that there will be guns in the museum (though in
that world I’m not sure why they’d have a Hall of Violence). Here, on display
are all sorts of weapons from hand guns to howitzers. There are “modern”
weapons that include some sort of laser weapon that fires explosion bolts of
light. There are machine guns and hand grenades and all sorts of ammunition for
the various weapons. My question is “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
can think of no reason that a museum would have, on display, weapons that were
still functional. For the rifles, they could have removed the bolts, or at the
very least, the firing pins. Why wouldn’t the barrels of the weapons be spiked
so that even if they could be fired, the projectile would not leave the weapon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
all the displays of the ammunition should have been rendered inert. That means
that you could have the bullets and the shotgun shells and the artillery shells
but there would be no explosives in them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">In
fact, you wouldn’t even need to display the real weapons. Mock ups and replicas
could serve the purpose and even if someone stole one, it would be of no use to
him. The look and feel of the weapons could seem to be real when they were just
models to show what the things looked like. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Or,
in other words, the weapons wouldn’t work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">To
find weapons, Phoenix and Spartan, would have to find another source. There is
one, of course. In the movie, there is an underground world. Those who don’t
wish to have their lives regulated to the extent those living on the surface
are. They have hamburgers, or rat burgers, they live in the squalor of that
lower level, and they have all sorts of weapons.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
does lead to another problem and it is Taco Bell, the winner in the “franchise wars.”
We’re told that all restaurants, in 2032 are Taco Bell, but Taco Bell is part
of Yum Brands that include other restaurants such as KFC (formerly Kentucky
Fried Chicken) among others. Yum! won the franchise wars so wouldn’t some of
the restaurants be KFC or other franchises owed by Yum!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
will note here that, like all movies set in the future, they get so much wrong.
I won’t go into all that but instead mention couple of things that seem to be
coming. There were the self-driving cars and I think, but 2032 we might have
those all over the roads.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
don’t like gasoline, though at one point in the film, it seems that gas makes
up an important component of the plot. They’ve done away with toilet paper and
replaced them with the three sea shells. I don’t see that happening, and just
like John Spartan, I don’t know how they work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Of
course, we must remember that the movie was not made to please me, but to
appeal to a wider audience. There are the required fight scenes and the big
gunfights. There is some humor that those in the future wouldn’t understand but
we do… I’m thinking of the mini-tunes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
could nitpick the film from this point by why? I enjoyed it and I overlooked
the big weapons grab in the museum. I stumbled at that point, but that doesn’t
change my impression of the movie. It was a fun film with some nice little
insights into the future and some frightening predictions that seem to be
coming true… I think “cancel culture,” and the attempts to grab and maintain
power by manipulation of the system. It seems to be warning us about those who
see the world in one way and wish to impose that vision on the rest of us. You
must do this or… well, you’ll find yourself in some sort of trouble because
opposition, no matter how well intentioned must be eliminated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
I digress into political commentary, which, by the way, is one of the aspects
of good science fiction. Provide a look into the future, or an alternative
future, that is predicated on where we are and where we might be going.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Anyway,
if you have an hour or two, and haven’t seen it, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Demolition Man</i> is a fine way to spend a little time. Turn off
your brain to ignore the frightening implications of our future and watch
Stallone and Wesley Snipes battle one another while the San Angeles police and
others watch in horror.<o:p></o:p></span></p><b></b><p></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-48502031954900796222021-08-06T06:33:00.004-07:002021-08-06T06:33:45.155-07:00Science Fiction and UFOs<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Here’s
something that I have said for years. When a technologically superior
civilization encounters a technologically inferior civilization, that
technologicalyl inferior civilization ceases to exist. We have seen numerous
examples of this through the course of our history. We don’t have to look very
far into the past to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Sitting
Bull, the Hunkpapa Lakota medicine man warned the Lakota to leave everything on
the battlefield after the defeat of the five companies with George Custer. His
point was that they, the Lakota, did not have the technology to reproduce those
artifacts, whether they were guns, steel axes and knives, or even the cooking
utensils. He knew that an iron pot was better for cooking than a clay pot and a
steel ax was sharper than one created from stone. He knew that the Lakota would
become dependent on those things and that would alter their society… probably
not for the good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
was in 1960, I believe, that the Brookings Institute published a document in
which they made this observation. The superior technology would overwhelm the
society without the technology and that would doom that technologically
inferior society.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_d21s5rU20/YQ06JBzq6NI/AAAAAAAAEnA/vpBY2kvCkKEc7a3nhPlQlM6shuk6qRZtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1421/Four%2BFrom%2BPlanet%2BFive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1421" data-original-width="862" height="245" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w_d21s5rU20/YQ06JBzq6NI/AAAAAAAAEnA/vpBY2kvCkKEc7a3nhPlQlM6shuk6qRZtgCLcBGAsYHQ/w149-h245/Four%2BFrom%2BPlanet%2BFive.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><br />I
mention all this now because I just reread a book that my mother bought for me
when I was ten. It was a Fawcett Gold Medal science fiction novel entitled <i>Four
from Planet Five</i>. It is about four children who arrive at an Antartic
research station in what seems to be a spaceship. Clearly, anyone with a
spaceship, back in the middle of the twentieth century anyway, had a superior
technology.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Normally,
this wouldn’t be of interest to anyone into UFOs, and one or two of the things
in the book wouldn’t be of interest to those who read science fiction. However,
there was something I found on page 59 that might be of interest to both
groups.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">To
quote from the book:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
he had an immense, a fascinated yearning to work with the innumerable
possibilities the technology of the children’s race suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t like any of this,” he commented to Gail. “If they children’s people find
out where they are I don’t see how we humans of Earth can survive the contact
with so superior a culture. The American Indians collapsed from meeting a
civilization not nearly so far ahead of them. The Polynesians died of mere
contact with a whale-ship culture. But we’ve got to face something a lot more
deadly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">You
can argue that these examples aren’t just of contact but of warfare. Yes, there
was fighting between the expansion of the Europeans into the native
territories, but it was the superiority of the technology that actually doomed
the indigenous peoples. The rifle and pistol were superior to the bow and arrow
but the Indians couldn’t make them. They had to rely on the technology of the
Europeans and the Americans for those items.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
it wouldn’t have been just weapons. All sorts of items would be introduced and
even if the contact had been benign, the end result would have been pretty much
the same. The technology would have won.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
the real point is that this concept, which I have quoted often in the past, was
out there, in the world of science fiction before the academics had put it down
on paper. Oh, there might by other examples of this in the anthropological
history of the human race. I just found it interesting that the concept was
part of a science fiction novel published in 1959 that has an impact on the
world of the UFO.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-58815260327108022382021-07-21T09:35:00.002-07:002021-07-21T09:45:19.015-07:00Four From Planet Five - A Book Review<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
I was a kid, only ten or eleven, I was interested in science fiction. While at
the super market one day, on one of the racks of paperback books that held
genre novels including westerns, mysteries and romances, I spotted <i>Four From
Planet Five</i>. I asked if I could have it and my mother agreed. It was only
35 cents, which in those days was a nice bit of money for a book, but she
agreed. I have long since decided that she agreed because she wanted to read it
too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GdX3jqOxu_s/YPhLNp1VdPI/AAAAAAAAElc/NWp-2ipHgXggtuaMR-8irXmG2ygHQKRGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1421/Four%2BFrom%2BPlanet%2BFive.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1421" data-original-width="862" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GdX3jqOxu_s/YPhLNp1VdPI/AAAAAAAAElc/NWp-2ipHgXggtuaMR-8irXmG2ygHQKRGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Four%2BFrom%2BPlanet%2BFive.jpg" /></a></div><br />Now,
for decades, I have hauled that book around. It has followed me as I moved from
one state to another, which is to say that I still have it. True, the clue is
given away because, as you can see the cover isn’t pristine, but I do have it. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
mention all this because I just reread it after all these years. I remembered
nothing about it, except that the kids were supposed to be telepathic. Of
course, you could learn that by reading the cover blubs, so that was no big
deal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Clearly,
the book, by Murray Leinster, was written quickly. It is fairly short and tells
us the story rather than show us much of it. The science is late in the 1950s.
The children, that is, the four from planet five, identify Jupiter, not only by
its size but by the twelve moons that orbit it. We’re much smarter today because
we know the number is 79 plus a couple of moonlet, but I didn’t really care about
that…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
children are horrified by the craters on our moon, suggesting that the
destruction there was caused by the destruction of the postulated planet in
orbit between Mars and Jupiter. The children can’t speak English, of course,
and none of the adults can speak their language so there is a communication problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Their
ship arrives with a sudden burst of static, so powerful, that it is heard on
radios and televisions all around the world. I’m not sure about the science
here but it sounded something like an electromagnetic pulse which would be more
or less line of sight. In other words, the radios and televisions on the other
side of the world might not have been affected but that’s just a minor problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
main male character, Soames, a scientist, laments that he will never earn
enough to support the journalist, Gail Haynes, but that doesn’t stop him from
wishing. Of course, that is all turned around when the ship bursts into the
airspace over the Antarctic where they both happen to be working. Soames, who
is also the helicopter pilot, flies her out to look for the object they are
sure is down somewhere near their outpost. It gives him an excuse to hang
around with her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
is clear to me that Leinster knew nothing about helicopter operations, given
the way he described the flight. That’s really no big deal, but since I am a
helicopter pilot, I spotted this right away and, of course felt the urge to
mention it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kZp9t_TYr2k/YPhO4ZYEroI/AAAAAAAAElk/XDyPe8sz8UYTRJyHEhc739aJyKiaicBBgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1557/Tucker%2Bin%2BChicago.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1557" data-original-width="1369" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kZp9t_TYr2k/YPhO4ZYEroI/AAAAAAAAElk/XDyPe8sz8UYTRJyHEhc739aJyKiaicBBgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Tucker%2Bin%2BChicago.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wilson "Bob" Tucker with his<br />ever present bottle of Beam's.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />As
an irrelevant aside, Bob Cornett and I wrote a science fiction novel, <i>Seeds
of War</i>. We kept getting it rejected. Well, not always. One editor was going
to buy it, but he got fired and the book was returned. He tried to buy it at
his new publisher, but got fired again. Bob and I knew Wilson Tucker who had
published some 25 very good but underappreciated science fiction novels so we
asked him to take a look at it. When we visited him at his home, one of the
first things he said, “Which one of you is the helicopter pilot?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
hadn’t thought there was anything particularly insightful about the way I had
described the helicopter operations, but Bob (Tucker, aka Wilson and not Bob
Cornett) knew that one of us was a helicopter pilot… but I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">We
learn that the cause of the big static burst was an alien ship that crashed.
Flying over it, they saw four children, hardly dressed for the cold, outside
the ship. They looked human, but, of course, they couldn’t be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Here,
we see the first of the scenes in which we are told more than we are shown. No
big deal, but it was something that I noticed throughout the book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Sure,
the story was okay, but I thought some of the developments in the book were not
properly set up. The romance between Soames and Haynes developed a little too
quicky. People do fall in love at first sight, but this just seemed rushed to
me. Almost within hours, they’re talking about marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
we have the military man… well, woman, Captain Moggs… really, we couldn’t give
her a name that was somewhat more attractive. Moggs, of course, isn’t all that
bright but is following her orders, such as they are. She is not a nice person,
but given the name, what would you expect?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Within
a few pages, we have the world on the brink of atomic war because the Americans
have access to the children, with the technology that seems to be far superior
to anything on Earth. True, Fran, one of the children, blew up the remains of
the ship to keep it out of the hand of we savages, but that didn’t stop the
rest of the world from believing that Americans had access to all that
technology.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Soames
makes a few deductions based on very thin information that turn out to be
correct. Again, I didn’t think that sufficient evidence was supplied for him to
leap to the conclusions that he did because the theory is so radical that I’m
not sure it would cross the mind of a scientist. On the other hand, I suspect a
science fiction writer would leap to it because it is much more fun than
interstellar travel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is a sort of nice twist at the end of the book, but I won’t go into that
because I see that you can buy the book on Amazon if you’re so inclined.
Spoilers, you know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
will point out that the book felt rushed, meaning that I think Leinster wrote
it for the bucks in a hurry. I think it was one of the old-time mystery writers
who said that he once locked himself in a hotel room for a weekend to knock out
a book. Needed the cash.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It’s
a nice story though, but it just isn’t as developed as it could have been. I
believe that given that it was Fawcett Gold Medal Book, and since it was a paperback
to being with, back in the days when most people looked down their noses at paperback
books and paperback writers, I don’t think anyone took the care with it that
they would have taken with a hardback.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That doesn’t mean it’s a bad book. I had no
trouble getting through it. I saw the flaws and just ignored them. It was a fun
story with a hint of romance and a world that was about to go up in flames but
then the world is always about to go up in flames. It’s just not a Nebula or
Hugo worthy book, but then it wasn’t meant to be. It was designed to appeal the
science fiction audience, and that it does. It was designed, I believe, for the
quick buck. It’s not a masterpiece but it is a serviceable story. Let’s say
three stars, maybe three and a half out of five.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-20403471408520184292021-07-05T09:33:00.002-07:002021-07-05T09:33:59.317-07:00The Tomorrow War - A Review<p> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;">I
took time out Saturrday to watch </span><i style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;">The Tomorrow War</i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;">, which is a movie presented
by Amazon Prime, starring Chris Pratt. The basic idea is that there has been
some sort of alien invasion in the future that was working and the human race
had been reduced to about a half million people. Somehow the future humans had
opened a portal into the past and were now recruiting people from the past to
fight in the future in an attempt to save humanity. Well, that is a bit
confusing but that’s what the movie is about.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg0CMq0aT50/YOMz7OzNLDI/AAAAAAAAEko/krftmhagoWc8cLkPBpOU_7Uf-GTnJkdvACLcBGAsYHQ/s620/Pratt%2BThe%2BTomorrow%2BWar.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="620" height="358" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg0CMq0aT50/YOMz7OzNLDI/AAAAAAAAEko/krftmhagoWc8cLkPBpOU_7Uf-GTnJkdvACLcBGAsYHQ/w556-h358/Pratt%2BThe%2BTomorrow%2BWar.webp" width="556" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Chris
Pratt is a former special operations soldier, Don Forester because, apparently,
the military has no regular soldiers anymore. He has a nice little family, but is
recruited for future duty. We learn that the survival rate for these recruits is
about thirty percent. We learn that the tour is one week in the future and when
those 168 hours are up, the soldier returns to his “home” time automatically,
no matter where he is or what shape he is in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
here’s where I become annoyed. They recruit the people, from all over the
planet, including, it would seem, those who had no military service, who have
never handled any sort of a weapon, and who are not necessarily in peak
physical condition. They’re just civilians who have been living their lives,
aware of this war in the future but not overly concerned about it because it’s,
well, in the future and they’ll never live to see that future. They have no special
skills, no special knowledge that would help defeat the enemy, but are sent off
to fight that enemy anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
are given automatic weapons, but no real instruction on the care of those
weapons. They wouldn’t know how to safely clear a jam, they have no fire
discipline, and have no idea about target acquisition. In the real world,
handing an automatic weapon to an untrained soldier would result in many, many
friendly casualties. Never mind that, just throw them into the fight in the
future and hope for the best. I will note here that fire discipline isn’t a
concern because like all Hollywood weapons, the shooter has an infinite supply
of ammunition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">During
the first fight, as they’re blasting away at the creatures running at them,
shooting off bits and pieces of the alien body with little effect, a veteran
tells them that only hitting the soft underbelly is fatal. Wouldn’t you think
that someone would have mentioned this important bit of intelligence before
sending them into the fight. Not to mention giving them weapons that would be
effective against the aliens. Wasn’t in one of the old <i>Doctor Who</i>
episodes when the general of Unit wished they would meet an alien presence that
wasn’t immune to bullets?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Don
finally meets his daughter, Muri, in the future who is now a graduate of MIT
and a colonel, in the Army, I think. She was annoyed with him for what he did
to the family some years after he had left to fight in the war, which tells us
at that point he survived the 168 hours he’s in the future. Of course, we
already knew that given what he was told during his induction that he would die
in seven years, which was why he could be recruited. So much for suspense. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is a special mission to capture the brain bug, whoops, I mean the queen that is
capable of creating thousands of beasts and that is an even more aggressive
than the male versions. They helicopter over to the underground lair of the
queen. Now, down below, we find soldiers who have, somehow, managed to get
ropes on the queen and are attempting to drag it out where they can stuff it in
a cage. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I’m
thinking, ropes? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Really?
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">You
don’t have a better plan… not that one was needed because they eventually
succeed but only after they are kicked around in a way that would have killed
most people.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
whole point is that they have developed a toxin that is affective against the
males, but not so much the females. They need a female creature to find a
formula that works… which, of course they do just before Don slingshots back to
his own time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Rather
than killing the queen after developing the toxin, they keep it alive. It seems
to be in some form of telepathic communication with hoards of the males. Of
course, there is a major assault in which the humans are being overrun. Don
can’t get Muri to the lab where they could manufacture the formula. Instead,
she is killed just before he returns to his own time. There is a truly moving
moment as they talk, heart to heart, because she is dying, but who cares? We
understand time travel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Oh,
I don’t mean that we don’t care about the character, I’m saying that he is
about to return to his time where his daughter will be alive and he can warn
her about all this. No one ever thinks about those sorts of things. If he KNOWS
when and where she dies, he can prevent it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Anyway,
he falls back into his own time with a vial of the toxin and then, someone
figures out that all they have to do is find the point where the aliens first
came to Earth. (Okay, it’s his wife, Emmy, but that’s not important now.) They
can prevent the war. The clue is on a tooth or claw or something from one of
the aliens and frankly, I don’t care what it was. It contained a bit of
volcanic ash that identifies the crater from which it was ejected. The ash and
the tooth. Some high school kid has the information they need about the volcano
because why would you consult a volcanologist when you can talk to a high
school kid about it. Anyway, the volcano is in Russia and it’s on to Russia
because the movie isn’t long enough yet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">With
the solution to the war at hand, with the ability to save, literally, billions
of lives, the Earth governments aren’t interested in the plan. You have a guy,
actually, a bunch of them, who have returned from the future, they know what it
will take to keep the war from happening, but no one will listen to them. They
are forced to take on the mission by themselves, flying in a C-130, into
Russia, avoiding the radar and other sensors available to the Russians and
ignoring the fact the C-130 doesn’t have the range to get there without
refueling. They do arrive, however. They find the alien ship…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
now we know why the alien creatures don’t seem bright enough to cross the
street let alone interstellar space have space travel. They were brought along
to clear the Earth-based life from the planet so that these alien sentient
beings can colonize… do a detect a subtle message here?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">At
any rate, they find the ship, they enter, and then let the queen escape. They
didn’t want to destroy the ship. Think of the technological advances that could
be made. But, then, there are so many of these creatures on it, they have no
choice. The secret of interstellar flight is lost again, just as it was in <i>The
Thing from Another World</i>. To quote the journalist in that move, “What a
bunch of butterfingers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Of
course, they have to chase down the queen in a fight that is ridiculous to
watch. Here is this beast with huge teeth and claws and strength that is far
superior to those fighting it. The bullets of their high-powered rifles are
ineffective and I’m thinking, why didn’t they bring something along that would
put that creature down for good. I’m thinking a grenade launcher or a fifty cal
or something with a little bit of real power.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
that is the point. I have lost my sense of disbelief. Rather than being swept
up in the story, I keep seeing the flaws in it. I don’t grant the writer and
the director the privilege of creating a world that I will accept for the
story. There are just too many gaps in the plot. Too many missed opportunities.
And no reason, once they located the queen in the future world, they didn’t
just nuke it. They look for a toxin to kill it, but I’m thinking if you know
where it is, the nuke will take care of it because it is clear that these
aliens aren’t wizards. They are, basically, animals and you would think that
someone in that future war would have figured that out. And yes, there is more
than one queen (which is the term I use but they don’t) but they found one, why
not the others?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
here’s where we are. Don, his father, and some other guy, have killed the queen
in their time and destroyed the ship, which means they won’t escape into our
world, so there is no war. It ends at that point and Don’s daughter doesn’t die
in the future as she did earlier in the movie.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
won’t go into the other problems with all this. Okay, just one more. Don knows
that he’s going to be killed in a traffic accident in seven years. Since
they’ve already made one change in time, can’t he make another and avoid the
traffic accident? Just wondering.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">So
now that I have picked this apart, let me say this. I did enjoy the movie and
some of that joy was picking it apart. I didn’t mind the virtual signaling that
went on because it was more subtle than it is in some other movies (really, Anne
Boleyn as a black woman, BBC?). The special effects were good, but I just wish
someone had invented a weapon that would have allowed our soldiers to put down
the aliens with a single shot rather than having to shoot them to pieces
(which, eventually worked so that the movie wasn’t even faithful to its own
devices).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">If you have something over
two hours to waste and want to see a mindless time travel/alien invasion film,
well, this is some fun. Just don’t think about it, and you’ll be fine. At least
you don’t have to pay for it on Amazon Prime, if you’re a member</span>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-21967929284699138712021-05-05T17:44:00.000-07:002021-05-05T17:44:41.919-07:00Ornithoptera Lunaris<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">(<i>Author’s
Note: Back in the mid-1970s, my friend, Robert Charles Cornett (often called RC
Squared for the obvious reason) and I decided we wanted to be science fiction
writers. Oh, it was a thought I’d had for a long time and one that Bob had as well.
We talked about it, and we wrote a number of science fiction short stories,
which for some reason, were never selected for publication. Eventually, we did
sell a number of science fiction novels including Seeds of War, and Remember
the Alamo, both of which became limited series. We also put together a
collection of short stories. The following is one of those.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Please
remember that these stories were written in the mid-1970s. I point this out
because cigarettes have a role in his story and it is not one that is easily
removed. The structure of the story and one of the characterizations make it
impossible to remove the references without destroying one of the characters. I
elected to keep it in and point out that I don’t advocate using tobacco
products.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I’ll
also note that this story was written before there were home computers. The
original manuscript was created on a manual typewriter and if you want to have
some fun, try doing that. The keys require real pressure, you can’t go back to
fix a misspelled word, and in fact, you can’t have the manuscript spell
checked. I have added a couple of updated references however. Rather than
reading a book its physical form, one of the characters is using a tablet.
There are references to the Internet, added in the world today. We didn’t make
these predictions back in the 1970s.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Anyway,
the point here is that some of the references are dated and I’ve left almost
everything intact which captures, I suppose, the flavor of the times. There
will be an additional note at the end of this which is important. I can’t
mention it here because, well, spoilers.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">)<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ornithoptera Lunaris<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bea
Riley yawned, stretched her legs, and lit up another cigarette. Lambert, she
noticed, had finished his book on plasma physics and was now reading an
advanced calculus text. Not studying it, reading it, much as someone else might
have read a bit of light fiction before going to sleep. In a moment, her
presence intruded and he glanced at her over the top of his tablet. Another man
might have asked her for a cigarette. Another man who had known her in college
as Lambert had, would have asked her to share a cup of coffee and later a pass
at her. Lambert did neither.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
eyed her briefly. At 28, she was slender, athletic, and beautiful. She had long
red hair and pale blue eyes that were as thin as cellophane. The line of her
face was so fine it hurt him to look at her and his eyes dropped back to the
tablet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
hated her cigarette smoking. He hated everyone’s smoking and couldn’t believe
that the regulations allowed it but only because she claimed a tribal exemption.
He wasn’t sure what tribe, or why the exemption would allow smoking, but the
bureaucrats bought the excuse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
couldn’t believe that in the enclosed environment anyone would be selfish
enough to smoke. The habit disgusted him. It was a vile smelling, filthy habit
that tasked the air scrubbers. People who smoked the filtered brands were bad
enough, but Riley insisted on the damned Pall Malls that left little shards of
tobacco in the smoker’s mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Well,
if she wanted the damn things bad enough to use up five percent of her personal
effects allotment to bring four cartons and two fifths of scotch up to Tycho
Crater, she could smoke them. Lambert just wished she’s smoke them in her own room
instead of in the lounge where he was assaulted by the odor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley’s
chair creaked noisily as she got up. The smell of the tobacco became stronger
and Lambert felt the hairs rise on the nape of his neck. She was coming closer
and he wanted to run. Irrational, irrational, he thought, but he still wanted
to run. Of all the women he had ever known, Lambert considered Riley to be the
most desirable, and the most frightening. He was afraid of women, but Riley
terrified him. When she spoke, he could tell from her voice that she was
standing next to him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It’s
beautiful. No matter how many times I see it, it’s always more beautiful than
the last.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
is?” Lambert did not look up. He did, however, stop reading. The interruption
had broken his train of thought and he found, to his great consternation, that
he could not remember which integral he had been approximating in his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Earthrise.
Isn’t it fascinating how it hangs there, just over the rim of the crater? Like
some giant, blue, half marble, striped in white.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
twisted around so he could see through the triple-layered, Plexiglass window.
It was the only window in the station.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Such
poetic words. You’re a hopeless romantic, Riley. I must confess though, it does
have a certain aesthetically pleasing quality.” Lambert was a scientist to the
core. He had absolutely no sense of what constituted art, only numbers and
formulae.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“The
trouble with you, Chris, is that you have no soul.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Soul?
Oh, you mean religion. Of course not. There’s no such thing as God. I don’t
believe in mythology. Man evolved biologically, from the lower organisms.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Why
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Why
did man evolve? What was his reason for doing so?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Survival.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That’s
not what I meant. Don’t you see, there has to be some purposive reason for
man’s existence. Something must give reason to life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
see no reason why there need to be any purpose behind chance biological
occurrence.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh
Christ, Chris. You’re the one who’s hopeless, not me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
was spared the agony of further obviously futile discourse by Schattschneider’s
entry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
hope I’m not interrupting anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No,
no. Dr. Riley and I were just discussing trivia. I believe Bea refers to it as
religion. What’s up, Karl?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I know you’re both on stand-down, but I’d like to ask you to go outside and
have a look at the prime focus for me. There’s some kind of trouble with the
reception and Edwards thinks it’s external. I wouldn’t ask you, but there’s no
one else I can send. Tish Kirchoff and Spel Balfour are both on sleep cycle and
Jirasek’s ill. He caught a head cold of some kind fooling around with the air
conditioning unit. I’d go myself, but you know what the regs say: ‘Whenever
external repairs are to be effected, a team consisting of two members must be
sent out in order that one may assist the other, and, in the event of an
emergency, a third member must remain suited up in the rescue lock to assist in
the recovery if necessary.’ Well, that leaves me for lock duty. I can’t send
Edwards or Garrick because they’re on duty and if I pulled them off, I wouldn’t
be left with anyone to handle the data from the 500-meter interferometers or
monitor the incoming signals from the Saturn probe on the 25-meter dish.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
game, Karl. Haven’t been outside for more than a week. Ready, Bea?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley
looked longingly in the cigarette in her hand. It was only a third gone.
Eighteen more months to go at Tycho Base and she had only two and a half
cartons left. She sighed and carefully stubbed it out, and zipped the remaining
two-thirds of it into the sleeve pocket of her coverall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“There’s
something that I haven’t told you two,” said Schattschneider.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What’s
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“The
core elevator isn’t working. The main circuit panel is shorted out.” Immingham
is working on it, but she figures it’ll take at least a day and a half to
rewire. You’ll have to take the ladder up to number seven lock and walk it from
there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Damn,
thought Lambert. It was a 500-meter ladder climb to lock seven, then a five-
kilometer hike along the trail to the summit and another 500-meter ladder climb
to the prime focus.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
know I wouldn’t ask if we could afford to postpone it until the elevator is
fixed, but we’re right in the middle of the Coal Sack scan. We can’t afford the
down-time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">II<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Tycho
Crater has a radius of 40 kilometers with a rugged peak rising in the middle.
At an expense of some thirteen billion dollars, the floor of the crafter had
been bulldozed and smoothed into a parabolic basin and lined with high-gain
radio cable. The prime focus sat atop the peak on a titanium steel tower. By
varying the displacement of the focus along a track running the length of the
160-meter boom atop the tower the antenna could be ‘aimed’ throughout a
traverse near thirty degrees. The whole project, electronic hardware and
software, life-support system for the station crew, engineering and landscaping
and the station itself, had cost the investing nations 125 billion dollars. It
was the most powerful radio telescope in the solar system.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
checked the chronometer on the wrist of his suit. The converter in the backpack
would provide eight hours of breathable air. Estimating an hour each way for
the hike and thirty minutes going and coming to climb the tower with the tools
and equipment, that left four hours to find and correct the trouble and an
hour’s emergency reserve. Lambert didn’t think there would be any problems.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">III<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
trail hadn’t been used in nearly ten years, not since the core elevator had
been completed, but despite the extremes of heat and cold, erosion is a slow
process on the moon and the trail had remained virtually unaffected. It was
pitted in places from the impact of small meteorites, but it had been
originally designed for heavy construction vehicles and in most places was nearly
a dozen meters wide. As Lambert covered the ground in three-meter bounds, using
the loping gait most suitable for travel on the moon, he watched the little
bits of gray dust arch out ahead in ballistic trajectories in front of his
boots before plummeting back down. The cleat marks from the tractors used in
the antenna construction hadn’t been seriously disturbed in the fifteen years’
time. They probably wouldn’t be in 1500 years either. As best he could
remember, only about half a dozen others had hiked the trail since the antenna
construction had been completed. After the development of the sub-micro
circuit, maintenance had dropped to nearly nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
were making good time and Lambert estimated they were only about half a
kilometer from the summit when the first sign of trouble appeared; a large rock
slide blocking the trail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Repair
party to Tycho Base.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Tycho
Base. Go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We
seem to be having a bit of a problem here. There is a large pile of rubble
blocking the trail. I think we can navigate it, but it’s going to slow us down
some.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Chris.
This is Karl. What are you talking about?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“There’s
a large jumble of rock blocking the trail. Didn’t the seismographs pick up any
tremors?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Negative.
I’ll run a computer search, but nothing recent shows. Can you give me any more
information?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We’ll
take a closer look and let you know. As far as I can tell, the map coordinates
ought to be about Blue Alpha 37. When we get to the base of the slide I’ll turn
on my emergency beacon and you can get a transponder lock on the location.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fifteen
puzzling minutes later Lambert called Tycho Base again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Karl,
you’re not going to believe this, but it isn’t a rock fall. I’ve checked the
inner wall face carefully and there isn’t any evidence of a fault. No sign that
it was a slide at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
what is it then? Somebody didn’t just push the stuff up there. Is it meteor
rubble?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think so. It’s all in great bid chunks and the composition doesn’t seem
right. The stuff looks like it’s just plain moon rock to me. I’m afraid it
looks exactly like somebody pushed it up here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Karl.
