Illini 6

I Will Not Support A Scouting America That Bows to Tyranny

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 28 Feb 2026 16:53:47 +0000

Today I had to let my Scouting friends and our local Council that I will not be registering this year. This is the message I sent them:

It is with profound and deep sadness that I must say that I can no longer support an organization that would allow an authoritarian regime to dictate its policies. In light of the arrangement that Scouting America has entered with the Department of Defense I will not be renewing my registration with the organization. Although the compromises may be seen as slight and the rewards great (I applaud the support of youth on military bases), the fact that an organization primarily dedicated to teach and guide youth to be good citizens and support the democratic process would in any way support an administration that is actively working to attack members of our society for who they are, and to erode the democratic process by attempts to limit and control voting. I greatly fear that this agreement is only a beginning and I am going to have to show my disagreement by withdrawing my support. I sincerely hope and expect that Scouting America will return to the support of all people and helping to expand and strengthen democracy, and when that time comes I will gladly, gleefully and with a full heart fully support the organization that is historically and potentially the best leadership and citizenship training organization in the world.

Happy Holidays!

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Tue, 24 Dec 2024 04:38:00 +0000

I know this has been argued ad nauseam, but for some reason there are things that must be said and said and said again.

NO ONE IS FORBIDDING THE WISHING OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS

CHRISTMAS IS NOT DIMINISHED BY WISHING SOMEONE YOU DON'T KNOW HAPPY HOLIDAYS

CHRISTMAS IS INCLUDED IN THE HOLIDAY PART OF HAPPY HOLIDAYS

If you are a fundamentalist you should know that Jesus was most likely NOT born on 25 December, but when the shepherds were guarding their sheep most likely during lambing in the Spring. Christmas on 25 December is just the day early Christians chose to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.

I LIKE Happy Holidays. It includes people who celebrate different holidays and it includes New Years. I don't mind saying Merry Christmas to those I know celebrate Christmas, but if I don't know someone I will wish them Happy Holidays.

If you insist on wishing people Merry Christmas, and only Merry Christmas without acknowledging other people may be celebrating for an entirely different and valid reason; if you don't recognize Happy Holidays as a perfectly acceptable greeting; and if you get angry when people suggest to other people to use Happy Holidays as a more inclusive way to spread cheer and warmth to their fellow human beings; then you are frankly being Un-Christian.

I wish joy, happiness and good hope to you, your family, all you know, and all you love a Happy Bodhi Day, Happy Kathika Deepam, Happy Pancha Ganapati, Happy Vaikuntha Ekadashi, Happy HumanLight, Happy Salgirah Khushiali, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Yule, Happy Koliada, Happy Wassailing, Happy Yalda, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Ōmisoka, Happy Hogmanay, Chalica, and a very Happy New Year!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE

The Best (or Worst) Laid Plans...

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 12 Dec 2024 23:25:00 +0000

Well, as Jack Benny used to say. We got thrown for a loop last week in my family. My Mom fell and broke her hip. She had it replaced and is in rehab currently. My brothers, nieces, nephews (too bad English doesn't have a collective gender neutral for that level of family), uncle, and dear family friend are taking turns visiting and helping her.

This is partially why I did not post in this blog yesterday (though I've established and intend to continue a weekly post on Wednesday). I don't think anyone is subscribed, and I'd be surprised if anyone has even noticed the pattern, but it is not a good thing to do in the beginning of what I intend and hope is a long and fruitful tradition, and it was a goal of mine in November to write daily and I missed a day this week.

If I had planned better I would have had a post "in the can" and been prepared for not being able to write on Wednesday.

Something else that happened due to my own poor planning was that I forgot to mention that I participated in Movember again this year in November. That is, I grew a mustache (or let my mustache grow) in November to raise awareness of Men's Health Issues, specifically prostate cancer and dementia.

My Father died of pancreatic cancer, but before that, he had prostate cancer (for which he was successfully treated). My Father-In-Law had dementia and broke HIS hip, which ultimately impacted his departure from our company. I find it interesting that the identical purple ribbon is used for both of these conditions.

My Mom also has dementia, so this story turns round and round.

I planned to raise awareness of men's health issues and failed to use the platform already at my disposal in this blog.

No plan survives first contact with the enemy even if that enemy is your own poor planning. I'm going to have to up my game.

What are your plans for the rest of the year? How are you going to adjust them once they are put into action?

December Goals and November Review

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 05 Dec 2024 04:20:00 +0000

Goal, er, well a Try

I'm going to first go over the final review of my November goals.

Produce more than consume

Make 12 attempts to get a short story (there are several possible) and/or “Tabernacle” published by the end of the month
Write or Edit every day (defined as Writing = at least 1 word, Editing = at least 1 correction)
Make creating apps outweigh consumption apps on my phone (more time)
NO YouTube while working

Focus on Health

Exercise daily (defined as anything >10 pushups)
Yoga daily
Get to 1 pullup

Production Results

D- I didn't make any publishing attempts except this blog
A I did that 28/30 days
B With the limits I made I'll give myself a B for the reduction
A maybe about 90-95%

Health

A about 90-95%
B I didn't do as much yoga, but I did start physical training for my shoulder and that was a lot of stretching so I counted that
F I didn't really even work on this

For December I want to build on what I have already, but not reinforce failure. Additionally, a lot of these are habit builders. If I have successfully built a habit I don't need to use is as a goal for future months.

December Goals (in priority order):

Health

Physical Therapy daily (stretch goal: do it twice)
Set up garage exercise stuff (punching bag, drag tires, bag toss, tires for using sledgehammer on)

Volunteer

Support Scouting America

Attend the Northeast Illinois Council (NEIC) Training committee meeting and volunteer for something
Attend the Aptakisic District Committee meeting and volunteer for something
Contact NEIC Council Ops Officer to see what help they need

Attend the Wauconda CERT meeting and volunteer for an event
Switch to Spanish from Dutch on Duolingo and get 15 hours (30 min a day for 30 days)

Produce - Make one publishing submission

Now that I've made them public you will have to hold me to them. I can't use the endorphins of posting them to make me feel like I've already accomplished something.

If there is something you would like to see me do more of, please let me know.

Escape

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 28 Nov 2024 02:32:00 +0000

First I want to say that I learned (or maybe re-learned) a lesson last week. I pre-wrote my blog post on a Google Doc and tried to copy-paste into Blogger. Silly me, I thought since they are both Google properties it would be smooth. It was not. It was mostly because I had bullets and levels of bullets and colors. I think when I write in just text it will be much better.

I have been reading and writing several things this month. I'll start with what and how I'm reading.

For the most part I try to read things I can get from the local library (system). I don't often buy books. I get them by putting them on hold to get the physical books, and I borrow them through two library apps. Through our local library I can borrow things from Libby and Hoopla.

I'm currently listening to Grave Peril, a Dresden Files book by Jim Butcher on Libby; The Two Towers, a Lord of the Rings book by J.R.R. Tolkien, on Hoopla. I'm also reading Casino Royale, a James Bond by Ian Flemming on Hoopla.

I borrowed several of the Discworld audiobooks from the library, and I'm just about finished with Feet of Clay by Sir Terry Pratchett.

I'm trying to read the physical book of Archaeology: Theories, Methods, and Practice by Colin Renfrew and Paul Bahn. I say, trying because it is a textbook and not exactly riveting and light reading.

I am actively working on writing the first draft of two stories. The first has the working title of The Invisible Guild. It's an urban fantasy that is slightly comical and mostly adventurous (along the lines of Dresden Files and The Watch books within the Discworld). The other one is a Science Fiction time travel story tentatively called Joy Righd and GAIL the Time Machine.

You might have noticed that my reading helps fuel my imagination for my writing. Only Archaeology is a non-fiction book and I'm reading that for two reasons mainly: to prepare for the graduate school I'm hoping and planning to attend when I retire, and probably more importantly to convince myself Archaeology and pursuing a PhD in Archaeology are really what I want to do in retirement. This is long-range planning and based on a fierce belief that the world will be in a state that will allow me that path as an option.

How can I be listening/reading so many things at once (for those of you who are asking and not saying, pfft that's not a lot of things at once)? I am consuming them at different times, different ways and different places.

Pratchett is on CD audiobooks and I listen in the only place I still have a CD player, while driving. Tolkien is on Hoopla and because I've read those books before I can listen to them in the background at work or while walking the dog. Butcher is on Libby so I can listen on my phone also while I'm walking the dog or working around the house, but I haven't read that book before so I have to pay attention. Flemming is on my phone or Kindle, but I read that when sitting in the family room in the evenings. I split my time then with Archaeology.

Why am I reading all these things? To fuel my imagination as I said earlier, but there is something more. There is something about reading and writing these types of things: escape.

I'm also listening to J.R.R. Tolkien's essay, On Fairy Stories. That's on YouTube. I'm trying to figure out how to get a print/electronic copy so I can highlight and take notes on it. In this essay he says that we must not confuse escapism as running away. We must think of it as freeing ourselves like a war prisoner or political prisoner frees themselves.

This kind of escapism allows us to recharge ourselves, to be refreshed for future struggles. It also allows us a safe place, like when you are in school, to train and experiment with ideas, methods, policies and beliefs we can use when we return to the real world.

A long time ago I realized Jurassic Park did a lot more to teach Paleontology than almost anything else and JFK changed the national zeitgeist (if only a little). I realized that the common language offered by fiction can become so ingrained in our minds that it becomes indistinguishable from facts. We all know dinosaurs are warm blooded like birds and JFK was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, but he was a patsy. How do we know those things? Because that's what we always thought or knew.

That's powerful stuff. I really do think I can tap into that, I can use it to push our default ideas a little bit in the direction of democracy, humanism, ecological responsibility and that higher technology can help for a start. I'm not going to pretend that my fiction is real (like people eating pets), but just putting it out there in the universe I hope people will start to take for granted these things are good and they are the things we want to try and espouse and/or do.

I recently read Atomic Habits by James Clear. The thing I want to leave you with today is something from that book. You have to decide what person you want to be (determine your identity) and prove it to yourself by doing the things that that person does.

For example, if I decide I'm a healthy person, healthy people go to the gym to exercise so they can be fit and capable outside the gym.

I think that is also true of society. If we decide we are a humanist democracy that respects nature we have to, everyday do the things humanist democracies do.

Our escapist literature can be our gym to learn how and practice democratic things so when we get out in the real world we can put those ideas into practice.

In my writing I want to build that gym/sandbox/escapist world for us all to train our brains and hearts in.

GOALS!

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 21 Nov 2024 00:34:00 +0000

Apparently, the work I've set out to volunteer for is difficult to get started. I've spoken with as many people as I can to get my volunteering moving, and…

I have nothing yet to report.

