No, not Saturn

These are Jupiter's rings.

Yeah, I know...

I said I was going to quit. But I saw something so interesting last night that I have to mention it.

Hey blog, guess what! Last night I saw the ISS and the ATV simultaneously. The ATV was leading the station and was a lot smaller and dimmer, but there was no mistaking it once the motion was caught. The ATV is the Automated Transfer Vehicle. The first one is named Jules Verne. It's to take cargo to the ISS for supply. It's 32 feet long and about 15 in diameter. That's kind of small when you think about how high up it was in the sky, and yet it was visible to the naked eye. Being lit by the sun definitely was advantageous for seeing it. Because it was small, I didn't catch it when it first came up over the horizon. I missed it entirely. However not far behind was the space station...and that is hard to miss. It's so big and bright now, brighter than Venus. Once I caught sight of that, it was easy to find the ATV. And then we stood and watched them both speed across the sky. I had not before seen two objects simultaneously that were not docked. It was fascinating, to me at least. I loved every minute of it. The ATV was lost quickly as soon as it began to move out of the sun's light and dimmed. But the ISS was visible from horizon to horizon, about a 5 minute pass. And we stood and watched it the entire time. A wonderful, wonderful show. A grand dance in the heavens with ISS chasing ATV through the constellations and to the horizon. Wow...

And as the sun slowly sinks into the west...

We bid a fond farewell to blog land. An experiment tried and failed. As I had suggested to the friend who so strongly urged me to begin a blog, it would be for naught. I didn't want to get into a blog with a Big Purpose. I'm very much outspoken on a range of topics and I could have blogged those...and spent my spare time responding to critics and their flames. No, it's not the coward's way out to avoid that. It is the weary person's way out. I already spend plenty of time debating with those around me. I don't enjoy conflict but I will not compromise my principles either. That's why I didn't begin a blog with a Big Purpose. My blog of wandering has curried very little favor, and exceptionally few comments. I could continue it for fun simply because I like to write. However, since I would rather use the time for some writing that might actually be read...or some reading or drawing, I'm tossing the soppy wet towel in and it lands with a soft "flumph", the final comment on this blog.

Observer of the passing parade of life

Just how did we get along before the advent of ubiquitous laptops and cell phones? Can the connected generation imagine days without calling from the car or mall, or not checking email? No, no, this is not a rant on cell phones or how electrical devices are taking over our lives. To be a good observer, one should observe and, if so moved, comment, not rant. Rants are left to social commentators and complainers. I just had a weekend without the DSL working and it was painful to be out of touch, I have to admit it.

That's what made me begin thinking about this. What did I do before the days of email? Of course everything was different then too. None of us had email and we were used to living that way. Therefore, the possibility of service being out was not something we had to face and survive. But when one is out of touch with all those folks and services in cyberspace, then one is truly alone. Strange. How alone does one feel when there are still so many people about one? And yet this is the commonality I've heard when those around me have been unconnected for more time than it takes to walk from one wifi locale to another. It feels so alone not being about to reach out and touch people around the world with a quick note, or to call up any web site to slake the constant desire for information or contact...or to overcome boredom.

My very unscientific and hardly random poll of cell phone users reveals that the largest percent of calls are made because it's "something to do". It "passes the time". Particularly in cars, and the longer the drive, the longer the call.

Are we so bored with everyday life that we need to constantly entertained? Or is it that we need to be constantly stimulated? (See the blog entry for 21 March, "Ordinary Things".) If we need so many things to pass time, that indicts our time and what we do with it. (Me included. It's not an accusation. It's an observation.)

Are we so afraid of being alone that we need to be in continual contact with someone, even if it is just a blog that doesn't react or comment. (But may draw others who do.) So that begs the question is it really fear of aloneness or just intolerance of it? Or can it be that we each think many things we do are so significant that the world needs to be informed? Or that we are seeking (like any other "classic" addict) more and more sensation as we become jaded by what we've been doing the last couple of weeks. New contacts, new sites, new blogs, new Youtube videos, new chatrooms. The study of content of what people most often visit would help shed light on the questions. Perhaps another informal poll is needed. Or not. It wouldn't bring my life to a hideous end if I never figured this one out. Or maybe the people I know will tire of my questions and flame me. Or maybe they will just ignore me. And that would be the worst of all...to be disconnected, alone. Nah, not really. As long as I have my books and writing, I'm never alone, nor lack for entertainment.

Enjoy

I found this at www.wunderground.com. A very cool picture, and serendipitous timing.

Very cool picture

The International Space Station in orbit, with the limb of the earth beyond and the full moon just above. A very cool picture. For those who say we don't belong in space, here's news, we are in space. We are hanging in the solar system's gravity well just like the moon and the rest of the planets. We have a home in space, even if we've never left the planet. An amazing thought. Equally amazing is that we live on the surface of this ball and are able to exist in the thin layer of atmosphere that you see in the picture. The thin blue haze is our home. And this is the only planet hereabouts that has that feature. That's humbling. It was created for us to inhabit as we now and always have been.