This is Bea. There’s something else. I just checked my dosimeter. It’s in the
red zone. Chris’ is too. I ran a Geiger count, but it turned up negative.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right. We can’t afford to take chances. Come on in and we’ll check everything
out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">IV<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider,
Lambert, Riley, and Devi Razin were sitting at the table in the main lounge.
Schattschneider was fiddling with his tablet and Lambert and Razin were sipping
coffee. Riley got up from the table and walked to the window. She dug pack of
Pall Malls from her left sleeve pocket, started to shake one out and then remembered
the remains of the earlier one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Let’s
not fog up the room with smoke now,” said Schattschneider. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">She
shoved remains back into the pocket and turned toward the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You’re
sure it’s not serious then, Dev?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
the Indian doctor spoke, her English was slow and precise, like everything else
about her, unhurried and exact.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
should not be. You will probably have a headache and a little nausea in two
days’ time, but you were not exposed for long. I do not believe the level was
high, but we should know more when Evelyn gets here.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">As
if on cue, the lounge door slid open and Immingham walked in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
inclined to disagree. Chris and Bea came out of decontamination nearly clean,
but it’s going to take a while with the suits and tools. I’m afraid they were
plenty hot. Hot and dirty as it turns out. I found residue on Bea’s book.
Analysis suggests it’s what’s left of contaminated liquid sodium.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
put down his tablet and leaned forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Reactor
coolant?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That’s
my opinion, Karl. It’s what I’ll put in my official report.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
lifted his cup, then slowly set it down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Look,
it can’t be. We don’t dump waste anywhere near there. No one does.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Chris,
I’m telling you it’s reactor coolant. From all indications, probably some type
of fast-breeder. I found traces of zirconium containing twenty-seven percent
uranium 235. There’s nothing else it could be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
said, “All right then. If Eve says it’s reactor coolant, then it’s reactor
coolant. The question is, how did it get there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Eve,
what about the Geiger counter?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
seems to be in working order, Bea. I don’t like inventing theories, but I’d say
it just sort of overloaded. My guess is that the impulses were impinging on the
electron multiplier tube just too fast for the scaling unit to count. It wasn’t
calibrated for as high a level as the stuff I found on your boot. A similar
thing happened back in the 1950’s when they first discovered the van Allen
belts.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I suppose the first move is to contact all the other bases, see if any of them
are dumping the stuff, though I can’t believe anyone would be that stupid.”
Schattschneider left for the communications room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Razin
left for the infirmary to check on Jirasek and run some more lab tests.
Immingham got herself a cup of coffee and walked back to the table. She sniffed
the coffee, tasted it carefully, then set it down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
hate to bring this up, but sooner or later, we’re going to have to face it.
Somebody is going to have to go out to that rock slide or whatever it is you
two found, and measure the radiation level. That, and try to figure out what
caused the slide, plus get through and fix the antenna.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Easy
enough said, but can we do it? I mean, well, if the radiation level is really
that high, won’t it be dangerous?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We’ll
have to talk to Tish, she’s the physics expert, I’m only an electrical engineer
with a physics background, but I think so. Whoever goes out could wear white
coveralls inside the suit and a sun shield on the outside. I might be able to
rig up some additional shielding, and I could recalibrate the Geiger counters
to register higher levels, that way whoever goes could avoid the major hot
spots.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">V<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Two
hours later they were all seated in the lounge again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I checked with the other installations,” said Schattschneider. “They all wanted
to know what we were drinking over here. None of them have any idea how reactor
waste could have been dumped on the upper trail. Everyone dumps it in the
Hadley Rill.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Who
said it was reactor waste?” grumbled Balfour.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
did.” Immingham gulped her coffee and made a face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“And
I concur.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Don’t
be an ass, Karl. How could it get there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That’s
what we’re here to discuss.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t really see how we can discuss anything until we have more data. Like I
said to Chris and Bea earlier, someone is going to have to go back out there
and take some readings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right. I suppose the antenna repairs will have to wait until we figure this
mess out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Okay,
then. I’ll get down to the repair shop and see about rigging up that extra
shielding. Tish can help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Right.
Now the question is, who goes?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Don’t
look at me,” said Lambert. “I already gave at the office. So did Bea.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think they should go either.” Razin looked at Schattschneider. “They’ve
already been exposed. I wouldn’t want them getting recontaminated.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
agree. Spel, you get suited up. Chris and Bea can relieve Garrick and Edwards
and one of them can go with you. The other can stand by in the lock.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Gee,
thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">VI<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Balfour
and Garrick cautiously approached the slide. The Geiger counters began to climb
rapidly as they neared.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
guess we better try to find a way around this mess, Dave. Why don’t you work
your way around to the left and I’ll try the right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Check.
Just make sure you don’t fall off the cliff.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No
sweat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Garrick
searched for several minutes and finally found a spot where the readings fell
within safe tolerances. He found a few toe and hand holds and pulled himself
up. Over the lip of the rocks he could see the antenna, or at least what was
left of it. The titanium and steel tower looked like a plastic food container
that had been left out in the sun too long.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
shit. Spel, you there?” There was no answer. “Spel, this is Dave. You there,
damn it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Dave,
this is Bud. What’s going on?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
lost Spel. Can’t reach him on the radio. He’s probably being blocked off by the
rocks. I found a way over the slide. Not a good one, but a way. You’re not
going to believe this, but the damned antenna is melted.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Say
again all after damned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
said the antenna is melted. Looks like a big pile of rubber. We’re not going to
fix it with anything we’ve got at Tycho. I really doubt that it can be fixed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Shit.
Schattschneider isn’t going to like this one bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“He
isn’t going to like it? What about the taxpayers?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
guess you better find Spel and get back in here. Then we’ll decide what to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Garrick
searched for thirty minutes. There was no sign of Balfour. Finally, he worked
his way toward the cliff, following Balfour’s footprints. They ended at the
edge.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh
my God… Bud. Bud, somebody answer quick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Go,
Dave.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I…
I… can’t find Spel. It looks like, well, it looks like he might have fallen off
the cliff.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Damn.
I’ll be right out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Edwards
and Garrick searched for five hours. They crawled along the cliff and around
the slide until they came to an impasse. They crawled over the slide and hiked
for as far as the antenna. They searched both sides of the trail back to the
station.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Search
party to Tycho Base.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Tycho
Base. Go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
sorry, Karl. We’ve checked and rechecked. There just isn’t any sign of him. If
we don’t come in pretty quick we’re going to run out of air ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right.” Come on in. We’ll put together another party to check the base of the
cliff for the remains.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">VII<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
found Edwards in the biology lab. He was working with some white rats in a
glove box. Zoology was not Lambert’s field, though he was always interested in
any scientific endeavor, Lambert was, however, mildly surprised to find Edwards
in the lab. Jirasek was in charge of life sciences, Edwards was an
astrophysicist specializing in radio astronomy like Lambert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
are you up to, Bud, messing around down here in Ian’s private bailiwick?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Promised
I’d feed the animals for him while he’s sick. Can’t just let all this expensive
U.N. software starve. Ian told me it cost 125,000 dollars to send these two
rats up here. The Council on Space Exploration’s appropriations committee would
have a fit if we let them go hungry. Besides, the lab animals have become sort
of a hobby with me. When I took my undergraduate work back at the University of
Iowa, I had a double major, mathematics and zoology. I wound up taking my
masters in physics and then moving into astronomy because they were starting to
plan out the construction here and suddenly astrophysics looked to be a rosier
pasture. I guess I had the astronaut bug pretty bad even then. You’d have
thought I’d have gone into aerospace engineering and tried for a slot on the
shuttle pilot list, but I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really feel I had a
chance. Radio astronomy seemed like the closet I’d ever get to the stars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Close
as any of us will ever get, I venture to say. The problems with interstellar
flight are too vast even for the science to handle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t know about that. I remember when I was very young, my grandfather once
told me that when he was a little boy nobody believed that man would ever
travel faster than the speed of sound. Too much friction, they said. If we can
come as far as we have in three generations, well, who knows?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
on Earth, er, ah, what is that thing?” Lambert was indicating a large, foldout
cork board along one wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That,”
smiled Edwards, “is the thing that keeps me from going crackers up here. My
butterfly collection. I keep it here in the lab and I add to it from time to
time. Finest butterfly collection on the whole moon, I dare say. In fact, it’s
the only one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Last
time I checked, the lunar surface was not exactly considered prime habitat for
Lepidoptera. How do you add to it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Over
here. Butterflies. They’re part of Ian’s experiments. Turns out he has an
interest in entomology too, so whenever one dies off, we mount it on the board,
after we run all the tests, of course. Can’t mount them all, some have to be
dissected, but we get a few that are submitted to non-destructive analysis.
This one is our pride and joy. An Ornithoptera priamus. This one came from New
Guinea, though you find them in the Moluccas, and in Australia. The exciting
thing is that this one laid eggs and we got a few mutants. Ian thinks they
function so well because they’re better adapted to the one-third gravity,
usually mutants don’t survive because the delicate gene balance necessary to
body function. Ian’s suggested we call them Ornithoptera lunaris, but I don’t
think it’ll catch on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Fascinating,
but I really came down here to talk to you some more about the slide. When Bea
and I were out there, I got the impression that, well, I suppose it sounds
silly, but I had the feeling, just before we came back in, that somebody was
watching us. I didn’t mention it to anyone because I didn’t want Razin
declaring me unfit for duty. It’s been bugging me though, and I had to tell
someone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Edwards
stopped putting the water bottle on the hamster cage and looked at him
steadily. “You know, Chris, when Dave and I were down at the prime focus mount,
looking for Spel, I had a funny thought. I was looking at the tower, the way it
was melted and all scrunched up, and I said to myself, ‘<i>They swatted it, smashed it like a bug</i>.’ I didn’t say, ‘<i>The damned thing’s melted</i>.’ I said, ‘<i>They smashed it</i>.’”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">VIII<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
went down to the lounge. A bleary-eyed Immingham looked up at him from her cup
of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Any
news?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“None
of it good. Dave and Bud are coming in. They didn’t find anything. He must have
gone over the cliff. Do you feel up to checking the bottom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
okay. Not nearly as tired as I look.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Okay.”
Schattschneider walked over to the chair where Kirchoff had fallen asleep and
put his hand gently on her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Tish,
you awake?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What?
Oh. What is it, Karl?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“They
didn’t find anything. Somebody is going to have to check the base of the cliff.
You feel up to it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Fine.
I was just a little tired.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“If
you do find him, it may not be a pretty sight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
can handle it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right, but take care of yourself. We’ve already lost one person. I don’t what
to lose another. Especially you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
promise I’ll be careful.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
kissed her and watched her walk out. Then he went back to the command center
and sent Razin up to the rescue lock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We’ll
take the train from lock five to the base of the cliff and start our search
there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Roger
that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Kirchoff
and Immingham sealed the lock, turned, and started along the lower trail.
Unlike the upper trail, it had been built only for people and was quite narrow.
It wound around the side of mountain and in places was blocked by large rocks
which had to be climbed. It took longer to reach the base of the cliff than had
been expected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
found the suit easily because it was standing upright in the middle of the
trail. Kirchoff gave a shout over the microphone and ran over to it. She
reached out to touch the shoulder and it toppled slowly forward. Quickly, she
turned it over and then recoiled in horror as she looked at the face plate. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
suit was empty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Karl?
You there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Yes.
What is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We
found… the suit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
suppose… there… is no chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
really couldn’t say. I said we found the suit. He’s not in it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
mean you found what’s left of the suit?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No.
I mean we found the suit, damn it. Complete and unbroken. There’s no way that
he could have gotten out of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Are
you trying to tell me that you found an empty suit?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Not
trying damn it. Am.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
where in the hell did he go then?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“God
damn it. How should I know? I’m not clairvoyant. I’m telling you the damned
suit’s intact, and I’m telling you the damned thing is empty.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think I like the sound of this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“How
do you think we feel?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You’d
better pick up the suit and bring it in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Right.
Eve, give me a… What the hell?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What’s
going on out there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Eve’s
gone. She was right behind me. I was looking at the suit and when I turned
around she was gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
shouted. “Tish, get back here right now. That’s an order. Forget about the
suit. Forget about Eve. Forget about everything. Just get back in here!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
on my…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider’s
ears were blasted by the scream over the speaker. He sat down heavily in the
chair. “Tish! Tish! Speak to me, damn you. Speak to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
radio was silent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
buried his face in his hands and wept. He was still crying when Lambert came
into control room and helped him to his quarters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">IX<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fifteen
minutes later they were all seated at the conference table in the lounge. Even
Jirasek had come up from the infirmary. Edwards was seated in the director’s
chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I suppose you all know the situation. We’ve lost three people… missing anyway.
I suppose we have to presume that they are all dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think that we should presume anything.” It was Razin. “We don’t know what
happened out there. They may still be alive. If they are, Eve and Tish still
have enough air for four hours. I think we should try to find them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t know if that’s such a good idea or not. I don’t want to make the kind of
decision that might get more people killed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
didn’t know any one made you acting director.” They looked toward the door.
Schattschneider was leaning against the frame.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
didn’t mean anything by it, Karl. I was just following procedures. I, that is,
we, didn’t know how long you would be, well, indisposed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’m
fine now and I’m resuming command. We will, of course, mount a search party at
once. This time, however, four of us will go. We’ll take back up radios and
flares and we’ll leave someone outside the lock. If we get into trouble, we’ll
fire a flare and he can report to whoever is left inside. That is, assuming
radios are out. If we don’t come back, then that those who are left can get
into contact with the main base at Copernicus and the higher-ups will have to
figure out what to do about it. At any rate, if we don’t come back, I don’t
think they should come looking for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Garrick
spoke first. “Karl, are you doing this based on your judgement as project
director, or just because Tish is out there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That
<i>will</i> be enough of that, Dave. I’d do the same thing even it was you lost
out there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
really don’t know how to say this, but don’t you think we should take a weapon
of some kind with us?” It was Edwards.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Garrick
snorted. “What do you suggest we use for a weapon, your good looks? This is a
scientific installation, not the Rocky Mountain Arsenal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Dave’s
right,” said Schattschneider. “I don’t know of anything here that could be used
as a weapon and I don’t know what you think you’re going to do with it anyway.
You act like there’s some kind of monster out there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“For
all we know, there might be. Anyway, I just thought I’d feel better if we had
some way to defend ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right. We’ll split into two teams. Dave and Bud in one. Devi and me in the
other. Jirasek can wait outside the lock as an observer. Lambert and Riley will
stand by in the control room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“How
come they get to stay behind?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You’re
beginning to make yourself tiresome, Dave. Bea and Chris got a pretty good dose
of radiation from their first trip out and Ian still has a head cold. This is
going to be difficult enough without having along someone who might suddenly
decide to get sick on us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Got
it all figured out, haven’t you? You’re going to go out there and find your
mistress and you don’t give a damn how many of us get killed in the process.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
stared across the table at Garrick. For several seconds he said nothing, then
there was a quiet snap and he laid the broken pencil on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right, Garrick, I’m only going to tell you this once. Go out to the ready room
and suit up. Then pick up a spare radio, a flare packet, and a coil of climbing
rope, and get your ass up to lock number five. If you have trouble with that,
you can file a formal complaint when we get back.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
rose and left. The others followed him. After a few minutes Garrick muttered
something under his breath, rose, and walked out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">X<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
formed up outside the lock and checked their equipment. Schattschneider noticed
that Edwards was carrying a long pipe with a knife blade affixed to the end
like a bayonet and a satchel of plastic explosive they used for excavations. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Schattschneider
indicated the pipe. “Where’d you get that thing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
used one of the legs from a camera tripod and a chisel bit from the soil
sampler. Anyway, it makes me feel better, whether we need it or not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">At
the base of the cliff they split into two groups. “Try to keep the other group
in sight and under no circumstances get separated from your partner. Loop a
coil of rope around your left arm to keep together, but don’t tie yourselves
up. At the first sign of trouble, send up one of the flares and get the hell
out of here. Just don’t get excited and start reporting each other as
three-eyed monsters.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
found Balfour’s suit lying in the middle of the trail. It was still sealed and
pressurized. For several minutes they tried reaching Kirchoff and Immingham on
the radio, but there was no answer. It became inevitable that they lose sight
of each other as they spread out in the search pattern.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Garrick
and Edwards were working their way along the bottom of the crevice when they
spotted the suits. They approached them cautiously. Both were empty, just as
Balfour’s had been.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
what the hell do we do now? Crawl back out of this hole and call the others or
send up a flare and get the hell out of here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“How
should I know? I guess we crawl up the slope and try to raise the others on the
radio. I don’t know about you, but somehow, two empty space suits don’t look
particularly menacing to me. Kind of spooky, yes, but not really threatening.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Okay.
We’ll do it your way, but I suppose one of us ought to have a flare handy just
in case.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Right.
You do that. I’ll lead the way up the slope,” said Edwards.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Halfway
up the slope, Edwards felt the line connection him to Garrick suddenly go
slack. He turned around and saw Garrick’s suit tumbling slowly back down the
slope as though it was empty. Then he saw it. Edwards did not wait to find out
what “it” was. He threw the spear and ran up the slope, pulling a flare as he
ran. As he neared the top another “it” appeared above him. Edwards pointed the
flare and pulled the lanyard. “It” exploded in a ball of flame.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Edwards
reached the top of the slope and was running in the direction he thought the
others would be. As he ran, he popped two flares skyward and dug the plastic explosive
out of his satchel. He primed the explosive and attached a ten-second timer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Edwards
ran down a gully. As he rounded a corner, he could see Schattschneider and
Razin ahead of him. He yelled at them over the radio, but it didn’t seem to be
working. Edwards stumbled into the suits, knocking them over. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
were empty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XI<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">From
the lock, Jirasek had seen the red streaks of light from the flares. He keyed
the radio. “They’re in trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Say
again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
said, ‘They’re in trouble.’ I can see the flares. Two of them. I’m going to
help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No.
Don’t be a fool. You know what Karl said. Come back in immediately and seal the
lock. Dog it shut.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Nothing
doing. They need help. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have fired those flares.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Ian,
listen to me. Don’t go out there. Come on back in and we’ll call for help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
was too late. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Jirasek
was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XII<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Jirasek
broke out onto the plateau just in time to see the battle, such as it was. It
wasn’t much of a fight. Three of the “its” were chasing Edwards across the
plateau. Edwards turned just long enough to heave something. It landed in front
of the three and detonated with a bright flash, stunning them. Two did not get
up, but the third rose unsteadily and continued its pursuit. As Edward neared
the edge of the plateau, the “it” reached out a long tentacle-like appendage
and touched him on the shoulder. There was a flash of brilliant green light and
Edwards stopped, frozen as if he were a statue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">For
a full minute, Jirasek watched the proceedings in horror before he turned and
ran. He ran back toward the base. He ran as hard and fast as he could. He ran
until he felt as though his lungs were about to burst. He almost made it. He
was within sight of the lock when they got him. He just had time to scream a
warning to Lambert and Riley.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"> Then there was nothing but silence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XIII<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
did not see them grab Jirasek. He did hear the warning over the radio, but the
transmission was so garbled that he could make no sense of it. Lambert’s first
impulse had been to leave the station and help Jirasek. He was halfway out the
lock before he realized what he was doing. He drew back suddenly and sealed the
lock. Lambert was a scientist, with a scientist’s curiosity, but he was not a
fool. He caught his breath and dogged the hatch. Then he started back down the
ladder to the control room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley
almost jumped out of her coverall when Lambert entered. She dropped her pack of
cigarettes, spilling most of them on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Damn,
Chris, you might have told me you were coming back down.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Sorry.
I didn’t think. Did you hear Jirasek’s message?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Yes,
but I couldn’t understand any of it. It sounded like he said he was collecting
bottles.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“That’s
what I thought too. It doesn’t make much sense. Do you think, maybe, his mind
snapped?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t know what to think. I’m not a psychologist. I’m just an astronomer, and
right now, I’m pretty a damned scared one, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
you can relax. I dogged the lock shut. We’re safe now from whatever it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
wonder, are we? You heard what Kirchoff said. Balfour’s suit was sealed, but he
wasn’t in it. If whatever is out there could pull Balfour out of his suit
without holing it, a steel door might not stop it either.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Walk
through a steel door? Oh, come on, I don’t believe that. I didn’t figure you
for one to believe in ghosts.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Who
said it was a ghost? I’m just saying that a sealed moon suit didn’t stop
whatever it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe
it’s the Russians. Maybe they took Balfour out of the suit and resealed and
repressurized it to throw us off the track.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Kirchoff
was a Russian. Whatever it is that’s out there got her too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right then, the Chinese. How do I know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe
it isn’t Chinese either. Maybe it didn’t come from Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“There’s
no sense making up an extraterrestrial explanation for something that can be
explained in terrestrial terms.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“May
I remind you that we are not on terrestrial soil.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh,
all right. Have it your own way. There’s a little green man out there who likes
to reach through moon suits and make the occupants disappear with a wave of his
magic wand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
makes just as much sense as repressurizing an empty suit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Horse
shit”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Are
we going to stand here arguing or are we going to do something?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
would you have us do?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Not
going outside, that’s for sure. We’d better try to raise Copernicus Base.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">They
tried the radio. Then they tried the land line. They tried for an hour and a
half. Nothing. Riley ran through a whole pack of cigarettes. Lambert ran
through a complete set of replacement printed circuit cards for the radio.
There was still no answer. Not from Copernicus, not from Alphonsus, not from Clavus.
Nothing from Lomonosov Crater.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t understand it. All our communications can’t be out. Not at the same time.
And I replaced every part in the damned radio.” Lambert sat in front of the
radio panel staring at the flashing lights that told him nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
think we have to assume that whoever or whatever is out there, doesn’t want us
talking to anyone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
realize what you’re suggesting? If whatever is out there is blocking our
communications, it’s intelligent. I’m not sure I’m willing to believe that. If
Balfour and all the rest had been killed by a rockslide or a quake, I could
accept it. Even an energy plasma or radiation. If whatever got the others is
intelligence, it must be human. It would mean all this is an organized attack
on the base, and that could mean that we’re part of the opening act of World
War Three… Well, you couldn’t even call it a world war anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
might be somebody else, something else. It might not be human.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Bea,
you’re talking about intelligence life from somewhere outside our solar system.
Something with the technological capability to make interstellar flight a
practical reality. The whole notion is preposterous.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“So
was building a permanent base on the moon thirty years ago. Now there’s half a
dozen of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It’s
not the same.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No,
it’s not. But it doesn’t have to be. Less than a hundred years ago science was
positive that man would never walk on the moon. Now we’ve mounted a dozen
manned missions to Mars and over a hundred manned probes to the other planets,
including those hidden in the Kuiper Belt. Who knows what a race that has been
around for five hundred or a thousand years more than we have might have
accomplished.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
won’t work, Bea. Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“In
the first place, we don’t know if Einstein is right. Nobody’s ever tried to go
faster than the speed of light. Even if faster than light travel is normally
impossible for natural phenomena, whoever we’re dealing with might have found a
way to short-circuit the theory. They might not even have to travel at faster
than light speeds. If Einstein’s theory is correct, time dilation should occur
at relativistic speeds. If they weren’t concerned about the changes back home
or had a very long-life span to begin with, speeds approaching that of light
might be fast enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right, Bea, I concede the possibility, though not the probability of the
argument. All we’ve really established is that we don’t know what caused eight
people to vanish. You take the alien theory. I think I prefer to stick with a
more human enemy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
are, then, at least willing to believe that we are dealing with an intelligence
of some sort?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Not
completely, but right now it’s the only thing that makes much sense. I’m
willing to operate on that kind of assumption until I can find a more
satisfactory explanation of why all our communications gear suddenly went out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
guess then that the only real question is what do we do now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“We
wait.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Just
wait?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Just
wait Sooner or later one of the other bases is bound to try to contact us, and
when they find out they can’t reach us, they’ll send someone over to find out
what went wrong.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“How
long do we wait?” Riley’s voice sounded flat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t know. If there has been a war I’m pretty sure they’d try to read us
fairly soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe
not. Not if they think we’re all dead over here. They might not to bother
then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Sooner
or later somebody would try. We can last here for months without resupply. As
long as we stay put we’ll be all right.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It
seems to be that you’re overlooking a few points. If war had broken out,
wouldn’t we have been notified, had some sort of indications at least, say from
an increase in political tension on Earth if nothing else?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Not
necessarily. Not if it had been a sneak attack. They might have sabotaged all
communications, jammed the Internet and maybe even bombed the other bases.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Then
why not bomb ours?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe
they wanted to take this place intact.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think so. The main antenna is melted, remember? Anyway, if they’d bombed
the other bases, the seismographs would have picked up the tremors.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right, so I don’t have all the answers. Maybe they just holed their habitats
and let them suffocate. I still think our best move is to sit tight for a
while. If nothing happens after a few days we can take the tractor out and try
to reach the main base at Copernicus. That’s the biggest site. If it is war,
and anyone survives, they ought to be there. Better be. Copernicus has the only
landing facilities for the Earth Shuttle.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Once
again, how long do we wait?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
guess about two weeks, unless whoever is out there tries to get in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Why
two weeks?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Ought
to give the other bases time to reorganize, time to send someone to look for
us. Besides, if Copernicus Base isn’t there now, it won’t be there in two weeks
either, and if it isn’t there then, well, it won’t matter how long we wait.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
suppose we ought to make some sort of contingency plan. In case we have to
leave here in a hurry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Right.
We should work on getting the tractor ready for an extended trip. Load in
supplies, oxygen, so forth. Maybe rig up some additional shielding around it,
just in case someone did detonate a bomb. Anyway, it’ll give us something to
do. We ought to continue monitoring the radio, and keep an eye on the Internet,
just in case. We’ll work out some sort of schedule, for monitoring, sleeping,
working. That way we can have one of us in the comm center at all times. If
they do restore communications, a message could come through at any time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“There’s
something else we ought to do. The tapes will have all the radio conversations
recorded, but I think we ought to make log entries for what we’re planning and
doing. We ought to make a copy of the tapes and logs too. That way we can take
one with us and leave one behind. If we don’t make it, maybe someone will find
the set we leave here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
started for the tractor locker and then remembered. “I guess we better try to
fix the elevator first. It be one hell of a ladder climb to the crater floor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Wouldn’t
you know, the one piece of equipment in the whole place that doesn’t have
printed circuits.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XIV<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
took almost two and half days to fix the elevator. During that time the radio
and the Internet remained silent. Had either of them been an electrical
engineer, it would not have taken so long, as it was, they had to go through
the process of completely rewiring the main circuit panel with a technical
display on one of the tablets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">On
the morning of the third day, Riley was playing the communication tapes when
Lambert entered the control room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’ve
been thinking,” he said. “If a state of war does exist, why hasn’t either side
tried to force one of the air locks and take the base by now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe
there aren’t any of them left. Maybe everybody killed everyone else off. That
could explain why no one answers the radio.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Maybe,
I don’t know. There are a lot of things that just don’t make sense. Everybody
vanishing, but nobody trying to get in, the radiation counter and seismographs
giving no indication of nuclear attack, the radio not working, the Internet
still down, either for that matter, and somebody using the upper trail as a
dumping site for reactor waste, plus the main antenna being melted. I don’t
think all the other bases were wiped out any more. I think we’ve been isolated
for some reason. I don’t know how or why.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Then
you’re saying that whoever was out there is still there, but that they aren’t
in any hurry about opening us up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh,
I don’t know what I’m saying. What have you got there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“The
tape of the last communication with Jirasek. I was just about to play it back.
Want to hear it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Might
as well. We’ve been so damned busy with the elevator that I’d forgotten about
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
quality of the recording was not good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“…God…
(static)… out. They’re… (Static)… Edwards… (static) …collection bottles…
(static)… stay in… (static)…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
recording ended in an unintelligible scream.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">To
hear any one scream like that was enough to give Lambert chills, but to hear a
scream like that, not yell or swear or curse, but scream…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
I guess that’s it,” Riley was saying. “I’m afraid about all I could get out of
it was that he said ‘collection bottles’ and not that he was collecting
bottles. To me, either statement makes an equivalent amount of sense, or
rather, lack of sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Ditto.
Guess I’ll go take a shower. There doesn’t seem to be much left to do but wait,
and I need one anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Right.
I’m going to get some cigarettes and go down to the lounge. I’ll make a radio
connection to the inter-phone just in case someone tries to call. We can answer
it just as easily from there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XV<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Something
was bothering Lambert, something nagging away at the back of his mind. It was
some little thing to be sure, he didn’t know what, but it was somehow important.
As he passed the biology lab on the way to the showers he remembered that the
animals hadn’t been fed for almost three days. He opened the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Here.
This was the place. It was something somebody had said. Ian? No. Wait a minute.
Yes. Or was it…Bud? Yes, something Edwards had said. No. Still not right.
Something both of them had said. Now, what could it be?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
looked slowly around the room. He needed to see something that would jog his
memory, something in the room. The rats? The hamsters? That was it. Over there,
near the wall. His gaze locked on the object, and with a cold and growing
horror, Lambert finally put it all together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">XVI<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
Riley came into the lounge, Lambert was sitting at the conference table
drinking coffee. He had a towel wrapped around his wrist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Well,
well, if it isn’t Ron Ely.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
looked up at her a little distantly. “Who?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Ron
Elly. An Actor. He used to play Tarzan on an old television back in the early
seventies or the late sixties. I forget which.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh,
I see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley
broke open a fresh carton of cigarettes, took out a pack and tore off the
cellophane. She shook out a cigarette and lit it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Mind
if I have one of those?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
didn’t know you smoked.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t.” Lambert took the cigarette and lit it rather clumsily. He inhaled
deeply and coughed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Don’t
try to smoke it all at once. Take it a little at a time. If you’re not used to
them they can be kind of rough.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
stared at her. He had regained his composure now, but it wasn’t easy to say. “I
know what happened to the others.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
said I know what happened to the others. I couldn’t figure it out at first, but
I know now. I had to put something Jirasek said with something Edwards said.
You were right, Bea. Oh my God, I’m so sorry, but you were right.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You’re
not making any sense, Chris. What in the hell are you trying to tell me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Here,
do you know what this is? It’s the answer. It says it all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Edwards’
butterfly collection? What’s that got to do with it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Everything.
Jirasek told us when he said ‘collection bottles’. You were right there, Bea,
whatever’s out there isn’t a human, but it sure as hell acting like one. It’s
collecting samples. Samples of human life… We’re the damn samples.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Oh,
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
think I’m right about something else too. I think we’ve been isolated. I think
that it, or they, or whatever you want to call it, is just sitting out there,
maybe playing some alien equivalent of solitaire, and waiting for us to open
up. And when we do, we’ll both become prime specimens, pinned to some galactic
butterfly board. Ornithoptera lunaris… or Ornitoptera humanis”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
if we don’t open up? What if we just sit tight and wait for help to come?