SO…

I'm going to share my goals for November. A bit late, you're thinking. Maybe it is, but:

I'm in the last ten days and I may, just might be able to reach them if I really try and posting about them sort of puts me on the hot seat, AND
I made them just before November and my birthday sort of put things on their ear if you catch my meaning. I was spun around and dizzy, but I've finally got myself in the right direction.

I feel like my volunteering is important, but these goals, though not necessarily in that exact direction nor are exact fuel to get me going in that direction, are good for the same reason my volunteering is important and I will explain after I share them.

Produce more than consume

Make 12 attempts to get a short story (there are several possible) and/or “Tabernacle” published by the end of the month
Write or Edit every day (defined as Writing = at least 1 word, Editing = at least 1 correction)
Make creating apps outweigh consumption apps on my phone (more time)
NO YouTube while working

Focus on Health

Exercise daily (defined as anything >10 pushups)
Yoga daily
Get to 1 pullup

PRODUCING

I figure producing more than consuming is important to the support of democracy because

I don't want to be a mindless consumer, doom-scroller, a side-line-attendee
I want to produce the kinds of things that

Make people think and think good things about democracy
Make people feel good
I want to see and read
Make me feel empowered in the right direction.

BTW - It's green because green things grow

HEALTH

I figure focusing on my health will

Keep me healthy for the fight
Keep my healthy longer for my children and grandchildren
Make my mind stronger, healthy body, healthy mind/brain for the fight for democracy
Help me feel powerful and empowered

BTW - It's pink for "In the pink of health"

My progress so far:

Produce more than consume

No attempts at publishing yet, but I have been doing this, and publishing my blog, and there is still time
I have been writing every day
I don't know if my creating apps outweigh my consumption apps, but I have downloaded Screen Zen for my phone and Untrap for Youtube. Both help me limit YouTube and a few other apps on my phone
I've been pretty successful with not listening to YouTube while working now that I've installed Untrap for Youtube.

Focus on Health

I am very close to having exercised every day at least more than 10 pushups
Very close to Yoga daily, or a similar activity
Get to 1 pullup - I'm in physical therapy for my shoulder to help me get to this

So you see it is do-able. I could use encouragement because 1.1 is a doozy yet and I could use all the kind words and suggestions I can get.

Thanks all!

Get To Work

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 14 Nov 2024 01:28:00 +0000

Last week's post was, "Wake Up" so naturally this week is about getting to work. If I want us to live in a democracy I need to get to work.

I don't feel like I'm particularly trained or skilled in any particular area, so I have to volunteer to my strengths and inclinations, to my, let's call them enthusiasms.

As much as taking a baseball bat to my frustrations sounds cathartic, it is really not the way.

So what are my enthusiasms, what draws my admiration, what gives me joy?

Scouting

Camping, ceremony, preparedness, ecology, democracy the live long day, Baden Powell, James West, William D. Boyce, and so forth.

One of the first things Hitler did when he came to power was outlaw the Scouts of Germany. Several of the members of the White Rose belonged to underground, illegal Scout troops. There were underground, illegal Scout organizations behind the Iron Curtain in Poland. I firmly believe if ANY of the boys on the island had been scouts the Lord of the Flies would never have happened.

I had become slightly disillusioned with the Boy Scouts of America (soon to be renamed Scouting America) because of the way the organization had gone about making changes. I don't necessarily disagree with the changes, more the way they were handled.

Fundamentally, though, scouting is still the same. You can't go wrong with the Scout Law.

A scout is:

Trustworthy

Loyal

Helpful

Friendly

Courteous

Kind

Obedient

Cheerful

Thrifty

Brave

Clean and

Reverant

So I re-volunteered with my local Scouting America council (Northeast Illinois Council).

I've also been very interested, fascinated, and concerned about the indigenous people of the Americas. I have a BA in Anthropology because I wanted to be as educated about these people as I could be. I feel very embarrassed to find out only recently how many Native Americans live in and around Chicago and how many organizations they have in the area.

On top of that, November is National Native American Heritage Month.

I also volunteered with the American Indian Center of Chicago.

I hope they can find some way for me to be able to help them.

I think the first way is to try to help get the word out about the Native American organizations in our area. If anyone reads this that didn't know anything about these then I hope that I helped even a tiny bit. I'll post some links below.

I do love writing fiction, but I don't have the skills at this point to write things like Animal Farm, or 1984, or Fahrenheit 451. Maybe someday, and when I can I will do that also.

Here are some links to Native organizations in the Chicago area:

The D’Arcy McNickle Center for American Indian and Indigenous Studies at The Newberry Library

American Indian Center of Chicago

The Chicago American Indian Community Collaborative

Mitchell Museum of the American Indian

Chicago Title VI American Indian Education Program

American Indian Association of Illinois

WAKE UP!

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 07 Nov 2024 00:15:00 +0000

Yesterday was a clarion call for democracy, LGBTQ+ support, immigration reform, refugee support, clean energy support, environmental support, and anti-racism (including indigenous peoples support).

Yesterday I did a very small part by voting. Today I’m going to do another very small part with this blog that no one reads, I’m going to change the logo.

A while ago, I found out about a movement to adopt the female belted kingfisher as the mascot for the University of Illinois (my and Mrs. Prop’s alma mater). At that time I found a logo made by mickgee2k14 (the artist said I can use it if I attribute it) on reddit that harkens back to the old chief logo, but for the new mascot.

In case you didn’t know, the old mascot of the University of Illinois Fighting Illini was Chief Illiniwek. The NCAA required UofI to remove that mascot in 2007 and it's about damn time I do it too.

I'm going to clean this old blog up and try to include support for those issues I mentioned above, because we need to work harder than ever and I'm making a commitment today.

I also feel that fiction can explore possibilities and good or bad, I can't help myself and I write. I plan to post more of my fiction while some old stories and posts are going to go away.

I hope I can spark some discussion and raise awareness where and when I can. If not, and this blog continues to be unread, I will be doing other things, as I said this is one very small part.

ILL -

2016 Goal Review

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sun, 01 Jan 2017 05:59:00 +0000

I have only a couple of minutes left. I know no one reads this, but I'm going to post it anyway.

I completely failed at my two goals this year: Enroll in a Master of Education Program, and Get a New Job.

I will tell you why in the next post, but I will be rolling them over into 2017.

I also have some secret goals I'm not sharing publicly. I read that helps keep the pressure on, because you don't feel like you've accomplished something just by sharing the goals.

Wish me luck.

Afghan Rugby Day

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 01 Oct 2016 04:36:00 +0000

Tomorrow is a Rugby day so I thought I'd tell you about my Afghan Rugby experience.

I brought a Rugby ball with me to Afghanistan (or I had it sent to me). I figured any time a Rugby player sees a Rugby ball he (or she) is drawn to it. I know I am. My plan was to inflate it and kick it up into the air from time to time. By popping it up I figured it would clear any tents or buildings and be visible from quite a way off. If any ruggers saw it they would find me and we could maybe figure out how to get a game going.

I tried it, but no one ever came around.

Eventually our staff started doing group PT in the mornings. At first it was basketball mostly. Then I finally convinced them to try Rugby. We would have to play touch, because I didn't want any LOD (Line of Duty) paperwork and have to explain why we were playing a collision sport.

1SG (now SGM) Beck with the
ball, not on the muddy day

We had an open, dirt field and about eight or ten of us played (after I taught them how). They enjoyed it and we played several more times.

One morning we were going to play, but it had rained and the field we were using was a mud pit. I said we should play anyway, and that the mud would just make the landings softer.

What I didn't tell them was I brought my cleats ("boots" for all you ruggers out there) as well as a ball. While they were all slipping and sliding I was running circles around them. Because it was touch I could even do "bullet time" type dodging and weaving and ducking and dodging. No one could catch me, no one could touch me.

I hope it's just like that tomorrow!

Intention, Expectation, and Desire

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Tue, 27 Sep 2016 02:19:00 +0000

When I write I consider three things always, whether I INTEND for the piece to be read by others, whether I EXPECT it to be read by others and if I DESIRE for it to be read by others.

I've been making a concerted effort this last half of the year to write something every day, anything. Because I only count things written as part of stories, not notes, not ideas, not outlines, reminders, or instructions. This does not mean I only count words I write that will be published.

I desire anything I write to be published or at the very least read by many other people. I have removed the expectation that every word I write will actually be in the story, but I do intend for them to be.

Simply removing the expectation frees me to write quickly, often, and at volume. This is my normal mindset for NaNoWriMo novels, I desire these novels to be published, I intend for them to be published, but I don't expect them to be. This is also the mindset I've been using to keep up a daily output.

Previously the only time I tried to have a daily steady output was in the NaNo Novembers. The idea of a first draft being so far removed from publishable that it would necessitate a rewrite seemed completely foreign to me. Now I'm trying to embrace it, or at least tolerate it. One of my most hated writing adages is, "Writing it rewriting" (credit Hemingway or E.B. White, either way, I don't like it). That seems like negative thinking to me. I partially blame the movie Amadeus. Salieri said Mozart never made any erasures. Everything was perfect as it left his pen.

Because I've almost always written on a word processor or computer I never really considered anything a first draft, but more like a work in progress. Now I'm thinking, go from the beginning to the middle and don't stop until the end. Then go back and change things. I'm still reluctant to think that anything is strictly a first draft, not for public consumption, or worse still, something to be written only as practice, a first attempt of countless more, as it were.

It often seems like a waste to remove the intent that anything you write will be read by a wide audience (or has the potential to). Why write anything you don't intend to share? This is strongly my inclination, but I've recently figured out this is not universally felt. I've long known there are things people write for a single consumer (like a lover, or themselves) with no expectation or intention of them being read by anyone else. Journals and love letters are like this. I'm not really talking about that.

Besides, in the back of my mind I do always expect someone will someday get ahold of anything and everything I write and whether I like it or not, they will read it. It might be a self-destructive feeling because it makes me write while looking over my shoulder, which is not something you want to do when you are journaling, using writing as meditation, or writing something that will be a first draft only.

That and I'm sort of paranoid anything I write could someday be subpoenaed.

The rarest thing I write is something I don't expect to be read, I don't intend to be read and I don't desire to be read.

Can you guess what sorts of things those could be?

Do you have anything you write with none of the above?

Write me a comment and let us know.

Young Mad Scientists in Love: "The New Team" - Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Mon, 19 Sep 2016 00:10:00 +0000

Part 3 – Not for Love, But Maybe for Money

Doctor Braun Verne was a good looking man and he knew it. He had a debonair about him, a flash, a swagger that just drew women (those who liked men), and men (those who liked men) alike.

Three women stood around as he lay under another woman’s car. The owner stood next to the car worrying her fingers while the other three stood back far enough to get the view they wanted.

"What's he doing?" Gladys, a full figured accountant asked Eloise, the woman whose car was being possibly upgraded.

"Who cares?" Marge, a woman in a power pant-suit said.