In the beginning... The Alpha. The Creator created, and it was so. And we were so. And thus has it been since the beginning. The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His handiwork. Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion? (Job 38:31) He can. Seek himthat maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night: that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name. (Amos 5:8) They belong to Him that has created. We belong to Him that has created.

For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God. I Corinthians 6:20

"Ordinary" things

Been wondering recently about conversation.

It's hard not to hear people when you are in public places. I get accused of eavesdropping, but it's not that at all. I'm not going out of my way to strain for words through cracks or behind doors. I simply hear people all around me. It's difficult for me to just "shut it out" because of my above average hearing. I hear everything. It's actually frustrating that I can't shut it all out...because I've heard so many things I never wanted to hear.

However, I am digressing from the actual subject here. I hear a lot of people say into their ubiquitous cell phone, "Well, there's really nothing going on...just the same ol' stuff." Some emails filter into my inbox apologizing for taking so long to answer because "I just didn't have anything to say."

For a society that communicates incessantly (cell phones, text messages, email, IM, etc., etc.) so many people claim to have nothing to say. It's not the amount of communication that I'm going to rant on, or the unending use of cell phones. No, not any of that at all.

It's the ordinary, every day things that people consider unworthy of addressing in their communications.

The presence of continuous (24/7) television programming (how many younger people today ever heard of a TV station signing off for the night?) and instantaneous news (it happens, you know it immediately) have contributed their part to this. No, I'm not here to criticize television or the media either. It's simply observation.

People become so inundated with flashy television and spectacular media coverage of breaking news that they walk around in a hyper stimulated state most of the time. One result is that every day life becomes banal and tiresome. That is why the ordinary events of life (which when you think about it are the majority) seem so boring to talk about. Even when someone is reporting on the status of Aunt Tizzy or the nephew with measles, it's passed over quickly as if unworthy of attention. (Unless of course Aunt Tizzy had a spectacular car accident or Nephew Timmy had an extraordinary case of the measles.)

My grandmother used to sit on the porch or in chairs under trees and talk with her friends. That sounds like something guaranteed to bore a five year old to tears, right? That kid would rather be dashing around, going wild with friends. Well, true, at times I did choose that option. But there were many times when I enjoyed listening to them talk...about very ordinary things. Very ordinary. "Got a phone call from Lois the other day. Law...we ain't seen each other in years." "Really? How is she?" "She's just fine. She said she put up 30 jars of beans last week." "She must have a big garden." "They bought the lot next to them so they could have a good one." Quite ordinary.

So why is this of importance enough to me to mention? Observation. I'm a certified people observer. Love to look and listen. You learn so much of human behavior and the human condition. I think part of the joy of that was born in those conversations in the shade in the late summer afternoons. Those people knew how to converse, not talk. There really is an art to it, and they knew it because of the very lack of communication devices and means. They learned how to make time together count because it was more meaningful. Communication was scarcer and so passing on the ordinary events to friends and neighbors was the way to truly learn what was going on outside your sphere. And they were better story tellers too. Knowing how to turn a phrase, the timing of a tale, using the just-so-perfect inflection or small gesture. It added wealth and nuance to a story that is missing from many conversations now.

Certainly you can relate any incident to a friend in any way you choose. However, for fun and a challenge choose something very ordinary (buying a drink at the quick rip) and think about how you could make it into something more. Not by exaggerating or sensationalizing. That would be too easy. How else to dress it up? Aye, there's the rub...and the challenge.

What day...

What wonders a day away from work will do.

Actually it wasn't an entire day. I went to work but by 8:00, I knew it had been a mistake to try. I only had about three hours of sleep the night before. Why? I have no clue. It's something that happens now and then and I don't know why. I just can't sleep. I've tried all the "cures" that have been suggested, warm milk and the whole routine. Nothing works on one of those nights. So I just make the best of it and read usually. Then the next day...well, some times I can make it and some times I can't. Yesterday I couldn't. Now, I'm not sure what kept the better half from getting a good sleep. I was told, but I simply don't recall. Better half was wiser and stayed home to begin with.

So I left at 8:00 and went home to bed. Daven Dog woke me about 12:15. He's a good alarm clock...if you don't want to sleep too long. Otherwise, he's a pain. But I was glad for his visit yesterday.

And so there was enough of the day left to enjoy it. We went to Barnes and Noble for lunch (the cafeteria) and wandered in the book store for awhile, coming away with an $88 bag of books. Mostly my fault, I'm afraid. However, I said just yesterday that better half doesn't do recreational reading. Well, better half found a book that was interesting (and read the first chaper last night), and a Sky & Telescope magazine. I have to admit responsibility for the rest of the bill. We stopped in Office Depot for some supplies.

At home I worked on designing some title pages for my self bound books. Just a couple of them. The internet connection was acting up again, so that sidetracked me for more time than I foresaw or wanted. That's why I got so little done.

However, we went for an early supper at the Olive Garden. A leisurely supper, forced on us by the longer than usual wait. But that did give us time to sit and talk quietly. A relaxing moment which is so rare these days.

I still had time to write for an hour and a half, bind two books, and read one of my new books for an hour. It was amazing that I got so much done. When I had finished the binding, I was astounded that it was only 7:30. Work certainly takes up a lot of time from my day. Not to mention that better half works so much later and has half an hour drive before we can have supper and then it's about 6:00. No wonder we never do anything. We don't have time to.