Sooner or later one of the other bases is bound to send someone to find out
what went wrong over here. As soon as they can’t raise us by radio or land line
or Internet they’ll come over here to find out what happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
think they probably already have sent someone. We’ve missed our 1200 radio
check for three days. Whoever they sent wouldn’t know what he was walking into,
probably couldn’t fight it even if they did. No. I don’t think we can count out
any outside help. The only real question is whether the ‘collector’ will get
tired of waiting and go away, or take out his can opener and come in after us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley
sat there for a moment, digesting what Lambert had said. She wasn’t sure if she
believed it. The answer was just too incredible. And then, as if suddenly
accepting her fate, she said, “Well, shit. Just shit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Riley
stood and opened her locker, searched and then took out a bottle of Cutty Sark
scotch. She held up the bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
nodded and she filled two plastic glasses half full.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"> “We’re not going to make it easy for it, or
him, or them, are we?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“So,
I guess we better find some way to pass the time.” Riley tossed her head,
shaking her long red hair and running a hand up one it to lift it from the nape
of her neck. She swallowed her scotch and looked at Lambert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Do
you want to continue with whatever experiments we can?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
don’t think so,” she said, refilling the glasses. “The main antenna is melted
anyway. If I’m going to be a prize specimen, I want to be sure I’m going to be
well preserved in alcohol. I’m going to get drunk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Lambert
looked at her perspiration-grimed, beautiful face. He lifted his glass asking for
a refill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“To
butterflies,” he said. “No. To drunken butterflies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">(<i>A
final note: For those who believe this is somewhat derivative of </i>Alien<i>, I’ll
point out that the story was written in the mid-1970s, three or four years
before </i>Alien<i> was released. For those who wonder how I can prove it, I say because it
was part of that short story collection that Bob and I had written. I have the
letters to our agent and the rejections from the publishers. I have the table
of contents that lists the story among those we had written… and this was
originally written on an old manual typewriter. Try typing on one of those for
several hours. Not a major physical feat but certainly more difficult that
using a computer key board. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
yes, I can see a couple of plot holes, based on the increased technology of
today, but some of that didn’t exist when the story was written. I mean, they
should have known that the tower was destroyed… shouldn’t they have had video
monitoring? We could create a problem with that as well. Some sort of computer
glitch that didn’t tell them what the problem was and they couldn’t see it
because, given they were on the moon, there would be no reason for video
monitoring. Wouldn’t have to worry about vandalism or other such nonsense.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Anyway,
the story would make a good movie, I think. We’d need a little more blood and
gore at some point, and throw in a sex scene showing, at least, some of the
interaction among the crew.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
isn’t much else to say about the story. It is what it is. A short story that
takes place on the moon in the future… and given the attitudes of the 1970s, it
wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that we’d have bases on the moon by
today. Makes you wonder what happened to suck the sense of adventure out of all
of us</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;">.)</span> </p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-3960915160520463502021-04-23T07:19:00.001-07:002021-04-23T07:21:54.055-07:00War Game<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;">Note: Bob Cornett and I wrote the novel, <i>Seeds of War</i> about a campaign against a perceived enemy race on Tau Ceti Four. Although this story is not in the book as it is written here (there is a variation), it is in that same universe. The style is a little different but the characters are the ones that would be found in the book. I thought it interesting enough to post it here. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Image
for a moment that you are a combat infantry soldier in the twenty-second
century. Then go further and imagine that the entire solar system in a war with
the inhabitants of a planet a dozen light years from Earth. Next, imagine that
you are deep in enemy territory, and that your squad has been cut off from the
rest of your unit and surrounded. Finally, imagine that you’re only fifteen
years old. Ready? Begin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif;">TAU
CETI FOUR – INVASION PLUS ONE read the scenario board at yesterday evening’s
briefing. But that was yesterday. It is now five o’clock in the morning in an
endless corridor somewhere beneath the planet’s surface. When the platoon made
its infiltration jump at 0300 there was a thin, blue, cloudless sky above, and
a desert encircled enemy citadel below. Now there is only hard rock underfoot, and
nobody knows what’s above.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
are enemy troops up corridor and down corridor. Nobody knows for sure how close
they might or might not be. Nobody knows for certain how many there are. Nobody
knows for certain what they look like. The only thing that is certain is that
if we don’t bug out of here in one hell of a hurry, we are going to get our
collective ass stomped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
the only way out is down an intersecting corridor a hundred yards ahead where
an auxiliary tunnel joins the main at a right angle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
are thirteen of us counting our Tactical Advisor, Sergeant Marquette, Lucky
Thirteen Linda Zalaznik calls us. Soldiers, SCAF, Combat, PAI, Pathfinder,
Shade Tactical Tan, Manually Operated, Hand Fed, Air Cooled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Air
Cooled. Not the way I’m sweating. So much for shorts and knee socks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
try telling myself it’s only the textured Impervium body armor and that ambient
air temp is, after all, 96 degrees. No go. It isn’t the body armor, nor the
heat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
is fear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
am fifteen years old and a very young adult young lady for my age. I remind
myself, but I have never been in combat before, and I am afraid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
tilt up the polarized visor on my battle helmet and steal a look at the rest of
the squad. Everyone is sweating except Marquette. He alone has been in combat before.
He alone has seen death and caused it. South Africa in forty-three, Panama in
forty-seven, Canada in forty-nine. The blood of many on his hands.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I’ve
killed more people than all of you together have friends,” he told the squad
once, and we believed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
wonder how many I will kill before the killing is finally over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Susan
Norton is our squad leader. She nods at Zalaznik, who is point, and Linda
levels her assault rifle and steps around the corner of the intersecting
corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is a loud buzzing noise and she staggers backwards out of the tunnel and
collapses. Lucky Linda’s luck has expired.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Shit!”
cracks Norton’s voice in my ear buds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Her
finger stabs briefly at Patterson, von Ehrlick, and Martinez. The finger of
death. They nod grimly and without a word go around the corner low and fast
rifles firing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
are three more loud buzzes, then silence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Goddamn
it,” says Norton, losing her cool. She tossed a grenade around the corner,
waits for the flash, and then pokes her head around to check the damage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">She
screams.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Steve
McAllif grabs her ankle and pulls her back out of the tunnel mouth. Norton has
both hands over her eyes. Her forgotten rifle lies where it has fallen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Marquette
pushed McAllif aside and kneels by Norton’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
can’t see. I can’t see!” cries Norton.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Of
course, you can’t,” says Marquette, pulling her hands away from her face. “I’ve
told you at least a dozen times, Norton. Keep you fucking visor down in
combat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is no emotion in his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Marquette
checks Norton’s eyes, pulls a plastic bottle out of his web pouch, and puts two
drops in each eye. Then he takes off her helmet and bandages her eyes with
sterile pads and gauze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It’s
still up to you people,” he says without looking over his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Bastard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Command
falls to McAllif.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
do you think, Lara?” he asks me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
wonder briefly whether he asks because he values my military opinion or because
we have friends and have been lovers. Then I remember. Steven is Command II.
Daniel Flying By O’Rourke and I are Maneuver 5 and 6 respectively. Steve is
asking what I think because I’m going to be the next one around the corner.
Maneuver 1, 2, and 3 have already had their mistakes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“I
think, since they can see us the instance we step into the tunnel mouth, we’d
better fix it so they can’t see us,” I tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
do you suggest we do, turn out the lights?” cracks Marchetti.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No,”
says O’Rourke. “We wily pathfinders wait until dark and then attack. Kill ‘em
all,” he offers helpfully.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
glance at the perverted Mick Cherokee and then glare at McAllif. I hope the
stare is sufficiently icy and say, “Turn out the lights is what I suggest. Two
violet smokes ought to do it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Steve
nods. “Right. Smoke.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“And
masks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Masks?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“It’s
a tunnel. It’s going to be full of smoke. We might want to be able to breath.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Steve
reddens slightly and I can see his dark eyebrows pull down beneath his visor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You’re
cute when you blush, McAllif,” I tell him, buying time before I have to enter
the tunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
gets even redder as he yanks off his helmet and pulls out his gas mask.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Mask
up,” he rasps, slapping it out his face to cover the flush.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">When
everyone is ready he nods at O’Rourke and me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
unclip a small grenade, snap off the safety tab, and flip the trigger bar. As
it starts to billow blue-black, I edge over to the tunnel mouth and toss it
around the corner. Danny waits fifteen seconds for mine to work, then steps
into the open, heaves his as far down the tunnel as he can, and ducks back
fast. The enemy does not fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Ten
seconds pass. Fifteen. McAllif, looking like a helmeted bush hog behind his
mask, nods.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Do
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">O’Rourke
and I go into the tunnel together, low and fast. I know at once we’ve made a
mistake. I can’t see a thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
grenades had done their work. I bump into one wall, take a few steps, bounce
off the other, and stumble over someone who grunts. I have no idea where
O’Rourke is.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">We
find each other by the process of collision, and both go down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
rolls away from me and I hear him stumbling to his feet. Suddenly there is a
rapid series of low-pitched, ugly, ripping sounds and the air above me is
knifed by laser fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
normally invisible beams cut ruby-red pencils through the diffusing smoke.
Lethality in technicolor. I just have time to think, “I never dreamed that war
could be so lovely,” when a low shot searing across my bare forearm brings me
painfully back to business.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
enemy is firing blind, and with death flashing inches over my head, I decide
the tunnel floor is the safest place to be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
not for long. The smoke is beginning to dissipate, and I realize it’s now or
never. I begin crawling rapidly along the tunnel wall, toward the enemy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">As
the smoke thins and I get nearer to the source of the laser fire, I can make
out three indistinct shapes huddled behind what looks like a sandbagged
revetment. I pull a flash grenade from its retaining clip on my shoulder
harness, tear off the safety tab and foil, and rolling to my back, punch the
actuator. The throw is perfect and I flop over and bury my face in my arms.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
can almost feel the heat wash over me as the light finds a path through my
polarizer and tries to force its way up under my eyelids, but there is no
noise. I decide that I am still alive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Crawling
forward I shove my rifle barrel over the top of the sandbags and have a look. I
am instantly sorry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Yesterday’s
mistakes, three bodies, lie torn and shredded amid young blood in the bottom of
the sandbagged pit. I have to fight hard to keep my breakfast from coming up in
my mask. No strap on training aids this time. These are real people.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
check the bodies while O’Rourke covers me, he’s even more stoic than usual. It
is SOP. We pulled the power packs from their lasers, scatter the firing servos,
and see to our casualties. Then McAllif forms the reminder of the squad and we
strike off across the sand toward the rally point, having somehow found our way
outside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
RP lies just beyond the third dune. Pickett, a sandy haired kid with a peach
fuzz mustache is the commander. His exec is Heineken. Heineken has a build like
a gorilla. His body is covered with curly black hair that matches his curly
black head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Intel
says we can expect a major push by the enemy within the hour,” Pickett tells
us. “Probably a company supported by armor. We’ve got to hold a pass between
some hills until help arrives.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Steve
looks at him incredulously. “Hold with what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Just
us and the anti-tank squad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Are
you out of your mind?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Our
orders are ‘Hold until relieved.’”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Our
orders smell.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Those
are the orders, McAllif. Now take your squad over to that hill and dig in on
the far slope. And don’t give me any more crap.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">We
spread out along the hillside and I break out my entrenching tool and start
chopping away at a likely spot. The enemy arrives before I’m half finished. Of
course. I knew they would. I snuggled down as deeply as I can and wait. Got to
lure the enemy in close. Got to sucker him in so the anti-tank squad can make
the kill first time at bat. They might not get a second chance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">At
first there is only dust on the horizon, special effects from a grade B video,
then the enemy comes into view by the far dunes, three Light Armored Fighting
Vehicles shaped in a vanguard V, followed by a platoon of infantry, the advance
elements of the Tau counter-offensive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
enemy is clever. She is dressed as a soldier of the Sol Combined Arms Force to
confuse us, but we are not confounded. Her camouflage is imperfect. Her scarlet
arm band gives her away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
LAFV’s grind abruptly to a halt, the infantry scattering in the sand or
cowering behind the heli-arc welded, stressed Impervium plate hulls of the
tracked vehicles. Has the enemy detected our ambush, or is she merely being
cautious? If we’ve been detected then we’re going to get a pasting. The main
batteries of the LAFV’s have nine times the effective range of any weapon in
our platoon and five times the destructive power.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
enemy is being cautious. The big guns flash in unison and I burrow deeper into
the foxhole and try to pull the non-existent top in after me. Even though I
have never been shelled before, I know what to expect. There is a low whooshing
sound as the fin stabilized projectiles come gliding in and then three shaking,
nerve tingling concussions. Recon by fire. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Three
more times the muzzles flash. Three more times there comes the whooshing and
then the crashing roar. It seems to me that the concussions do not all come
from where the projectiles should have landed, but I am too busy digging a hole
in the rocky sand with my face to be sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
firing stops and I risk a look. The enemy troops are conferring among
themselves. They seem to be arguing about something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">At
last the vehicle in the apex of the V edges forward, accompanied by two squads
of infantry. It stops a hundred yards from the foot of the hill and transverses
its turret from left to right, raking the slope with its Gatling laser, slicing
great smoldering trenches with its nuclear-powered fire, churning up clouds of
sand and debris. Not being stupid, we do not return fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is another pause, presumably while the vehicle crews discuss the situation by
shielded COMM link, and then the reminder of the force closes up with the point
of the LAFV.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Steady,
steady, they’re almost at the foot of the slope. Wait for it. Now!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
is a wildly bobbing, corkscrewing streak of argon light as the anti-tank
missile plows nose first into the turret of the first vehicle, momentarily
shrouding it in a snowstorm of white hot plastic. The LAFV continues on for a
few yards and then screeches to a halt, the tracks locked up tight, and begins
to exude a dense orange smoke. The hatches remain closed, the crew inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
remaining armor and infantry open fire simultaneously and I hear Pickett’s
voice in my ear buds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Start
the battle. Start the battle. Anti-tank squad fire for effect on the number two
tank. Infantry target independently.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
poke the barrel of my rifle over the lip of my foxhole, center the crosshairs
on the nearest enemy soldier, and press the firing stud. I watch in macabre
fascination as her chest turns crimson and she topples slowly to the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Breaking
the trace, I swing the rifle ten degrees left and burn out another soldier,
then back to the right and a third shot. My aim is not so good this time. The
soldier drops her rifle and stands shaking her left hand as though stung by a
bee. Suddenly remembering she is being shot at, drops to the ground, hand to
her mouth, but she is not fast enough. Another kill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
am swinging on the fourth mark when something catches my eye. The anti-tank
squad has fallen off par also. Number two LAFV is damaged, but still under
power. Both it and number three have reversed and are backing away. Behind them
a soldier slips and falls into the path of number two. Frozen in time, I watch
with clinical detachment as she struggles to her feet, slips again, hesitates
for the fatal instant and then scrambles frantically, all sense of reason
forgotten in the face of real death.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">She
screams as the treads roll over her, the sound of tires on concrete.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">A
second later the body is pushed from underneath the neoprene track pads, a mas
of twisted, mangled flesh and broken, crushed bones, the blood staining the
sand and the polyfoam.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">For
a moment, the LAFV continues backing away, the crew unaware they had run over
someone. All up and down the line soldiers stop firing, sporadic shots trailing
away into nothingness as the storm of battle dies. We are in the eye of the
hurricane. Soldiers gather around the remains and I stand slowly, fully exposed
to any enemy sniper. It does not matter. The film plate on my chest shows
bright red and the power has been cut from my laser. Sometime in the last few
seconds of the fight, I have been killed. I didn’t even hear the scoring
buzzer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">A
noncom with a black and white armband reading UMPIRE runs from the air-conditioned
command tent, yelling at us to keep firing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Shoot,
damn it. Shoot!” he screams. “The battle isn’t over yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">No
one pays any attention to him. Overhead a yellow flare breaks near the heat
lamps, signaling the end of the exercise. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Training
Platoon Sergeant Fetterman stalks from the command tent, motioning us to follow
him. We form a ragged line near the body, trying not to look at it, while we
wait for the sergeant to call everyone in with his radio. When we are all
assembled, he calls us to attention and waits while we straighten out the line.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What
in the held happened to you people?” he bellows. “Do you think you can stop and
stand up in the middle of a battle just because one of your friends is stupid
enough to get herself run over by a friendly tank. This isn’t some game were
playing here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Yes.
It is just a game,” snaps the guy in the line next to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fetterman
walks quietly over and stands with his face inches from the other’s nose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“What’s
your name, trainee,” says Fetterman without raising his voice. It is a
rhetorical question. He has already read the nametag above the trainee’s left
ammo pocket on his chest protector.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">The
guy hesitates a second before speaking. His voice too, is quiet. Unlike
Fetterman’s, it is not calm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Sergeant!”
he whispers. “The trainees name is Leupin, Jacques. I’m sorry I sounded off
Sergeant. Trainee Mead was a friend of mine and to have seen her just run over
like…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fetterman’s
voice is cold and dangerous. “I don’t give a shit whose friend the deceased
was, how she died, or even what her name was, except as it concerns graves
registration. The only thing important to me is that she died. She died because
she got stupid, panicked, and made a mistake. Just like the three trainees who
were killed during the para-drop practice yesterday. None of them had to die.
They killed themselves because they got careless and made fatal mistakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Mead
didn’t make any mistake. She got run over by a tank. That wasn’t her fault. It
was…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">For
a moment, I think Fetterman is going to strike Leupin, but it isn’t necessary.
His withering stare is enough to cut off further discussion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“This!”
he says, “is a mistake. Trainee Mead did not have to die. She killed herself
because she panicked and made a mistake. Having fallen twice on the slippery
surface, she tried to get up a third time instead of simply rolling out of the
way. Had she rolled to the left, the LAFV would have missed her completely. Had
he rolled to the right, there would have been sufficient clearance for the
vehicle to pass over her without inflicting injury. Trainee Mead died because
she made a mistake. That killed her as surely as if she had put a pistol to her
own head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“If
you learn no other lesson today, if you remember nothing else, learn and
remember this: The only way to get killed in combat is to make a mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Contrary
to Trainee Leupin’s opinion, we are not playing games here. This was a
simulated combat situation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
waved a hand in the general direction of the red army infantry. “The defending
blue troops won this engagement because you jerks fell apart and quit. Had this
been actual combat, you would have been wiped out, tanks and all. Had this been
actual combat, the blue troops would have successfully defended the pass
against a superiorly equipped force, halting your counter-offensive at a
critical stage, and very probably costing you the war.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“You
have been told time and again that mistakes will kill. You’ve just had a very
practical demonstration. If yesterday’s deaths didn’t get through to you, maybe
this one will.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Now
a word about the tunnel assault. Alpha squad, your first mistake was getting
people simulated killed. Your second mistake was trying to come down the
corridor without smoke. Your third mistake was trying to come down the corridor
a second time without smoke. Your fourth mistake was coming down the corridor
standing up. Your fifth mistake was coming down the corridor at all, instead of
using your grenade launcher from the other end. Your sixth mistake was firing
your rifles in the smoke and giving you positions away, except for Masterson
who exhibited the tiniest inkling of common sense by using a grenade simulator
instead of her rifle. Your seventh mistake was getting people killed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“With
the exception of Masterson, all of Alpha squad has earned themselves an hour of
extra duty. No. It was an exceptional performance, we’ll make it two. Sergeant
Marquette!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Yes,
Platoon Sergeant.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“See
to it that the punishment is carried out before the Trainees are released for
evening meal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Yes,
Platoon Sergeant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Now,”
says Fetterman, “I’m going to say this just once. We are not playing games
here. This is not a game. It is a training exercise. The purpose of a training
exercise is to teach you how to stay alive in a combat environment. You’re not
going to be fighting mock battles with laser training aids and flash grenades
in some damned simulator ship for the rest of you lives. In a short time, far
too short a time, you are going to find yourselves ejected out of a shuttle
over Tau Ceti Four. When that time comes, the rifles are going to be real, and
the grenades real, and the artillery real, and the death real. And real people
will be dying for real.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Unless
you wake up and pay attention to what we are trying to teach you here and now,
large numbers of you are going to be dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fetterman
looks at Leupin, shrugs and sighs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right Trainee, I can see I’m not getting through to you. You still think war is
a game. Okay, have it your way, but remember this. There is only one rule by
which the game is played. Stay alive. No one ever won a war by dying for his
cause. He won it by making the enemy die for his. The acid test of warfare is
survival. Mead did not survive. She could have, but she made a mistake. In war,
death is not a passing grade.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Fetterman
is quiet for a moment, considering what to do with Mead’s remains.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Shall
I detail someone to clean up the mess?” Marquette askes him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“No,”
says Fetterman at last. “Leave the mistake where it is. Maybe it will give
others something to think about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">He
turns to address the entire assemble.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“All
right,” he says. “It’s obvious from the performance you’ve just given that we
still have a lot of work to do. We’ll run the exercise again, from the top.
Tankers take your vehicles back to the original starting position at the far
end of the ship. Everyone else form up according.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“And
this time do it right. One terminal mistake is enough for today.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
stand for a moment before moving, staring down at the broken mass I knew only
as Mead, Sarah J. Only her nametag is still recognizable. I wish I could have
known her better.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">“Leave
the mistake where it is,” Fetterman had said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Sometimes
I wonder who in the hell the enemy really is.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="color: red;"></span><p></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-26307372473555771992021-04-21T08:30:00.003-07:002021-04-21T08:30:37.734-07:00Iron Monger Jim<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Back
more years that I care to remember, with Bob Cornett, I attended many science
fiction conventions. Our original plan was to meet the editors so that when we
submitted a story or book, they would know who we were. We hoped that it would
give us a leg up as they were evaluating the manuscript.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Of
course, we toured the Hucker’s Room and met with a number of the vendors in
there. One was Iron Monger Jim. He had a huge supply of blades and knives of
various sizes, shapes and uses. One of those was a wonderful survival knife.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vfhMEWY3iFY/YIBEk0_tP5I/AAAAAAAAEX0/NwIpsqLdLHkeNbQS_M1IbE9K-k9uc7v_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1122/Iron%2BMonger%2BKnife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="1122" height="282" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vfhMEWY3iFY/YIBEk0_tP5I/AAAAAAAAEX0/NwIpsqLdLHkeNbQS_M1IbE9K-k9uc7v_wCLcBGAsYHQ/w556-h282/Iron%2BMonger%2BKnife.jpg" width="556" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The picture doesn't do it justice. The knife is much cleaner and polished that <br />it is here.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
tell you all this because, I took that survival knife, that we had traded a
mention in one of the <i>Vietnam Ground Zero</i> books for the knife, to Iraq.
It might be the only knife that he made that was taken into a combat zone. For
those interested, I never used it in combat because I was never closer than a
hundred or two hundred yards from the bad guys.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">However,
the knife was quite useful in a number of other tasks. In the most mundane, the
battalion commander used it to slice bread. No, I was never in a survival
situation where it would have been the deciding factor, but there were times
that I was glad that I had it with me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; text-align: justify;">I
thought this might be the best way to let the Iron Monger that one of his
knives had been in a combat zone. And to thank him for the knife that I found
to be useful in Iraq (and, of course, in many other tasks since I received it).</span> </p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-84491084168776556002021-04-11T19:45:00.001-07:002021-04-11T19:45:22.017-07:00The New Mutants - A Review<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Last
night HBO broadcast <i>The New Mutants</i>. I thought it worth a look but
nearly turned it off when the opening logo fest told me this was part of the
Marvel Universe. I have nothing against Marvel and am a fan of Stan Lee no
matter what the lunatics in the world say about him and his attitudes from a
long time ago. But the truth is, I’m not really a fan of most of those movies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
hung in there and have to wonder what possessed me. It isn’t a very good movie.
I found nothing to really like about the characters and confess I must have
missed something somewhere. I don’t know why the one New Mutant, Dani Moonstar,
woke up in what looked like a mental hospital. I don’t know how she got there
or what was chasing her when she was injured in the very beginning of the movie.
I don’t know how those running the hospital knew where she was or that she
needed to be rescued when she was injured, if hospital is the right word. I
found my attention wandering frequently because this all was just plain boring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">If
I understood what passed as a plot, this was a place where the mutants were
gathered as they moved from childhood to adulthood and they began to develop
their powers. It was clear that Dani Moonstar didn’t know a thing about this or
that she was some sort of mutant. She didn’t know what her power might be and
we were all waiting for it to manifest itself… sort of… I really didn’t care.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Back
in 2005 there was a nice little movie, <i>Sky High</i>, that sort of dealt with
the same sort of “problem.” That is, the youngsters developing their
superpowers. While the movie had a tongue-in-cheek flavor to it, it was also clear
that the cast was having some fun, as was the audience. There was an actual
plot and story and a bunch of “big” names like Kurt Russell, Kelly Preston,
Bruce Campbell, Cloris Leachman and Dave Foley in what might be considered the
supporting cast. There was character development, some interesting special
effects, and clever dialogue. When we come to <i>The New Mutants</i>, none of
that was there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Of
the two films, <i>Sky High</i> is the big winner. I’ve watched it a couple of
times. <i>The New Mutants</i>, I wish I could erase from my brain. It wasn’t so
bad that it’s good. It was just bad. Give it a pass and hope those involved
refrain from making a movie ever again. And if you really want to see a movie
about mutants gaining their powers, check out <i>Sky High </i>instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-47853893235300117362021-04-08T07:08:00.000-07:002021-04-08T07:08:03.966-07:00Godzilla vs Kong - A Review<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Just
the other day I caught <i>Godzilla vs. Kong</i> on HBOMax and have to say that
I wasn’t disappointed. I mean here that I expected to see the two monsters
fighting one another with little thought to story or plot or character
development and that is exactly what I got… two monsters fighting one another.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Yes,
the graphics were spectacular. We have come a long way since stop motion
photography was the way to create these monsters (<i>King Kong</i>, 1933), or
pasting a couple of large dorsal displays on small lizards and then filming
them in close up to make them look gigantic (<i>Journey to the Center of the
Earth</i>, 1959). I enjoyed <i>Godzilla</i>, in which the model airplanes were
firing rockets at Godzilla and then suddenly stopping and dropping into the
ocean. I realized they had hit the back drop of the scene. But I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
movie was about the two fighting one another and I guess there are those out
there who wanted to see the two of them square off. I’ll point out that the
original Godzilla was about 400 feet tall and the original King Kong was much
shorter but who pays attention to these sorts of things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
did notice we got much of the virtual signally into the film, and had the
appeal to the Chinese, which is a huge market. Can’t really blame the movie
makers for making sure that the huge Chinese audience would find someone to
root for. And what’s the deal with the little girls taking important roles in
these films. Saw the same thing in <i>Meg</i>. In fact, if not for the children
in the movie, the adults would have let the world’s cities be destroyed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
movie seems to reinforce the idea that you don’t need to worry about story
telling as long as you can blow up things and smash buildings. And have the big
ape punch the big lizard in the face is always good for a laugh or two.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Here’s
the deal on this. If you’re looking for a movie with a little plot and story,
this isn’t the film to see. If you want to see the virtue of the children and
how the evil adults are ruining everything, then this might be the film for
you. If you just want to see classic, animated creatures fight, then this is
the movie for you. If you’re over eight years old, maybe the thing to do is
find the original films that introduced King Kong and Godzilla and watch those
instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">By
the way, by the definitions offered here, this movie was not science fiction.
It fits into the sub-category of Sci Fi. It’s not based on current science,
scientific thought, or possible future scientific discovery. It is based on the
fantasy that there are giant monsters roaming hidden areas on Earth that do not
exist. Not to mention the mechanical Godzilla, which might be thought of as
possible, but is certainly irrelevant. Just thought I would mention it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; text-align: justify;">Oh,
if you’re not eight years old, I’d give this a pass… unless you want to see the
two monsters slug it out. Personally, I’d like to have seen something with a
little more depth to it.</span> </p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-53474673974842286202021-03-09T11:35:00.001-08:002021-03-09T11:35:27.723-08:00Star Trek Discovery - A Late Review<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Yes,
I have come to this party late but then, CBS just released <i>Star Trek –
Discovery</i> On Demand (Or I just happened to find it there). I wasn’t about
to pay CBS a fee to watch a bunch of their programs that they wouldn’t
broadcast over the air. Not when I have On Demand, and Amazon Prime, and HBOMAX
(though it was just HBO Go then) and so much else that is now available.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
will say that the production values are amazing. The ship looks better than any
of the other starships but what do you expect when comparing 1960s special
effects standards with those today? It should be, dare I say it, light years
ahead… and yes, I know that a light year is a measure of distance and not
really time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
also would like to note that there is an awful lot of wasted space on the ship.
The hallways are so wide you could drive a truck down them when they don’t
really need to be that wide. We have huge private rooms, or rooms set up for
two crew members that are way too big. I’ll let this go by noting that you
would need to carry a great deal into space to build the ship and that doesn’t
account for the ability to fill it with oxygen for the crew to breathe. I would
think that engineers in the future would have thought about all that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
find the show difficult to watch and found myself viewing it in pieces. Watch
for twenty minutes and then turn it off, only to come back hours or days later
to finish watching it. That was the pattern through the 15 episodes that were
available On Demand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">In
the first episode, I was surprised to see Michael Burnham (was there a purpose
of giving her a masculine name?) attack the captain and then commit an act of
mutiny. These were major crimes and I could see no way to cover them up… which
they didn’t do. We learn that she was tried and convicted and sent off into exile…
well, prison.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
then the shuttle taking her and other prisoners away, is intercepted, and these
criminals, are brought aboard the starship. While those others are soon
forgotten, or locked away and eventually returned to the shuttle to complete
their trip, Burnham is provided with an opportunity to serve on the ship in a
much-reduced circumstance. Okay, I get that it was a plot of the captain that
we learn about later, but I just can’t see the rest of the crew going along
with this. Oh, there is some push back but not what I would expect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">It
was at this point they lost me. Burnham had attacked her captain and was a
mutineer. There really is no redemption for that. It doesn’t matter what else
goes on, what she might do or how bright she supposedly is (though she couldn’t
seem to understand that what she had done couldn’t be fixed), she was now a
prisoner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Overlooking
that, we move into classic television. We have the “Groundhog Day” scenario
where time is looped and they repeat the same sequence of events over and over.
I think <i>Stargate SG-1</i> handled it better with a touch of humor. Of course,
the original film allowed for a growth of the character and wasn’t just a cheap
device that pointed to the failure of imagination in this case.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">And
then there is the alternative universe in which the Federation becomes the
fascist empire that ruthlessly advances its goals by slaughtering all those
that get in the way. The original <i>Star Trek</i> did it better and it didn’t
take multiple episodes to resolve the problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">But
all that just tells us that the captain who engineered the “rescue” of Burnham
is, in reality (if that’s the right word), from that alternative universe who
had attempted a coup to become the emperor. Yes, somewhat complicated, but it
brings us back into our shared reality where the Klingons have won the war and
the Federation, the good guys here, are attempting to hold things together so
that they might turn the tables.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
might mention here that I was really annoyed by the Klingons who always spoke
their own language so that we’re treated to subtitles. These sometimes flash on
the screen so fast that you don’t have time to read them, but who really cares.