The women admired Braun's faded blue jeans and cowboy boots sticking out from under the car. In a fluid movement he pulled himself out and lifted himself up to a standing position. Braun lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lips.

“There Eloise, next time you gas up your tank should be the last time you need to,” he ran a hand through his thick, wild hair. The women unconsciously but audibly sighed.

“I don’t know what it is about him. I mean, I can’t stand smokers,” Gladys whispered to Marge. Braun heard them and siddled up to Gladys. She thought he smelled so good and, "manly.”

“This is no ordinary cigarette. I get my smokes from a friend of mine, Fred Neal. They’re vitamin and pheromone cigarettes.” He exhaled smoke past her ear.

Mary, the youngest and newest admirer leaned toward Eloise, “Isn’t this the janitor?”

Braun leaned toward Mary and flashed one of his thousand watt smiles, “Stationary Engineer actually.”

"What's that accent, French?" Marge asked Gladys.

"German I think."

"Are you Australian, Mr. Engineer?" Marge asked.

"If you'd like," Braun smiled at her and started to walk away.

"What did you do, exactly?" Eloise asked, though Marge gave her a hard nudge for making Braun turn around.

"I can't tell you exactly, and I would certainly never tell you a tall tale about cold fusion." He lifted his sunglasses and winked, then returned them and left.

"Cold fusion?" Eloise muttered. The four women turned and approached the car. It was just the opening Braun was waiting for. He pressed a button on his tool belt and was instantly transported to his basement work room.

"Mr. Verne!" Bob Ellgie was standing by the workbench with a device in his hand when the transportation alcove flashed like a lightning bolt party celebrating new years and roared like a train crashing into another train that was at the same time being crashed into by an airliner.

Braun stepped out of the cloud of steam the alcove had generated, his clothing and hair crusted with frost, "That’s new"

"What is that contraption?" Bob roared. Bob was a large man in height and girth. He had been an NFL offensive lineman before his knee went. He was the hair-trigger tempered regional manager in the office.

"What?"

"That thing with the lights and noise and smoke."

"That's not smoke, it's vapor. I know what you're thinking, is vapor really safer than smoke. I mean, they say it is, but aren't they just trying to sell you something and wouldn't they-"

"What are you talking about?" It really looked like Bob's tie was going to pop right off his neck.

"Oh," Braun suddenly realized what Bob had in his hand when he noticed the big man's squeeze getting tighter on it. "You really don't want to be squeezing that." He stepped forward and gingerly tried to pry it out of Bob’s hand. Their finger war was brief, but it gave Bob enough time to calm down. Once his rage passed Braun was able to get the device loose and slipped it away.

“What was that?”

“What brings you down to my humble work area, Mr Ellgie?”

Bob didn’t know where the device had gone, but he knew enough that if Braun didn’t want him to touch it, it was probably something incredibly dangerous, and Braun would be verbaly as slipery as a greased pig if he tried to ask about it. He let the matter slip and focused on the reason he was down there.

“You’re fired.”

“Wh-, wha-, what?”

It was the first time Bob had ever seen Braun speechless. He savored it a moment and chuckled under his breath. He rarely got the better of Braun with words and had never knocked him on his ass like this. He felt a moment of pity.

“That’s not actually true.” Braun relaxed his shoulders and gathered himself to rise again. Bob realized he had to keep the initiative.

“You are let go, your position has been eliminated. The company has decided to outsource the engineering, maintenance and housekeeping functions. It was all done several levels over my head and is strictly financial in nature.” His rapid fire sentences peppered Braun keeping him from getting to his rhetorical feet.

“Bu-”

“As soon as I found out I called everyone I knew and called in every favor, but it was too late. I’m sorry Braun.” He crossed his arms in finality.

Braun nodded and ran his tongue around his teeth. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"You can't-"

Braun held up a hand, took a long drag and blew out the smoke, "I'm a victim of my own success." He shrugged and looked around the room.

"Upper management does feel that everything is running so smoothly they can hire an outside vendor to keep it at this level for a third the cost of-"

"Of me. I get it." He nodded.

"I am sorry to have you leave. As much as you were a pain in my behind, I can tell that you were the one responsible for lowering operating costs 75%."

"How long do I have?"

"Today will be your last day. You have until close of business to collect your things and leave."

"My things?"

"You will have to leave all company property of course. You can take any personal tools, but you signed an intellectual property clause."

"Meaning anything I designed and built for the company is company property."

"Anything you got a patent for yes. It would technically be the company's patent."

Braun nodded broadly and dragged on his cigarette, "You have no idea what that is?" He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the transportation alcove.

"A steam-"

"And that device you had in your hand; no idea?"

"No."

Braun smiled cautiously. He pulled out his cell phone and called his friend, "Hey Fred, Braun here. About that job offer…"

Braun patted Bob on the upper arm, "I'll be out by lunch. I'll just have to say goodbye to some of the ladies."

"The Case of Reverse Engineering" Part 3: Finale

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 10 Sep 2016 04:54:00 +0000

This is the final installment of my original story, "The Case of Reverse Engineering."

For the previous parts go to PART 1 and PART 2

"The Case of Reverse Engineering"

Finale

"Of course you could see from the photographs that there was something of a misunderstanding between our party and our visitor that led to hard feelings and some careless use of flammables. It is unfortunately how the traveler eventually succumbed."

"How long was the visitor with you?"

"Motile? About a week. Some of the team were upset when it became clear that the visitor was not a lifeless carcass. I suppose it went against some firmly held beliefs. They couldn't reconcile the facts and their beliefs. It was quite unpleasant. But you asked how we survived the series of disasters that befell our camp afterwards and I can sum it up by saying that we kept our heads and maintained a low profile."

I could believe this guy could keep a low profile.

"How was it you ended up with the technology?"

"We were the only physicists left. Of the six we had a meteorologist, a biologist, a pilot and a geologist besides ourselves. It only seemed logical that we take it. We were the most qualified of the scientist who actually saw it while it was working."

"Professor Melitene said it was found. The visitor didn't work with you on it?"

"Did he say it was found? That's odd. Some of us worked with the visitor on the technology, although it was so far beyond our understanding we weren't much more than errand boys fetching things and holding lights and such."

"Did Doctor Blair work on it?"

"Certainly; he was indispensable, God rest his soul." He looked at us carefully. It was such a deep look that it stopped all questioning until he started it again. "You do know he was a pathologist, not an engineer or physicist. He was very keen on the visitor and kept very good notes though. You worked on those notes didn't you, Doctor Gottschalk?"

"Yes. How exactly did you communicate with the alien?"
Allouez smiled more broadly than ever, "You know, you three are quite impressive. No one else in the room, or indeed in the whole time of this experience, has raised the questions you have. Your curiosity is almost overwhelming. I think I'm going to have to share something with you, but first I need to confer with my colleague. Would you please excuse me?"

He didn't give us a chance to accept or refuse. He slipped away and grabbed Melitene by the elbow. They huddled for a few minutes.

"I know it sounds crazy," Gottschalk whispered, "but I just have to tell you two. I think the only way Blair could possibly have written that diary is if he had been possessed. I know that makes no sense at all and possession is impossible-"

"Doyle said, 'first you must eliminate the impossible and whatever you have left, however improbable is the truth.'"

"Regardless. I can't think of any other way to explain it. Almost anything Allouez comes back with will have to be more believable."

He and Melitene ended their conference with cautious smiles and thoughtful nods. Melitene returned to his throng of well-wishers and Allouez returned to us.

"We've come to an agreement. As long as you three commit to absolute secrecy I can tell you exactly how our visitor survived and how we communicated. They are one in the same explanation."

We agreed.

"You have heard of Watson and Crick's description of the DNA molecule?"

We had all read the articles of the recent discovery

"All life on earth is based on reproducible molecules in the nucleus of cells that contains the necessary information for the creation and maintenance of all the cells in the life form. This is universal and the most basic part of life on earth. The alien has a completely different system.

"The alien's cells are completely malleable and subject to control of their shape and properties even after their formation, unlike earth life where the cells are created with a specific purpose and characteristics; and maintain those during their entire life.

"Because the alien can consciously control each and every cell at all times it is able to assume any shape, any characteristic as a whole entity."

"How does it control each cell consciously?"

"Every cell is an individual representative of the whole. Every cell carries a little bit of consciousness."

"Every cell can think?"

"No, but every cell is part of the thinking process. Because any cell can perform any function there are no dedicated nerve cells, no centralized nervous system. The whole body is the nervous system. The whole biomass works in the thinking process. It's a network, like the neural network in your brain, except more extensive, more permeating, more holistic."

He was beginning to lose us.

"It's entirely more flexible. It can adapt as an individual to any situation, given enough time and enough information."

"Evolution on an individual basis?" Gottschalk suggested.

"More than that; because it can adapt over and over again, assuming any characteristics it needs."

"Looking like whatever it wants," Winkle said.

"Yes."

"Like a person?"

"Yes."

"Like you?"

"It could make itself into a copy of me, certainly."

"And it eats to gain mass as well as for energy, right?"

"Yes, very good point. The alien can assume any shape as long as it has enough biomass to assume that shape. It couldn't shape itself into a whale for instance if it is only man-sized to begin with."

"But everything it eats can be converted into these all-purpose cells, right? So conceivably it could eat a whole whale as long as it converts the cells into its own kind of universal erector-set cells as it goes."

"It could."

"Every part of the creature is a whole unto itself and the creature is a network of cells that all communicate, right? I'm not a scientist, but I do like to read a lot. I thought the cells in our brain communicate through electrical impulses and chemical receptors. How do the cells in these creatures communicate? Telepathy?"

Allouez laughed quietly, "Exactly right; you are very astute Miss Kostka, by telepathy."

"Telepathy within an individual creature?"

"Within individuals and between them; all the aliens are networks within themselves and between every other of their kind."

"What about our kind?" Gottschalk asked.

Allouez paused and then answered cautiously, "Yes, on some basic, limited levels."

"An alien could eat another creature and as it's eating convert the food creature directly into something like itself, then it could communicate to the new creature what it was thinking. Wouldn't it be an exact copy of itself then?"

"Yes."

"Or it could make itself into a duplicate of the thing it just ate. For instance, if I were an alien I could eat Doctor Gottschalk, and convert her cells all into alien cells, but when that was done we could communicate telepathically, like we had one brain and decide that her body would continue to look like Doctor Gottschalk and I would continue to look like me, but she wouldn't be Doctor Gottschalk anymore."

"Is that what happened?" Gottschalk took up the questions, "Did the alien convert Blair into one of its own kind?"

Allouez smiled, "That is what we understand happened. It was more than that though, don't you see? The creature doesn't eat the way you are thinking, and it doesn't lose what was Blair to begin with. It takes it up. Blair became so much more than just Blair, but the new Blair was still Blair in some ways."