What a great day we had together. Time away from work is so valuable. Time together is very valuable. It was a great and grand day. It was worth missing most of a night's sleep.

Reading

I have to say that I've been relieved to find several people like me in the past couple or so months. Like me, crazy? No, although one of them is. No, like me in reading. I am a voracious reader. Well, that's not it either. I know plenty of people who are that. The thing of it is that I read three or four books simultaneously. I expected that there probably were others out there who did the same. Since I've found I'm not the only person who loves to pour over maps for hours on end, read the dictionary, and collect for future use many kinds of interesting paper, I've come to learn that the things which others think make me "weird" are often shared by many people. It did take time to find another map person. The other dictionary person was easier. The other paper person, the easiest of all.

However all of the other voracious readers that I knew did not read multiple books simultaneously. In fact a couple thought I was beyond weird and wondered how I could keep the books straight. So as long as I've been reading, I really did begin to wonder. And the better half (who does not engage in recreational reading) was especially bemused by this habit.

However, one day in Barnes and Noble, other half mentioned to the lady behind the counter that I read several books at once. She said, "Of course! You have to have a book in the living room, one in the bedroom, one at work, one in the car..." A kindred spirit! Finally! As I knew it had to be, I was not alone.

Well, this just cracked the door. Since that fateful encounter, I've learned of others who are multi-task readers...people I don't even know. I heard an interview of Liam Neeson who said he read, "three or four books at a time." It was simply a matter of opening up the search. I'm not the wierdo. Those who do not take advantage of the great treasure of affordable books available are the unusual ones to me. There are books for every taste and interest, and audio books for those who don't read well (which is why other half doesn't indulge...learning disorder). I guess what I really don't understand is lack of curiosity. There's an incredible world out there just waiting to be discovered.

Books, books! A veritable gold mine!
Piled as high as a Ponderosa Pine.
Treasures of data, volumes of lore.
I want to read! Give me more!
Piled to the ceiling, piled to the trees.
Leave me in quiet with my reader's disease.

BLA

Wandering the deep dark recesses...

No, not of my mind. Not this time.

The deep dark recesses of IT Land. It's a scary place, but come with me for a brief visit. It's dark, but, well...enlightening.

Because of the incredible amount of meetings I attend (and lose many hours of work time to) I finally decided that a lap top computer for work was A Good Thing. Of course there are many reasons to have one, but the biggest reason that made me avoid one was the spectre of lots and lots of homework many nights a week. However, when I began having to spend hours in meetings that were not entirely useful and saw how much work others were getting accomplished, I began to rethink the issue. And so I petitioned my team leader for an early "refresh" as we call the process of Getting A New Computer.

The new system arrived three weeks ago today. After waiting patiently for those three weeks, a technician showed up yesterday to Install The System. (It's worth the wait because then he must take the blame if Something Goes Wrong.)

I recall the days when a refresh took the better part of a day if not all or it, or more. (Yes, I am old, and I sound it.) Well, I was pleasantly surprised when Austin finished in an hour and a half. That's installing and moving my data from old to new. He rose and said, "That's it. You're good to go." And he disappeared. He walked into one of those dark recesses where he quickly disappears and there is no way to call him back. Really, no way.

I began to look, first of all, to see if all of my stuff was there. Most important thing...my stuff. Well, yes it all seems to be there, including (shh) the personal stuff too...music, some personal Word files, and such. Because the system administrator will not allow music, for one example, to be backed up, I figured "they" would not allow such personal things to be moved. So far, so good.

Then the fun began. Now, let me first off say that I realize just how little I know about computers. I am very much A User, and it is a black box to me, and that's the way I like it. Yes, even if I have problems with my home computer. That is what IT support gets paid for.

First off I couldn't access the internet. "This page cannot be displayed" for all of my favorites, and no, not the personal ones. I couldn't access the things I use for work. I know a couple of tricks to try on settings, but that didn't work and I opted to Leave It Alone.

Next up is that I did not know how to undock the lap top from the docking station. A good tug didn't work. My cube neighbor informed me you have to press the unlock button. Oh, of course. Having received No Instruction from Austin before he disappeared into the dark recesses, I simply pressed the unlock button and took the lap top. It was not until I tried to redock that I realized I must have done Something Wrong. Again my cube neighbor gave the lesson...power down before you undock! Oh...really?? I had no clue. And the local IT person gave me a stiff lecture on that, but that was later.

Still I couldn't figure out what was up. The mouse wouldn't respond. The secondary monitor was now the primary one, with the option to make the lap top's monitor the primary one not available. My cube neighbor gave me lots of advice, none of which worked and only seemed to inflame the situation. "Why don't you get rid of that frame around the docking station? (The one that supports the monitor.) It's in the way and you can't open your laptop with that there.) The IT person wasn't impressed with that either.