I hated the guttural sounds that passed for their language and just muted the
TV. Why listen to it when you’re not going to be able to understand the
language and you have subtitles? (I suppose there are those who attempt to
speak Klingon, but does the invented language follow rules of grammar or is it
just English translated into Klingon by created Klingon words for the English
ones?)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">There
are other annoyances too numerous to mention. All the leadership is female and
all the white male characters are bad unless they belong to some marginalized
community. Burnham is able to solve every problem with brilliant insights that
always work and, in the end, she is reinstated at her former rank and returned
to an important position on the starship.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">Did
everyone just forget that she had attacked her captain and that she had
attempted to take over the ship in a mutiny because she believed she knew
better than everyone else? I can see no reason that a military organization
would ever allow her to serve again because if she did it once and the
consequences were a short deviation in her career path, why wouldn’t she do it
again? At best, they would have commuted her sentence and allowed her to return
to civilian life… and more probably, they would have locked her up for a
shorter period of time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
am informed that the second season was an improvement, but I haven’t seen it
because it hasn’t shown up On Demand or in another arena in which I can see it.
Frankly, I really don’t care because this version of <i>Star Trek</i> has
little or nothing to do with the vision of the original. It struck me as
nothing more than an exercise in virtual signaling and the continued propaganda
that white man bad, everyone else good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
will note one other observation here. In the last several months I have seen a
number of programs and movies in which the main characters are female, or
African-American, or a member of some other victimized group. These programs
were made years ago, and I now view them through this lens of 2021 as opposed
to when they were made. At the time they were made, we did not see the story as
a contrivance to advance a political or societal view, but as a story created to
entertain us and if the characters were of a certain ethnicity, we didn’t care
about that because we cared about the characters. In these latest endeavors, we
see the pushing of an agenda. The whole program is lost in the moral message
being pushed and this, I believe, is why the stories do not make sense or are
filled with unrealistic situations or have plot holes that we are supposed to
ignore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">In
<i>Star Trek Discovery</i>, one of those is that in the end, as the Klingon
home world is threatened with destruction, Burnham, again against orders, saves
them because the Klingons agree to some sort of treaty (I think, I had lost
interest long ago). My thought was that the very moment the Klingons had the
opportunity to destroy the Federation, they would do so, regardless of the treaty
and the circumstances that brought the universe to that point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">No,
this version of <i>Star Trek</i> is not for me and if the other seasons are
released into the non-streaming world or I have the opportunity to watch, I’ll
give it a pass. I just don’t care anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-31470243063465693792021-02-06T09:07:00.001-08:002021-02-06T12:44:49.817-08:00From the Desk of Infinity<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="color: red;">(<b>Blogger’s
note</b>: This is another of those “trunk” manuscripts. It was written in the
late 1970s, as best as I can remember and based on a couple of clues in the
story. Unlike Isaac Asimov in his <i>Early Asimov</i>, I updated the tale. In
his case, he published his early stories just as they had originally appeared,
stuck in that earlier time. Since, this story hadn’t been published, I updated
it. At one point Steve offered Elaine coffee or a cigarette. In our world
today, smoking would be outlawed in the building and he wouldn’t have offered
the cigarette. Steve used a tape recorder then but now he used his cell phone
to record the conversation. And, of course, she didn’t take the pictures using
a film camera but rather a digital camera. That complicated things a little bit
because the film made for a better delay in getting the pictures.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-doxjxR2CcDU/YB7LvkyPjZI/AAAAAAAAEN4/zvCvQODB5WUSYHqO8O_XE1Ru9lHGogLswCLcBGAsYHQ/s1134/Drawing%2Bmade%2Bby%2BRoach%2Bunder%2BHypnosis.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="726" height="267" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-doxjxR2CcDU/YB7LvkyPjZI/AAAAAAAAEN4/zvCvQODB5WUSYHqO8O_XE1Ru9lHGogLswCLcBGAsYHQ/w171-h267/Drawing%2Bmade%2Bby%2BRoach%2Bunder%2BHypnosis.jpg" width="171" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drawing of an alien made<br />during the hypnotic <br />regression session.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="color: red;">The
other thing is that the story is based on a UFO abduction case that I investigated
in the mid-1970s. Some of the details came out of that investigation, including
the idea of using a green pen (originally a felt tip but now a gel) to draw the
alien creatures. I believe that tale is the result of sleep paralysis rather
than a real UFO abduction. For those interested in that, I suggest reading <i>The
Abduction Enigma</i>, which tells the full story and how we (Russ Estes, Bill
Cone and I) reached that conclusion. For those interested in learning more
about this but don’t have access to the book, you can read a little about it
here:</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><a href="http://kevinrandle.blogspot.com/2005/03/alien-abduction-and-leading-witness.html">http://kevinrandle.blogspot.com/2005/03/alien-abduction-and-leading-witness.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><a href="http://kevinrandle.blogspot.com/2007/08/abduction-enigma.html">http://kevinrandle.blogspot.com/2007/08/abduction-enigma.html</a>
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Courier New";">And
no, I’m not comparing myself to Isaac Asimov, merely using the technique that
he used in writing his book about, well, writing his early stories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="color: red;">Oh,
for those interested in such things, this story’s original title, and the one
used here was “From the Desk of Infinity.” It doesn’t have much relevance for
the story. Bob Cornett and I were putting together an anthology of our short
stories and we called the book, <i>From the Desk of Infinity</i>. We figured
one story should be titled that, and this one “won” the honor.)</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
finally got the story that I had been looking for, complete with pictures. The
story that should have won me worldwide fame and fortune but that has netted me
nothing except sleepless nights. A woman gave it to me and I could see it in
print. Unfortunately, it would have to go under a pen name into one of those
cheap newspapers that you can buy on your way out of the grocery store and that
no one believes. They make sensational reading but you don’t hear people
quoting them as sources around the water cooler.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
came into the city room one rainy afternoon. If it hadn’t been for the rain and
the lack of any “real” events happening, I probably wouldn’t have listened to
her. But the gloom filtering in the windows, the harsh artificial lights and the
heavy sound of traffic three floors below put me into the mood to listen to
horror stories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
was almost five-seven, had brown hair to her shoulders, a brown blouse and an
unfashionably short skirt. Nothing daring, just above the knee. She stopped to talk
to one of the secretaries who sit in the first row of desks. They sometimes do what
was once known as paste ups, a feature for the what was once called the woman’s
section and point people to the rest of us. Since I had just done a story about
a related happening, Debbie pointed to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
she walked up, I stood, watching her eyes. The eyes sometimes give a clue about
the person. She stared back at me, almost saying that she didn’t care what I
thought, just that I should listen. I held out my hand, wanting to use the old
newspaper joke, “I’m Cash, from the <i>Register</i>,” but thought she might not
appreciate the humor. Instead, I just said, “My name’s Ketchum. Can I help
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
hesitated before she spoke, which didn’t fit with the signal I had gotten from her
eyes. Her hand was warm and moist, indicating that she was nervous but her
poise hid it well. I was surprised by the old-fashioned gesture. “I’m not
sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
pointed to a chair at the empty desk, next to mine. “Why don’t you have a seat
and we’ll see what we can do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
pushed the chair around so that it was facing me, pulled the rain hat from her
head and slipped off the raincoat, letting it drip on the carpet. She didn’t
have a purse, but dug a cell phone out of the coat pocket and set in on the
desk. She set her umbrella on the floor, out of the way. Her motions were
measured and slow. Again, she seemed to be hesitating. Since I didn’t know if
there was going to be a story or not, I proceeded carefully. “Would you like a
cup of coffee?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
shook her head, almost as if to shake out her hair. She started to say
something and changed her mind. “I think coffee would be good. With sugar. If
you don’t mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“All
right. I’ll just be a moment. Make yourself at home.” I slipped off to get the
coffee, wondering what this was all about. It didn’t feel right. Most people
came into the city room ready to blab their fool heads off about anything and
everything for as long as someone would listen, but she didn’t seem to want to
talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
set the coffee in front of her, catching her attention. She had been staring
into space, not seeing or hearing anything around her. She stirred the coffee
slowly with her finger, licked it, still seeming to debate what she should do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
said, “I don’t believe I got your name.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
that wasn’t very nice of me. Elaine. Elaine Jorgenson. I live here in town, or
rather on the outskirts of town.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
tugged at the hem of her skirt but was staring at the floor. “I have a story,
or rather had an experience that might interest you.” She sipped the coffee,
waiting for me to say something. Silence is sometimes the best stimulate but I
said, “Go on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m
not sure that you’ll want to hear this or that you’ll even believe it but it’s
all true. I can assure you of that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
rolled my eyes. I’m always afraid of storis that begin with “I’m tell the
truth,” or some variant of that. However, I waited and then opened my laptop.
“You don’t mind if I take a few notes, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Of
course not. You can write down whatever you want but you’ll probably end up throwing
it away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“So
you said.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
fumbled through one of the coat pockets looking for a Kleenex but once she
found it, just balled it up in her hand. “I don’t know where to begin.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
was becoming irritated at all the delay. I could see no reason for it because
she had come to us. “Why not start at the beginning,” I said sarcastically. She
didn’t notice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That’s
the problem,” she said. “I’m not sure of the beginning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">It
was late afternoon now and most of the staff had gone. We were almost alone.
Only one or two of the night people slipping in. I rubbed a hand across my
forehead, took a deep breath and watched her. She seemed to be psyching herself
up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Let’s
see. It started four nights ago.” She looked at me to make sure that I was
paying attention. “It was about eleven when I saw it from the window in my
house. I don’t know why I looked out just them, but I did and saw it hovering
over the trees to the south. It was just a bright light that hung there for a
few seconds and then flashed away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">That
was no big deal. I stopped typing and picked up the coffee and told the cup,
“Lots of people have seen things like that. In fact, some have made better
reports.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You’re
getting a head here,” she said, slightly sharply. She took a sip of the coffee,
punishing me for interrupting her. She set the cup down and stared at it before
starting again. “It was back the next night about the same time. After a day, I
know what I wanted to do if I ever saw it again so I picked up me cell. I
couldn’t get a signal. I gave up for the moment and went back to the window.
The thing then flashed brightly once, as if to say good-by, and shot away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
typed a few notes but didn’t interrupt her with questions because I could
always go back and I was quickly losing interest. I pulled out the bottom
drawer of my desk and put my feet up on the edge, rocking back in the chair.
“Go on,” I said again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
I thought that if it had come back once, maybe it would come back again, so I made
sure my camera was charged. It is 64 megapixels and when I bought it, was told
that it was good in daylight and low light but to be sure to make sure I
focused it properly. When the object came back that night, I tried to take some
pictures.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
sat up suddenly and leaned forward. “You got pictures? With you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
she reached into another coat pocket and brought out the camera. It was a good
one. Top of the line.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
haven’t done much with them,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
said, “Can I see them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
called the pictures up on the small screen and turned the camera around for me.
He scrolled through them, saw that two or three were good but the small screen
made it difficult to be sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Can
I download these?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
didn’t bring the adapter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Didn’t
bring the adapter,” I repeated. I grabbed my phone, stabbing at the intercom
button. “Who’s in the lab?” I heard one of the secretaries say something about
checking for me. I put a hand over the mouth piece. “I think we can get those
downloaded and prints made pretty quick. If that’s all right with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
looked away when I heard someone answer me on the phone. I told her what I had
and said, “Right now, if you can.” The lab tech, Leigh Roberts, said that she
would be up in a few minutes to get the camera. I cradled the receiver and
said, “Sorry about the interruption. I just didn’t expect pictures.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“They
might not be too good. I’m not familiar with the camera. I just got it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
sat holding the camera and said, “The night after I took the pictures, I wasn’t
really interested in it anymore. Oh, I would have looked for it if I had been
awake, but I wasn’t. I fell asleep on the couch watching HBO.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“So,
it might have reappeared?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
was there. That I do know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“But
if you were asleep, how would you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Please.
Mister Ketchum, you’re jumping ahead again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m
sorry. Please call me Steve. That’s make us friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
ran a hand through her hair and stared out the window. I followed her gaze and
was surprised to see that it was almost dark. The overhead lights in the city
room were turned out to save money in these austere times, so I turned on my
desk lamp. It threw a circle of bright light on my desk, hiding the things
outside it in shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
know, it was strange,” she said. “I woke up about eleven and had the feeling
that someone was watching me. I came wide awake and thinking. There wasn’t any
of this slowly waking up. I was there right now and frightened. I knew that
there was someone in the room with me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
peeked through my eyelashes and could see him standing over me, looking down at
me. There was only the light from the TV screen and I could hear voices from
it. I peeked at this man, standing there, but could only see a vague outline. He
looked young. I guess small would be a better word. I thought that he was young
because he was small. The funny thing about this is that I didn’t panic or
scream but quietly laid there hoping he would go away, thinking I was asleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
held up a hand to stop her. “The photo tech is here.” I stood and walked over
to Leigh, telling her to call as soon as she had downloaded the pictures and
examined them. Back at my desk, I asked Elaine if she wanted more coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No.
I just want to get this thing told now that I’ve started.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Fine.”
I sat down, loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves. “You said that there was
a young man in your house. Did you see what he looked like?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Not
just then. Later, I got a good look at him and all the others. But right then I
didn’t know what was happening. I watched him through my eyelashes so that it
looked like I was looking at him through tall grass. Anyway, I didn’t move. He
waved at someone, signaling for them to come over and then he reached down.
Now, I opened my eyes and got the first real look at them. They weren’t human.
They looked almost human, but there weren’t.” She paused there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Are
you going to tell me that these guys, in your house, were from a flying
saucer?” I looked away again, staring out the window. Across the street I could
see the lights of a high rise and through one of the windows, I saw a man
sitting there, reading the newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Please,”
she said. “Let me tell this my way. At the time I didn’t know who they were but
I later found out there were from the flying saucer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
did they look like?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
hesitated as if wondering if she should answer my question. Then she said, “I
was going to save that for later, but since you asked.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Damn
right I asked.” But I was no longer taking notes. We’d ventured too far into
the weird.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“They
were about four feet tall, very thin and wearing shiny clothes, like those
flight suits that pilots sometimes wear. They had long arms and hands that only
had three fingers or rather two fingers and a long thumb. They had long, skinny
faces with two eyes, a nose and mouth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Hardly
a good description,” I interjected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What’s
wrong with it?” she demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Nothing’s
wrong with it. I meant that it wasn’t very imaginative.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
took offense at that. She stared at me and then said, her voice shaking with
anger. “I think we’re through here. I should have known better.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
thought about not saying anything more and letting her storm out of the city
room. I didn’t want to get caught up in a flying saucer story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">But
rather than leave, she said, “There is nothing imaginative about it. I’m
telling you what I saw.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
found myself apologizing to her. “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that quite the
way it sounded. I meant…” I let the sentence trail off because I had meant it.
I’d said it to get a reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After
a moment, she sighed and then said, “Anyway, the one that had been near me from
the start reached down toward me. I sat up and jerked away from him, screaming
not to touch me. He didn’t seem to hear, or maybe just didn’t care. He reached
for my arms, grabbing me. I felt some of the will drain out of me. I struggled
for a moment but then gave up because it took too much effort to resist. I let
him and his friend pick me up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
resumed typing. I had questions, but I kept them to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That
was a strange sensation,” she said. “There seem to be no effort in picking me
up. They grasped my upper arms and I just floated up. I saw a third man… or
maybe I should say creature, standing in the corner, examining my TV. He didn’t
pay attention to us. We went to the door. I say went because I don’t know how
we got there. They seemed to float along, carrying me with them. I shouted, ‘I
don’t want to go.’ But they didn’t pay any attention to that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Outside
the house I saw the craft, which was the thing that I had been seeing over the
last few days. It was much larger now because it was so much closer. Maybe the
pictures will give you some indication of the size. It was disc-shaped and had
a dome on top. It was hovering about four feet above the ground and there
weren’t any steps or ladders into it. The funny think about that was that I was
thinking that they could fly across space and come into someone’s house, but
they forget to put out the steps or open the door. They didn’t need the steps
though. We just floated up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
had been thinking about some sort of foot prints or impressions from the craft,
but she had just eliminated that theory. I had to marvel at the way she created
the story to leave no room for evidence. I wasn’t thinking about the pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“The
inside was brightly lit up. I started to put a hand up, to shield my eyes but
they wouldn’t let me. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the light while
they stood around and watched, fascinated by my eyelids. None of them ever
blinked. I watched pretty closely after that, but I never saw them blink.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">That
was another weird detail. If nothing else, she had a finely crafted story with
plenty of little details.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
was taken to another room. It had one wall that was curved but all the others
were straight. I was left there for several minutes. At first, I just sat on
the table where they left me, but then got up to look around. For some reason,
I wasn’t scared. A little anxious maybe, but not scared.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
took another sip of the coffee and made a face. It had gotten cold. She set the
cup on the desk and then said, “There wasn’t much to look at in the room. A few
machines that looked like computers but I couldn’t really tell. There were a
few panels on the wall that look sort of like one of our TVs. One or two had
lines running through them. You know what I mean? Like oscilloscopes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
shrugged. “I guess they wanted me to have a good look around. Maybe to show me
that they meant me no harm. No one came back until I sat on the table again.
Then two of them returned. They were dressed differently than those I had seen
before. Instead of the shiny suits, they were wearing cloth gowns or some sort.
Maybe like doctors wear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“One
of them came over to me and pointed at my throat. I didn’t know what he meant and
shook my head. He reached up and started to unbutton my blouse. I didn’t like
that and pushed his hand away. The other one touched my shoulder and the first
finished unbuttoning my blouse, pushing it from my shoulders. I couldn’t move
to stop him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
typed a note on my laptop before glancing at the clock. The pictures should
have been ready by now. I wondered about these women who had to imagine that
they were stripped by extraterrestrial beings. Some people claimed that men
have big egos but I don’t remember them claiming that a creature had flown
across the galaxy to get a look at his body. I would have tried to get rid of
her at them point, but I wanted to examine those pictures first.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
didn’t notice that I had stopped typing and continued. “They kept at my
clothes, unzipping my pants, unhooking my bra and pushing down my panties. I
noticed that the room was warm, now that I didn’t have my clothes. I felt worse
than being undressed in public. At least there you have something in common
with half the population but here, all I could say was that they were humanoid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“One
of them pushed on my shoulder, causing me to lie back. I swung my legs up so
that I was prone, feeling like I was on an examining table and wondering what
was next. One of them slipped a helmet over my head and there was a series of
flashes as if they were photographing me. I had visions of being the centerfold
in some kind of alien biological journal. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Nothing
seemed to happen for quite a while, except for a tingling at my scalp. It seemed
like electricity. I was surprised when someone told me that it was over and
that I could sit up. I looked around but couldn’t find the one who had spoken.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
mean it spoke to you in English?” I’m not sure why I asked because I was
getting bored with this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
said, “I don’t know. I just knew that it was now over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
nodded and thought “telepathy,” but didn’t say that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
was another creature there,” she said. “He wasn’t dressed like those in the lab
coats but looked more like one of those who brought me in. I felt compelled to
look at him, to stare at his forehead. I tried to look away but couldn’t. All
the time he was talking to me quietly, soothingly, saying that I should relax,
to take it easy, to remember good things. He talked about standing on a cliff,
looking down at the ocean, feeling the light breeze on my face, wind in my
hair, watching the waves roll in, slowly rolling in, each behind the other.
Washing the shore briefly and then slipping away to be followed by another. I
listened to him, carefully, hanging on his every word, trying to picture the
scene, trying to relax.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
hesitated and then said, “Since then, I’ve had a little time to think about it.
I think he was hypnotizing me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’ve
been told that it can’t be done without a person’s permission.” I threw that in
there quickly, trying to slow her down, now back to typing my notes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Maybe
you can’t if the victim is actively resisting but I bet you can if you can get
them to listen to you. After all, a stage hypnotist usually hypnotizes a few
people in the audience by accident.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Good
point.” I picked up the coffee but it was cold and I didn’t drink any of it. I said,
“Listen, this is getting rather complicated.” I pulled my cell across the desk
and asked, “Do you mind if a record the rest of this. That way I can just
concentrate on what you’re saying and not worry about making notes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
realized that I was running hot and cold on this. One minute I was wishing she
would wrap it up and the next wondering what would happen next. I didn’t know
if I was beginning to believe her story, or that I was working up the courage
to ask her to dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
said you could do anything you wanted.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
ignored the implied invitation and just said, “Thanks.” I tapped on the phone
and pushed it closer to her, waited for a moment and then said, March fifteen,
Elaine Jorgenson?” I looked at her and she nodded. I had the last name right. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“All
right, Elaine, just start where you left off and I’ll pick up the rest of it
later from my notes. Go ahead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
moved her chair so that she was closer to the cell and then leaned forward. It
was too bad because the desk now hid her legs, and I had had trouble keeping my
eyes off them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“As
I said, he was talking slowly, trying to get me to relax and I felt myself
sliding away but didn’t have the power to stop it. Once I was under, he asked
me a lot of questions about what I liked and didn’t like and why. Then he would
take me back and make me relive some experiences, like when my parents died, my
first date, that sort of thing. I had the idea that they, these creatures,
didn’t understand our emotions and were trying to build a profile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“After
several minutes of that, closer to half an hour, I suppose, they told me to
wake up and that I could go. I shook my head and tried to ask some questions. I
wanted to know who they were and where they were from. I was a little angry
too. They didn’t have the right to take me out of my house, take my clothes and
then probe my mind and body. The more I thought about it, the madder I got, but
they just ignored me. One of the explorers, that’s what I call the group that
came out to get me, brought my clothes back and dumped them on the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
could see that she was a little upset, annoyed, at what she was describing. It
was the first real emotion I had seen during her telling of her tale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“None
of them offered to help. They just stood and watched. That made me feel naked
again. It was sort of perverted, having to dress like that, in front of an
audience. As I put on my shoes, one of them grabbed my arm and floated me back
to my house. They put me on the couch, they looked around quickly to make sure
they hadn’t left anything behind that I could use as proof and then they left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
she looked at me rather than my cell. “I was sitting on the couch, rather
stunned, afraid to move or breathe and trying not to think.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">When
she didn’t say anything more for several seconds, I reached over and ended the
recording. Thinking about the pictures, I called down to the photo lab and was
told that Leigh was on the way up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
shots turned out better than I had hoped. Viewed on the camera’s screen, a
great deal of the detail had been lost. Now I could see the brightly glowing
disc shaped object against the black background. There were even some bright
stars in the sky and a hint of tree tops. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Leigh
set the prints down in front of me. She handed me a flash drive and said, “I
made some prints, enhancing them for the detail. I put everything on that drive
for you. That includes the originals and my enhancements.” She handed the
camera back to Elaine and said, “Everything is just as you left it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
pushed one of the prints under the desk light and reached in the drawer for a
magnifying glass. I didn’t think about the flash drive at the moment as I
examined one of the prints.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Elaine
had stood up and was now looking over my shoulder. “They turned out pretty
good, didn’t they?” She sounded pleased with herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Back
in the old days of film, if she had shown up with just the roll so that we had
to develop it, that might suggest some truth to her tale. But in the world
today, she had to know the pictures were good. She could have downloaded them
to her computer and them put the sim card back into the camera.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
looked up at Leigh and asked, “You see anything to suggest manipulation?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No.
I did a preliminary check and didn’t see anything. The pixelization doesn’t
show manipulation, but I’ll need some more time to be sure about that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
still have copies?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Sure.
I downloaded everything to my computer.” She hesitated and then said, “The only
thing I found were the pictures of that UFO.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
understood what she was saying, but the camera was fairly new, and most people
download the pictures and then wipe them from the card before putting it back
in the camera. I wasn’t sure that this little fact was significant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
pictures convinced me that there was something to the story. It was the first
time that someone had claimed to have been on a flying saucer and showed up
with something to substantiate the claim, as far as I knew. This wasn’t much
better than a “moon potato,” but it was something a little better. I turned on
the cell recorder again. I said, “I have a series of questions to ask, but
first, I’d like you to draw a picture of the aliens.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“All
right, but I’m not a very good artist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Don’t
worry about that. Just do your best.” I pulled a green gel pen out of the
holder. If someone was going to draw aliens from space, I thought the natural
color was green. She apparently didn’t catch the humor in that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">By
the time she finished, most of the night staff had arrived. The overhead lights
were turned on again, destroying the mood, seeming to move it from the dark
recesses of horror into the bright lights of the mundane. Somehow it made the
story seem less real. However, with the photographs, there was a place to begin
an investigation without having to rely on the eyewitness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
interview was basically over at that point when I finished with the questions
which were just to check the facts against what she had said earlier. Finished
with that, I stood up, straightened my tie and asked, “Would you care for some
dinner? It’s getting late and I’m sure the paper would spring for one dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
shook her head. “I just want to get home. This was more tiring than I thought
it would be. Maybe another time but thanks anyway. At least you sort of believe
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“To
be honest, I don’t know what to make of this. I’ll follow up on it, though.”
But the truth was, I wasn’t being honest because I did know what to make of it.
She’d had some sort of a psychotic episode that didn’t involve aliens from
space. But still, there were the pictures. I was sure that our photo lab would
spot the flaw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
is one more thing. They told me that they would come back to see me sometime
soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
had to grin. Though my experience with this sort of thing was limited, I did
know that the aliens sometimes said that. I said, “That’s old hat. They always
tell the victim that but they never do return I wouldn’t worry about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
helped her with her coat and walked her to the door. Without thinking about it,
and without meaning it, I said, “Thanks for the story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Thank
you for listening.” She turned then, pushed on the door and stepped into the
hallway. She didn’t look back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
went back to my desk and sat down, rubbing my face with both hands. I looked
into the coffee cup but it looked more like industrial sludge than coffee so I
set it down. I was wondering what to do, thinking about erasing the story from
my cell but then remembered the photographs. If I was going to look into this,
the place to start was with the pictures. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
picked up the phone, hesitated, then scrolled down to his number. He was a
friend who was a photographer who played with cameras the way some people
played with cars. If there was a way to fake something, or something had been
faked, then he could tell how it was done or what the fatal flaw was. He agreed
to meet me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
surprised me. He scrolled through the pictures on my laptop and then asked,
“Mind if I copy these.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
pulled the flash drive out of my pocket and said, “They’re all on here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
plugged the drive into his computer, brought them up in one of his photo analyses
programs. “What am I looking at?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Woman
brought them into the city room and said that she wasn’t sure what she had
photographed.” I didn’t want to suggest a bias to him. If that didn’t satisfy
him, he didn’t mention it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After
about ten minutes he said, “If these are faked, they’re very good. It’ll take
me some time to go over them carefully. There is nothing obvious in them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“How
long?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
pulled on his ear and puckered his lips. “I don’t know. Say three hours, maybe
four to get the preliminaries done. The rest will take longer but after three
hours I should be able to guess which way these will go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’ll
give you a call.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
grabbed my sleeve. “That’s three hours after I get to them. I have a lot of
other work to do. My bread and butter in these lean times. I can’t drop what
I’m doing right now, even to do you a favor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Not
a favor. I’ll pay for the work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
shrugged and said, “If it’s that important, Ill bump them up to the front of
the line.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
reached for my wallet. “How much will it cost?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
was offended by the offer of money. “We’ll worry about that later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No,
we’ll settle it now. This isn’t my money. It’s the paper’s. This is a business
deal made by two people. All right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Then
I’ll send a bill. Now, get out of here and let me get to work on wasting your
money… the paper’s money. I’ll call when I have something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You’ve
got my cell?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Then
good night.” He opened the door and I stepped out. Halfway to the car, he
turned out the porch light. I shot a glance into the sky, wondering where all
the flying saucers were. The stars twinkled back at me. Nothing unusual.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
thought of other places I could go while I waited. I could call the police to
see if there anyone had made any UFO reports but I’d probably be shuffled to
the public affairs officer who wouldn’t be there until morning. I could call
the airport to ask about radar, but I figured the stealth technology would
suggest an out if there was nothing seen on radar. There was one so-called
expert in town. At least he had been interviewed by some Japanese film crew
recently so he might know something and we had interviewed him about that interview.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
learned that no one had called the police according to the desk sergeant I
talked to. The airport guys shuffled me around but it was clear that they had
nothing that would be helpful. The local expert was interested in the story,
had heard one or two like it, but didn’t have any reports from the last few
days. He was sorry he couldn’t help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
grabbed a quick bite at one of the local taco houses. They weren’t as hot as
those I had gotten when I lived in Texas, but they would do. Back in the city
room, I sat at my desk, wondered how I would pitch the story at the budget meeting
in the morning, and waited for a phone call. It came just after eleven. I
looked at the clock, thinking that it was strange that the call would come at
that hour.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“They
look good, Steve. I’ve done about everything that I can do here. Tomorrow, at
the shop, I can go a little deeper into this, but it looks good for now.
Everything lines up. Looks like these are pictures of just what they seem to
show. No manipulation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Thanks,
Bob. I do appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
won’t when you get the bill.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
smiled at the phone. “Try me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">With
nothing else to do, I decided to go home. Oh, I could have written the first
pass at the story, but I just didn’t feel up to it. So, I left for the night
but couldn’t sleep. I found myself staring out the window, looking for the
aliens. I asked myself if I really did believe the story and surprised myself
by saying that yeah, I thought I did. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">In
my study, I sat in front of the laptop and tried writing the story but somehow
everything sounded as if I was making fun to the story or that I had dropped
off the deep end. The words just wouldn’t come and the few that did weren’t the
right ones.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
next morning, I went to see the managing editor. He listened politely, though
he did have to suppress a chuckle or two. He asked to see the pictures and
wanted to see my expert’s findings. He then carefully, quietly and ruthlessly
killed the story. He said that no such nonsense was going to appear in his
newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
argued with him for fifteen minutes, pointing out that we had run the ghost
hunter story, a monster sighting or two and some of the most recent pictures of
the Loch Ness monster that had been taken under alleged scientific conditions.
I didn’t mention the puff pieces for the politicians who had the same political
persuasion as the editor. Why not just carry it as a feature rather than
straight news?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">No.