"The Ship of Theseus paradox?"

"Yes! In the end you have two ships."

"And then two more," I said, "Until there's nothing but ships."

"No, no. It's not like that. The creature wasn't trying to replace the world's population, they thought it was, but that was an assumption Blair made. They thought the creature wanted to replace them all."

"So you killed the thing."

"Not me, but yes. It was paranoia, fear of the unknown."

"Fear of loss of individuality."

"Look, when you eat a cow the cow dies, but when the creature consumes another in this way the other doesn't really die. Don't you think you would appreciate the cow more if you could learn what its life is like and it wouldn't die but join you as a thinking being?"

"But you killed it, the Blair thing and the others as well."

Allouez was quiet.

"You killed every telepathic cell of it; every cell that was a whole unto itself is gone now?"

He said nothing.

"Why was it building that backpack? It wasn't sharing any technology, was it? Why do you want to rebuild it?"

"We don't."

"They want to rebuild the starship," Winkle said. Shit she was right. The backpack was just a small version of what the starship ran on. "You need the financial backing and the minds of the university to rebuild the starship."

"But if the alien isn't all dead why can't it build the ship?" I asked.

"There wasn't enough left, was there?"

"Of course," Gottschalk said, "there were only scattered cells left, not enough to make anything like a sizable brain. Even if every cell can be a brain cell, you need enough of them to really think."

"You would. When we've built the ship the stars will be available to us all."

"We? There is still an alien thing alive, isn't there?"

Allouez smiled again, "'That is not dead than can eternal lie.' You don't need to become one with the visitor, but wouldn't you like to see the stars? If still here wouldn't you want the visitor to be able to return home?"

"How would we know we're not being telepathically manipulated?"

"How can we be sure you don't want to replace everybody?"

"One or both of you is the alien thing, aren't you?" Winkle asked the ultimate question.

"What if all six of us are; what would you do?" He asked, and smiled.

Home Sick and Missed Meetings

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Fri, 02 Sep 2016 16:09:00 +0000

I'm not feeling well today and it reminded me of the one time I was sick when I was deployed to Afghanistan in 2004 - 2005.

The story is, I was sick once and I stayed in bed all day.

That's it, not much there, but I think it may be noteworthy that it only happened once. I think I was sick with a fever.

I did get sick in my stomach once leading to a day of running to the bathroom often, but I still went to work.

Mostly in Afghanistan I worked out of my office which was a tent adjacent to my sleeping tent, so apart from the fact the bathrooms were a hundred yards of so away in another place, it was pretty convenient for being sick.

I did miss one meeting once. I just lost track of time and sat at my desk while the meeting took place three tents away. We had set one tent up to be a conference room. The crazy thing is they could have just come over and gotten me, but I had never missed a meeting before when I was on the base. This was about seven or eight months into the deployment so I had a pretty good track record. They all figured if I were missing the meeting I must have a good reason for it.

There was one other time when I missed a meeting. Well, I didn't miss it exactly, I had to leave early.

We had once a week meetings with the Base Commanders and our 33rd ASG Commander, COL Havey by conference call and shared slides. At work now we use Webex but I don't know what we used then.

We had five bases, Kabul, Bagram Air Field (BAF), Kandahar Air Field (KAF), an Air Base in Uzbekistan and my base, Salerno Forward Operations Base (FOB). My base was the least developed and the most active. We were attacked by rockets many times including our first and last nights. The base in Uzbekistan wasn't even considered in the combat area. They put their weapons in a vault from the time they arrived to the time they left.

We each had to give reports on many things including threat levels and responses. My reports were usually on attacks, responses, bunker emplacement, barrier emplacement and perimeter security.

In one meeting the LTC base Operations commander of the Uzbekistan base reported they were implementing random threat level drills. What this meant was they would go to a threat level each day. One day they might be required to wear their body armor all day. Another they might be required to wear just their helmets all day.

While he was reporting on this we got attacked by rocket fire. I interrupted politely, "Excuse me colonel, I have to be signing off now. We are getting attacked. I'll report back when it's over."

The attack lasted about 45 minutes (if I remember correctly) and there were probably a half dozen rockets launched at us. All the attacks seemed to blend together so I'm not at all sure about that.

At least it got me out of a meeting.

Interview with a Sangendrian

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sun, 28 Aug 2016 16:26:00 +0000

The 2016 modern summer Olympics is over and the concept is truly wonderful: nations gathering to compete in peace and amicability. There is one problem with the Olympics that was recently illustrated to me by a citizen of the country of Sangendria.

Sangendria is a very old and small country nestled in the far north eastern part of the Himalayas. Their country was not arable enough to sustain them so they became great traders, craftsmen and diplomats. They imported raw materials and exported finished goods. Disputes were brought to them and they adjudicated. Treaties were brought to them: and they edited and negotiated. Many trade routes went through their country because of ease of passage as well as splendid way-stops. They were known as far back as Roman times.

They have maintained their traditional culture through to modern times and it includes two peculiar aspects: their religion, a pantheism based on tree veneration, and a completely lacking distinction of genders or sexes.

It is this last aspect of their culture that has kept them out of every modern Olympiad, they can neither compete in the men's events nor the women's.

I recently spoke with Choris by Skype because I had been doing some research about countries that have not or do not participate in the Olympics. I found Sangendria in Wikipedia and then on facebook. Choris is the moderator of the Sangendria facebook page and was delighted to grant me an interview and quotes for this blog.

Choris is a young adult whose long hair is pulled back in a braid and has no facial hair. I couldn't say if Choris was clean shaven or just had no dark hair on the face. There really were no characteristics I could see to indicate any gender role nor physical sex. Choris never indicated a physical sex nor gender role to me.

Me: Thank you for agreeing to this interview. I'm sure there are many people who would be interested in learning about your culture.

Choris: I'm very happy to do it. I'm sure the thing that is most interesting to you is what is most interesting to me about your cultures, the idea of gender roles and sexual categorization. I think we Sangendrians may be unique in this.

Me: I don't know of any other culture that does that. First I have to ask, and please don't think I'm rude, but are their no physical genders in your culture group? How do you reproduce? Are you physically different from other Homo sapiens?

Choris: [laughed] That is really three questions, but I know the confusion that underlies all of them. We are no different physically from any other Homo sapiens. We do reproduce sexually just like everyone else, but we don't categorize people by their physical sexes. When two people have sex they might produce a baby and they might not. Some couplings of people are more likely to produce offspring than others. Sexual intercourse has many functions and reproduction is only one of them.

Me: There is no mandate in your religion to be fruitful and multiply?

Choris: No.

Me: Do you have marriage?

Choris: We do have an institution that is very similar to your marriage. Two people pledge allegiance to each other completely, exclusively and in perpetuity. This includes sexual rights and responsibilities.

Me: Do you have things like homosexuality?

Choris: That is rather meaningless to us. Each individual has a preference for what they like sexually, this includes physical attributes as well as intellectual and emotional attributes. We see everyone as having many aspects and each of these in many varying degrees. I have studied other cultures and your categories interest me greatly. I do see some advantage in, "packaging" people with many predominantly similar features. Women have breasts, and female reproductive organs; and are generally smaller. This is true of a large majority, perhaps over 90% so it makes a lot of sense to make a category so people can use it as a sort of shorthand. For instance a person can say, "I like girls sexually" and find others who also have this preference to discuss things with and find appropriate mates with. It is much more flexible for us, but also more difficult.

Me: Because no one can make assumptions.

Choris: Yes. This is a great disadvantage most of the time, but does allow for things that your cultures have trouble with, like "alternative lifestyles" and intersexed people. You really have no easy way to address or deal with people that don't fall into the categories you set.

Me: You see sexual categories as too limiting, but you also see a lack of them as limiting as well.

Choris: Yes. It is my culture so I have a bias toward it, but humans do tend to categorize things, we do it for everything. If I tell you I'm looking at a bird, what characteristics do you think the thing has?

Me: It probably has feathers and wings and flies.

Choris: Right, but and that's true of most birds, the vast majority in fact. But, of course there are flightless birds that don't fit the category. It works the other way too. If I see a new animal I would look at its characteristics and try to categorize it. This works very well usually, and makes things a lot easier in many cases. There are exceptions and people can go too far, like Diogenes' chicken.

Me: Or the Olympics.

Choris: Yes. We cannot participate in the Olympics because we can't really draw the line grouping people into men and women.

Me: You can't just take the characteristics and apply them, assigning your athletes at least temporarily?

Choris: We can, we aren't stupid, but we are very uncomfortable with it. It just doesn't sit well with us. We neither want to categorize people that way nor do we want to be categorized.

Me: What makes it so uncomfortable? If it is someone else's category you don't have to feel that you are that category.

Choris: It is so ingrained in your cultures that it is really what you see those people as. It is who they are. I am me, not a man or a woman or something else. If someone tried to take away your individuality you would be very upset.

Me: Yes I would. I hope you don't take offense.

Choris: I don't. I know this is a very difficult concept to understand.

Me: And we haven't even discussed gender roles!

Choris: Of course gender roles stem from the physical sexes so it makes sense to talk about them first. They are very closely related.

Me: The whole topic can be confusing and I wonder if it is more confusing with the categories or without. I have run out of space for my blog post thought so I'm going to split the interview at this point. Can talk about gender roles when we come back?

Choris: I'd like that very much.

Me: Thank you for your time.

Choris: Thank you.

This was of course a fictional interview. I wanted to conduct a thought experiment with the idea of a culture that has no sexes nor genders. I thought the idea of an interview would be a good way to do it. I have no formal training in gender studies. My background is a BA in Anthropology and autodidactic reading. I meant no offense to anyone.

I hope you found the concept interesting and I apologize if I have offended anyone. If you would like me to post the second part of the interview let me know and I would be delighted to.

Young Mad Scientists in Love: "The New Team" - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 20 Aug 2016 02:36:00 +0000

Part 2 – Congratulations Doctor Neal You Do Not Get Tenure

”Doctor Neal, may I speak with you?"

Fredrick Neal was standing in his lab, examining a microscope. He was well built and athletic without being bulky. He had perfect skin, perfect teeth and a fantastic head of hair. He looked up with his glorious golden eyes and smoothed his magnificent mustache.

Cassandra Jones was thin and tall, not thin and tall like a wire guided antenna, but more like Seattle's Space Needle. Her exoticness extended to her voice. It reminded Neal of a predatory bird's scream or a German dive-bomber. The woman made him flinch whenever he heard her voice.

"Yes, Ms Jones," Neal shuffled on his stool, fear obvious in his voice.

"Doctor Neal you may be the most intelligent person in the university, and that is saying quite a bit," she sauntered toward him. For a moment his fear took a back seat as he marveled at the giraffe-ntile way she moved. The pendulous swing of her legs was almost hypnotic.