After an hour and a half (the same time the refresh took) I was still wandering in the dark, and things were not completely working. Two IT people were at the desk and Cathene had her "book of tricks" none of which were working. I was happy to sit back and watch the fun, after I'd had my turn of following Jon's advice and still being alone in the dark. This is when the lectures came, by the way, of not messing with the system, how to undock (Did Austin really not tell you about this? Uh...yeah. Did he really not leave a card with his phone number? Uh...yeah), don't tinker with the hardware, etc. I took it with a pinched grin and lots of head nodding, and a promise to get back at Jon...who has his system set up the way he was advising me to set mine up and somehow escaped the lectures.

At any rate when I left work, internet was still no go. I was glad to walk away and leave it in their capable hands and forget about it for the night.

This morning I came in and turned on the computer. Internet Explorer still would not load any web pages. However, in my email was a note from the IT group that my problem had been solved, "please verify by taking this survey". Fixed?? Why couldn't I get it work? Well, I looked at the settings again and tried things at random, and guess what, it now loads web pages. I have no idea what I did or why it works. Or why "they" thought the problem was fixed.

That is the deep dark recesses of IT Land. I recommend avoiding it as much as possible. If you must go, don't go alone, and don't stay long either. It's not a good place to even visit.

Wow

The EVAs have been great fun to watch. Dextre is working fine, thank you very much. This picture is amazing. It may be hard to appreciate it, but looking at those solar arrays, knowing hard far away that is... This station is getting huge. I saw a video during the last shuttle mission that was instructive. One of the astronauts was floating through the station with a video camera. It was a tour. Not a talking, showing everything tour, but just a float through of all the inside space of the ISS. It gave a much better perspective of just how much room they have inside now. It was impressive and amazing to me, since I didn't really have a good concept of the inside. With the fixed camera views inside the ISS, it's very difficult to appreciate what it's like inside. I hope that NASA posts that video on their web site. There are some great videos there, some of them are HD. It's worth a look.

Yes, I do get all excited and carried away and talk a lot about the shuttle and ISS especially during a mission. I also know that a lot of people just don't care. But I also know that a friend of mine mentioned seeing a program about the ISS over the weekend. Many things were mentioned that made it interesting to her. She realized things she didn't know. And it was very interesting to her. So if one only takes the time to find out and understand, one can see why this is so great and exciting and, well, interesting. People need to try to get outside themselves for a while and see what is going on up there. If you think it has no bearing on you or is something you can't relate to, that is just because you haven't taken the time to have a look or listen. This is relative to everyone every day. It takes a willing and open mind to want to learn and find out.

Dextre

It was difficult to select from the available pictures. They are all so wonderfully sharp and amazing. But this one definitely stood out from the others. Nose to the earth and tail to the ISS. Wonderful overview of the belly of the orbiter. I believe this will be my new wallpaper...until another spectacular picture comes along. I change my wallpaper regularly during missions. There's just too many to select from. What I really should do is set my screen saver to do a slide show of all these great pictures.

Now, to the subject at, ahem, hand. Dextre. "Dextre is the third and final component of the Mobile Servicing System developed by Canada for the ISS. The two-armed Special Purpose Dexterous Manipulator, known as "Dextre," complements the mobile base and the robotic arm Canadarm2 already installed and operating on the station. These make the MSS a vital tool for external station maintenance. With advanced stabilization and handling capabilities, Dextre can perform delicate human-scale tasks such as removing and replacing small exterior components. Operated by crew members inside the station or by flight controllers on the ground, it also is equipped with lights, video equipment, a stowage platform, and three robotic tools." Quoted from the STS-123 press kit at http://www.nasa.gov/pdf/216132main_sts123_press_kit_b.pdf

I really like to watch the post-MMT press briefings. (That is sarcasm by the way.) It really shows certain reporters at their worst. (My all time favorite, as of now, will be the previous mission when Hans Schlegel got ill and the media insisted on their right to know his private medical information.) Yesterday it was Dextre who was gifted with the attention. Dextre was attached to the POA on the ISS, which not only is its "end effector" so to speak but also where it receives power from the ISS. (ISS=International Space Station) However, when it was connected, no power flowed. After a work day of studying the problem the people who built it felt "very confident" that they understood the problem and had the fix, a software fix. But the media who cover NASA are confident of their ability to understand complex engineering scenarios simply because of their years covering the shuttle. And so they insist on questioning the decisions that trained and seasoned engineers have made. They also seem to have some sort of conspiracy minded idea that NASA is hiding information and not telling all. And so their usual practice is interrogation of the NASA spokesperson, asking the same questions over and over, but just rephrased. And there is a cadre who always ask questions even if there is nothing to ask. It might lead one to believe they meet to line up their questions and plan of attack, if one were conspiracy minded. I sometimes wonder just what it would take to satisfy them. No, I don't look at it as if they are doing their job. They are doing that but there is much more they are doing...that doesn't serve their primary function. I listen until I'm ready to throw something at the televison and then I turn it off. John Shannon always did well at dancing with the media. Looks like Leroy Cain is going to do equally well...although I sympathize with them both... Good luck guys.

In the meantime, there was a very sucessful first EVA (space walk), which seems to have gone mostly unnoticed because of the early morning hour and the huge coverage of a minor annoyance.

NASA keeps 'em flying.