No way. Not even close. The newspaper, he was always careful to call it a
newspaper, wasn’t going to be made a laughingstock by some crazy woman who
couldn’t find a boyfriend so she dreamed up aliens from space. They hadn’t
rejected her. They had searched her out. The newspaper was not going to carry
such trash. Period. End of transmission. End of discussion. As if there had
ever been any real discussion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">At
noon, I swung by the photo shop/computer shop and offered to buy Bob some lunch
so that I could pump him about the pictures. As we sat down, he pulled several
prints from his pocket. “I’ve done everything that I can think of and I can’t
find any evidence they are faked. I pixelated them, found no evidence of an
insertion or manipulation. That’s almost impossible to hide if you have the
right equipment and I have the right equipment. I’m convinced that you have a
true anomaly here. If they are faked, I don’t know how it was done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
food arrived and I bit into a chicken leg. “Then you think these are pictures
of a flying saucer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Now,
I didn’t say that. I merely said that the pictures weren’t fake by any means I
know, so let’s not go drawing all sorts of unwarranted conclusions.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m
afraid that I don’t understand. The evidence, the images on the pictures seem
pretty clear cut to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
set down his fork. “You and about half the population. Just because a picture
isn’t faked doesn’t mean that it is of an extraterrestrial spacecraft. As just
a single example, I have seen one picture reprinted quite a bit showing a
windmill and a teardrop-shaped object. Now, that picture isn’t faked. It is
real. But it is not a picture of a flying saucer It’s a picture of a lens
flare. It is the interpretation that is faulty. So, all I’m saying is that is
that this is a picture of something strange and if it’s faked, I found no
evidence of that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“So,
the what you’re saying is that you believe that the pictures were taken the way
they were claimed to have been taken.” I realized that my sentence was somewhat
complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Bob
understood it. He said, simply, “Right.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
we parted after lunch, and after I had given Bob the details of how I had
obtained the pictures, I would pass his conclusions onto the witness. I would
have to tell her that the paper wasn’t going to run the story but I’m not sure
she would care about that. I would tell her about the UFO expert who would
probably like to hear her story. At that point I would be out of it because
there was nothing else for me to do and I had a job that required I write a
story or two.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
made an appointment to see her later that evening. She would supply some coffee
and I could bring me cell phone to make a recording, if I so desired. Even if
the paper wouldn’t print it, there were other places to publish it. Some of
them would even pay for the privilege. Maybe that would cover my expenses such
as the money that I now owed Bob.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Her
house, though on the outskirts of town was easy to find. It was on a large lot,
out by itself, surrounded by trees and was, at least, a hundred and fifty yards
from the nearest neighbor. Beside it was a large open field that was also tree
lined. If a spacecraft were to land in it, the neighbors would have a hard time
seeing it. I thought about knocking on a few doors, just to see if anyone else had
noticed the flying saucer, but decided that would wait until the next day. It
was something I would have to do, if only to satisfy myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
was surprised to find the front door open. I knocked and shouted, “Elaine. Are
you there? I’s me, Steve.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
was no reply. I stepped into the living room, saw that the TV was on, there
were coffee cups sitting on a table, waiting, but no sign of Elaine. I shouted
again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
rustling sound caught my attention and I ran to the window. Outside, in the
field behind the house, hovered the craft. It was huge and seemed impossible to
have gotten there without everyone in town seeing it. At first, it was only a
dark shape but then the lights flared. I could see the dome, the portholes, and
the outline of a door or a hatch. I pulled out my cell, thinking of pictures.
These would be pictures that no one could dispute, at least to me. I knew the
truth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Elaine
wasn’t in the house. I know that she wasn’t there because I saw her leave. I
didn’t see her get into the thing or behind one of the windows, but I knew that
was where she was. She had told me it would happen and I hadn’t believed her.
Maybe she will return.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
doubt it, but I hope so. I’d just like to know for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2g6s3mSE0Mk/YB7MRJ5IkbI/AAAAAAAAEOA/udDo0u3DC3ozP3L0aGgcRoRl6obWY226QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1170/Drawing%2Bmade%2Bof%2Balien%2Bprior%2Bto%2BHypnsis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="612" height="206" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2g6s3mSE0Mk/YB7MRJ5IkbI/AAAAAAAAEOA/udDo0u3DC3ozP3L0aGgcRoRl6obWY226QCLcBGAsYHQ/w107-h206/Drawing%2Bmade%2Bof%2Balien%2Bprior%2Bto%2BHypnsis.jpg" width="107" /></a></div><span style="color: red;">(<b>Afterthought:</b> As I mentioned, this story has a basis in reality. I investigated the case, interviewed the witnesses and arranged for the hypnotic regression. The picture at the top of
the story was drawn by the witness in a state <br />of hypnotic regression. Here is
the same picture, or rather her original drawing of the alien creature that she
claimed came into her house. This was drawn prior to the hypnotic regression sessions. I was surprised by the difference in the two.
Remember, they were drawn by the same hand. The only difference was the state of
mind. I don’t know what the significance might be. I found this interesting and
thought others might agree.) </span><p></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-23266924593676099142021-02-05T13:21:00.000-08:002021-02-05T13:21:47.703-08:00Star Trek by JJ Abrams: Where No One Wanted to Go Before<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
other day I had the unpleasant experience of watching J.J. Abrams’ vision of
the <i>Star Trek</i> universe. I had to wonder if he had ever watched the
original series or understood the vision of Gene Roddenberry. There was nothing
in that <i>Star Trek </i>movie that indicated that Abrams had.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
mean, we have a juvenile James T. Kirk speeding across the Iowa landscape in a
borrowed Corvette, which he drives off a cliff at high speed. I know of no
place in Iowa that remotely looks like that area. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Next,
we see Kirk in a bar fight but at the end he is invited to attend the Star
Fleet Academy. Yes, I know what George Patton had to say about these things but
I’m not sure that Kirk’s tendency to erupt into rage is the best characteristic
for an officer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
he shows up for the shuttle ride to the academy, he announces that he plans to
complete the four-year course in three… but this isn’t a civilian college in
which the student sets his or her course of study. It is a military school that
doesn’t allow for an acceleration of the program but I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Kirk,
in keeping with the original <i>Star Trek</i> history, reprograms the computer
so that he can win the unwinnable <i>Kobayashi Maru</i> scenario. In the
original, you get the impression that Kirk didn’t make a big deal out of it,
meaning, he played it out carefully so that his ability to win was not revealed.
In the new <i>Star Trek</i>, an arrogant Kirk appears on the bridge eating an
apple as if to prove his superior intellect. It doesn’t make him look like
someone who should command a star ship let alone be commissioned. It makes him
look like a jerk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">While
Kirk is being tried for “cheating,” the Federation receives a distress signal and
everyone is scrambled to meet the threat. In the course of that, we learn that
Spock, who is an instructor and a commander, has been having some sort of
relationship with Uhura so she is able to “convince” him to assign her to the <i>Enterprise</i>…
which is why these sorts of relationships are not only discouraged in the
military but against regulations. But I digress again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Everyone
in the academy is assigned to a star ship, except Kirk who is under
disciplinary review. But McCoy, whose status is somewhat obscured… is he a
cadet, is he an instructor, or is he a doctor? Whatever, he decides that Kirk
can’t be left behind and immediately devises a plan to get Kirk on the <i>Enterprise</i>.
Together they browbeat a security guard to pass Kirk onto the ship. If I was Captain
Pike, once I learned of this, all three of them, Kirk, McCoy and the guard
would find themselves under arrest awaiting disciplinary action.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Other
than these few glitches, I was getting into the story. Sure, the writer knew
nothing about military chain of command, line officers and support team, but we
can always overlook that ignorance if the story is good and the characters
appealing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Unfortunately,
for me, the story eventually turns into another special effects and GCI
extravaganza. True, the effects are good, but we have Captain Pike turning
command of the <i>Enterprise</i> to Spock, the science officer and given the
color of his shirt, is not part of the command team. The senior officer of the
line on board should have assumed command. Pike then compounds the error by
appointing Kirk as the First Officer, though Kirk has not graduated from the
Academy, not been commissioned by the proper authority and is basically, a
stowaway on the ship. He has done nothing to suggest that he would be a good
officer but has, in fact demonstrated his complete lack training or ability
understand the tactical situation. As Spock said later, he wouldn’t point out
the regulations because Kirk would just ignore them anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">We
have a HALO operation undertaken with a complete lack of training with them
free falling from outside a planet’s atmosphere and diving deep into it. I
wondered why they didn’t burn up as a meteor would. Maybe they wouldn’t get up
to the speed to begin to burn, but they must free fall for a very long way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
didn’t notice if the one who missed the narrow platform and fell to his death
had been wearing a red shirt, but I knew that one of them would have to die.
Then were treated to a sword fight on the platform. Really? The Romulans come
from inside to fight with Kirk and his pal on the outside carrying edged
weapons. This makes no sense, other than to set up the sword fight which the
Federation wins but no one has any kind of gun…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">This
is the sort of nonsense that we’re treated to for the rest of the movie. No
logic, but visually interesting effects. Kirk and Scotty beam aboard the Warp
Speed <i>Enterprise</i>, but Scott is caught in some kind of useless, clear
pipe full of water as he is drawn toward huge spinning blades sure to slice and
dice him before he can drown. Kirk accesses a computer, finds the right code
and opens a vent or something that drops Scotty and water all over the deck.
I’m reminded of the scene in <i>Airplane II</i> where they show (ironically,
the original Captain Kirk, meaning Shatner) a machine with glowing tubes that
has no function other than to look like something important.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Kirk
and Spock, who has handed the command to Kirk, who immediately abandons the
command to someone else (does no one want to command the <i>Enterprise</i>?) to
beam aboard the ship threatening the Earth. They land in a huge storage area
(doesn’t anyone think about the logistics of supplying air to that huge cargo
bay?) and immediately engage in a gunfight with the Romulans who couldn’t hit
water if they fell out of a boat and Kirk and Spock who can’t miss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">At
this point, I’m disgusted with the movie, but have to hang on to the end. Of
course, Kirk and Spock are successful (I’d mark this as a spoiler, but the movie
is old and was there ever any doubt that they would succeed?).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I
know, I know, it is a little confusing, but it is the final scene that really
shows a lack of understanding. Kirk, who was probably commissioned by this
point (though we don’t know that) is given permanent command of the <i>Enterprise</i>…
because… I don’t know, it was in the script?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I’m
thinking that he should be tossed out of Star Fleet given all the regulations
he broke, his juvenile history of being, well, let’s just say a delinquent and
let it go at that, and his continuing disobeying the lawful orders given to
him. We know from history how promoting someone rapidly into authority works
out in the long run. Just ask George Custer…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
real point here is that Abrams has taken <i>Star Trek</i> and turned it on its
head. He missed the point of Roddenberry’s vision to create a standard science
fiction adventure that is long on visual effects and fairly short on any sort
of reality. Yes, I know that it is fiction, but the operation of the military
is wrong and the science is lacking. Science fiction was about extrapolating
what exists around us, placing it in a new environment, letting the characters
grow. Here they are just jammed into the situations that make no sense, but
that’s okay because it looks good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sure,
I’m old fashioned, but I would have liked to see <i>Star Trek</i> remain
faithful to the original concept and not changed into a GCI spectacular with
big explosions and ridiculous stunts without a thought given to the possibility
that sure things would work. I would have liked to see a movie that didn’t turn
Kirk into an idiot and, at the very least, attempted to be plausible… we just
didn’t get that here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-43380734174432856562021-02-01T17:45:00.000-08:002021-02-01T17:45:29.056-08:00Migration<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">(Note: For those interested, this
is what is known as a “trunk” manuscript. It was written decades ago, while I
was still in college. I have updated it to reflect our 21<sup>st</sup> century
capabilities. There were some things that I edited out. At one point, I had
envisioned making one of the characters an African-American but not reveal who
it was. In this version, I didn’t do that because, given the descriptions, I
think some might figure it out... but that would defeat the purpose of making
one of them black. The point was that the racial identity of the crew was not
important. They found themselves in a situation where they had to work
together. However, in this version, and at this time in our history, it is an
unnecessary distraction. The entire crew could be African-American or Hispanic
or Jewish for that matter. These distinctions, in this story, are not as
important as all of them working together is. Anyway, here is the story, which,
was written long long ago on a college campus far far away.)</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">CHAPTER ONE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">John
Maston, the head of the project, and for the last six months the man in charge
of research in the Star Explorer, sat alone in what was sometimes called the
conference room. It was a small area, barely big enough to hold everyone at
once, and it served a number of other functions as well. In an orbiting spacecraft,
nearly everything had double or triple duty because of weight and space
limitations. If was function and utility over beauty and creature comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
wasn’t a particularly big man, but then everyone on board was of smaller
stature. That was the weight and space limitations again. Although he had a
thick head of hair, his head was neatly shaved because he worried about hair
contaminating their environment. His sleeves were rolled up, precisely, halfway
between his elbow and his shoulder as he had learned while serving as an NCO in
the Air Force. It was an indication of his precise nature and attention to the
smallest detail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
sat there, staring at the screen, but wasn’t overly interested in what he was
seeing. All the available calculations suggested that the comet, which had already
circled the sun and was working its way back to the outer reaches of the Solar
System, would miss the Earth. Oh, it would come close enough that people would
be able to see it without aid of either a small telescope or binoculars but it
wouldn’t strike. Earth would pass through the tail, which might result in a
spectacular light show, but Maston suspected that would be a great
disappointment. He just couldn’t get excited about it, unlike nearly everyone
else in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Hey,
John. You busy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
jumped at the sound of the man’s voice. He hadn’t heard Oscar O’Neal approach.
He didn’t like O’Neal. There was no real reason for the dislike, it was just
something about the man that annoyed Maston. Maybe it was his high-pitched
voice or his constant fidgeting. Or the way he combed his hair to hide the
obvious retreating hairline. Everything about him was distracting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Not
really. Just looking over the latest in the orbital data. What do you need?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
shrugged. “Nothing really. Everyone else is watching the comet. You’d think it
was the first one ever. I just got tired of all that excitement.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
then, sit down.” Maston bookmarked his place and then wiped the screen. He
looked at the other man and wondered what his real problem was. He didn’t think
O’Neal was really tired of the others watching the comet approach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“How
are your observations going?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
shrugged again and said, “As you’d expect. Every time I need to use the
instruments; they’re all occupied. You’d think the damned thing was unique.”
O’Neal never called the comet by name. It was always that damned thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
once we pass through the tail and it moves farther out, everyone will lose
interest and we can get back to normal.” Maston stood up and pressed his hands
together doing isometrics. “Guess I’ll check on the others.” He left without
another word, leaving O’Neal by himself. O’Neal was oblivious to the snub.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Linda
Johnson, the assistant flight engineer, was bent over a camera. She was a stout
woman who was barely five feet tall. Like the other women, she wore her brown
hair short, but unlike them, wore a light cotton jumpsuit rather than the
shorts and T-Shirt combination. She was concentrating on what she was doing and
didn’t hear Maston approach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Louder
than necessary, he said, “ANYTHING new?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Startled,
she jumped and looked around, annoyed. “You don’t have to sneak up on people.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Next
to her was the project astronomer, Terry Collins. He was big for the space
program, with a full head of hair but was soft around the middle. He was one of
the best in his field. He said, “Don’t give her any trouble. Once we get these
pictures back to Earth, they’ll renew us without so much as a debate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
need to get all this wrapped up in the next few hours. We’ve got other projects
on the schedule.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
turned and left. He found the others on the upper deck, using one of the
telescopes. Karen Houston, the flight engineer and Sarah Hughes, the physicist,
were staring at the monitor where the head of the comet was displayed in nearly
infinite detail. Houston and Hughes were nearly identical, though Houston was a
brunette and Hughes was blond. There were each about five six, weighted about
115 pounds and were dressed in the same shorts, T-shirt combination. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
Mike Hart was the biologist, he was directing another camera, also focused on
the comet head. He was there to work the camera though he wanted to be
somewhere else. He was almost the male duplicate of the two women, though he
was heavier and had black hair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
seemed to have fallen into the same obsession as the people on Earth, using
every spare minute to watch the comet. They saw it as a small ball of light
with a bit of the tail pointing away from the sun. On the lab, they had a much
better view and with their equipment, could see the smallest detail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Almost
from the beginning, as the details of the orbit were worked out, there were
those saying that the Earth would pass harmlessly through the tail. The
prophets of doom were suddenly in their own, screaming that it was the end of man.
The end of the world. The end of time. The comet was the harbinger of death.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Cooler
heads pointed out that the Earth had passed through the tail of Halley’s Comet
in 1910 and that the prophets of doom then had made the same disaster
predictions. It was more exciting to talk of the destruction of society and the
coming apocalypse than it was to mention something that would be little more an
astronomical light show.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
the Earth approached the tail, all on board their craft were in position to
watch, either through one of the telescopes or on a computer monitor. It made
for a spectacular show through the various filters used. There was a band of
colored light smeared across the night sky with the blue marble of Earth near
it. As the Earth approached, the light seemed to bow out, surrounding the
planet. The light shifted, becoming red, the color deepened and flared and then
paled as if it had finished the mission.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“My
god, it’s unbelievable. You just have to see it. You should be down here,” said
a voice on one of the podcasts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Through
the static on the radio, or in the sometimes-pixelated pictures from the
Internet, they could see the reporters on the ground attempting to describe the
beauty of the shifting, swirling colors thought anyone with a window would be
able to see it for themselves. It seemed that the whole sky had lit up in a
pyrotechnic display that rippled through the colors of the rainbow and then burst
into almost impossible hues.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Millions
had gone out, into the country, away from the light pollution of the cities.
People stood motionless and in awe. The whole Earth was encompassed in the
bright red fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">And
then they began to choke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">A
gas that no one predicted and no one expected began to filter down, through the
atmosphere. Europe was first. It happened so fast and the gas so deadly that
they couldn’t warn anyone. A few half-hearted cries for help were broadcast but
they weren’t understood. And then there was silence from those affected. Paris
was suddenly dead. Rome, Athens, Berlin. No one was answering the radio, no one
was posting to the Internet. Just a few pictures of the beautiful red sky, a
color so deep that it was nearly painful to look at and then nothing more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Africa
was next, surviving a little longer because of the strange winds aloft and the
orbit of the comet. For a short while sub-Sahara Africa was alive. Questions
flowed north but slowly as the comet’s tail drifted south, those cities fell
silent. There were some cameras that continued to record long after their
operators died. The Internet was not affected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">With
the warnings out of Africa, a few in Canada and the United States figured it
out. The president and some of the American leadership made it into shelters
with positive air control. That meant the gas was kept out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Survivalists,
now feeling vindicated, watched the horror over the Internet. They saw people
dropping as the gas killed them in minutes. As the gases filtered to the
ground, it choked, strangled and then killed. Some of those in the western
hemisphere had ten minutes to prepare. Not many were able to escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Over
the radio and through the Internet, Maston and his crew heard the panic rising
until those calling for help were nearly incoherent. Houston called, but the
transmission made little sense. It was as if they were demanding those safely in
orbit make an attempt to rescue them, but, of course, they could do nothing
other than listen to the radio and watch on the Internet connections that faded
in and out and then reduced to voice only that suddenly stopped altogether.
They heard nothing more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
hoped that Asia would be able to do something, though they didn’t know what
that might be. It was the same as it had been everywhere else. A few voices
that turned to panic and then died. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
had been pictures over the Internet but the scenes were bleak. There were
people lying everywhere. Bodies were piled in the streets, scattered around
farms, aircraft had fallen from the sky. Fires erupted but there was no one to
put them out so they spread, burning more of the cities and then the forests
and farm fields. The planet was there but the Earth was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
sat, stone faced, staring at the pictures that were now beamed up
automatically. He heard someone crying softly but didn’t look to find out who
it was. They all just sat, unmoving, almost afraid that any motion or a sudden
noise might break the little peace that was left. They just sat unaware that
their closed environment had saved them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sarah
Hughes, the youngest of the crew at 31, left. That broke the mood and one by
one the others returned to the small privacy areas that were their sleeping
quarters. Maston was left alone, staring at the monitors and listening to the
hissing of the radios. On one he could see the shimmering lights of a city.
There was no evidence of the comet’s tail. It had disappeared as quickly as
civilization on Earth vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
stood up, looked down at his tablet where he had been preparing the monthly
progress reports. He put his fingers on the surface, squeezed and watched as
the image faded. He then dropped the tablet to the floor and stomped on it,
destroying it and losing the data contained in it. He wondered if he could
later access in the cloud and found that he just didn’t care at the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">No
one was in the conference room at seven when they were supposed to discuss
their daily assignments. Maston, still in a state of shock, sat there quietly, alone
again, staring at the bulkhead. He was content to wait and to let his mind
wander. There was no rush now. There was no pressure to complete his
assignments. He knew that the crew would show up because there was nowhere else
to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Linda
came in about ten. She sat down opposite of Maston, sighed and asked, “Now
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Without
looking at her, he said, “Yes?” It was a question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
do we do now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
continue to do our work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What’s
the point?” she asked. She sat with her legs drawn up, nearly touching her
chest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It’s
what we were sent here to do,” said Maston, seemingly surprised by the
question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That
makes no sense,” she said. Her voice cracked and she asked, more of a plea than
a question, “What do we do now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
work out the equations and return.” The voice came from behind Maston. He
turned and saw Collins.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
shook his head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t completed our work here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Our
work here?” said Linda, her voice strained. “Who cares about our work here?
It’s not going to do anyone any good. This project is as dead as the Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No.
I don’t think so,” said Maston, quietly. “Not now. We don’t know the conditions
down there. It’s much too soon to make any sort of judgment on that.” He was
sounding slightly desperate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
know enough,” said Linda. She looked from Maston to Collins and back again.
Collins hadn’t moved from the hatch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
don’t know the effects. We don’t know how persistent they might be. We don’t
even know if we can still breathe the air,” said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
come on,” said Collins. “There are survivors down there. This thing didn’t kill
everyone. We can talk to them on the radio or find them on the Internet. Hell,
we can even try Skype, or twitter or Zoom.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Survivors?”
asked Linda, her voice suddenly stronger. “You’ve heard them? You talked to
them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
no, not yet, but I haven’t even tried. But it’s only logical that there are
survivors. There are always survivors. People in enclosed environments. High
flying jets. Submarines. Hospitals with positive air flow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Great,”
said Maston, annoyed. “You overlook the possibility that the effects are
permanent. Planes land. Submarines surface and people in hospitals walk out the
doors.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Linda
could take no more. “Stop it,” she shouted. “You don’t know everything. You
haven’t even tried. You just sit here and talk about projects that have no
purpose now. So, just shut up.” She stood and then walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins,
still in the hatch said, “She’s right, you know. What are we going to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
stared at Collins, as if expecting him to say something more. The astronomer
was staring at the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Like
I said, since we don’t know the conditions dirtside, we just hang loose here.
We’re self-sufficient. We’re in a closed system. We have everything we need.
All we have to do is wait and see.” He didn’t see the irony of his statement.
Just as Collins had said. There were always survivors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">CHAPTER TWO<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
spent the next several weeks trying to determine what was happening on Earth.
They worked the radios and used the Internet connections which were still up
and running. They listened for calls for help and they scanned the Earth’s
surface looking for signs of life using the sensor arrays and high-definition
cameras that once searched signs of ancient civilizations, traced animal
migrations and monitored the greenhouse gases. They saw fires burning in
forests, in open agricultural fields, in the hearts of cities. They saw clouds
of smoke that obscured tens of thousands of acres and huge black swaths of ash.
At night they saw the orange glow of those fires, but not the lights of the
once great civilization.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
listened for others broadcasting on the radio. They tried to connect to the
Internet to find others who had access and were searching for survivors. They
listened for calls for help and searched the surface for markings and movement suggesting
there were survivors. The used everything available to them to alert those on
the ground that they had survived and could provide some assistance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">And
they found nothing. They saw nothing. It was as if everything had been wiped
out in a single night of horror.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After
three weeks of failure, Maston finally went to check on the progress in the
comm center. He had avoided it because he believed that if he didn’t have a
definitive answer, then all things were possible. It was a simple delaying
tactic he’d learned as a kid. For him, it was a useful strategy to avoid the
worst case. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
found Richard Thompson, a psychologist who had once been a Naval communications
officer and who had joined the crew only days before the comet destroyed
humanity. He had arrived on the last resupply mission. Maston stopped at the
hatch and asked, “How’s it going?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the various indicators and dials and
said, “I’m afraid it’s not very encouraging. I can’t find anyone communicating
on anything anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
he knew it was a dumb question, Maston asked, “You sure the equipment is working
right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
looked irritated. “Of course, it’s working right. I still get the automated broadcasts
from the Naval Observatory; radio NAV aids are still up and running and a few
other things like that. Stations that are automated and where the power grid
hasn’t failed, or where they had some sort of back up generation systems.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
spun a dial and turned up the volume. “Listen. You can hear the Morse code.
Yesterday I got something over the commercial broadcast band. It was the same
thing, over and over. Some sort of recording that recycled every thirty minutes.
Tried to make contact but there was no reply.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Okay.
Keep at it. You’ll find something.” Maston realized how lame that sounded but
thought he should say something encouraging. It had been part of the management
seminar he had to take before his appointment to the mission.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">When
Maston left, Thompson sat there for several minutes, replaying the conversation
in his mind. He thought, at one point that Maston had looked as if he was
unhappy with the idea that there were radio signals from the ground, until he
learned that it was all probably automated. Then his relief was almost
unmistakable. He wondered what Maston was thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
just can’t believe that everyone is dead,” said Thompson, one morning at
breakfast. He wasn’t eating anything. He was just sitting there, staring at the
table top.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
there’s a real conversation stopper,” said Johnson, squeezing a package that
was labeled, “Eggs, scrambled, with cheese.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
said, casually, “If the effects are persistent, there might not be anyone left
down there. We don’t really know anything about how toxic the tail was, or how
long the toxic level remains fatal. I would hope that nature would take care of
the problem, scrubbing the atmosphere.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
surveyed the group slowly, looking at the face of each of them. Finally, he
said, almost reluctantly, “If you want my opinion, I think we ought to leave.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Leave?
You mean go back to Earth?” Sarah Hughes was in her usual chair opposite
Maston. “You just said breathing the air could be still be fatal and you want
to land?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
hesitated for a moment and then said, “No. Not go back to Earth. I mean leave
the Solar System.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Wait,”
said O’Neal as he was caught off guard. “Just wait a damned minute. What do you
mean leave the Solar System? Are you insane? It just can’t be done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
can be done. Maybe not easily, but it can be done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
don’t be stupid. You know the Voyager Spacecraft launched, in what? 1976? It
left the Solar System after decades of flight and do you know when it’ll get to
another system? Eighty thousand years. How do you plan to defeat that? We can’t
leave. You haven’t thought this through.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
said, trying to remain calm, “That is an old chemical rocket that reached its
top velocity and is now traveling at such a slow speed that you can’t really
think of it as an interstellar craft. I’ve worked out some of the numbers…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“And
we can do better?” O’Neal interrupted. “We can do better than, what? Fifty
thousand miles an hour. A hundred thousand?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
put down his food packet that he hadn’t opened and said, “We have ion engines
that pull their fuel out of the dark matter around us. We have all the life
support that we need, a closed system so that we can recycle everything we
need. This thing was designed to orbit for a hell of a long time before it
needs to be resupplied. I’ve looked at this very carefully for the last several
weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“And
if there was a problem with any of that, we were only days from Earth being
able to launch a rocket. Help could get here relatively quickly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Not
anymore,” said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Yeah,”
said Linda Johnson, as if agreeing. “But, just where would you go? What if there
was no habitable planet when you got there?” She didn’t think it was possible
but she didn’t want the conversation to degenerate into an argument. Too many
discussions had ended up in fights with people storming off to other sections
of the station.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
use of you as opposed to us was not lost on Maston. Realizing what it meant, he
just sighed and said, “Then drop it. It was only a suggestion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No,”
said Richard Thompson. “No, it wasn’t. You said that you had been working on
this for days. I think you’re serious. You’d enjoy shooting off into deep
space, the king of your tiny realm.” He wasn’t sounding much like a
psychologist at that point.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Look,
I said drop it. Isn’t it about time someone went to the communications center?
We should be looking for those still alive on Earth.” Maston picked up his food
containers and then walked out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,”
said O’Neal. “Do you believe that? Just shoot off into deep space and leave the
solar system. The man’s crazy as a fruit bat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Maybe
not. The idea does have some merit,” said Johnson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
turned his attention on her. “Don’t be absurd. You’re an engineer, you know
it’s impossible. It’s ridiculous.” He looked at the others and asked, “Well,
Collins? Isn’t the idea insane?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
set his orange juice container on the table as if daring it to float away. He
studied it and saw the plastic straw was bent at a strange angle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“The
thing is,” he started to say. “The thing is, as an astronomer, the idea appeals
to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
for crying out loud.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Wait,”
said Collins, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “Let me finish. I said the
idea appeals to me. I didn’t say I was in favor of it. I understand the vast distances
in space. I understand the logistical problems and I know that none of us would
survive the flight outside of the solar system.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
stood. “I’m going to the comm center. One way to end all this nonsense is to
make contact with someone down there so that we all can go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
stopped for a second at the word, “Home.” The others caught it too. It was the
first time that anyone had said anything like that in that in a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
found Collins sitting in one of the alcoves, studying a screen that seem to be
filled with random characters. He coughed discreetly and then asked, “You
busy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
swiveled in his seat, looked up and said, “Nope. What you need, John?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
leaned against the bulkhead and said, “Been thinking about leaving the solar
system…” He held up a hand to stop the protest and asked, “Say that we could do
it, where should we go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
Collins laughed. “Shouldn’t that have been your first question?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
was just trying to think of an alternative to what we have here.” He shrugged.
“So, I thought to go ask the astronomer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Of
course, the best thing is Mars. We can make the flight easily and we’re still close
to Earth. We could get back if we had to. Leave the solar system and we’re
pretty well screwed in an emergency.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Mars
has flaws. True, the temperature at the equator can get to about seventy
degrees at high noon, but it plunges way below zero at night. Besides, the
atmosphere is too thin to support life and we don’t have the ability to either
create oxygen or terraform the planet. Mars doesn’t really work. I was thinking
of a world within ten, twelve light years away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
saved his work and then faced Maston again. “Okay,” he said. “We know that the
majority of stars have planets, and we know which stars have planets in the
Goldilocks Zone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
took a deep breath and added, “If you stick strictly to ten light years, then
you’re pretty limited on possibilities. Proximate Centauri, at just a shade
over four light years is the closest. And that’s it within ten light years.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Only
one?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
this is the one where we’ve detected a planet that is in the habitable zone.
Expand your criterion slightly and we can add Ross 128. Tau Ceti, just under
twelve light years has a couple of candidates and Gliese 1061, again just under
twelve, with possible candidates.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
nodded. “I expected more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
are other factors at work besides distance to them. Distance they orbit their
stars and there is one in the habitable zone, way outside your range, that has,
what we believe to be a toxic atmosphere. So even in the habitable zone doesn’t
mean it could support human life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
would you recommend?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Mars.”