"Well, thank, thank you very much, Ms Jones."

"Oh please stop calling me that." She took a few steps to stand across from him and leaned over the table like a cantilevered crane.

"What would you like," he said as she put a finger on his chest, "What would you like me to call you?"

"You know, you are really the most adorable little man, perfection in miniature."

"It's more efficient, and adds in life extension. I, uh designed the treatment myself."

"I could just eat you up," she licked her lips and he hopped off the chair backwards. Though this left him a straight-line view just below her breasts, it also made use of the stool as a barrier.

"It is a rather complicated procedure. It involved genetically modifying virus RNA, not just to cause the desired effect in the patient, but to modify the behavior and propagation of the viruses. If you would like I could-"

"Cass," she said as if she were putting a finger over his mouth with only the word.

"Um, excuse me?"

"You asked what you should call me. You should call me Cass."

"Oh, um thank-"

"Often, and immediately."

While his mind worked at that she held out a long hand and helped him back onto his stool.

"I would love for you to give me, the treatment. That's not why I came down her though." She turned away and hung her head. He said nothing as she took a few steps down the table to retrieve her clipboard. She looked at it and composed herself. When she turned back to him she couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face.

"Oh, you are just too adorable the way you shrink back in terror like that."

"You're a very-"

"Stunning?"

"Intimidating woman."

"Yes, power can have that effect."

"Right, power, that's exactly what it is."

"I mean, as the Dean and head of your department I hold a lot of power over you."

"Yes."

"Like I could come in here and tell you that you don't have tenure and you won't be getting it," she forced a chuckle and batted at his shoulder, feigning playfulness. He was quite surprised she could reach that far as she was several steps away.

"Wait, are you telling me I'm fired?"

"Let's call it an opportunity for us to take our relationship to a more personal and maybe intimate level."

"What?"

"Well, as the head of your department I am your boss so it would be conflict of interest and maybe sexual harassment for us to, I don't know date."

“So I’m fired, after all this time. Thank you very much. How long do I have to get my stuff and get out?”

“You’ll have to finish teaching your classes.”

“The whole rest of the semester?”

Jones opened and closed her mouth twice.

“Well, Ms Jones, you know what? You can just screw yourself.” He stepped off his stool as dignified as anyone could and stormed off. Actually, given his size it was more of a gentle sun-shower.

At the door he paused and looked back at her.

“But-”

“Screw yourself.” He slammed the door.

“But that’s what I wanted you to do.”

"The Case of Reverse Engineering" Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 13 Aug 2016 03:53:00 +0000

See this link here for part I.

"The Case of Reverse Engineering"

Part 2

I took a long look up at the head table.

"Only six out of thirty seven survived?" Winkle said. Gottschalk nodded.

"And brought out the technology everyone was fighting over?" I asked.

"I don't think Blair's diary went that far. After what I think was a few days it eventually all became unreadable gibberish and then what I think was alien language. That all would have been within the timeframe before the USAF was alerted."

"Then how do you know?"

"I got curious so I asked. For my trouble I was told to shut up, mind my own business and then they took the materials away. After that, I put in a few calls to some buddies of mine from the Army Air Corps days. I got records of Air Force signals traffic reports. The way I figure it, they were sending dummy signals for about a week before they put in a distress call. That matches the Blair diary. Then there was some normal traffic that started being more and more couched and cryptic until right before the flyboys got there to find half the place burned. They never reported any fires or any additional deaths."

"Excuse me again, gentle people," Ferrini was speaking again. "There will be two parts to our presentation today. The second part will be a question and answer session for everyone to participate, but before we begin that part we will have a, well I hesitate to call it a lecture, a slide show from our honored guests. I'd like to go ahead and get that started while everyone is enjoying desert and coffee. Could we please draw the curtains?"

The same phalanx of porters who had surreptitiously locked the doors moved over to the giant windows and closed out the midday light. The room was momentarily lit only by the exit signs, the centerpiece Jacob's Ladders and a sliver of light coming under the kitchen door. There was a shuffle at the head table before a small light was turned on at the lectern. It barely illuminated Professor Melitene's pudgy face and shoe-brush mustache.

"Erm. Thank you President Ferrini, ladies and gentlemen," he began with a voice a full octave lower than I expected, "You can go ahead and start-"

He was talking to the porter handling the projector who turned the machine on and a huge screen against the wall lit up with a white and black photo.

"Uh, thank you. This is Antarctic Research Facility Number Four."

"Before the fire," Gottschalk hissed.

"Last year Professor Allouez and I had the privilege of conducting some magnetic research at this facility. In the process of our studies we discovered a magnetic anomaly, er next slide please.

"This anomaly turned out to be a structure we believe was a mode of transport capable of traveling in space, a spaceship if you will. You might even call it a starship, because, as I'm going to try to show it was most likely capable of traveling the immense distances between our solar system and the planetary systems around other stars."

There was quite a bit of mumbling around the room. Several more photos clicked in procession.

"As you can see from these photos the craft was extremely large. In an effort to excavate the starship we inadvertently caused a fissure to open in the ice structures in which it lay. It slipped irrevocably into the crushing depths of the crevice, well beyond anyone's ability to even reach let alone study, I'm afraid."

There were several outcries including, how do you know, why did you bring us here then and couldn't it have been a submarine.

"I know what you are all thinking. Please rest assured we are completely certain this was not an artifact of earth. We also know it could not have been any less than ten million years old; more likely twenty, million years old."

Silence fell. There was probably nothing more shocking than this news, except the next thing Melitene said, "We also found the body of one of the starship's occupants."

This led to gasps around the room. Gottschalk gripped the table with white-knuckle intensity and her eyes looked like they would fall out of her head.

The photo changed to one with a block of ice a dozen feet long and more than a yard on the other sides. It was surrounded by men, including Melitene. If Allouez was in the picture he wasn't recognizable.

"This is the creature we found." There were several more shots of the ice block from different angles and eventually in a storage room.

"In an effort to study the remains more closely we thawed the carcass slowly for over twenty four hours. The creature we found was determined to be of a life form and a biological system utterly alien and distinct from all life forms on earth."

"Bullshit!" Lon Vandergriff stood at his table. He was one of the most prominent alumni from Pattell. He had made his own fortune from mining and steel.

"Pardon me?"

"You're talking about aliens and spaceships, but where is the proof? You lost the ship. Where is this alien body? What technology could you have gotten if you lost the ship? What did you do, wake the alien up and ask him?"

"Yes, yes we did."

The room went dead silent.

"What? What did you just say?"

"I realize this will be difficult to believe," he stopped and pushed his glasses up. He glanced at Allouez who nodded. "You must understand that the creature was a lifeform completely different than any earth lifeform, apparently not subject to some of the limitations of earthly life."

"Are you implying you found a twenty million year old alien carcass and it was still alive?" Vandergriff roared with laughter, then reached down and pulled his wife to her feet. "Sybil we are leaving and canceling any monies we had allocated to this sham of a school."

A photo of a vertical and moving alien body appeared on the screen, larger than life. A woman screamed. Another appeared and a third. They weren't the best quality, with the fire, the dead dogs and the men fighting for their lives.

"We had some trouble bringing the, sample, back for a more thorough examination and continued research."

The slide show had to be stopped for a few minutes because several attendees fainted. The screen went blank to reset everyone's brains. The room was still dark otherwise and many other attendees made their way through the gloom to the bar, insisted on getting drinks, downing them and getting another before returning to their seats.

"What the hell is going on?" Winkle asked us. "This can't be real."

Gottschalk was no help. She was moving her eyes around, reading some imagined script while her lips moved and her hands trembled in their grip on the table. "Could this possibly mean..." was all that I got from her.

"I would be inclined to think this is all an elaborate hoax of some sort, but why something so far-fetched? The starship wasn't even saucer shaped. It looked more like a zeppelin."

"I assure you, Mr. Richman this is no hoax." Allouez was standing behind me and spoke with a smooth, silky voice. It sounded almost as if it were coming from inside my own head. I turned to look at him, trying to use the light from the white lit screen to see him as well as possible. He was an unremarkable man, middle fifties and average in every way. He even wore the plainest suit and tie possible. The man could have blended into a crowd of two. He smiled and walked away.

"There are some forms of life in Antarctica that are viable during the brief summer months and freeze most of the rest of the year," Melitene was continuing the slide show. The screen showed a series of microscopic life, algae, lichens and fungus.

"We suspect the alien creature had a similar method of coping with the extreme cold. It was most likely the cold that allowed it to maintain some integrity through the eons. The cold and length of stupor may, however have contributed to the, rather inhospitable manner in which we interacted with it.

"In the end the creature perished, and unfortunately so did a good number of our party."

The screen went blank again and there was a long pause. In the silence I heard Gottschalk muttering, "No, no, that's just not possible. There must be some other explanation," then she went back to her internal review.

"The next part of my briefing is extremely confidential. I must ask that anything I say or show you going forward not leave this room."

"This next part?" Winkle whispered.

"During our far too brief encounter with the interstellar visitor, some progress was made in recreating part of the creature's technology, namely a small model of the propulsion unit, or engine if you will, and the power-plant to support it."

The photo on the screen showed a man in a backpack clearly floating several feet above the floor of a shack.

"The model, built with the help of our visitor, was fully functional when found, unfortunately there was an accidental fire and, along with more loss of life the machinery was damaged beyond repair."

Allouez and two porters had brought a large wheeled table from behind the dais and unveiled it as the lights came back up. On the table were the charred remains of the same backpack in the photo and some sort of generator or projector.

"We have started the process of analyzing this technology with help from some of the good people in this room, but we have a long way to go."

Ferrini stepped up and bent the microphone away from Melitene. "This is why we invited all you marvelous benefactors. We ask that you-"

He was giving his usual spiel for money and I tuned him out. "Wink, what do you make of this?"

"If this weren't your alma mater I'd say it's all snake oil."

"It's not snake oil," Gottschalk pushed herself away from the table. "I've been going over all the times and dates, everything I know from the documents and the Blair diary. I can't make it add up. I don't see how it could have been done."

"It sure as shit didn't look like cooperation in those photos," I said.

Most of the room was either in shock or awe. There were many who gathered around the table of technological remains and others who clung to the bar like a life raft.

"I want to talk with Melitene, by God," Gottschalk said. He was near the table, surrounded by a throng of question askers.

"I'm after Allouez," Winkle said and moved off. The invisible professor was near Melitene but being ignored. Winkle smiled at him and got him to the side, near a still curtained window.

"Professor, I have some questions, if you please."

"Certainly," he smiled. Of course he smiled. He had just unveiled the scientific find of all time and he was talking to the prettiest girl in the room. Gottschalk slid up behind her. He glanced at us and returned his gaze to my partner.

"Professor," Winkle began, but Gottschalk interrupted.