A sonnet

Shall I again invoke thee as my muse?
When I, of thee, did take my leave to write,
Thou put'st alien pen before me to use.
And did give these dark and blinded eyes sight,
To see that which was there but was obscur'd.
Thou did'st lift the veil from mine eyes and mind,
And I from a long, dark slumber was stirr'd.
Thou tak'st my hand and helped my way to find.
Thou giv'st me thine own hand that I might feel,
That I also might feel the world as you,
That I might know what is false and what real.
And I have come to know life as you do.
Thou hast given life meaning and reason,
And purpose to see it through each season.

A home in space

I enjoy when NASA shows that they are able to do more than people are willing to credit them for. And I have no doubt this mission will be one of those. Five EVA (spacewalks), which will be the most time on EVA of any mission so far. This comes as a result of the unexpected repair to the ISS solar array on STS-120. Some of that mission's work had to be shifted so they could do the repair. But even at that, STS-120 was one of those glorious moments for NASA. The team pulled together to invent a way to repair the solar array using what the astronauts had available to them up there and the repair worked admirably. That was one of those times when the naysayers were crucifying NASA (again) and again predicting the sudden death of the ISS because of the tear in the array...not enough power to operate! This is NASA's death toll. The previous death toll was when the Russian GNC (guidance and navigation computer) on the ISS wouldn't work and wouldn't reboot. The station is going to fall from the sky! This is the end of the program and the end of NASA. But that too only allowed a chance to shine when the ISS occupants were able to wire around the problem and get the computers working until a new board could be delivered on the next shuttle mission, which was installed and works fine now, thank you.

Scare tactics? Lack of confidence? Desiring to see NASA fail, and so inspire distrust? I don't know which is the case, but each time A Problem is encountered on the shuttle or ISS, the media run for the hills kicking and screaming all the way. And each time NASA has come through and repaired the problem and the program has rolled on. Even with bits of foam still coming off the tank. The tank will never stop shedding foam. However, NASA (again) has done admirably in coming up with fixes that minimize the amount and size. NASA has done some EVA activity around potential TPS problems and made great decisions on when not to repair because it wasn't a problem. Each shuttle mission has come home safely, victoriously completing challenging missions, inventing solutions and keeping the shuttle and ISS flying...in spite of the huge lack of confidence of the media and certain sectors of the public.

NASA keeps 'em flying

A little dark, but beautiful

The launch of Endeavour on STS-123. The launch time was 1:28 a.m. Who in their right mind would get up at that time only to see a launch? Um...yes. It was simple enough though with a small TV in the bedroom and a watch that has an alarm on it. Not even required to get out of bed. Just wake up, turn the TV on and back to sleep in a few minutes. Yes, I realize how geeky and weird that makes me. I just have ceased to care about that aspect of it.

And so I did manage to collect my ATM card from the credit union, after standing in line only to be told they haven't opened up the ATMs yet. But about a minute after I walk into the house, the phone rings to announce that "we have your card".

I managed to work out the printer-computer "situation". I reinstalled the driver and now I can send a job to the printer and it actually prints out instead of staying in the queue, doing nothing but making me crazy.

I worked on my story, for the first time in a while after being sick and sick of work.

So I've knocked down some of the obstacles in my path, one at a time. That's what it has become. Not a celebration of things accomplished or an enjoyment of a day well spent. No, a tally of obstacles met and pushed out of the way. That's a depressing way to think of life. But I give up for today trying to be happy, think positively, stop and smell the roses and keep the petty complaining inside and focus on something deep and meaningful. That doesn't work today. No facades today. No playing nice to be an encouragement to others or pretending life is taken care of so to be an example. It's too much effort today. For at least one day I want to live in the moment instead of existing in a farcical drama for others. If that moment is rotten or disappointing then I want to acknowledge that instead of trying to be brave and happy and playing as if I can face it all with only a smile and a prayer. (No, not slamming the power of prayer or the power of the One who answers prayer. I don't understand about prayer and today I don't want to pretend as if I do and carry on as if the only thing I need is to just pray and bear it.) So there it is. Not fun or very interesting to read. But it is reality. That's why it's not fun to read. No one wants to read about ordinary every day reality. We are all looking for an escape or something to cheer us, let us leave our own rotten realities behind for a while. That's all the more reason I lay it out there. If I can dump some of it along the roadside perhaps that gives me the escape from shouldering the burden today. Even if it doesn't, today I don't care either way.

No winners

On the acronym challenge. I certainly don't understand that...

At the risk of sounding very, very trite, I just want to repeat that oft used platitude, be careful what you ask for, you may get it.

This is the path I now walk since I decided to turn an avocation into a vocation. This is a mistake that many people make. Some people turn down this road and never look back, enjoying every moment of their new job and looking for more of the same. I wish that it had been this way for me. Alas, the opposite reared its ugly head for me. I love to draw and paint and do "artsy" sorts of things. Pure pleasure. And, of course, I allowed comments from others to go to my head and make me think that I was talented enough to turn that into a second career. So naturally when I had the opportunity (after so actively pursuing this opportunity for some time), I leaped at it with all the spring I could load into my leap.