Collins smiled. “Gives us the option of returning to Earth if things don’t work
out. You start flying through interstellar space and you create a whole new
list of trouble. Once we get past Mars, then our options fade rapidly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I expected more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You’re
on the threshold of what we know. Another ten years and we might have a better
list. We might have actually planned for an interstellar flight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Mars
doesn’t have the atmosphere we need.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“And
we don’t really know, for certain, that any of these others has an atmosphere
that would support human life. You get there and learn there is no place to
land because it’s a water world, or a frozen snow ball or bubbling with lava,
and that’s it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
thought you said that there were worlds with the proper conditions.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
said they were in the Goldilocks Zone. We just don’t have the data to prove we
could live on the planet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
limited the search to ten light years because we might be able to return here,”
said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m
not even sure that we can reach one of these other star systems. The distances
to them are somewhat problematic. I think we’ve got it worked out right, but
there are some variables that change things as we collect better data. We keep
adjusting the distances, sometimes closer and sometime farther.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
shook his head, disappointed. “I expected more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">CHAPTER THREE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
Maston thought that he was slowly converting some of them to the idea that a
voyage to another world was possible, there was a real reluctance to commit to
the plan. It was just there, in the background, with no one thinking much about
it. Rather, they were hoping for a change on Earth that would allow them to
land.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
had gathered, again, in the conference room. Maston was sitting at the head of
the table. His sleeves were rolled up, but no longer with the precision he’d
once used. He hadn’t given in to the T-shirt and shorts that had become the
standard uniform of the crew. He thought, that as the leader, and as one of the
older members of the crew, it just didn’t fit him. He had an image to maintain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Where’s
Thompson?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Sitting
on the comms, I imagine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Almost
as if he had heard his name, Thompson showed up. He moved slowly, and sat down.
He looked at each one, and ignored the food and drink packets on the table. He
said, quietly, “I want you all to listen very carefully. Don’t jump to any
conclusions and please don’t interrupt me. I have what might be good news.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“YOU
MADE CONTACT,” shouted Johnson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
told you not to jump to conclusions,” snapped Thompson. He picked up a juice
packet, took a drink and licked his lips. “I haven’t made contact but I have
heard a broadcast.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“A
broadcast?” said Johnson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
sounded like what I’ve been looking for. You know, someone survived, got a
radio working and is looking for others who survived. But there was also
something strange about it. There were four or five different voices involved
who seemed to know each other and were trying to find more survivors.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
stopped again. He saw that that the others were confused, unsure of what he was
trying to tell them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
was like there was some big disaster…” He held up his hand to stop them from
asking questions and said, “It’s not like what happened but something else.
That the government or the military had moved in declaring martial law. It
sounded as if they had created a dictatorship.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Who
in the hell cares about that? It means that the effects of the comet aren’t
permanent,” said Hart. “It means that people survived, just as I expected. What
did you say to them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
said, “I didn’t send anything. I just listened for a while and then thought
that maybe you all should listen to see what you thought. I didn’t like the
sound of what was going on down there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
don’t care what you thought,” said O’Neal. “You just proved that we don’t have
to go blasting off into deep space in some kind of idiotic plan to find a new
planet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“How
could you not like what was going on?” asked Jenny Howard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
was something in the tone of those radio transmissions. Some sort of undercurrent
that was disturbing. I think they were talking in some kind of code so I didn’t
understand everything that was being said, but I don’t know why they’d need a
code.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
said, “I don’t get, and I don’t think any of us get what you’re trying to say.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
sounded like they were running search and destroy missions,” he said. “It was
like they were hunting other groups.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Why
would they do that?” asked Hughes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“To
steal what they have, obviously,” said Maston. “They’re working to ensure their
survival by stealing from others.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’d
like for everyone to listen in for a while,” said Thompson. “Maybe we can make
some sense out of all this. Maybe figure out exactly what is going on down
there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
shrugged and said, “Lead on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They
left their lunch sitting on the table and made their way to the communications
center. There was an electricity bubbling through the group. It was evident in
the nervous tics, the slight shaking in hands and a quiet babble as they tried
to figure out what Thompson had been trying to tell them. There were a couple
of jokes that fell flat and then the conversation stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
entered first and sat in the chair in front of the console. He glanced over his
shoulder. The whole team was crowded around in the close quarters. He turned
first to the radios and said, “As far as I can determine, there are four or
five groups operating in the northeastern part of what was once the US. I don’t
know why we haven’t heard anything before now but it might have to do with
after effects of the comet passing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
turned up the volume and said, “I can’t get a visual and I’ve tried everything
that I can think of. I think these groups are well organized.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
was a burst of static and then voices were loud and clear. They heard someone
on the ground say, “It seems to be a large group in front about a klick. Ten,
maybe twelve adults, well-armed. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Roger.
Think it wise to move on them? Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Sure.
We’ve got them out-gunned. They don’t look as if they expect any trouble. Their
path isn’t thought out. Just walking around. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
can be there for back up in twenty minutes. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I’ve
got this covered. Hang back as reinforcements, if we need the help, we’ll give
you a shout. Over. Out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
radio fell silent and no one spoke for a moment. Thompson tried to look from
face to face but it was hard to see in the weak light of the comm center.
Maston, who was closest, was frowning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“See
what I mean,” said Thompson. “There will be silence for a while. The one group
is probably moving in to set up the ambush.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Those
were the last words spoken. Each stared at the radio as if there was something
fascinating by the bouncing needles and flashing lights. Maston was doing his isometrics.
The rest just stood there staring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Control.
Alpha One. Over”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Go
one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Roger.
Caught them napping. Little resistance. Killed four and captured the rest. Executed
the survivors. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
was a gasp from one of the women and Collins said, “Shit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Details
of supplies?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Variety
of arms including a fifty cal sniper rifle. Six by filled with food including
boxes of MREs. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Bring
it on in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
have seven children. What should we do? Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
leaned forward and snapped off the radio. He pushed through the others and
stopped. “Let’s go to the conference room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">CHAPTER
FOUR<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">In
the conference room there was a lot of chatter. Maston couldn’t follow much of
it, but it was clear that almost all of them were horrified by what they had
heard. It was bad enough that there were gangs running everything, but the
brutality of those gangs was something else. Maston understood that it was a
matter of survival, but he could think of no reason to execute anyone,
especially children. Although he didn’t know that the children had been killed,
it seemed that it was the direction that conversation was going. It was why he
had switched off the radio when he did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
sat there, quietly watching those others. Sarah Hughes seemed to have been hit
the hardest by what she had heard. Maston saw the tears in her eyes. He didn’t
know if it was for the children or for what all that meant for them. There was
no safe haven on Earth. Not now anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Slowly,
the noise died in the room. He waved a hand, almost as if attempting to wipe
the slate clean. He had a very good idea what everything they had heard meant,
but he said, “Okay. You heard. Anyone have anything to say about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Terry
Collins stared right back at him and said, “What do you think, John?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
know exactly what it means, but I’d like to hear some other ideas before I get
into all that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Jenny
Howard said, “Like Richard said. It sounds like they are actively looking for survivors…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
said, “That’s it. Looking for survivors? Sounded like they were looking to
steal anything they needed and kill anyone in competition for those supplies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Howard
said quietly, “You don’t know that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Really?”
He said, “Did you listen to what was said? They were killing those who weren’t
part of their little group. They said they had executed the captives.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
held up a hand to stop the discussion. “Let’s keep calm here. We don’t know
they killed the children.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That’s
because you turned off the radio,” accused O’Neal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
was going to say more about that but decided not to.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Linda
Johnson spoke up then. “I have a few ideas.” She looked at the other three
women. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Yeah,”
she said, as if daring them to interrupt her. “I have a few ideas. It sounded
as if they had created the worse dystopian world you could imagine. It sounded
as if they were murdering for supplies. It sounded as if they didn’t care what
they did as long as they survived.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Her
voice was rising, not in anger so much as distress. “It sounded as if they had
degenerated into a world where is was kill or be killed. One man, one leader,
in charge of as much territory as he could keep, and in charge of as many
people as he could control with violence. That’s what’s going on down there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
looked as if she was going to say more but instead, stood up. Without another
word, she walked out of the area.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
seemed to be nothing else to discuss at the moment. They sat in silence for a
moment, and then, one by one, left the conference room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Richard
Thompson continued the search, sometimes assisted by Jenny Howard or Mike Hart.
The others drifted in and out as the mood moved them, usually not staying from
more than an hour. They were able to listen to the group in the northeast and
each time it sounded as if they were even more ruthless than the last. It was
clear that they weren’t recruiting new members but wiping out what they thought
of as the competition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
set up a computer program so that they could automatically scan the rest of the
world. But the radio bands were quiet and if it hadn’t been for the one group
they found, they would have believed that the rest of the world was as dead as
the ancient Greeks. They started to think that by some strange coincidence, those
in the northeast had avoided the toxic cloud and wondered why others didn’t
escape that area, looking for something a little less dangerous.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Late
one afternoon about two weeks after the first discovery, as Thompson was about
to set the search program to automatic, he heard a brief burst of new radio
traffic. This one seemed to be based in Africa, around the Lake Victoria area.
He couldn’t understand what they were saying but the brief messages made it
sound more like a military operation than someone benignly searching for other
survivors. He tried the various translate features available through what was
left of the Internet, but the dialect or language wasn’t one that was found. He
didn’t know what they were saying and he thought it best not to mention it
until he knew more about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
came in, surprising him, sat down, and asked, “Well?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
was thinking,” said Thompson, “that there is a lot of open space in the world
now. Space where the ground is fertile and the growing season nearly endless. If
we avoid the northeast, it should be safe for us to return to Earth.” He did
not mention the African contact to Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
nodded and said, “It would be the safest course, naturally. A planet that we
know can support human life, not to mention that a great many of the resources
are there along with the infrastructure to support them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Then
you’ve abandoned the idea of heading off into deep space?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
have to admit that my plan has a sense of great adventure to it. The first
humans to leave the confines of the solar system.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
grinned. “It sounds more like a suicide plan to me besides, there is no one to
record this. No one is thinking about us, up here, orbiting Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Which
is what could be said about most of the great explorers of the past. Taking
risks that could lead to their deaths but they went ahead anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“But
they had some knowledge of what they were doing. And they were still on Earth,”
countered Thompson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
started to get annoyed. “My idea is not suicide. We know what star systems have
planets in the habitable zones. We know how long it would take to get there,
more or less, and we have the resources to make the trip.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“The
problem,” said Thompson, “is that we don’t have the resources. I know you think
that this is a closed system and everything is recycled endlessly, but there is
leakage. There is a slow decay in the system, a slow loss that can’t be
replaced. There always is, no matter how you engineer it. How are you going to
replace the water, for example?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
Maston laughed. “The Oort cloud. It’s filled with big snowballs that contain
all the water that we could ever use.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
are you going to do, drag one along with us to tap into whenever we need to
refresh the water supply?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Something
like that,” said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Have
you talked to either mission engineers or specialists to see if such a thing is
possible?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Don’t
know why not. And it seems to me that we could also use the comet to generate
oxygen. There would be a number of resources available to us in those comets. Seems
fitting that they would supply us with life sustaining essentials given what
one of them did to the human race.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
just shook his head and said, “We’re better off returning to Earth in a few
months than wandering off into deep, dark space on your dream of colonizing the
galaxy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Not
my dream. Our chance for survival. A chance to start over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
had thought that if he kept the idea that there were other groups quiet, then
Maston would stop preaching about the benefits of flying off into deep space.
He located a group in Europe, but while they didn’t sound as ruthless as the
one in North America, it was clear that they were being ruled in a very tribal
way. It was a throwback to Medieval times. But there were still thousands of
square miles of land available.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">And
then, for some reason, he began locating groups all over the world. Only
Antarctic seemed to be unoccupied and its environment was not conducive to long
term survival. It was still too cold to have a growing season but then, it there
might be enough fish to sustain them. They would be isolated, but their
long-term survival without conflict was nearly guaranteed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">But
it soon became evident to the rest of the team that there were militant groups
on all the continents. It became evident that the toxic nature of the comet’s
tail had dissipated. There was no more danger from it, and in that sense, it
was safe to return to Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">When
the team was assembled, Maston said, “I guess we’ll start with Thompson and
what he’s found.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
reluctant to start, he said, “For the last several days, weeks really, I have
been listening to the radio traffic from Earth. I have not been able to capture
any video, and it seems as if the Internet has degraded to the point where
access to it is very spotty. All I have found are the audio messages.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“But
you have found more than one group?” asked O’Neal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
said, “Let’s let Richard make his report.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
had thought it was just a few isolated groups, but they’re all over the world.
Maybe some place like New Zealand or Ireland, an island, would be free of them,
but there other than that, they just keep popping up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hart
said, “Surely we can negotiate with them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
shook his head. “I wish I could say that it would be possible but it seems to
be one of each group working for dominance over their territory. It would only
be a matter of time before we ran into one of those groups and we’re just not
prepared to defend ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
would think that we could avoid a few isolated groups,” said O’Neal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It’s
more than just a few isolated groups. A I said, they keep popping up all over
Earth. I don’t like the sound of them and you all have heard how ruthless they
are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">There
was no response to Thompson’s analysis. Maston could tell that they didn’t like
what they were hearing about what was going on below them. It might be that
they didn’t believe him. Maston sat quietly for a few minutes and then said,
“Okay. So now we all know the score. I don’t want to sit here, on this lab in
orbit around the Earth, for the rest of my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
stopped and let his words sink in. “We have a few decisions to make. As I see
it, we can sit here and rot. We can sit back and wait for things to stabilize…
hope that they stabilize and then land. Or, as I have suggested, we can make
our way to another planet. I believe that covers all our options.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
spoke first. He said, “There is only a single option. We wait for the situation
to stabilize because it will, and then return to Earth. The other two are just
nonsense.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Before
anyone could say anything more, Maston said, “Wait a minute. I want to expand
on the third point. Maston pulled his tablet closer, scrolled down and then
said, “I’ve conversed with Terry about other solar systems and planets in the
habitable zone. With his help, I’ve worked out a few ideas.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
touched the tablet screen, and the flat panels around them lit up, showing the
figures. He said, “As you know, this project was originally set up to launch a
trip to Mars. We weren’t really supposed to land, but we could if the
conditions were right. All this was to be done without resupply from Earth, once
we had completed our research here. Except in extreme emergency, we would be on
our own. It was projected to last three to five years, so we have the life
support for an extended journey. Given our resources, and given that we’d pass
through the Oort Cloud, we could gather additional water and other elements that
would be useful for us. We could, theoretically, survive for more than thirty
years without touching the ground.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
shook his head and slammed a hand to the table. He said, “I can’t believe that
you’re are serious about this. It’s nothing more than a suicide mission.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
glanced around and saw that the others were listening. He said, more loudly
than he intended. “You can’t be listening to this drivel. We’re going to end up
in a large, floating coffin drifting through space for eternity.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
chose to ignore him. “What I purpose, is that we use the sun to slingshot us
out of the Solar System and head for another star. Proxima Centuri is the
closest with planets in the habitable zone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
don’t know a thing about them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
said, “Well, that’s not the whole truth. We do know a great deal about those
planets. One of them seems to have surface temperature that would allow for
liquid water.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That
doesn’t mean we could breathe the atmosphere,” said O’Neal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No,
but we have spectroscopic analysis that suggests there are sufficient levels of
oxygen in the atmosphere, and no toxic gases.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
sat very still. “Why?” he asked quietly. “Why would you want to do this?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Because,”
said Maston, “it’s our only good option. The people down there haven’t learned
a thing. They’re rediscovering everything that was wrong with the world.
They’re enforcing a tyrannical rule with executions for not thinking the right
way, or for not haven’t anything to contribute to the new world order, or just
because they don’t look right. We, on the other hand, have an intelligent,
cohesive group and we can make the right changes. We have the chance to give
man the stars.” He was beginning to sound like the preacher in a revival
meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
come on,” wailed O’Neal. “You’re insane. We can’t reach another star. I suggest
we wait right here and let those groups below us weed themselves out. Then we
land and build this… this utopia, that you’re dreaming about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Wouldn’t
work,” said Maston. “Eventually, there would be contact and we’d be in no
position to protect ourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Well,
it’s better than taking off for a world that probably doesn’t exist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
looked around the table and said, “Jenny? What do you think?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Before
Howard could answer, O’Neal said, “What? You’re taking a vote right now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No,
said Maston. “I thought we might discuss the options, carefully, rationally,
and see I we can find a satisfactory alternative.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
finally spoke up. He said, “If what John said is right, then we have no
pressing need to make a decision right here, right now. We have time to study
the options to make the right decision.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“How
long can we put this off?” asked O’Neal<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
supplied the answer. “We’d have to work out the navigation problems and work to
modify the engines but we have two good engineers on board that will tell us if
we can make a sustained trip. They’ll be able to let us know if this
interstellar flight is even possible.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
grinned and said, “Theoretically, there is nothing to stop us from using the
hydrogen out there to fuel the engines. I’d have to take a long look at that to
be sure. We’d have to check the engines very carefully because they were
designed for sustained operation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Sarah’s
got the right idea,” said Maston. “We need to explore the options and have no
need to make a decision this afternoon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
swiped at his tablet, the screens around them went blank. He said, “To this
point, we were just talking but not planning. We have nothing else to do so
while we investigate the possibilities, Richard can continue to monitor the
situation on the ground to see if there is any significant change.” He grinned
and said, “If no one has anything else,” and then before anyone could speak, he
said, “Then we’re adjourned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">CHAPTER
FIVE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br />
Sarah Hughes went in search of Terry Collins. There were questions that she
wanted to ask the astronomer about the proposed trip out of the solar system.
She found Collins sitting in an alcove that contained computer access to the
main library. It seemed that he was scrolling through the latest in
astronomical information. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
said, “You busy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
looked around, grinned and said, “Not really. Just checking the star catalogs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
dropped into the other chair and said, “Is this plan feasible?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
mean flying off to some planet outside the solar system?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
mean, are there actually planets that can support human life?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That’s
an interesting question. We have found some evidence of planets that are in the
habitable zone that seem to have the right combination of gases in the
atmosphere but I fear some of the science isn’t as rock solid as it could be.
But what about you? You’re the physicist here. Can we make the trip?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
sat back in her chair and thought for a moment. “There are all sorts of
problems that we haven’t thought about. The engines aren’t designed for the
sorts of stresses that the trip would entail. They weren’t designed to operate
for years as we accelerate, nor decelerate. If something fails… when something
fails… we might not have the capability to repair it without the assistance
we’d have gotten from Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“So,
you don’t think this… what? Adventure? Will succeed?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“If
we don’t have a destination, then what’s the point? You can’t guarantee that
we’ll find a suitable planet at the end of the voyage, and if there is not, we
don’t have the ability, won’t have the time to find another destination.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
said, “Let us say that we know that our destination will be suitable for us.
What are the logistical problems?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Ignoring
our limited supplies, abundant though they are, and ignoring that even his
closed system is going to leak so that we slowly run out of water and air, we
have no shielding. If we accelerate for an extended period and more toward
relativistic speeds, which by the way, I don’t think will work, but supposing
it did, then we have a problem with running into something. A watermelon at
such speeds would be catastrophic. We wouldn’t see it until we hit it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
leaned forward and continued. “I don’t think John thought about the time it
would take to accelerate to anything that would make the trip plausible, but we
have to decelerate at the other end. Same problems because we have to use the
engines.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You’re
saying the trip will fail.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She
shrugged. “I haven’t really talked to the engineers about it. I thought our
first problem was locating a suitable planet and if there were any candidates
close enough to us that we could reach it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“The
problem is that we don’t have the precise information we need. What if we find
the planet is too hot for us, or that it is a water world with little land.
What if it is a mostly sterile ball that that has no life at all and therefore,
we couldn’t grow any food without modifying the environment.” Collins fell
silent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You’re
against this then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
think that we have two chances of success. Zero and none. There are too many
unknowns and there is no way that I can gather additional data about these star
systems, not to mention the all the other problems we’d encounter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
took a deep breath and said, “Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
are you going to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Talk
to the engineers to see what they have to say.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
found both the engineers, Karen Houston and the assistant engineer Linda Johnson
sitting in the lounge. Houston had her tablet sitting on her lap as she worked
her way through something on the screen and Johnson seemed to be watching the
data scroll on one of the flat screens attached to a bulkhead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
didn’t sit and didn’t worry about preamble. She simply said, “The engines are
not up to the task.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Houston
looked up and asked, “What task?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Interstellar
flight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“They
weren’t designed for that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Yes.
I know. I wondered if they could be modified.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Let’s
say, yes. But then, we’re asking them to do something beyond their capabilities
and when there is a catastrophic failure, we won’t be able to fix it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Have
you looked into it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Johnson
said, “John is planning on using hydrogen as the fuel, postulating that
hydrogen will be available along our path. We gather it in as we fly. But, as
we move toward relativistic speeds, it becomes the same as bombarding us with
radiation. We don’t have the shielding necessary for those speeds. We’d fry the
electronics, not to mention ourselves. We can’t survive the speed we need even
if we could achieve it, which we probably can’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
said, “I worried about the radiation but I think that is the least of the
problems.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Johnson
laughed. “The solution, if we leave Earth orbit, is Mars. We’re built for that.
We don’t overtax the systems, and we can always come back to Earth if we can’t
manage things on Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
nodded slowly and said, “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
she left Houston and Johnson, she thought, “This is never going to work. O’Neal
was right, it is suicide.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br />
<b>CHAPTER SIX<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
entered the conference room feeling good. He had surveyed the others and
believed that they would all vote for the long-term trip to another star
system. He would go down in history just as Magellan had. He failed to remember
that Magellan did not survive his around the world exploration. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">When
he appeared, the room fell silent. He walked to the head of what doubled as a
conference table and sat down. “Well,” he said, “Let’s get started. He looked
at Thompson and added, “Let’s find out if there is a need for a decision.
Anything new from the surface.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
glanced at the others and said, “Not really. If anything, the situation on
Earth is getting worse. There are brushfire wars all over the surface and just
as it seems that one group or another has established dominance, another shows
up to destroy it. I’m waiting for someone to figure out that there are still
nukes available.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That
going on all over the planet?” asked Hughes, though she already knew the
answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
are some areas in South America that seem safe, but I don’t think the
environment there is anything approaching pleasant. The interior of Australia
looks good, but no one is living there. No one was living there. No resources
for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
interrupted because it was exactly what he had wanted to hear. “Thanks,
Richard. Okay. We have three possible courses of action in front of us. If
there are no objections, I’ll eliminate the first, that is that we do nothing
and stay right here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
said, “I don’t know why you’d eliminate that. It seems to be the smartest thing
to do. We stay put until we can return to Earth once all the fighting ends.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We’ve
watched what is happening,” said Maston, “And it doesn’t seem to be getting any
better. At some point a ruling class will emerge and given the situation, I
don’t think we’d be welcomed with open arms.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Why
not?” asked O’Neal. “Our expertise would be useful and it’s not as if we’d land
without some important resources. If nothing else, we bring a great deal of
expertise with us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
started to snap, tired of O’Neal’s pessimism, but he quickly controlled his
temper. “What would stop them from just taking our supplies and leaving us to
die?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It’s
a better idea than flying off into deep space. I say we land and…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
interrupted him and said, “Those in favor of staying in orbit and waiting to
see what more happens on Earth, raise your hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Only
O’Neal supported the idea. Maston wasn’t surprised. In the last several days he
had talked to a everyone and knew that they didn’t like the idea of landing any
time soon. They all wanted to act while they still had some choice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That
ends that part of the discussion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
started to rise but Maston waved him down. “You’re part of the team, so sit
down. We have more to discuss.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
turned his attention to Collins. “Have you worked out a place for us to go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">To
Maston’s surprise, Collins shook his head. “I don’t believe there is a
habitable planet near enough for us, even if we can move at relativistic
speeds. The distances are too vast.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
rocked back, stunned. “I thought…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
waved him to silence. “I have been studying the data that we have and it is
just too fragmented. We were a long way from attempting anything like
interstellar flight. Our interest was in finding extra solar planets, but the
techniques for gathering data about them was, I suppose, a little more
enthusiastic than our capability if you want to look at it dispassionately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
Maston was the one getting angry. “Just what in the hell does that mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
means that the closest of the possible planetary systems might not have a
planet where water is liquid. It means that an analysis of the atmosphere from
here is problematic. It means that we might just arrive there and find that
there is nowhere for us to land and no resources for us to use. It means that
we’d be worse off than if we landed on Earth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“You
saying that interstellar flight is impossible?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Now
Hughes spoke up. She said, “We know it is possible. We’ve sent probes out of
the Solar System. We just don’t have the capability to do it with any
reasonable chances of survival… not without a better idea of what we’ll find
when… if we get there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
don’t believe this,” said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
took over again. “Our best bet, at this moment, is Mars. You rejected it out of
hand because you had this great vision of being on the first expedition outside
the solar system.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Columbus
did the same thing. No one knew what he was going to find,” said Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
don’t bring up that old chestnut. Columbus believed he was going to find India.
He just didn’t know there were continents in his way. His trip was no more
dangerous than any other voyage at the time, not to mention that they’d still
be on Earth and not drifting through deep space. Once they arrived, then there
would be food and water.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“What
makes Mars better?” asked Maston.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Because
if it doesn’t work out, we can still get back to Earth. We have an escape
hatch. If we going flying off into deep space, then we have no Plan B. We can’t
recover from the mistake.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
looked to Hughes. “I thought you’d want to do this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I
would too,” she said, “If there was a reasonable chance of success. But there
isn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We’d
be the first people to leave the solar system. We’d be remembered forever.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Houston
spoke up. “No, we wouldn’t. Nobody on Earth is going to remember us. They might
not even remember that we’re up here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“We
can tell them. Make an announcement. Let them know what we plan. That we have a
way of salvaging our civilization.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“And
there you have it,” said Thompson. “This isn’t about staying alive, it’s all
about being the first to leave the solar system. It’s about fame and glory but
not survival.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
took a deep breath and although he didn’t what to ask the question, he did.
“Everyone in favor of heading to new world outside the solar system, say
‘Aye.’”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">No
one said a word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“When
did you all decide this?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“When
we realized that the data about the extra solar planets was not as solid as we
thought,” said Collins.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“The
trip to Mars is only a few months, not the years it would take to make the trip
outside the solar system. There is a backup plan if that fails. We can return
to Earth. It is the only course of action that makes practical sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Then
why not wait it out here?” shouted O’Neal. “Why take that trip if we don’t have
to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Because
of the tribal warfare down there,” Hart, speaking for the first time. “That’s
nearly as dangerous as traveling into interstellar space.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
ignored O’Neal. He was the radical in the group, who wanted nothing other than
to land. Maston had convinced himself that they needed to do something else. It
began to look as if he was the only one who wanted to find their way to another
star system.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“This
is getting us nowhere,” said Johnson. “Further discussion isn’t going to help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
didn’t want to give it up because that would end the dream. As long as they
talked, there was a chance that they’d change their minds and vote with him.
There were nine votes. O’Neal would vote to return, which meant there were only
eight. Maston would vote for interstellar flight, which meant he needed four
and it didn’t look good at the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
the issue seemed to be dead, he said, “We have an opportunity here that the
human race won’t have again for decades, if not centuries. We have a chance to
move the human race away from its one home and ensure its eternal existence.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Philosophical
nonsense,” said Thompson. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Before
Maston could speak, O’Neal said, “I vote to wait here and return to the Earth
when the situation stabilizes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Then,
almost as if a voice vote was required, Hughes said, “That’s one to stay. I think
we know which way John will vote, and we know which way Richard will vote, so
we have a three-way tie. I’ll break it for the moment by saying, Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Jenny
Howard, who had just been listening, but who had made up her mind weeks ago,
said, simply, “Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
said, “We have three for Mars, one to stay and one to fly off into space. There
are three votes left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“This
isn’t really a democracy,” said Maston. “I’m in command here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Of
course,” said Hughes, “but since this is not in the mission plan and there is
no more mission control, then we have devolved… evolved? Into a democracy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For
a moment, no one spoke. It was as if the rest were weighing their options. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Houston
said, “Just to make it interesting, I say we make the long trip into space.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Oh,
for the love of God,” said O’Neal. “That’s the dumbest thing anyone has said
for a very long time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Houston
glared at him and said, “No dumber than wanting to wait for the situation to
change on Earth. That’s not going to happen in our lifetime.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Johnson
looked toward Maston and for a moment he thought she was going to vote with
him. It would make an interesting outcome. There would be three for Mars, three
to go and one to stay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">But
Johnson said, “As an engineer, I understand better than anyone except for Jenny,
just what is involved. While I like the idea of an interstellar flight and it
has been a dream of mind since I was a little girl, we just don’t have the
resources to make it work. I vote for Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Interesting
dilemma,” said Collins. “If I vote for Mars, then it’s all over. If I vote to
go, then the deciding vote falls to Mike.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Collins
looked at Hart who looked horrified at the prospect for a moment, and then he
relaxed. Collins picked up on that because Hart now knew how the vote would
turn out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“As
an astronomer, I’ve always been a little concerned that my science is largely
observational. I can’t get out into deep space to observe things. I have to
remain relatively Earth-bound. I love the idea of interstellar flight…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
a but in there anywhere?” asked Hart.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Don’t
worry, Mike. You’ll be safe. I can’t, in good conscience, say anything other
than Mars. We go to Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“That’s
it,” said Johnson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“No,”
said Maston, slamming his hand down on the table. “That’s not it. I think we
need to revote.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“John,”
said Thompson kindly, “it’s over. We’ve voted twice. The majority has decided.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“There
is one vote left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“It
won’t make any difference.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hart
said, “For the record, I vote for Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal
said, “You all are idiots. We can stay here for as long as it takes. Mars is
not a viable option.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hughes
said, “Listen. For the moment, this is our best bet. But we don’t need to break
orbit immediately. We have some time to gather additional data. We can revisit
this decision if something changes. Even if we get to Mars, and something
changes, we can make another plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston,
grasping at the straw, thinking he could persuade them later, said, “Then we
adjourn now but we prepare for the journey to Mars.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">CHAPTER
SEVEN<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Although
Maston hoped that something would change, it didn’t. Collins attempted to learn
more about the extra solar planets in nearby star systems, but the technical
ability to gather the data was gone. He had access to all that had been
discovered before the Earth passed through the comet tale, but there just
wasn’t the detail he needed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
engineers, Houston and Johnson believed that the engines would be able to
gather fuel as they moved through deep space, but didn’t believe they could
withstand the rigors of long-term operation as they accelerated and then braked
on the trip. Both believed they would suffer a catastrophic failure that would
be beyond the capability of either of them to repair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hart
wasn’t sure that the capability to produce food would last as long as
projected, especially for a flight that would last more than a decade. He
thought that they needed to be close to an Earth-like planet in case of a
failure, and the best Earth-like planet was Earth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hart
also worried about the dynamics of the closed society that had limited
reproductive capabilities. It meant simply that there would have to be
interbreeding that would lead to long-term mutation. They simply did not have a
breeding population of sufficient size to ensure the long-term survival of the
race.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Thompson
worried about two problems. The makeup of the crew was not split evenly between
men and women. That would lead to sexual tensions that couldn’t be easily
corrected. With one of the men left out, or with a shifting of affections, such
tensions could lead, would lead, to a deadly outcome.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He
also worried about the ethnic make-up of the crew. While no one had manifested
any sort of surface prejudice, that didn’t mean that some weren’t buried
beneath the surface. It might never be a problem, given the testing done prior
to launch, but some resentments might be hidden, to play out in the long-term
and closed nature of the society.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston,
of course, was angered that they had decided not to deep space. Some worried
that he would resent the loss of his authority and that might bubble over into
greater and deadly tensions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Each
had good reasons to wish to stay in the solar system because, if nothing else,
there was always the promise of Earth. They might be headed for Mars, but if
the situation on Earth changed for the better, they could easily find their way
back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">O’Neal,
of course, resented everything. He argued against the plan. He argued that Mars
was not a viable option. He argued they would all die on that planet, unable to
live there without artificial means such as supplemental oxygen and that the
soil, not to mention the reduced sunlight and the colder temperatures would not
allow them to grow food. As they got closer and closer to breaking orbit, he
became irritable and irritating. On the morning they were scheduled to leave,
he stopped talking to anyone. He just sat quietly, his face pale, as if he
expected for the flight to end quickly in disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
station broke orbit easily. There was no plan now to use the sun to increase
their speed. The orbital dynamics had been worked out by Collins and Hughes.