"How did you two pansies get out of that camp alive?"

"I'm sorry?"

This clearly wasn't the tack Winkle was going to take, but she got the weather gage and drove on. "What Doctor Gottschalk is referring to is the fact that only six men from the original complement of thirty seven were rescued from the camp and a good deal of it was on fire when the Air Force finally got to you. That must have been quite a struggle for you."

Allouez's smile broadened, "It certainly was quite a story."

"Spill it," I suggested.

A Quick 20

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 06 Aug 2016 05:05:00 +0000

I was visiting a facebook page for the 133d Signal Battalion of the Illinois Army National Guard today (it's a private group, but I can send the link if you are interested in joining). It reminded me of a conversation I had with my dad.

One day in my junior year of high school I came home from school and Dad was in his room getting dressed or undressed (with his rotating shift it could have been either). He called me up and asked me how I was expecting to pay for college.

I was sixteen at the time, but there had never been any question about whether I was going to college or not, I was going. I don't remember ever deciding that, I just always knew it. What I never considered was the cost.

I had always known I was going to have to pay for it. I don't remember it myself, but Dad always reminded us that the day we each came home from the hospital after being born he took us around the house and showed us the place. He then told us the rules and baptized us in the kitchen sink. Among the rules was the fact that he would not pay for our college.

My answer to Dad that afternoon was, "I dunno," with a shrug.

"Well, you could join the Guard. The Illinois Guard offers a full scholarship to any state school."

To this I responded, "Yeah. That's what I'm going to do." Done deal, decision made. No problem.

"You can just do a quick twenty and get out."

A quick twenty?! I was only sixteen. I hadn't even seen twenty years yet. I was far less committed to that idea than the idea of enlisting to pay for school.

"What do you want to do in the army?" Dad asked.

"Drive tanks or fly helicopters," I said with a mighty, manly grunt of youthful testosterone.

"Well Illinois doesn't have any armor units, but I'll check into finding you an aviation unit."

True to his word of course he found me a unit, the 1903d Helicopter Maintenance Company. The main part of the unit was based out of Midway airport and they had a detachment in Decatur.

In November of that year I turned seventeen and on January 14, 1984 Dad and I got in the car to drive to the recruiting center on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. A few blocks after leaving our house we stopped off and picked up Jac Charlier.

Unknown to me Dad must have had a similar talk with Jac. He and I enlisted together that day and in 2007 I retired after doing a, "Quick" twenty three years.

Young Mad Scientists In Love: "The New Team" - Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 23 Jul 2016 03:03:00 +0000

Whew, that's a long title. The first part is the series title, the next is this story title and then I've broken this story up into six parts. I hope you enjoy.

Young Mad Scientists in Love

"The New Team"

Part 1: Guard, Guard This

“Nic, I know you're new here so I want to show you some tricks I've picked up over the years," John Smith was a round bald man who's patchy mustache was his pride and joy.

"Yes, John," Adrian Nicomedia had only been working for Consolidated Securities Inc. for a week, but Smith's script was already starting to replay sections. They were part of the night shift and were walking their rounds at Acme High Tech Industries.

“When you’re patrolling the grounds you gotta be on your toes."

Nicomedia was internally saying, “Blah blah blah.”

Acme was a huge company with a wide campus of several buildings and their own network of roads.

"You gotta look in every nook and cranny. Someone could break in and be hiding in every or any shadow. I mean a burglar could be,” he shrugged and swept his flashlight over the sidewalk and over the curb into the shadow there, “hiding in the shadow of the curb right there.” The flashlight shined on a young man lying in the shadow. “Like that one!”

The man leaped to his feet, waved at someone in the shadow of a nearby building and ran off. The man in the shadow was a huge hulking mountain of a man who could easily hide in the shadow of a multi-story office building, but not a curb. He lumbered off in the same direction as the smaller man.

“Freeze!” Smith shouted and let loose two shots after both men. They seemed to have no effect.

"Get the big one," Smith said as they began the pursuit.

The smaller man kept looking back as he ran to check on the big man.

“Yes sir.”

Suddenly the big man darted right. The smaller man sensing they were going their separate ways slipped up a few gears and flew off straight up the street.

Nicomedia turned to follow her man, “Don’t lose yours,” she said. Smith groaned at his choice and tried to pick up his pace.

The big man ran to a nearby building, Nicomedia followed. Inside the first door was a second door with a key card scanner. The man turned to face Nicomedia with his hands up to fight.

“Crap,” she breathed. “Come with me quietly now, sir.”

In answer he gave a massive roundhouse. She saw it coming and ducked under it. Bent over she took the two steps the vestibule afforded and hit him in the gut with her full weight. He staggered back until he was against the inner door and folded.

She took a step back and said, “Come quietly with me now, sir.”

He started to rise, fists held out in the ready. She knew if he got up and was able to land a few good punches he could finish her in no time. As he lifted his head she had to make a split second decision.

She slammed her right fist into the side of his face. He groaned and his head fell.

“Will you come along quietly now, sir?”

Up he came again, hands and head rising.

She gave him another massive shot. He flopped back down. Her hand hurt.

“Come quietly now, sir.”

He grunted louder, more angry and started to rise. She hit him with her left hand.

He flopped back down, this time to his knees. She hit him again, “Stay down. Put your hands behind your back and lay down. Sir.”

He collapsed completely. His arms flopped at his side and he grunted quietly in a high pitch. Nicomedia was breathing heavily; she looked down and saw blood all over the back of the man’s shirt. She bent down and pulled his shirt up. There, just above the belt was a gunshot entry wound.

He whimpered on the floor.

“Did you get shot in the back?”

He nodded with snot and tears running down his face. He moved his mouth but only noises came out.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He shook his head and tried to talk again.

“Can’t you talk?”

The man whimpered and slowly shook his head.

“Oh shit,” she grabbed her radio and called for help. Eventually Smith and the ambulance showed up.

“What the hell happened?” Smith asked bewildered. Nicomedia was tall and broad. She was older for a new hire because of prior military service. Still Smith was surprised the thirty seven year old amazon could take the mountain of a man.

“Seems one of your shots hit home. When I pushed him against the inner door the handle pushed the bullet against his spinal column. Every time he tried to surrender he could only lift his hands a little and couldn’t rise above waist level.”

Smith guffawed, “So, you beat the crap out of a paralyzed man?”

“How was I supposed to know, wait, where’s your guy?”

“I’m calling the boss,” Smith pulled out his cell.

Later that day Nicomedia and Smith sat outside the guard commander’s office awaiting their fate. The Duty Sergeant, Lieutenant and the commander had been talking for ten minutes before they called her in.

“Adrian Nicomedia,” the commander began, “Twenty year Army MP veteran, several tours of Iraq and Afghanistan, Purple Heart and Bronze Star. You are a natural for this job.” She closed the personnel file and opened a file containing a single sheet of paper, the beginning of the report of the night’s activities.

“Two men compromised the security of our facilities, stole highly sensitive data as well as several small but very valuable pieces of equipment. You and your partner lost one of the men and you assaulted a badly wounded man, further wounding him,” she looked up at Nicomedia, “I had such high hopes for you.”

“Had?”

“Well. Mr. Jones, the wounded man you beat senseless, has already begun proceedings to sue our company.”

“He’s suing us?”

“This is true. Unfortunately you know what else is true? John Smith is the nephew of Consolidated Securities CEO, Matilde Smith. He’s also the grandson of the chairman of the board of Acme High Tech Industries Inc., you know, the company our company is guarding?”

“I know who they are.”

“Look, Adrian, I like you. I think you should be working for a guard company somewhere, that’s why I’m sending in a recommendation to a headhunter that contacted us about you for a company they are working for, MSL Inc.”

“You want me to be working somewhere?”

“Someone has to go down for this, you do understand? We need a goat.”

“Baa.”

"The Case of Reverse Engineering" Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Sat, 16 Jul 2016 04:11:00 +0000

This is the first of three parts of a story I wrote. It is a horror homage to John Carpenter's The Thing, the movie The Thing from Another World and the John W. Campbell story "Who Goes There."

It is set in the Lovecraftian 1950s world of Richman and Kostka.

"The Case of Reverse Engineering"

I walked into the outer room of the upstairs offices of Richman and Kostka Investigations. The desk and the whole room had everything in its place, except my partner, Periwinkle "Winkle" Kostka. At ten on a Thursday morning this was something of a surprise. I hadn't been by the office in a while, but I was sure she didn't have case at the moment.

I walked to the door leading to the inner office, nominally mine. I swung it open with no warning.

"Hey Mister Moneybags, you can't just waltz in here like you own the joint," she glanced over her shoulder with a smile, but kept facing away.

"I do," I said, and I did. Although mine was the name was on top on the door I was just the bankroll and the license, Winkle was the sleuth. She had a mind like no other, and the determination of a bulldog. She was beautiful, no lie. She had brilliant violet eyes and her curly, butter-yellow hair had been wrangled into a ponytail. She was about five seven with an athletic build. I don't know where she hid them, but she certainly had muscles to spare for anyone who got on her wrong side.

"I was just changing," she opened a file cabinet that was really a wardrobe and pulled out a satin aqua top. "Could I have a minute?"

"Sure," I backed out of the office. "I just came by because I have a gala luncheon I have to attend and Elle is out of town."

"And you want me to sub for the Mrs. as your escort?" She asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Technically, I would escort you, it's a society thing."

"Where is this gala?"

"My alma mater, Pattell."

Both her eyebrows shot up, "I seriously doubt anything at that pile of bricks could be called a, 'Gala.'"

"Well, it'd be a safe bet everyone there voted for General Eisenhower last November. It's a fundraiser and Allah knows they could use the money."

"What time is this gala?"

"Eleven to two."

"You wearing that?"

I was wearing one of my better double breasted gray suits with a blue paisley tie, "Yes."

"I should just be able to get ready in time, if you shoo."

True to her word, in less than fifteen minutes she met me in the outer office. Her hair was up in a wide brimmed hat. She wore an aqua suit dress with cream satin shirt and a turquoise choker.

The lunch was catered from the University President's own staff at the Student Union main ball room. The food was top notch and the room was bright and gay. It was decked out in the school colors of scarlet and orange with yellow accents. There were a dozen round tables of eight. The centerpieces were some sort of penguin ice sculptures and Jacob's Ladder machines. The theme was a complete mystery to me. The head table was on a dais across from the entrance. A jazz quintet was hopping in one corner and the bar was in another. Most of the guests seemed to be in the bar quadrant and I made my way there.

I was wrong about the Ike supporters because there was a good representation from the academic staff too. I spotted the University President and Chancellor, the Deans of the College of Science and the College of Medicine, the heads of the Physics, Engineering and Biology Departments; all heavy hitters in the school.

I also recognized the money, several of the other regular supporters and some others I knew by reputation and or the Stock Exchange. All the brains, beauty and power were represented. I was sure Winkle and I were bringing up the caboose of this money train.