That was quite some time ago now. I just checked. The offer was made in June 2006 to illustrate a text on vestigal organs. I was flattered and very pleased and said yes without much thought. Without much thought. Therein lies my sin. It never occurred to me that it would be more than fun and a good learning experience. Well, it has been a good learning experience. I have learned the hard lessons.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate it as entirely as it sounds. I'm just cranky over a weekend that was spent working more than relaxing or doing fun things. Not work as in working overtime at my primary job. And it wasn't just the drawing that occupied my weekend either. So there are other things I can (and should) blame.

However, it always seems as if requests for drawings come at the Most Inconvenient Time. Just when I'm very busy with Other Things, or working a lot (primary job), or have A Thing that I want to do for myself (very much), or as in the current situation, when I was so sick that when the envelope came, I couldn't even muster the energy to open it. That being the case, I didn't begin work on any of the drawings for exactly one week. Now, I never really know how urgent these requests are. I'm very much in the dark about how far along this book is. I had thought it was near completion last October or so when the author asked me exactly how I wanted to be credited on the title page. Then there was the envelope that arrived in December with the note that this needed to be done as soon as possible! And my computer crashed...both of them. And the scanner wouldn't work with the computer when it did get fixed. I rushed to put together the resources to make these drawings come together and get them emailed to the author, thinking he was rushing to meet a deadline. Now here it is March and envelopes continue to come in, this last one with the assurane of "it's okay if you can't do it right now. Take your time and get well." That is why I am confused and confounded.

But I was the dilligent worker and knocked out two of the three drawings over the weekend. On Friday night when I was bent over a very tedious verted eye retina illustration, I was muttering the entire time because I wanted to relax and have fun on Friday night. Ditto Saturday night...which by the way was intermixed with computer problems and multi-tasking with two other Things To Be Done.

That is why it's not fun. That is why I feel frustrated. That is why I cannot do art for fun when I'm rushing to finish tedious illustrations. That is why I'm complaining about an opportunity that I should be very happy for. I'm sure when it's all said and done things will seem different. I try to be positive about this. And I can be some times. I just had a rotten weekend and part of it was the guilt and press of being behind because I was sick...which I still am.

And last night I was looking through an art supply catalog for more "stuff" to help me do this stuff. I like to draw, even when I don't like to draw.

ARESI J2-X USE FMEA-CIL PDR TIM W/ CSERP

Your morning meal, Alpha-Bits. Just add milk. And a $10 prize to whomever correctly identifies to what this refers, and it is a string of real acronyms. Good luck.

Do I have plans to finish what I posted yesterday? I didn't when I posted it. But after reading it over again, perhaps I shall. It would make a good brief story for submission. In the meantime, while I ponder that, here is another fragment that I discovered...

He was slowly aware of something beyond himself and Dathan realized he was asleep…but not quite. He was in the odd state between sleep and wakefulness. Dath tried to convince himself to go back to sleep. Not only for the rest, but also for the escape. He didn’t want to wake up yet. However, he lost the battle and began to become more perceptive. He was aware of the bed beneath him and the blanket over him and the air passing over the skin of his face, forced convection from the ventilation system. He was awake.

One other thing that Dathan was attentive to. His head was pounding. He groaned and rolled onto his back. Then he decided that was not a good idea. Even though he had not opened his eyes yet, the light over the bed penetrated his closed lids enough for Dath to know it would only aggravate his headache to see the bright light. The lanky man rolled to his right side again.

There were quiet sounds all around, hissing, beeps, clatter of activity and quiet talking. None of it was interesting enough to draw much of Dath’s attention. He recognized most of it and knew where he was. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed no one would bother him.

He was about to be disappointed though. The chief medical officer had seen his movements and heard the groan. He stopped what he was doing and came to the bedside.

“Dathan? Are you awake?”

The man didn’t answer. Go away! I’m not ready to face anyone yet. Leave me alone.

“Dath? Talk to me. You haven’t stirred this much since you’ve been here. I know you’re awake.” The doctor paused for a reaction. There was none. “I’m not going away. You may as well talk to me.”

Finally the grey eyes cracked open a bit…and then closed again.

“Only if you turn down that damned light,” Dath said hoarsely.

The doctor dimmed the light over the bed. Dathan slowly opened his eyes.

“My head is going to explode.”

The doctor turned and nodded to his aide who hurried to an adjacent room.

“How do you feel…aside from the headache?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m the chief medical officer. You are required to talk about it, mister.”

“Look, Doc…I’m fine except for the headache.”

“Physically that is.”

“That’s it.”

“Dath…”

But the man interrupted him. He came up on his elbows. “That’s it! I’m fine! Leave me alone!” Then he put a hand to his head and fell back on the bed.

The assistant hurried to Dr. Rhome’s side. He handed the man a pressurized spray syringe. The grey haired doctor pressed the syringe to Dathan’s arm, while holding it in place with his other hand.
“What is that?” Dathan tried to pull away.

“It’s a liquid analgesic. It’ll get into your system faster this way. Should help your headache.” Dr. Rhome looked down at the drawn face of Dathan Lennel. Dathan was one of the most stable and calm men he had ever known. But the doctor had heard the transmissions from his fighter craft when he was attacking. Rhome was surprised to find no obvious injuries to the man when he was pulled from his ship. But he had been in a deep sleep for just over a day…the sleep of exhaustion. Something out there had put Dath through hell. The grey haired doctor knew he would have to find out what happened, but not now. Let Dathan rest some more. He pulled the blanket back up over the still figure and turned to leave.