Earth and Mars were at the optimum places in their orbits that made the flight
to Mars simple and quick. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
they left Earth orbit, they saw the shimmering oceans, the dark greens and
browns of the land masses and then the broad band of sand that marked the
Sahara. Clouds had obscured the North American land mass.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Maston
was sure that they were wrong about pinning their hopes on Mars. They should be
looking for somewhere else for them to go. He’d been out voted and accepted the
defeat, but still campaigned for the interstellar option. He believed the
others would eventually see the wisdom of his plan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">But
some of the things he wanted could be accomplished on Mars. Maybe they could
live in peace helping one another rather than taking what someone else had
earned and fighting senseless wars. Maybe they could make those changes on
Mars… Just maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-13163704426435737362021-01-11T12:20:00.000-08:002021-01-11T12:20:28.361-08:00Aliens in the Solar System<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sure, this isn’t
science fiction but it certainly is close. After all, in science fiction we
deal with intelligent life on other planets and alien visitation to Earth, or rather
our Solar System. Now, it seems that that visitation has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Harvard scientist, Dr. Abraham
(Avi) Loeb, who is the chair of the Department of Astronomy, has suggested that
we were visited in 2017. Well, visited isn’t quite the right word but that an
alien artifact had entered the Solar System.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AO-PuO3xWAU/X_yylzBK5-I/AAAAAAAAEKQ/7YXkJVfCwqsz5CP69KODoIbguTC-mDOpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s220/Avi%2BLoeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AO-PuO3xWAU/X_yylzBK5-I/AAAAAAAAEKQ/7YXkJVfCwqsz5CP69KODoIbguTC-mDOpgCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Avi%2BLoeb.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Avi Loeb</td></tr></tbody></table><br />In my communications
with Dr. Loeb, I asked a number of questions, such as where it might have
originated. According to the data, it came from the direction of Vega, which is
about 25 light years from Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On September 6, 2017, the
artifact crossed into the orbital plane of the Solar System, and on September
9, it made its closest approach to the sun. On October 7, it passed Earth,
moving in the direction of Pegasus. Or, in other words, flew by and is on its
way somewhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Earth-based scientists
were able to study the object, which was about three hundred feet in length,
and had a somewhat cigar shape and was rotating slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It was named, </span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“</span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Oumuamua</span>” <span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">which means scout in Hawaiian. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was, at first believed to be a comet, but it exhibited
none of the characteristics of a comet. That suggested to Dr. Loeb that it was
something completely different.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Dr. Loeb told Isaac Chotiner of <i>The New Yorker</i>, “</span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There is a </span><em style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Scientific American</span></em><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><a data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLink","outgoingURL":"https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/observations/6-strange-facts-about-the-interstellar-visitor-oumuamua/"}" href="https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/observations/6-strange-facts-about-the-interstellar-visitor-oumuamua/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: inherit; orphans: 2; text-align: start; transition: color 200ms ease 0s; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank"><span style="background: white; color: black; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">article</span></a><span style="background: white; color: black;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> I wrote where I summarized six strange facts about
‘Oumuamua. The first one is that we didn’t expect this object to exist in the
first place. We see the solar system and we can calculate at what rate it
ejected rocks during its history. And if we assume all planetary systems around
other stars are doing the same thing, we can figure out what the population of
interstellar objects should be. That calculation results in a lot of
possibilities, but the range is much less than needed to explain the discovery
of ‘Oumuamua’.</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He also suggested that the civilization that sent out the object might
no longer exist. I had wondered about the speed reported as it passed through
the Solar System, suggesting a very long flight time to get here. Some the
commentators to my <i>A Different Perspective</i> blog suggested that it had
slowed as it passed by or that it had arrived via a wormhole. I sort of ignore
that without evidence to the contrary but do acknowledge the possibilities. </span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Nearly all the scientists agree that the object did not
originate in the Solar System, which makes it the first alien object to be
observed in the solar system. While Dr. Loeb believes that it is an artificial
object, many scientists disagree.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In an article published in July 2019, it
was concluded, “We find no compelling evidence to favor an alien explanation
for </span><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘Oumuamua’.</span><span style="background: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I, on the other hand, am rooting for Dr. Loeb’s
explanation but must note that while the object is certainly alien, it is not
necessarily artificial which takes some of the fun out of this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-11735554410217380012021-01-10T14:57:00.004-08:002021-01-10T15:46:41.283-08:00What is Science Fiction?<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Back
in the olden days, when I attended many science fiction conventions (which I
fear might be something that is fading into past), a number of us discussed
what was science fiction and what was not. Those that I remember participating
in these ad hoc discussions were Wilson Tucker, known around the convention
circuit as Bob, Robert Cornett who has written a number of science fiction
novels and me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tXgeL5YHSCo/X_uFl9DizCI/AAAAAAAAEKE/LqhVrGob24AVPeyWl73xixqeEPRzht7ZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2578/Tucker%2BSmooth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="2578" height="271" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tXgeL5YHSCo/X_uFl9DizCI/AAAAAAAAEKE/LqhVrGob24AVPeyWl73xixqeEPRzht7ZgCLcBGAsYHQ/w577-h271/Tucker%2BSmooth.jpg" width="577" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wilson "Bob" Tucker (in plaid shirt) involved in the "smooth" process.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For
those interested in those sorts of things, Robert Cornett, aka Bob and
sometimes as RC Squared, wrote </span><i style="font-family: "Courier New";">Seeds of Doubt, Remember the Alamo, The Aldebaran
Campaign, The Aquarium Attack, Remember Gettysburg</i><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">, and </span><i style="font-family: "Courier New";">Remember the
Little Bighorn</i><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"> with me.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Bob
Tucker has a long list of very good science fiction books including <i>The Year
of the Quiet Sun, The Lincoln Hunters, Ice and Iron</i> and <i>The Time Masters</i>
to name just a few. He was quite popular at science fiction conventions, often
surrounded by a bevy of his “granddaughters.” He was so popular that, at one
point, Fandom created the Tucker Transfer, which was a collection to pay for
his trip to the World Science Fiction Convention in Europe (or in other words,
an attempt to transfer him to the convention). Today it would be a Go Fund Me
page. But I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">We
decided, with no authority to do so, that science fiction was based in real
science. In the 1950s, you might consider <i>Rocketship X-M</i> or <i>Destination
Moon</i> as science fiction. These movies reflected the science of the time and
nearly everyone believed that humans would walk on the moon. In <i>Forbidden
Planet</i>, made in 1956, that would not happen for more than a century. Of
course, it happened in just 13 years.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As
an interesting aside, in <i>Apollo 13</i>, director Ron Howard included a scene
of the rocket heading off into space that was reminiscent of those old movies.
I am convinced that he included that scene as a tribute to those science
fiction movies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The
point is that the science fiction reflected real science. Rockets and missiles
were being fired into space and they were going farther and farther from Earth.
It wasn’t long before unmanned rockets hit the Moon and, of course, finally
taking men to the Moon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Fantasy,
then, were stories set in exotic places but contained elements that weren’t
possible. Magic worked in fantasy stories. Although I’m not sure that either
Bob agreed with me, I thought of time travel stories as fantasy because I don’t
believe we can travel through time, as outlined in most those stories. Yes, I
recognize that we are all traveling in time as we live our lives, but we are unable
to manipulate it. And yes, I understand that time dilation theory might allow
us to manipulate time but in a very controlled sense. We won’t be speeding
around time as is seen in <i>The Time Machine</i> or the <i>End of Eternity</i>,
to name just a few time travel stories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Finally,
we came up with Sci Fi, which is not to say that we invented the term, only
that we defined it. Sci Fi were stories and movies such as <i>The Beginning of
the End, The Blob</i> or <i>First Spaceship</i> to Venus (which, for some
reason I enjoy but it is a really bad movie with an internal logic that simply
doesn’t work). A lot of things fit this category and I’m not at all sure what
we would have done with SyFy, which, if you study the programming on that channel,
often has nothing to do with science fiction or Sci Fi. Strikes me that is why
they changed the name.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For
the purists among you, I will note that <i>Star Wars</i> is strictly not
science fiction but more like sci fi or fantasy, simply because it is set in another
galaxy and includes faster than light speeds not to mention the Force. It works
because we care about the people in the film. We want them to win (well, not
Darth Vader, though I suspect there are a few who root for him as well). Sci Fi
doesn’t have to be bad. It just has to incorporate elements that slip into
fantasy or that are impossible given our current scientific knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">No,
we didn’t bother with horror because that is something completely different.
Horror was once things like <i>Dracula</i> and <i>Frankenstein</i>, but it evolved
into what, in the 1980s, we called dead teenager movies and other such slasher films.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">These
were our somewhat arbitrary definitions for this genre. The rules are not hard
and fast and you can put a story or movie into more than one category as we see
with <i>Star Wars</i>. It was conceived as a way of explaining what science
fiction is and what is not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-74589285261837518222021-01-02T12:08:00.000-08:002021-01-02T12:08:04.249-08:00Alistair 1918 - A quick Review<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">I
was cruising through the science fiction listings on Amazon Prime the other day
and came across <i>Alistair 1918</i>. What intrigued me was the time travel
elements in the story and I’m always willing to take a look at time travel.
With Bob Cornett, I wrote several time travel novels, and alone I wrote, <i>On
the Second Tuesday of Next Week</i>, in which a war is fought using time
travel. All are available on Amazon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QSdGq71aCZY/X_DSYppSlPI/AAAAAAAAEI8/K2NaeArcwws8KhCE26ByxeSqV5JIRgl6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s100/MV5BZmY5NDY0ODItMjY4NS00ZGI3LWJmMTAtMjNiZjVkMWE0NDdkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTAyMjcxMDE%2540._V1_UY100_CR40%252C0%252C100%252C100_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="100" height="216" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QSdGq71aCZY/X_DSYppSlPI/AAAAAAAAEI8/K2NaeArcwws8KhCE26ByxeSqV5JIRgl6wCLcBGAsYHQ/w216-h216/MV5BZmY5NDY0ODItMjY4NS00ZGI3LWJmMTAtMjNiZjVkMWE0NDdkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTAyMjcxMDE%2540._V1_UY100_CR40%252C0%252C100%252C100_AL_.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alistair (Guy Birtwhistle)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Alistair
is a British soldier who, through some fluke of time and space, is literally
blasted into modern Los Angeles. It is something of a fish out of water tale,
as the hero, Alistair (Guy Birtwhistle), tried to survive in the modern world.
This is somewhat reminiscent of <i>Time After Time</i>, in which Jack the
Ripper and H.G. Wells find themselves in the modern world, learning about
everything from television, aviation to McDonalds. Alistair must learn to
navigate in the modern world as he searches for a way to return home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
film, which is one of those low budget gems we sometimes find, is actually
quite well done. The actors seemed to be natural, and while I was a little
annoyed at some of the coincidences that provided the means for him to attempt
to return to his home time, it was all nicely done. It also outlines some of
the troubles that people have navigating in our modern world. Alistair,
however, rises above the challenges, finding friends to help understand what is
happening around him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;">This
is a very nice little time travel film and if you have the chance, you should
take a look at it. While it won’t appeal to everyone, it should find a very
nice audience, and if you happen to be programming the film part of a SF
convention, you won’t go wrong by adding this title to the list.<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-77659019785253841902020-12-23T08:49:00.001-08:002020-12-23T08:49:56.517-08:00JENNY<div class="WordSection1">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">(<span style="color: red;"><b>Note:</b> While it is true that this is
not science fiction, it is also true that it could be called a horror story.
The difference here is that it is based on real events and covers an
investigation into areas that are now prominent in the world of the Paranormal
and is seen in many movies. I do not believe that “Jenny” was lying, but that
she truly believed what she was saying during the sessions. You’ll have to
decide for yourself if her story fits into your version of reality. There is
much more to this and can be found in the book Conversions. Click on the cover
of that book to the right which will take you to Amazon. Frankly, I don’t
understand why this book hasn’t done better… it is a damn fascinating tale that
is something of a history lesson with the added benefit of being true.</span>)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I call her Jenny for no other reason than I
decided that she didn’t need to be plagued by self-styled researchers,
skeptics, debunkers and the producers of radio and television talk shows. She
is a kind, almost fragile woman of thirty-two, who came from a broken home but
who has been happily married for seven years. She has one child and hopes to
have another. She is thin, blond, and shy. She warms to people slowly but only
because she is so shy. I have not known her to lie, at least on purpose, and I
know that she isn’t a student of history, literature or the paranormal. She
reads the newspaper daily but rarely reads books, watches the local news almost
religiously but stays away from the national news because she believes it to be
too sensational and that most of it has nothing to do with her life or her
family. She doesn’t watch the cable channels that often delve into the
paranormal, but she has seen some things. She is a quiet, good person which is
at odds with who, under hypnosis, she claimed to be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: auto;" />
</span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I also point out that her trouble began in
a series of nightmares so vivid that they brought her wide awake several nights
a week, so frightened that she couldn’t go back to sleep of hours. She was
losing sleep but had no idea what was in the nightmares that was so terrifying.
Upon awakening she had virtually no memory of what the dream had been, only
that it filled her with horror and fear and often left her shaking. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Almost every other night she would get up
and wander from room to room in the dark. She could see out the windows, onto a
street that was filled with a yellowish glow from the lights. She would sit in
the dark and work at not really remembering what she had dreamt and once she
calmed herself sufficiently, she would go back to bed. Most of the time she
couldn’t get back to sleep immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Someone told her that rather than fight the
dream and try to forget it, maybe she should confront it. Maybe she should not
only try to remember it, but she should write down what she remembered each
night and that might tell her how to conquer her fear of those dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">There is a certain element of psychology in
that. A standard technique in defeating phobias is to confront them. If a
person is afraid of snakes, then the technique is to slowly introduce them to
snakes, maybe first with photographs, then with video tape and finally with a
living snake in a glass cage across the room. Eventually the person is able to
approach the cage and might even hold the snake in his or her hand. This
flooding technique is often very successful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">So, if Jenny wrote down the dreams, even
the small fragments that she could remember, she might be able to confront her
fear and then maybe defeat it. She put a pad and pencil in her bathroom. She
would retreat there to write down her impressions as soon as she awakened so
that she didn’t have to turn on the bedroom light and wake her husband.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The first imagines made no real sense to
her. There would be a bright light and people seeming to stand in the light or
just beyond it. Maybe they would gesture at her, as if asking her to join them.
Sometimes there was a high-pitched whine and other times there was a rushing
like wind through the trees. A few times there was just a total darkness around
her and a fear that her husband was paralyzed, or had just died, or was about
to die.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She did tell a few close friends about
these dreams but none seemed to have any idea about how to help her. They
didn’t recognize the symptoms as manifested in the dreams. They were as puzzled
as she was. Then, one night, watching a television documentary about alien
abduction, she heard another woman talk of lights in the bedroom, and of
strange, shadowy creatures standing just outside the circle of light, beckoning
her to join them. And she heard of spouses who lay next to the victim without
the slightest idea of what was happening.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">This, she thought, was what she had been
experiencing. There were differences, of course, but it was close enough and it
explained so much. Alien creatures were invading her bedroom, and “switching
off” her husband in the parlance of the abduction phenomenon so that he would
be unaware of the situation around him. She could be taken from her bed and
then, later, returned, with neither knowing what happened. Her only memories were
fragments that she thought of as horrible dreams. Maybe those fragments were
something else. Maybe she was beginning to understand what had been happening
to her for so many months.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Now Jenny made the mistake that so many
others have made. She believed that she had identified the problem and began
research into it. The Internet provided the clues with search engines that
could find nearly anything she wanted. She began the quest and found herself
immersed in the UFO sub-culture known as alien abduction. She began to read all
that she could find on the subject, search for documentaries that would tell
her more aliens, and she tried to locate a UFO researcher who would be
interested in her case.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">At that point the nature of her nightmares
began to subtly change. Now she realized that the figures just outside the
lights were not human, but were certainly humanoid. They were short, slender,
grey creatures with teardrop-shaped heads, huge dark eyes, and thin, spindly
arms. They wanted her to accompany them to their ship for some kind of
experimentation or examination. She never remembered any of that, but she also
learned that such amnesia surrounding the specifics of the abduction wasn’t all
that uncommon. The aliens didn’t want their human victims to remember what they
had experienced and they attempted to “wipe” out the memories. Sometimes the
only clues were these horrifying nightmares.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Frustrated by her lack of progress, or her
understanding of how to stop the abductions, Jenny began to look for someone to
help her. Someone versed in both alien abduction and hypnosis, which she had
learned on the Internet was about the only way she could remember everything.
She wanted to explore her... dreams... and she wanted someone who could answer
her questions about them. She was searching for the man or woman in all the
horror movies, ostracized by society because of their strange beliefs, but who
had all the answers when they were needed. What she wanted was a Dr. van
Helsing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">What she got, instead, was me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I am always reticent to offer assistance to
those who believe they have been abducted. I do not want to validate their
fantasies because I believe that most of those claiming abduction have not been
abducted by aliens or anything else. They are lead into those beliefs by
friends, family, the Internet, books, movies and television. They see others,
with similar experiences, and it makes it seem so real to them. This sort of
belief can overwhelm a person, suck the life out of them, and create family
discordance that can wreck the strongest marriages.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">And, I realize that too often the people
who come to me aren’t really interested in exploring their strange experiences
and nightmares, but want me to tell them that it is all true. They don’t want
to believe that somehow these memories don’t exist and there are other causes
for their problems. They are looking for psychological counseling, or therapy,
and I don’t want to do that. It creates more problems than it solves, at least
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">If the person is insistent, then I suggest
one of those who specializes in abduction research. There are dozens of them,
all with support groups, many with newsletters, and a few with book contracts.
All, client and researcher, are interested in proving that alien creatures are
invading our bedrooms for all sorts of suspected and alleged reasons. I believe
that the person will be happier, relatively, in such a support group.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Which is not to say that I haven’t engaged
in abduction research. Back in 1976, I was the first to report that the aliens
had invaded a house and taken the residents out. Prior to that, victims
reported abductions had taken place on deserted stretches of road, usually when
the person was alone and usually late at night. In most cases the victim or
victims could be considered a “target of opportunity”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The Pat Roach abduction, which was first
described in <i>Saga’s UFO Report</i> in 1976 deviated from what was then the
classic abduction in a number of ways. It has since been written about in
various books and was even featured on an installment of the old <i>In Search
Of...</i> television program. And, it is a case that I believe has been solved.
Pat Roach suffered from an episode sleep paralysis. Poor hypnotic regression
and a will to believe were responsible for changing this little understood
psychological phenomenon into a case of alien abduction, at least in this
specific case.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I have investigated other cases as well,
searching for some sort of answer. With California documentary producer Russ
Estes and clinical psychologist Dr. William Cone, I wrote <i>The Abduction
Enigma</i> which outlined our research and our conclusions about alien
abduction. We found no solid, independent evidence that alien creatures were
abducting humans, but we did find evidence of sloppy research techniques, poor
science and an over reliance on hypnotic regression as a way of investigating
the cases. We came to believe that most stories of alien abduction had
terrestrial explanations for them. We didn’t need to “invent” alien abductors
to make some sense of the information and the various reports.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">And that too, was a reason that I didn’t
want to get involved in another abduction case. I could not, in good conscious,
enter into an investigation believing that I knew the answers already. If
aliens were not abducting Jenny, but she sincerely believed that, I thought my
participation could produce more harm to her and that it could do no real good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">But Jenny was insistent, claiming she
wanted answers and not validation. I warned her about my reservations
concerning hypnosis, and that it is quite easy to lead a subject while he or
she is under the influence of hypnosis. And, I made it clear that she had
already contaminated the research with her reading of abduction material and
watching abduction shows. She already knew too much for us to believe that she
hadn’t formed some opinions about the reality of alien abduction and that she
hadn’t been influenced by all that she had read and heard, not to mention what
her friends and family were saying to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She told me that she understood all that
and believed that my natural skepticism would make the investigation more
rigorous. If I was convinced, in the end, that she had been abducted, then we
all would learn something. If, on the other hand, I found some answers, whatever
those answers might be, then maybe that would end her nightmares and she could
sleep more soundly. Either way, she was sure that she would be better off than
she was at the moment. Given those very specific conditions, I agreed to assist
in the investigation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I was not, and am not, however, a qualified
hypnotist, and while I knew that I could learn the technique in a weekend,
given the right environment, I just didn’t want to “mess around” with someone’s
head. I knew how easily it was to make a mistake that could have severe
consequences later. I decided to find someone who was versed in hypnosis and
who knew something about psychology. This way we would be much less likely to
make a mistake and create more disturbing dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I was able to find a young man, I’ll call
Tom, through one of the nearby universities. As an added benefit, he knew
something about UFOs and a little about alien abduction. He hadn’t been exposed
to a great deal of the literature so that he was coming into this investigation
with few preconceived notions. I asked him to avoid learning anything more
until we had made some progress in the investigation. I believed that I had
enough experience with alien abduction that we would run into nothing that
would surprise us. I felt that we were prepared.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">And yes, this sounds a little arrogant, but
the truth is, I had been investigating UFOs for more than thirty years at that
time, and I was among the first to study abductions. True, my study led me away
from the idea that aliens were involved, but I did then, and do now, understand
the phenomenon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">First Meeting</span></span></b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">We met Jenny on a cold November night with
a sky filled with stars, a hint of snow in the air, and no wind at all. It was
calm and quiet as only such a night could be. There seemed to be no airplanes
in the sky, no cars on the Interstate, and nothing moving. The only signs of
life were the bright lights in the windows of the houses along the street and a
suggestion of wood smoke in the air. Someone had started a fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Jenny met us at the door, dressed in jeans,
a light blouse and a gray, torn sweater. She looked apprehensive, her face
seemed pale and her eyes overly large. Her voice was strong, however, as she
invited us into the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Without a word she led us downstairs into a
large family room dominated by a fireplace. Over the mantle was a family
portrait that in years past would have been in oils but looked like a color
enlargement of a photograph with the oil painting texture added by a computer.
Her husband looked younger and smaller than she did and the child in the
portrait was little more than a baby. He looked like a smaller version of his
father.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">As I stood there looking at the picture,
she asked, “Can I take your coats?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She took them and disappeared through a
door at the far end of the room. When she returned she asked, “Would either of
you care for anything to drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She offered Seven-up, Coke, coffee and
beer. Given that this was a research trip, both Tom and I opted for something
soft and cold even though the night outside was cold. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">When she returned, we sat down and Tom
asked, “Have you ever undergone hypnosis?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She shook her head, and looking like the
kid who was on his first visit to the dentist said, “Never.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom, sitting in the big soft chair angled
toward the couch, leaned forward and said, “It doesn’t hurt. You just go to
sleep. Well, not really sleep, but you enter an altered state of consciousness.
You might be able to remember events better. You might be able to remember
those nightmares better but everything is still in your hands. I can sort of
guide you, but I’m not in control here. You are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Quietly, she said, “Okay. How do we begin?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom set his Coke down on a small table near
his chair and said, “Get comfortable. Lie down if you want with your legs straight
out, your arms at your sides so that there is no distraction from these
pressure points. When you are comfortable and relaxed, let me know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Jenny stretched out on her couch, and then
seemed to wiggle slightly as if trying to get more comfortable. She closed her
eyes when she was ready. Her breathing deepened as she relaxed without
instructions from Tom. Finally, without opening her eyes, she said, “I’m
ready.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom pulled his chair around so that he was
seated close to her head and began speaking to her quietly. I tried not to
listen, knowing that if I concentrated on his words, I might fall into a trance
accidentally. Dr. J. Allen Hynek, when working with Dr. James Harder in
Pascagoula, Mississippi, had fallen into a trance by listening to Harder as he
hypnotized the witnesses there. Two or three years after that event, Harder had
told me that as we worked with Pat Roach (and it is a story that Hynek often
denied). Given that, I kept my eyes moving, looking at the fire place, at the
portrait, at the furnishings and finally at the bookcases that dominated one
wall. I wondered if I would find many books about UFOs there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Later, as the investigation continued, I
would take a look at the books. Yes, there were books on UFOs, including one
that I had written about UFOs in the 1990s. There was a great deal of fiction,
some of it historical fiction, a few romances, and some of the latest
nonfiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The UFO books bothered me at first, but as
the investigation continued, they became less important. Besides, rather than
books on abductions, though she did have one by Budd Hopkins and one by David
Jacobs, most of her books were about sightings and investigations of other UFO
cases.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Now, in that first session, Tom leaned back
and then gently took Jenny’s wrist and raised her arm, leaving it suspended in
air, almost as if there was an invisible string attaching it to the ceiling. In
a normal tone of voice he said, “That’s got it. She’s under.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I looked at him and he said, “I told her
that she was to ignore me for the next few minutes. She was just to remain
relaxed and concentrate on her dreams. When she was ready to begin, she should
tell me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">We had already decided how we were going to
proceed from this point. Tom would ask the questions and if I had something I
wanted clarified or explained, I would either whisper it to him or hand him a
written note. That way I wouldn’t inadvertently contaminate or prematurely end
the session. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">With the preliminaries completed, I took a
final, long pull at the Seven-up, turned on the micro cassette and put the
recorder on the end table near her. We would have a tape of the events, if we
ever needed it (Later, I would think that we should have used video tape, but I
wasn’t thinking in a visual sense at the time). And, we would be able to verify
those things that might have become confused during the session.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">When Jenny finally said, “Ready,” Tom began
to ask his questions, quietly, directing her back to her nightmares. He tried
to be careful, letting her know what he was after without suggesting to her
exactly what she was to say. It was a difficult game because, later, we didn’t
want to be accused of leading the witness as so often happens. Under hypnosis
it is extremely easy to lead the person to a specific point without saying much
to them about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">First Session</span></span></b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Finally, after ten minutes of careful
prodding, Jenny said, “I see the light. Bright light. Light all around me.
Around the bed, coming from the ceiling.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“You mean the ceiling lights were turned
on?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“No. Just lights from the ceiling but not
the ceiling lights. I don’t know why they don’t wake Brian up. He’s still
snoring away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Are the lights colored?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Just bright. Maybe blue. A slight tinge of
blue, but bright. They hurt my eyes. Brian won’t wake up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Is he still snoring?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“No. He stopped but his eyes are closed. He
doesn’t move. He’s quiet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“What are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m not doing anything. I’m lying on my
back looking at the lights. I don’t want to look lower.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Something is there. I don’t want to see it
but I know it is there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“What’s there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Shapes in the lights. Dark shapes. Human
shapes. I can’t see anything about them because the lights are so bright in my
eyes. They’re not standing in the light. They’re just beyond it. Outside of it.
In the dark.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Are they people?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I don’t know. I can’t tell.” Her voice,
which had been strong, though quiet, had changed subtly. There was a quaver in
it now that hadn’t been there. She was frightened, but not badly frightened.
She was just looking at shapes that might have been people.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“What are they doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">I didn’t like that question because it
implied that the people were doing something though Jenny hadn’t said anything
like that. They were just shapes outside the light. Maybe they weren’t doing
anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“They want me to come with them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“How do you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“They’re waving to me. Beckoning to me.
They want me to join them but I don’t want to go. I want Brian to chase them
away. I want him to do something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Where is Brian?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Right there,” she said, annoyed, as if it
was obvious to anyone. “He’s sleeping right there. I don’t understand why he
won’t wake up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Is he injured?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“No. He’s asleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom fell silent. Later he told me he wasn’t
sure what to ask because he was worried about contamination of the witness. He
just sat there, quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Jenny said, “I don’t want to go with them
but they are insistent.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“How do you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I can tell. They want me to go with them,
but I don’t want to leave Brian.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Where do they want you to go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“With them. Through the light.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Again Tom fell silent and waited. Finally
she said, “I sat up and swung my legs out of bed. I don’t know why I’m doing
this. I just want to stay right where I am. If I go with them, I won’t see
Brian again... No, that’s not right. I’ll see him but I won’t be with him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">At the time this made no sense to me. How
could she see him and not be with him? I didn’t understand what she was talking
about then, but I know now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Her voice dropped and then rose. She said,
“I don’t want to go.” And then she shouted, “You can’t make me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She was quiet again and then said, “I’m
standing by the bed. I feel an incredible sadness. I feel like my life is over
and if I pass through the light, I won’t be able to come home. I won’t be able
to return.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom reached out and touched her hand and said,
“But this is just a dream. You have nothing to fear from it. All you have to do
is wake up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“No,” she said. “This isn’t a dream. I know
it isn’t a dream. This is real.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom shot a glance at me, almost as if
asking permission to make a few comments. We had talked about this and I had
wanted our discussion with Jenny kept to a minimum. We just didn’t want to tell
her which direction to take or what we wanted from her. We wanted her
impressions without commentary, but she was becoming agitated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Looking back on it now, I’m a little
surprised that I didn’t anticipate this. I had been involved in several
abduction investigations and I knew that the subjects often become frightened
at some point. I just hadn’t anticipated the fear that suddenly enveloped Jenny.