"Captain Viktor Richman," thin hands clamped my shoulders. "You shouldn't have come. This is a very dangerous time," a woman's voice rasped in my ear.

I turned to face Doctor Judy Gottschalk, PhD Anthropology. Bone thin in a black dress, she took a drag of her cigarette. "I have a very bad feeling. Why are you here?"

"We're not attending this soiree as detectives if that's what you're asking. I'm a sustaining contributor to the school."

"Hello Doctor Gottschalk," Winkle said, "What's the problem, Vik?"

I grunted and pointed at Gottschalk. She looked back and forth at us while taking long drags. When she exhaled she said, "Do you know why they threw this fundraiser?"

"The usual reasons?"

She sucked in a visible amount of her cigarette, held it and exhaled the smoke through her nostrils, "It's something specific and I'm not at all comfortable with it."

Just then the bell rang for us all to take our seats.

Gottschalk put out her cigarette as I helped her with her chair, "Have you heard anything about Antarctic Research Facility Number Four?"

Winkle and I shook our heads.

"Apparently they had some trouble last year, several men died and they were stranded for almost a month, by the time the Air Force got to them all but a handful were dead and half the base was a smoking ruin."

"Was it a disease; mental illness; natural disaster?"

"It was a disaster all right. I don't know how natural it was. The Air Force started an investigation and salvaged some documents and samples. They think the expedition dug up, found something," she whispered. "Only six out of the original staff of thirty seven survived and two of them were committed to a mental hospital when they got back. Two of the physicists were from Pattell, Earnest Melitene and Claude Allouez. They're at the head table."

"Physicists, Antarctica; how are you, an Anthropologist connected to this?"

"I was brought in to work on the language."

"Language? What was it the expedition found?"

Gottschalk leaned in because some of the others at the table were starting to eye us, "Extraterrestrials."

"Extraterrestrials or evidence of them?"

"Both."

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please," University President Ferrini said. "We have so very much to talk about and I'm so very excited. While they are getting the salad ready I just wanted to let you all know a few things. Some of you already know what our lunch today is all about, but for most of you this has been a mystery. I am excited and proud to tell you now exactly why we are meeting today."

Between Ferrini's speech, the clinking of the salad plates and the nearly silent execution I almost missed it. The porters shut all the doors except those that led to the kitchens. It was only the mistimed click of one lock that alerted me as they secured the room. My head spun. When I turned back I noticed Winkle had heard it too. She gave me a look of heightened guard.

"We are here to celebrate and support our wildly successful Antarctic mission of last year, headed by Professor Melitene."

Melitene stood and waved at the crowd who applauded politely. He was a small man with a very large moustache. He was rather round with a round body, round head and round glasses. He looked in no way capable of wintering in Chicago let alone Antarctica.

"Wildly successful," Gottschalk muttered. She gulped her champagne and clandestinely reached for her neighbor's.

"Professor Melitene and his colleague Professor Allouez made the most remarkable discovery while studying magnetism. I don't want to spoil their presentation but let me just say there are implications the discovery of two of this university's staff will no less than change our entire world and way of life. We are here to learn about their discovery and how we at Pattell University can support the further developments of technology that will revolutionize transportation and energy, as well as open an entire universe of opportunities."

The room applauded as madly as those stuffed shirts ever got mad. President Ferrini took a short bow before sitting down and letting us hit the feedbag before the main briefing.

"What was that?" Winkle asked, "Alien technology?"

Gottschalk nodded and looked around the room, at the sealed doors and the floor to ceiling windows streaming in golden sunlight, melting the centerpieces. "You're armed right; please tell me you're armed."

She only really mouthed the words, no sound came out. Only Winkle and I were aware of what she was asking. We both pat the locations of our pieces.

"Pft, for all the lot of good it will do," she forked her salad and shook her head. Winkle and I shared a shrug and ate in silence for a while.

Judy Gottschalk and I met when she was a nurse in the Philippines during the war. Not only was she a combat nurse, but she was working for the OSS, having taught herself just about all the languages in the Pacific. She was one of their most valuable sources of information coming from patients; both enemy and civilian. She had seen things out there. If she was shaken by whatever we were talking about today, then it had to be well worth shaking.

I didn't know just what it was so I started making plans for gathering intelligence through the subterfuge, fighting, escaping; or maybe all three.

Winkle looked around the table at the other guests, two couples of elder school supporters and old Professor Joseph Douglas of Mathematics who kept falling asleep. She leaned in to Gottschalk, "Was what you were translating alien?"

"They gave me a box of all sorts of things, most seemed like notes and schematics drawn by hand, although there were a very few pieces of metal with markings on them."

"Did you figure out what they said?"

"Mostly it wasn't a human language, but there was part of a diary I think by a scientist named Blair. That seemed to be a mixed bag. I got the furthest with that."

"What did it say? What did they find?"

"Like I said, it mostly wasn't about their find, more like notebooks for machinery, and some math notes, I had to hand that part off to someone like old Joe here."

"It was very interesting too," Professor Douglas chirped in. He was to my left while Gottschalk was on my right. I don't know how the old bird heard, because I was having a hard time following.

"What was it, Professor?" Winkle asked.

"Engineering, almost entirely engineering calculations. The notation was strange, different, but I recognized some of the basic universal calculations. I saw no reason whatsoever to conclude aliens were involved," he ended the sentence snoring at his soup.

"Old codger doesn't know what he was looking at. The language I saw was like no other on Earth."

"What were the schematics for?"

"I couldn't tell, but I think it was this Blair fellow who wrote them. What concerns me most is that I think Blair was communicating with the alien."

"You mean there are aliens on Earth now?"

"I couldn't tell. I do think they found alien bodies and alien tech. I have no idea how Blair could have been communicating with them, but I'm sure he wasn't the source of the calculations or the schematics. He must have just been transcribing them."

"Why?"

"He was a pathologist. What really frightens me most is from the time the Air Force was alerted until the time they made it down to relieve the camp was when the bulk of the killing and damage was done. At first there may have been accidents, but that second part, that was all anthropogenic."

I looked at Winkle. She opened her mouth to talk, but Gottschalk explained, "Man-made."

They swapped out our salads for entrees.

"They killed each other over this alien and technology," I asked.

"Yes and it was our two boys," Gottschalk nodded her head toward the head table, "that came out on top."

"Those two?"

"Unbelievable, right?"

(to be continued)

On the Road Again, Again

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Fri, 01 Jul 2016 22:51:00 +0000

Remember a week and a half ago I posted a picture of a school bus? Now you will finally find out about that school bus.

Weigh Over

It is yellow like a bus

When we were getting ready to leave Fort McCoy to fly to Afghanistan we had to get on a bus to go to the plane. Most of us got on a school bus with our "carry-on" gear and were sent to the scale. There was some worry that we would be over our weight limit, but our S4 kept reassuring everyone that we would run out of space before we went over weight. He would say, "We'll cube-out before we weigh-out."

I have to mention that this S4 worked for the Illinois Army National Guard full time, was a Major and was eventually convicted of a felony involving embezzlement.

We packed everyone below the rank of LTC onto the bus each with a very full duffel bag, personal weapon, helmet, body armor, mask and LBE. I was stuffed at the back, immobile under my bags and equipment. I slide the window down to breathe,

On the scale we paused and several people were getting on and off, walking around. The members of our unit that didn't have to do through the weigh-in were full timers, O5 and over, and Sergeants Major.

Some supply NCO got on the bus after a little while and said we had gone over our weight limit. He told everyone to pass their magazines up to be collected into a box. I don't know how these loaded magazines were going to get to Afghanistan, if not on our plane, but I didn't question it. We all helped them collect our ammo.

We waited again.

After another little while the Sergeant got on the bus again and said we were still over our limit, Now their solution was for us all to empty our canteens out the windows. This seemed ridiculous to me, so when I saw one of our LTCs walking bay I shouted out the window, "Sir, how far over the limit are we?"

He responded, "About seven thousand pounds."

More than three tons, we were over by more than three tons and someone thought we could make it by emptying our canteens?

I decided I was not going to bother to try to get to my canteen, unhook it and figure out a way to reach the window to hold the canteen out and empty it. I told everyone on the bus of my intentional procrastination. The NCO had already left the bus so I couldn't tell him.

Several minutes later someone got on the bus and said we were fine and were moving out.

I guess someone had a very large thumb on the scale. Maybe. I'll never know what happened, but it was probably somewhere between incompetence and corruption.

Do you hate school buses as much as I do?

Καλό Μήνα, Road! Nice to Meet You.

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Fri, 01 Jul 2016 22:51:00 +0000

Well, here we are in July already, and a Friday no less. Happy month (κάλο μήνα as the Greek's say)

What's my new weekly blogging schedule, you ask? I'm ready to tell you.

It's a simple plan:

Week 1: Military post
Week 2: Stand-alone story
Week 3: Serial story
Week 4: Admin (aka blogging about blogging) or a rant
Week 5 (if there is one): Anything Goes (a joke, or comedy maybe)

I will post on Fridays.

That's the plan and I am poised to move forward with it.

EXCEPT:

Ouch!

My eldest and I were rear-ended yesterday evening. See the lovely picture? This didn't really affect this blog, however it does allow me a story that I will classify as an, "Anything Goes."

To the point, we all have plans to hit the road, but sometimes the road hits back. July has five Fridays and I was prepared with a post for this Friday (today), but I was worried that because I only just posted Wednesday I'd be actually too speedy in this early going. I mean two post in a week after half a year of nothing doesn't get you, the readers prepared and in place for the new schedule.

Did I mention that it is July already and it is also Friday?

I am going to shift the schedule for this month. I don't want to keep it this way because there are very few months with five weeks. I'm going to consider next week as the first week, and post my next military story then (it is written already). I hope you will all be ready for it.

I know what you're thinking, what is bugging you, what has you curious beyond words, you need to know.

You are just going to have to wait until next week to find out about that bus.

Oh, you want to know about the accident yesterday? As it happened we were stopped at a red light, not unlike this blog, and when it turned green we were struck by someone who just wasn't paying enough attention (not unlike this blog?). Everyone is uninjured and my vehicle is drivable, but I can't raise the tailgate so anyone hoping for a visit from Ferris will just have to wait until, "Sunshine" is repaired.

Who is Ferris, and who is Sunshine? Would you like to know?

Do you like my plan? Do you have any suggestions?

On the Road Again

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Thu, 30 Jun 2016 02:35:00 +0000

Why the school bus? Tune in next week

Wow. I really need to get on the road again with this blog.

I see that I haven't posted since January. Why; you ask? There are several reasons.