Dath had closed his eyes as soon as Rhome had answered his question. He didn’t want to face the questions. He didn’t want to face anyone right now. He just wanted to be left alone. But…but it was just as painful to be left with his thoughts as it was for someone to try to pull them from him.

The least he could have done is give me something that would make me sleep too…or at least make me not care.

“I thought the doc would never leave!”

Oh no! Not him. It was all Dathan could do not to groan aloud.

“Hey Dath! You’re a hero, man! You did it!” The wide, open and freckled face was grinning big. Rott’s red hair was a mess, as always. Curly and long, he said it was little use to try to do anything with it. So he didn’t. “You wiped out the Scards! The plague of this side of the galaxy. You destroyed the whole race of the murderous bastards. How did you do it? We’ve been fighting them for months. You go out and fire only a couple of times…and all the ships are gone. What was it? A mother ship of some kind? You got it and the rest self-destructed?”

Finally Dathan opened his eyes. He wanted to slap the happy face, but the poor ignorant bastard wouldn’t understand, and not understanding why he had received the blow, he probably would let it pass off him and not appreciate the true feelings behind it.

“Go away, Rott. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

“You’ve been asleep for hours and hours. What is it with you? Did something happen to you out there?” Rott looked away, over his shoulder. He lowered his voice. “You know there’s been…rumors going around. Rumor that something did happen out there.” The man paused and licked his lips. “Some are saying…you lost it. That you…you know…went berserk out there.” He paused to see what his friend would say.

“Yeah?” Dathan replied. “Well, you know how rumors are.” Then he rolled over onto his left side, turning his back to Rott.

“You’re…not denying it,” the man said in a hoarse whisper.

“I never defend myself against rumors. You know that.”

“Hey…it’s me, Rott, your friend. I’m not one of the self-serving, butt-kissing gossips on the station. You don’t have to put on an act for me…I thought.”

“I don’t have to play these idiotic games either,” Dathan snapped and was sorry he did. Just when he thought the pounding in his head was lessening, he caused it to flare back up. He covered his face with both hands. “Go away.”

“Hey…if something’s wrong, you can tell me. I want to help…if I can.”

“No one can help me, Rott. I’ve damned myself and I alone have to pay the price and suffer with the knowledge of what I’ve done.”

“What you’ve done? Dath, you ended the war! You stopped it. Do you know how many lives you probably saved by stopping it finally? Do you know how many have died fighting those bastard Scards? You’ve done us a favor! What are you talking about?”

Suddenly Dathan rolled over and lunged. He grabbed Rott’s collar and pulled the man down until they were almost touching noses. Through clenched teeth he said, “I’ve done us a favor? I’ve saved lives? No, I took lives. I took lives. I killed a whole race!”

“But they started this,” Rott said quietly. “We did nothing to provoke their attacks. The Scards started the war. We have a right to defend ourselves.”

Dath sat up in the bed, not letting go of his friend. “You disgust me. Get out of here.” Then he shoved with all his might. “Get out of here!”

Rott fell backward and landed on his buttocks. He wasn’t angry. He was confused and just sat staring silently, the bewilderment showing on his face. Suddenly a door across the room slid open and Dr. Rhome hurried in.

“What are you doing in here? You know no one was allowed in except the captain and the medical staff. You must leave now!” His tone was stiff and annoyed.

Rott got to his feet wordlessly. He took one more look at his friend. Dathan was lying down again, on his back, arm over his face. Rott said nothing in defense of himself. He said nothing at all. The man just walked out slowly.

“Are you all right?” Rhome asked as he came to the bedside.

“Yes,” Dath answered without moving his arm.

“Headache any better at all?”

“No,” he said bitterly. What an idiotic question.

The doctor pressed a button and spoke into a speaker near the bed. “Cere, bring another syringe of analgesic, same dose.”

“Why don’t you give me something really useful?”

“You want me to put you back to sleep.” It was not a question.

“It’s the only way I’m going to be left alone.”

“You can’t hide forever, Dath. You’re going to have to talk sometime. You’re going to have to face whatever it is that you’re hiding.”

~*~

“I’ve tried to hold the captain off as long as I could,” Rhome said. He studied Dathan’s face. “You’re going to have to talk to him now. You’re going to have to tell him whatever went on out there.”

Dath pressed a button and raised the head of his bed. He looked pale and weary. All the rest he had gotten seemed to have done him no good at all. He said nothing.

Rhome walked over to the door. “Captain.”

Captain Jere Pertay walked in, dressed in his casual uniform. He was a medium height man with fair hair. He had his hands clasped behind his back. Slowly he walked to the bedside as he appraised the man waiting for his interrogation.

“You look like hell, Lennel.”

“Yes sir,” Dath answered quietly.

“I heard your transmissions during the fight. You sounded upset. Now you seem like a different man. The doctor says you are healthy…physically, but something else is wrong. I want to know what’s going on.”