She was struggling on the couch, almost as if she was fighting against some
unseen, invisible restraint. She was sweating heavily and the color of her face
changed from a pale gray to a crimson. Her breathing was heavy, deep, as if she
had run a long distance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Without comment from me, Tom said, “You
know you got out of this in good shape. Nothing happened to you. Brian is still
here. You don’t have anything to fear.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I do if I go into the light. If I go into
the light, I know I won’t come back.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">To me, the place she had to go was into the
light. From a psychological point of view, this was the thing that had to be
done. Once she entered the light, and we brought her out of the trance, the
fear she felt would evaporate. There was something about that light that
frightened her and once she knew what it was, the reason to fear it would be
gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">It also struck me that this was just too
simple. I had talked to Jenny many times over several weeks, and I knew that
her fear was real. I couldn’t believe that we would show up and in the matter
of an hour or so, have the answer. Force her into the light and the nightmares
should end.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Without prompting, she said, “I don’t what
to go, but I have to. They’re making me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“How,” asked Tom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I don’t know. They just are forcing me
forward. I want to scream. I think I am screaming, but Brian doesn’t hear. He
just lays there. Why won’t he help me? Brian! Help me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Tom said, “Brian is right there. You don’t
have to be frightened.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“No,” she hissed. “He’s not right there. He’s
in bed and he won’t help me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Where are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I’m at the edge of the light and hands are
reaching out to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Edge of the light,” repeated Tom. “I don’t
understand what you mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“One of the hands touched me. It’s a human
hand. A regular hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Her voice had changed. Suddenly it had
fallen back to a normal tone. There was no fear in it. She sounded relaxed. She
sounded calm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“I understand why I must go now,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Why?” asked Tom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Because I died.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p> </p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-65563002320039771112020-12-19T12:34:00.001-08:002020-12-19T17:02:09.817-08:00Vampyr?<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #04ff00;"> (<b>Note:</b> This is the first chapter of Vampry? Click on the book cover on the right for a direct link to Amazon. If you enjoyed this, and you like the book... please add a rating. If you enjoyed this, let me know in the comments, and I can add additional chapters. It's all about entertainment in the world today. Please enjoy this preview.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Algerian; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;">Chapter One</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The legend of the vampire had always
fascinated Brian Lassiter. From the moment he'd first learned of it in the
Saturday afternoon movies, he'd searched for everything he could find about it,
quickly exhausting the books in the library so that he had to special order
additional volumes from occult bookstores, specialty shops and eventually
Internet websites. And, in an age of high-speed computers with humans walking
on the moon, there wasn't much room in the world for old fashioned vampires,
their supernatural existence, or their ancient legends. No one believed in such
things anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Not that Lassiter cared what the modern
world said or did. He sometimes lost himself in the past, reading of Civil War
exploits, cavalry charges into hostile camps, and tales of knights and battles
and the horror of the medieval world. Lassiter's boss, Robert Mulvaney, used
that love against him often, assigning him the stories that had little appeal
to the reporters who saw themselves as latest Woodward and Bernstein or as the
new Diane Sawyer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">So, Lassiter sat in his chair and looked at
the latest assignment sheet trying to read something into it. Mulvaney had
tossed it into the blizzard of paper that had drifted across his desk piling up
against the side of the computer. Lassiter had rocked back in the old, wooden
chair that squeaked in protest, and then held up the paper as if trying to
decipher some secret code written on it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"A four-day old murder?" he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Fits right into your scheme of
things," said Mulvaney, rubbing a hand across his balding head where the
sweat glistened in spite of the air conditioning and the overcast day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"My scheme of things?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"It's a little weird," said
Mulvaney. "The body was drained of blood." He then laughed, trying to
sound like Bela Lugosi as the first of the young women had agreed to stay the
night because the bridge was out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Christ," said Lassiter. "I
do a single feature on Halloween and for the rest of my life I'm tapped as the
resident expert on everything from vampires to flying saucers."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Mulvaney pushed a stack of paper to the
side and parked a hip on the corner of the desk so that he was looking down on
Lassiter. "Just look into it. With all the wackos running around out
there, you don't know what this could turn into. Maybe a nice serial killer to
boost circulation."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter shook his head. "Anything to
boost circulation."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Reality, pal. CNN clobbered everyone
on the Gulf War so long ago. Twenty-four hours a day, there was CNN, ready to
tell you that missiles were falling in Israel and Riyadh. By the time we could
hit the street, everyone already knew what had happened. Hell, the one thing we
used to have going for us...the detailed, in-depth report, was gone. CNN had
already talked to all the experts, thrown up the graphics and told the world
what the results were. And now there is MSNBC, FOX news, and specialty channels
that can cover everything. We’re being beat into the ground."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"But a serial killer?" said
Lassiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Not a major one like Bundy or that
Green River guy. Someone who would be of local interest with no national
attention." The tone of Mulvaney's voice changed so that suddenly he
sounded like a priest praying. "One body found under mysterious
circumstances. Maybe it's only one killing... but who can tell? Then a second
and a third. The police are baffled. The local TV devotes a minute, minute and
a half to the latest victim, but we can take it further. Everyone wants to know
why those people were killed. Is there a link? Does the killer go after young
blondes, or maybe yuppies? Yeah. A yuppie killer. The body count rises. There's
panic in the streets. People stay home, barricaded in their houses, venturing
out only to buy groceries and the latest newspaper because the TV just doesn’t
have the depth."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter had to laugh. "Yeah. Let's
create a horror like that so that we can sell papers and see a dozen satellite
vans parked outside."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Mulvaney took a deep breath and then
pointed at the sheet in Lassiter's hand. "Just check it out."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Now?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You working on something that I don't
know about?" asked Mulvaney.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No. It's just getting late in the
day."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"The news never waits and never
sleeps. Cable proves that every day."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter stood up and pulled his suit
jacket from the back of his chair. He batted at his rolled-up sleeves and then
decided that it was too hot to worry about them. He walked across the carpeted
expanse of the city room, glancing to the right so that he could look out the
bank of windows. Rain had speckled the glass and was just beginning to drip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter walked down the steps and stopped
at the glass door of the lobby. The street was already rain slick and it was
beginning to rain harder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">He glanced at the paper in his hand again.
Linda Walston had been found dead. Police had been called. No one seemed to
know much about the case. Just one woman dead, in her home, possibly by
violence. Mulvaney didn’t even know if she had been killed. Maybe she had a
heart attack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter shook his head and wished that the
newspaper provided a covered parking lot like the one for those who worked in
the telemarketing firm across the street. There was something wrong when
telephone solicitors had better parking places than the guardians of the
republic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Doesn't look like it's going to let
up soon," said a voice behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter turned and saw Sarah Brandon. She
was a tall, thin woman who had been out of college for just over two years.
She'd started as the entertainment editor but had moved up quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No," said Lassiter. He waved the
paper with Walston's name and added. "I've got an assignment."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"If you've got to get your car anyway,
how about giving me a lift?" Grinning, she added, "Pull up in front
here and I'll run out."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Why don't you get your car?"
asked Lassiter. "Then I can run out."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Because, we've moved beyond the days
of women's liberation. I have my job and equal pay. Now I want someone to be
nice to me. I want someone to get my car in the rain for me."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter laughed. "Or we both could
wait right here until the rain stops."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You're not in a hurry?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Not that much of a hurry. I have a four-day
old murder. If I run out in the rain, it won't make any difference. She's still
going to be dead."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That's pretty hardcore,
Lassiter," said Brandon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter shrugged and then turned his attention
back outside. The rain was falling in sheets creating a gray that made it
impossible to now see across the street. At the corner was a flash of red as
the traffic signal continued to cycle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon moved up so that she could see out
the window. She wiped the fog from the inside of it. "Doesn't look like
it's slowing at all."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter was suddenly aware of her as a
woman. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and examined her profile. He
realized that she was better looking than he'd thought. When he'd first met
her, a year earlier, he'd been more impressed with her intelligence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I've got to hurry," she said.
She turned to look at him as if she could convince him to run to her car.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Nope," said Lassiter. "I'm
not going out there. It's just too damn wet."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">There was a flash of lightning and the
lights flickered, went out, and then came back on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Maybe I can wait too," she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'll spring for the Coke, if you'd
like one."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">But even as he spoke he could see that the
rain was beginning to slacken. The building across the street was visible
again, the lights behind the windows casting a pale, yellow glow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I think it's beginning to stop."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Yeah," said Lassiter shrugging.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'm going to try it," she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You'll still get drenched."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You want a ride?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Sure. To the police station."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'll be right back but I'm not going
to wait long. You'd better be ready."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'll be right here."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter stopped just inside the door of
the police station, letting the air conditioning hit him like a solid force. It
had been so hot and humid outside, with a steady rain that darkened the sky
that it was almost pleasant to just stand inside where the humidity couldn't
get at him. He rubbed a hand through his rain slick hair and then opened the
second set of double doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">He stepped into a tiled corridor that
looked as if it had been taken under siege. The walls had once been painted a
soft green but were now scarred and broken. The floor was littered with
cigarette butts and spit and unidentifiable material. There were old wooden
benches bolted to the floor with people sitting on them. A young woman in a
short skirt and tight blouse had her hands cuffed behind her. She had pretty
legs, but her hair and face looked as if they belonged to an older woman. As he
passed her, she stared up at him as if daring him to say something to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">An overweight man stood near a bulletin
board that held administrative announcements and informational circulars. He
was studying them intensely but Lassiter noticed that one hand was cuffed to a
black man who sat on another bench, his left hand cuffed to the arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter stepped to the window at the far
end of the corridor, feeling like he was walking through a rogue's gallery. He
was fascinated by the people there, waiting for the arresting officers, but he
didn't want to talk to them. They were more like the exhibits in a museum than
people waiting to see what direction their lives were about to take.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Beyond the window, the contrast was
difficult to believe. It was brightly lighted, the walls looked freshly
painted. The floor was carpeted and there was an arrangement of desks, each
looking as if it, the papers, files, pens and in-out boxes, had been
straightened by someone with a compulsion for neatness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">A sergeant in a pressed blue uniform, the
buttons and badges gleaming, looked up at Lassiter, studied him for a moment
and then grinned broadly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I wondered how long it would be
before the vampire hunter arrived."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I write one story on Halloween and
for the rest of my life I'm the vampire hunter."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The sergeant closed the file folder,
glanced at the computer screen, and then said, "What can I do for
you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Who's on the Walston case?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The sergeant laughed. "Now why aren't
I surprised?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Because you have no
imagination," said Lassiter without smiling. He leaned on the sill of the
window cut through the wall that separated the desk sergeant from all those who
were waiting processing by their arresting officers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That's not the way to gain my
cooperation," said the sergeant. He glanced at the computer screen set on
the left side of his desk and said, "Looks like Foley's caught it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"He around?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">There was a buzz at the door to his right
and Lassiter grabbed at the knob, opening it. He pushed on through and then
stopped by the counter where a couple of police women were working.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The desk sergeant, a pencil in his hand,
said, "Foley's in the detective room."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Thanks."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter walked to the closest door, opened
it when another buzzer sounded, and stepped through into the detective office.
It was brightly lighted and filled with metal and wooden desks. There were no
windows, and there was a metal cage in the far corner. Half a dozen detectives
sat at the desks and none of them looked up as Lassiter entered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Foley was the red-haired man sitting with
his back to the door. He wore a white shirt, suspenders and a shoulder holster
that held a snub-nosed revolver while everyone else on the police force carried
a Glock. He had a file folder in front of him and a series of glossy prints
spread out on the top of his desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That the victim?" asked
Lassiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Foley turned, glanced up and then casually
gathered up the pictures, turning them over. "The ghoul has finally
arrived."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"What the hell is it with you guys
around here?" asked Lassiter, pulling a chair over from the closest desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Well, we read newspapers and I
figured that you'd be here a lot sooner than this."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"What do you have?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I've got a young girl killed. Cause
of death? One of four different things. Suspects? None. Motive? None. Now,
where do you want to go with it?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter was quiet for a moment and then
said, "I'm just trying to do my job."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Right," said Foley. He sifted
through the photos, found one and handed it to Lassiter. "That was how she
looked when we found her."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The woman in the photo was nude, lying on
her side, one arm flung up, over her head, partially hiding her face. Her skin
was unnaturally pale and Lassiter wondered if that was the result of the flash
on the camera.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No reason for it," said Foley
quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Who found her?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Kids playing in the woods."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter handed the picture to him. In the
back of his mind, he wondered if it might be the first victim of a new serial
killer just as his boss had wanted. He wondered if it had been a boyfriend who
had killed her in anger. Or maybe it was a rapist who decided that he didn't
want the victim to be able to give the police a description.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No leads?" asked Lassiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You people with the press," said
Foley. "It's so easy to sit there and say that we should be doing more to
find the killer but you never have a suggestion on how to do it. There was no
physical evidence at the crime scene with the exception of a single thread
caught on the thorn bush that might have been there for weeks and have nothing
to do with this case."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Hey," said Lassiter, holding his
hands up as if in surrender. "I'm on your side here. I'm just asking
questions."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Maybe you should go try to answer a
few." He stopped and said, "Sorry. This one gets to me. She was
nineteen and had just moved into an apartment with a couple of other friends.
They were saving money for the fall semester. Just useless. No reason for
it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Lassiter thought of all the clichés. Cops
weren't supposed to get involved. They were to be cold and composed and
analytical, searching through mounds of evidence until they had learned
everything they could and then assemble a comprehensive picture of the crime.
They were not supposed to get angry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Foley seemed to shake himself like a dog
just out of the stream. "Now, what can I do for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"The victim's name was Linda Walston?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Right. Been dead about three days
when we found her. Kept the crime scene and the fact we had a body quiet so
that we could process the area without two hundred amateurs trampling the
evidence under foot."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"And you have nothing?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Nothing at all. I've got a dead woman
who was killed somewhere else and dumped here..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Why somewhere else?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"There was virtually no blood in the
body. That, by the way, could also be a cause of death. There was no blood
where we found the body."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">For just a moment Lassiter thought about
vampires, but that was the stuff of movies and fantasy novels. There were
hundreds of cases where the victims had been drained of blood and all had
mundane explanations. And more than a few where it seemed that the bodies had
been drained but that was the reaction of the body to death.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Foley was holding a picture of the victim
that her parents had supplied. It showed a pretty blonde who looked as if she
might have been twelve or thirteen. Foley was shaking his head slowly.
"Just doesn't make sense." He glanced at Lassiter. "No sign of a
sexual assault."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"But she was nude."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Yeah but the nuts know that clothing
retains microscopic evidence. They take the clothes to keep us from getting
anything to work with. Too many criminals watching too much television giving
away too many of our methods."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"What do you think?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That the world is getting to be a
lousy place," said Foley. "There was no reason for this."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Sitting in the car, and looking at herself
in the rearview mirror, Sarah Brandon decided that she should have waited for
the rain to stop before venturing into the parking lot. A man could get soaked,
let the air dry his clothes and hair, and not look all that bad. A woman just
couldn't do it. Her hair hung down in strings and it would take a comb and a
hair dryer to repair the damage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Fuck it," she said and pushed
open the door with her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She walked around to the curb, looked at
the house number and then at the paper she held. It was a small frame house
that was nearly buried under the vines, bushes, trees, and flowers growing
around it. The lawn was small and patchy, not doing well in all the shade cast
by the larger plants and trees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">She walked to the front gate, pushed it
open, and then walked on up to the front door. There was nothing remarkable
about it. An average door on an average house. When she pushed the doorbell,
she half expected to hear the five notes that had become synonymous with alien
spacecraft thanks to Steven Spielberg. Instead, she got an ordinary ding dong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">And the woman who answered the door wasn't
what she expected. She was a tall woman with black hair and small glasses. In a
pleasant voice, she asked, "May I help you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Mrs. Rosen?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Yes."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You reported seeing a flying
saucer?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"An unidentified flying object,"
Rosen corrected. "Yes, I reported seeing one."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"My name's Sarah Brandon. I'm with the
Gazette."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Oh. Won't you come in?" Rosen
stepped back, out of the way. She pointed at a room to the right. "Have a
seat."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Thank you." Brandon sat down and
pulled her notebook out of her purse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Would you like something to
drink?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No. Thank you." Brandon opened
her notebook and asked, "Your full name?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Judy Rosen... I know, but then, it's
my married name."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon smiled weakly. "Normally we
don't chase down reports of flying saucers."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"UFOs."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Whatever. But you said that you'd
seen the... creatures that were inside it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Yes. I did say that."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That's the first time I've heard
anything like that from around here."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Now Rosen smiled weakly. "There are
hundreds of reports like this but the media isn't interested so they never get
any publicity."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"So you're blaming us," said
Brandon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No," said Rosen. "No."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon lifted a hand and pushed her wet
hair away from her forehead. "Why don't you tell me what you saw?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You really want to know? You don't
look as if you care one way or the other. I don't think you believe me."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon put the cap on her pen and sat back
in the chair. She studied the other woman for a moment and then said, "You
have to admit it is a fantastic story. Creatures from another planet landing
out here, where only you could see them. Why not at the United Nations? Or the
White House?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I don't know why I thought anyone
would want to hear this story. Maybe after all the fuss over that Russian report
of creatures a couple of years ago..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That was from an official
agency," said Brandon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Oh," said Rosen. "The
hundreds of reports by sober Americans don't count, but the reports from a
single Russian newspaper have credibility."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"It was an official report. There has
been nothing like it here."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"There has," said Rosen,
"but you in the media have just overlooked it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I don't remember anything like
that."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"No? In 1964 a police officer in New
Mexico saw a landed craft and two beings. He watched it take off and there were
burned marks left on the ground when it was gone. The Air Force labeled it as
an unidentified case, but our media isn't interested. Don't want to risk personal
credibility on a flying saucer story."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I don't want to debate the reality of
this," said Brandon. "I came to hear about what you saw."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Rosen stood up and walked to the window.
Without looking at Brandon, she said, "I didn't see much. A small craft
and one creature. Short, skinny. It looked in my direction and then ran into
the ship. A moment later it took off. Straight up. It was gone in
seconds."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Not much there."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"What did you expect?" asked
Rosen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Was there anyone with you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Rosen shook her head. "I was
alone."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That seems to be the way it always
is. A single witness. No way to verify the report."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Turning, Rosen said, "You don't
believe me."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'm sorry but you have to admit that
it is a fantastic story. Never any proof. These things are never seen on radar.
No pictures. Nothing on the ground."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Rosen laughed. "So the government would
like you to believe. But they are seen on radar."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"You have no proof," repeated
Brandon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"That I saw something? No. I have no
proof."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon turned slightly and noticed the
floor to ceiling bookcases. There were a number of books about flying saucers
on the shelves. She suddenly understood exactly what she had found. A woman
alone who had invented the tale of a flying saucer so that someone would visit
her. It was sad when the only hope someone had for companionship was to invent
a story of alien visitors. Very sad. Brandon closed her notebook.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Why is it that you press people
refuse to believe the truth? Thousands of sober, rational American citizens
have reported UFOs."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"But no one ever has any proof. No one
has a piece of metal that can be analyzed."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"So’ you're not going to write
anything?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Brandon stood up, deciding that she'd
wasted enough time. There were important stories to find and write. Not more
nonsense about UFOs and alien visitors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"It was very nice to meet you,"
she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"But you're not going to write
anything about it," repeated Rosen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"I'll write it but that doesn't mean
that it'll get in the paper," she lied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Rosen moved toward the door. "I want
you to know that something is about to happen. You'll soon believe everything
that I had to say and you'll be sorry that you wouldn't listen. You'll
see."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Thank you for your time," said
Brandon. "If you see anything else, please try to call so that we can see
it too. Maybe we can get pictures."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Classic," said Rosen.
"You're too sophisticated to believe in UFOs, just like the church was too
sophisticated to believe that the moons were orbiting Jupiter. Don't tell me
the truth because I already know what it is."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Well, thank you anyway," said
Brandon. She moved to the door, opened it, and saw that it was raining again.
Not as hard as it had been, but hard enough to soak her before she could get to
the car.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">"Terrific," she said.
"Absolutely terrific."<o:p></o:p></span></p>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-63331191089260647032014-01-05T08:42:00.000-08:002014-01-05T08:42:16.750-08:00Unsealed Alien Files... Seriously?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(<b><i>Blogger’s
Note:</i></b> Yes, I know that UFO stuff is not science fiction, but I also
know that when I provided programs on the Roswell UFO case, the room was
packed. Hardcore science fiction fans are interested in UFOs and there is a
proliferation of UFO programing on cable television. I hope to provide some
perspective about that in this arena.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">While
searching for something interesting to watch, I stumbled across a program
called <i>Unsealed: Alien Files</i> and my
only comment is, “Seriously?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">This
is one of the reasons that we have trouble getting science and journalism to
take UFO reports seriously. It is one of the reasons that so many people have
so little time for UFOs or who believe those seeing UFOs are deluded. This
program, in the guise of a documentary, was filled with every half-baked idea,
every conspiracy theory associated with UFOs, and every lousy piece of evidence
available. It was horrendous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">What
surprised me was that some very respectable people… Nick Pope and John
Greenwald to name but two… were on it. In fact, the program that featured Pope
and the UK’s investigation of UFOs made some sense and provided some
interesting evidence. It was clear from that program that a serious UFO
investigation had been conducted by England’s Ministry of Defence and that UFO
information had been hidden in classified files by the authorities there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But
in another episode (they showed four in a row but luckily I was only exposed to
two and a half) explained how Dwight Eisenhower, while president, had met with
alien creatures.* It suggested that most of the alien races were up to no good
but that one seemed to be aiding the human race. We were told that the Reptoids
have a shape-shifting capability which means they can appear to be human, and
that the greys have a treaty with the US to allow for animal mutilations and
human abduction… Oh, and I don’t want to forget the big gunfight in the hidden
base at Dulce, New Mexico in which dozens of US service members were killed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">All
this told as if it were proven fact. They even had some in the form of a newspaper
article about an underground complex found in the middle of Los Angeles. We
know it was a newspaper article because it said, right on the screen, “actual
newspaper article.” Of course it didn’t provide a date for the article or the
newspaper, but we saw it anyway with no way to check.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">We
learned that UFO researchers believe this or that, but the UFO researchers are
never identified. We learn, for example, that if what researchers believe about
human history is true, then there is evidence for this alien infestation. Of
course, we’re not sure exactly who those UFO researchers are or what those
things about human history are and we know that if the first part of the
statement is false, then so is the conclusion based on it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">There
really isn’t much to say about this series. It is based on paranoia, the lies
of some people who claim intimate knowledge of these clandestine events, and
every rumor that has ever been spread inside the UFO community. This is the
sort of thing that I have fought for a long time. People claiming military
records and credentials who don’t have them, stories that can be checked
through documentation such as the Foo Fighter incident centered around the USS
New York that don’t check out, and the other nonsense that circulates through
the Internet. If we are ever going to learn the truth here, we must clear away
the nonsense around us. <i>Unsealed: Alien
Files</i> just piles it deeper and deeper and makes the job harder and harder.
We really don’t need this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">*To
support this Eisenhower visit they used a picture taken by Ella Louise Fortune
near Holloman Air Force Base in October 1957. They claimed that Eisenhower met
the aliens there for the second time in October 1957 but those paying close
attention realized that the UFO expert talking about this event was talking
about something that took place in 1964, or long after Eisenhower left office.
Clearly the documentary producers were attempting to link the Fortune picture
with the Holloman UFO landing, but the dates simply don’t track for those of us
who have been around longer than ten minutes. This just gives an additional
insight into the quality of the program… Oh, and I believe the Fortune picture
is actually of a lenticular cloud…but that is a discussion for another time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(Note:
I hesitate to mention this, but <i>Unsealed:
Alien Files</i> can be found on the Destination America channel on Thursday
nights. I thought some might like to see how bad a UFO documentary can be but
tune in sparingly because we don’t want to encourage them.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-76772857402280850222013-11-19T08:29:00.001-08:002013-11-19T08:29:42.940-08:00Ender's Game - A Review<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For
the first time in a decade, I went to a theater to see a movie. I have waited a
long time for <i>Ender’s Game</i> and didn’t
want to wait for HBO or the DVD. I was mildly disappointed which I’ll explain
in a minute. I will say that the special effects are spectacular, I thought the
acting was just fine, and there was hardly a wasted scene, though I don’t know
why we saw the shuttle launch twice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I
understood that they couldn’t begin as did the book with Ender as a little kid,
too young really, for battle school but who is seen as the last of the possible
saviors of Earth. I didn’t mind that Ender was a young teenager (meaning that
he wasn’t 18 or 19 but about 14). And I was a little annoyed that it took them
nearly ten minutes to get him to battle school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s
where I think they partially slipped off the tracks. One of my favorite parts
of the novel was what happened in battle school. You get some interesting
interaction with the other students, you saw the isolation of Ender, and you
began to understand his philosophy of not only winning the current battle, but
winning those that might follow by destroying his enemy. Here, they rushed
through that. You don’t see Petra teaching Ender other than some instruction in
how to use his weapon in the battle room, or Ender teaching the other
launchies, except for a brief scene. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And
you don’t get a feel for the importance of the game they all play. You see,
briefly, a standing of the various “Armies” but you don’t understand that much
of battle school revolves around that. And you don’t see Petra’s rage when
Ender beats her Army badly in one of those “mock” battles. You don’t understand
that the game is important until they change the rules attempting to defeat
Ender by pitting his Army against two in the battle room. And, most important
to me, you don’t understand the significance of the term, “The enemy’s gate is
down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After
just a few of these battles, Ender is sent on to Command School where he meets
Mazer Rackham who defeated the Formics… but in the book, that was the second
invasion and not the first. In the movie, there was no second invasion so that
the Terran (Earthlings to you unenlightened) attack seems to be slightly
misplaced. Rackham had a sort of mythical existence in the book, the hero who
stopped the second invasion. You simply don’t get that feeling here. Rackham is
just another of the teachers for Ender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As
Ender progresses through the Command School, fighting one simulated battle
after another, you don’t get the sense of tension that was built in the novel.
You do see Ender nearly lose a battle… in the movie it seemed that he did, but
in the book, he was able to pull it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But
the biggest failure is for the final battle that will decide if Ender
graduates. You simply do not get the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that
Ender felt when he saw the size of the enemy fleet arrayed against him and this
is the real disappointment for me. He hesitates only momentarily so that when
Bean says, “The enemy’s gate is down,” you don’t feel the sense of relief that
Ender felt when he realized that the task was impossible, but he was going to
try to win anyway. You don’t understand how that one little phrase pushed him
into a battle that seemed impossible to win.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What
all this points to is that the movie was only an hour and fifty-four minutes
long and I wonder if it wouldn’t have better to plan it for two separate movies
because there is a natural break. Take it through battle school, develop the
characters a little more deeply and end after the last battle there, when Ender
quits the school. The final scene would be Valentine telling Ender that he has
to go back. The second movie is, of course command school, where you get some
very compelling scenes in the novel that are missing from the film.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All
that said, I enjoyed the film. I don’t wonder what Orson Scott Card thought
about it, because he had a role in bringing it to the screen. We see, I
suspect, his vision of the battle school, and his vision of the Formics, and
his vision of the final encounter. And an impression vision it is. I said
earlier that it was spectacular and it certainly is. I also understand some of
the limitations of bringing a novel to the screen so understand why some things
were done the way they were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This
is what sometimes happens to me. I point out all the things that I found
disappointing in a film and spend very little time on all the things that are
right. The battle room was spectacular. Seeing the inside of the school, the
uniforms, the classrooms was great. The battle sequences in the command school
were awe inspiring. There wasn’t a dull moment in the film and if there were
some aspects of the book ignored it was only because the novel was so rich as a
source. They simply couldn’t put everything into a film that lasted under two
hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I suppose the best thing
you can say about a movie is that you’d spend money to see it again, and I
certainly will. I also understand why some of those who have read the books
were disappointed in the movie (there really should have been more of Bean and
Petra) but had I not read the books, I would rate this movie much higher. As it
is, I thought it was a very good movie that just missed being a great movie.
Those who have read the books should enter the theater knowing that you cannot
translate the world of that novel to a movie screen because you have to
jettison too many of things that make the book great. Remember that, and you’ll
have a good time</span></span></div>
</span>KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38876871.post-69879523171564301772013-11-12T13:13:00.000-08:002013-11-12T13:13:21.203-08:00The Forever War by Joe Haldeman<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
learned the other day that Joe Haldeman’s <i>The
Forever War</i> was now available as an ebook. Well, I had a paperback copy
that was signed by Joe back in the 1970s so I wasn’t inclined to buy it until I
noticed that he had updated it, or more precisely, had put back in some of the
material that had been edited out when the book was first published. Since I
liked the story that was enough of an incentive for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In
Joe’s new introduction, he told us that he had set the beginning of the story
in the mid-1990s because he thought that would be about the time the last of
the Vietnam Veterans would be leaving the military. Joe, like me, is a Vietnam
Veteran, and I suppose it was something about the mindset that he wanted to
incorporate into the story. Interestingly, he could have set the beginning
around 2005 or later. I retired from a variety of military assignments and
organizations in 2009 and after a fourteen month deployment to Iraq. The last
member of the Iowa National Guard to have served in Vietnam retired in 2011
(and I suspect the Iowa National Guard is glad to be rid of all of us).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
first read the book in the mid-1970s, with the events of the 1990s still twenty
years in the future. At one point in the story, after the return of the main
character, William Mandella to Earth after his first campaign and the vagaries
of time dilation, he talked of events in 2007. It was strange reading these
things as if they were past history, and knowing that Joe’s predictions about
the future had not to come to pass. This is not meant as a criticism, merely a
comment on a first reading of the book long before we reached the 1990s and the
twenty-first century and looking at them now because they are part of the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Of
course, once Mandella and his companion, Marygay Potter reenlist in the Army
because it is all they know, and because Mandella’s physics education was as
relevant as that of Isaac Newton’s would have been in the twentieth century,
they are off on another time travel adventure… time dilation again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Since
the copyright on the stories that make up <i>The
Forever War</i> were published beginning in 1972 (it was a serial that was
eventually put together into a novel) there are probably few surprises for the
reader of today. Mandella, because he survives the various battles he is in,
climbs up the military ladder until he is leading his own strike force which is
what we’d have called a company. There is an interesting disconnect here
because it is clear that Mandella doesn’t care for the military, but because of
his experience and his training (some of it forced into his unconscious mind as
he slumbers in hibernation for three weeks) he is a good commander. He has
found an occupation that he is good at, that his training and experience help
him be good at, and takes him away from the civilian world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Anyway,
<i>The Forever War</i> is a good book that
is still in print (though I wonder if an ebook is actually “in print”) and for
those who haven’t read it, it gives a nice slice of attitudes in the early
1970s. There are a couple of very minor things that seemed clever then but not
so much now, but those are a matter of personal taste and probably a sign of my
age rather than Joe’s creation. Even those who are not into military orientated
science fiction, this should be a fun read because the point is not the
evolution of the military, but the characters who are thrust into what turn out
to be unreasonable circumstances. The characters make it worth the time and all
that other stuff is just the gravy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
KRandlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333125414889883920noreply@blogger.com0