I wanted to shift my focus to getting enrolled in a Masters program
I wanted to hold posting until I had several post pre-written so I could post on a regular schedule.
I wanted to work out a story-line that I could work into a serialized set of stories
I have some stories I wanted to write for submission and they took priority
I didn't just want to write about feelings or rants. I want this blog to be about stories, mostly my fiction writing, but also some of my personal "war stories."

I think five reasons is enough. Why am I posting now? Several reasons as well.

I have used #1 above as an excuse for too long. I have dragged my feet in getting enrolled and I will no longer allow myself to use it as an excuse
I have now, finally pre-written several posts
I am still working on what story-line will work best, but I have several in the works, and I have gotten on a roll of writing SOMETHING every day for the last two months.
I wrote those stories (or a couple of them at least) they were rejected. I'm moving on. I will probably post one of them here broken into a couple posts.
This is the beauty of my new plan.

I felt that if I were to write my "war journal" here I would have to do it in chronological order, and/or this blog would become only that, and my fiction would suffer. My new plan is to help me write and post on a regular basis, regardless.

I have spoken before about the schedule the Mickey Mouse Club from the 1950s used:

Monday is Music Day
Tuesday is Talent Day
Wednesday is Anything Can Happen Day
Thursday is Circus Day
Friday is Guest-star Day

I thought about doing that and modifying it a bit, but still keeping a daily schedule. I realized now that daily is far far too ambitious. I'm going to go with weekly. I will cover a different topic each week of the month, This way I can work on things for several months, but always keep writing and posting.

The other new idea is that I'm going to limit my posts to about 500-1000 words. This may seem very short, but I think it will help me conceptualize and realize the goal. If I'm thinking I only need to get to 500 words I won't be too intimidated by it. The other thing I'm going to do is break posts up. It won't be blindly at 500-1000 words. I'll search for a natural break, but I will break up longer pieces so that they will provide multiple posts, rather than one long one followed by longer and longer breaks between posts.

Why do I want many posts; why do I want them regular?

Well, this is 507 words so you'll have to wait until the next post, You will also find out what my new weekly schedule will be.

I hope you're curious. What would you like to see in my weekly schedule?

13 Worldbuilding Questions: Numbers 11, 12 & 13

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Wed, 20 Jan 2016 03:07:00 +0000

Needs

There are three final questions that all deal with needs:

11.What is this society's most ardent need?

12.How does it go about satisfying this need?

13.What would it take to disrupt normalcy on this world?

11. What is this society’s most ardent need?

No society is ever in a state of perfect balance for longer than a microsecond. Figure out what the biggest need of that society is, because it will greatly affect its values and evolution. Does it need energy to fuel its increasing numbers (like we do)? Does it need new hunting grounds because the old ones aren’t fruitful anymore? Or maybe it needs genetic diversification? If the need for expansion is desperate enough, you might have a very aggressive society on your hands that won’t fidget long before invading new territories at great costs. Or maybe your society needs to sort out an internal problem like corruption, disease or dependency?

The Aliens' needs are beyond our comprehension. Why do they do what they do, what drives them, what need are they trying to fulfill? We will probably never know.

What is our greatest need; we little folk of Earth? Hiding will do us no good, nor will knowledge. Do we have any hope of attaining the kind of intelligence or power of these other civilizations? Homo sapiens certainly does not. We have neither the longevity nor the mental capacity to reach any level of technology higher than perhaps K level I or II.

Transhumans, or the emergent AI that develops from the AI we birth through the singularity may rise to that level. Make no mistake, they may rise to a level where they can understand these god-like aliens. Rising to the level where their needs are something like the needs of the aliens is highly unlikely. There is no way to tell what is on the other side of the singularity, at least not for humans on this side of it.

I do know because I am the omniscient author do know. We will ascend through a melding of genetically enhanced transhumanism and technological AI. The two will become one and move forward to take our place as one of the lowest, weakest, mentally deficient of the star traveling races. Our descendants may even return through time to perhaps themselves be inconceivable god-like aliens.

12. How does it go about satisfying this need?

The way a people tackles a problem or tries to satisfy a need says a lot about its nature. Is it trying to build or fight its way out of the trouble? Is it willing to risk something else of value? Is it canibalizing its resources or managing them sensibly? Is it indiferent to how it affects the environment or other societies / species? Does it shift its collective attention to evolving past the point of the need in a positive direction, or does it focus on eliminating the problem by any means necessary? Does it think long-term or is it short-sighted?

Now, after you’ve created a basic structure for your world, before you drop your characters into it and let them fend for themselves, ask yourself one more thing. It might help you use that wonderful worldbuilding to strengthen your plot.

There are a few things we can witness whether we understand the needs of the aliens or not. Some of their needs are satisfied here on Earth and/or with humans. There are some of their needs that require the use of humans, or at least lower sentient beings. Some of them (the Extrinsic Ones at least) derive something from our pain, fear, panic, anxiety, anger and despair. Some of them are roughly the equivalent of Vogons, with complete apathy toward what to them is merely a slight impediment along the path to whatever it is they want or need.

Much of the terror of our situation living in their universe is that we have no way of satisfying the ultimate need we have of living peacefully, of understanding even a part of what these great races want from us, of having even the slightest chance of avoiding whatever fate they decide for us, or even when they have no consideration at all for us, and our fate is doomed regardless. We can't begin to start to satisfy our greatest needs; thus ending all hope and giving way to ruinous devastation for those who even barely understand what is really at stake.

The rest of us can live in blissful ignorance, until our planet is ended with a proverbial bat of an eye.

13. What would it take to disrupt normalcy on this world?

And I’m not talking about the moon crashing into the surface of the planet, or the ground cracking open and unleashing a geyser of demons into the world. I’m talking about what a single individual—your protagonist—can possibly do that is so disruptive that it turns him into enemy number one? Now how can you drive him to do just that, unwillingly or unavoidably? And what happens next?

Ah, here's the rub. The moon crashing into the Earth, or the ground cracking open and spewing forth unspeakable horrors is exactly what could happen. What could my protagonist do to become the worst human who ever lived, someone so vile that Stalin and Hitler would cringe, cry and hide? Simply seek some of the knowledge of the Great Alien Races, attempt to commune with them, accept allegiance with any that bother to contact us. Collaborators, scholars, cohorts, devotees, conspirators, worshipers, and supplicants are all supremely dangerous because they are tapping into powers and knowledge that will rip them and all of us apart, often physically and minimally emotionally, spiritually and mentally.

There you have the 13 worldbuilding questions. Honestly I don't feel like this fleshed out my horror universe. Perhaps it didn't because so often authors don't really give the universe a proper scale. The universe is one world often. It is one land and maybe two peoples in conflict. The whole of the universe in the books and stories are there to serve the characters and their venue. The focus is orders of magnitude less than what the real universe is. This is fair enough. In reality what do any of us care about the explosion that caused the Horse Head Nebula? How much can a supernova thousands of light years away affect us?

But in my universe these do matter and they do affect us. In fact they are but tiny pin pricks in the vast power and destructive capacity. These things are coming to get us, by design or through negligence and there is nothing we can do about it. We may or may not be lucky enough to realize they are on the way before we all die in the most horrible, painful and demoralizing way possible.

13 Worldbuilding Questions: Numbers 9 & 10

noreply@blogger.com (Inner Prop) — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 03:33:00 +0000

Mentality
9. What are some core moral values of this society?

Do people care about basic human rights and freedom of speech? Do they value competitiveness or conformity? Do they value art predominately, or science? Are they interested in other cultures or species, or are they xenophobic? Do they value tradition over progress or the other way around?

Because this is everything, it's hard to talk about. I think it might be best to describe those aspects of this universe that makes it a horror story setting.

Do the aliens care about human rights; certainly not. Do they care about freedom of human speech; do you care about freedom of tree speech (okay there are some that care about trees almost in that way, but there might also be aliens that care about humans in that same, save the trees attitude, if they could only get here and had the power to actually do something for us)?

Some of the most powerful aliens are conformist in that they've gathered together to form a sort of hive mind, on the other hand, they can be insanely competitive towards other species.

Art, as far as we can comprehend their concept of art would be on an almost immeasurable scale (at least for the Originator Race). Creation of an entire universe to their own tastes is to them, art itself. All the art in our universe ever created they take credit for, as it occurred in their creation under their rules with the materials they ultimately created.

On the other hand, science is an art to them. The greatest art of all is most likely power and knowledge.

The Originators feel they own all the races. They spend no time or effort attempting to know of or understand let alone aid or communicate with any lesser civilization, even one at KS V level.

The Deific Race think of themselves as high-minded but perhaps they are more akin to the angry god of the Christian Old Testament, one, but many; loving and condescending; but vengeful and controlling. They feel they deserve a universe of their own and demand such respect as well as every aid in achieving this.

The Puissant Race is expansionist, imperialist, and elitist. They desire the downfall of everyone and everything because they know they are incapable of creating their own universe. Where the Deific Race is looking to build a new universe, the PR is looking to destroy this one. Where the DR are bent on overcoming this universe, the PR and intent on owning and controlling every aspect of it.

This is all unknown and unknowable to us. We have no way of discovering it on our own. These races have no intention of explaining themselves to us, even if they know of us. Even if they tried our minds could not understand it. For the most part what I have written is a pale comparison, a childish impression, a dim shadow in a room so brightly and widely illuminated the only hint of an impression of the things casting shadows is the almost imperceptible dimming of the light.

10. How do their values affect their mentality on a personal level?

"...how the mentality of a native differs from yours, based on what the core values of his society are.
For example, if he grew up believing everyone is reincarnated, he might not fear death as much as someone outside of his belief and might be more ready to risk his life. Or if he was brought up to value tradition and history, he might be reluctant to change his ways even in the face of adversity. He might be heavily xenophobic, due to a history full of brutality from foreigners (or alien invasions), and so he might be extremely suspicious of your other-worldly character. All of these things will influence this native’s decision making process, and thus influence the plot..."

I may be starting to sound like a broken record, but these civilizations, these races are beyond our feeble comprehension. That's part of what makes them frightening. We can't understand how their civilizations affect individuals, or if they even affect individuals at all. Their speed of communication and interconnectedness may make the concept of individuals irrelevant.

That in and of itself is an indication of the kind of things question 10 is asking however. They are all so very powerful and working so closely it undoubtedly affects the components of the civilization (i.e members, or individuals for lack of a better word). Do they simply feel too crowded; do they feel a lack of privacy or self-determination; do they feel a warm fuzzy, happy feeling as a part of the hive? I think all of these descriptions are far too simplistic.

What can you be sure the components of these civilizations will do, nothing. You can be sure of nothing. To us it may seem all random or chaotic.

A better way of looking at this question is how do these races affect individuals of our planet. We mostly don't have any idea of their existence, and any hint of their ultimate power, knowledge, intelligence and complexity frightens people out of their minds, literally. Their minds could melt and at the very least they will break and plummet into insanity.