Dathan took in a deep breath, slowly and evenly. He had to be in control or he’d never be able to say all he knew he had to without letting his anger and grief spill out.

“The Scards, sir.”

“What about them? You killed them. You’re a hero. I expect a medal and compensation and choice of duty after this.”

“No sir.”

“Excuse me?” the captain said sharply.

“I’m not a hero, sir. I am a murderer.”

“It’s not murder. It’s war.”

“No sir. It was not war.”

“What do you mean? We were attacked without provocation. Each time we have encountered the Scards they have killed every man that they were able to. And…we have never made an aggressive move. Always we are the ones attacked.”

“You don’t understand. I didn’t understand…until…”

“Go on.”

“Until…I…was…contacted by one of them.”

“Contacted? You mean it spoke to you?”

“It tried, sir. It was trying to when I killed it.”

Pertay looked confused. “Why did you try to kill it if it was talking to you? Did it threaten you?”

“No sir. I didn’t know that’s what was going on.”

“Lennel, you’re not making much sense.”

“I know, sir. This doesn’t make much sense. I was ready to fire on a ship. Just as I hit the fire button…that’s when I realized that the Scard was trying to talk to me.”

“Oh, I see. Well…that was an accident. You were already in motion, had already fired. You can’t count yourself a murderer for that.”

“No sir. Not for that. It’s worse. I’m guilty of destroying the whole race.”

“Okay, let’s try this once more, from the top.”

“The contact with the Scard…I don’t think they knew what they were doing to us. It’s not a voice contact. It was…” His voiced died off and he put a hand to his head.

“Another headache?” Rhome asked.

“No, no. I mean…he contacted me…here…somehow, but it was so painful. If I hadn’t killed him…”

“You mean to tell me…that you think that the contact with the Scard would have killed you?” Captain Pertay said.

Dathan looked at the doctor. “The men who have been killed by Scards…what exactly did they die of?”

“Massive bleeding in the brain.”

There was total quiet in the room as the doctor and captain put the pieces together.

Rhome said, “You could tell that the Scard was trying to talk to you?”

“Yes,” Dathan said quietly. “It said…don’t shoot.”

It was a minute before the captain spoke. “Don’t shoot?”

“Yes sir. I believe that they didn’t know that they were killing us with their way of communication. The reason they continued to ‘attack’ is that they were trying to break the barrier…to ask us not to kill them any more.”

“Is that why you broke off the attack?”

“After I killed a Scard that was begging me not to kill him…and I had the pain in my head too, I had to stop and think what was happening.”

“What was all the…yelling from your cockpit?”

“When I realized what was going on…I…allowed one of them to contact me again. I told him he was killing me with his thoughts.” Dath stopped. “Then…I had to kill him…because he wouldn’t pull away.”

“Why did you do that?” Rhome said in disbelief.

“I hoped I could get the message to a Scard…that their communication was dangerous to us. I hoped he would stop…and tell the others. I wanted to try to stop the killing…on both sides.”

“What happened?” Pertay asked.

“I…I’m not entirely sure. The last contact was from a Scard who said ‘We are sorry. We pay for our mistake now.’ And…in less than a minute…”

“The entire fleet self-destructed…”

“Yes,” Dath whispered.

“But…they didn’t know. Why did they kill themselves?” Rhome said quietly.

“All I know is the incredible guilt I felt with that last communication. Guilt…anguish so great that it was crushing.”

“I didn’t find anything physically wrong with you…and I did do a scan of your head.”

“I can’t explain it, Doc. Guess it takes a certain amount of time for it to be deadly. I guess that they could read the thoughts of the one who first contacted me…and they began to figure it out…like I did.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“But…why are we just now finding this out?” Pertay asked. “Why hasn’t any other pilot been able to figure it out? This war has been going on for months.”

“I don’t know, sir. As I said…I told one of them that he was killing me…and I still had to fire on his ship because he wasn’t pulling back. Maybe the other pilots either tried to talk and waited too long…or they didn’t realize it was a communication. I can’t say, sir, because I…can’t talk to the Scards or to the dead pilots.”

“You feel guilty for their deaths.”

“I can’t help it, sir. I just remember that great flood of anguish before… It’s hard to put it out of my mind that something I said caused that.”

“Sir,” Rhome interrupted.

“Yes?” Captain Pertay answered without looking away from Dath.

“It is in Dathan’s medical record that he has tested high in Psi powers. He could be more sensitive to the telepathic attempts because of that.”

“Look into it, Rhome. Find out for me how many of these other pilots tested high in Psi ability. If I have to go forward with this explanation…I want the holes plugged. I have to eliminate all the speculation that I can before I elevate my report.”

“At once, Captain.” The doctor turned to go.

“Dathan,” Pertay said quietly, becoming more informal, “you can’t blame yourself for this. I understand what you are saying about what you felt…but you can’t let that rule you.”

“I appreciate what you are trying to do, sir. But…I can’t forget that we’ve lost a race…an entire race. It’s gone from the galaxy. We never even had the chance to meet them…to know what their culture is like. We don’t know what they had to give to us or to the galaxy.”

“You don’t know that the entire race is gone. What about their home planet? We’ve only seen their ships…small ships. They were not moving to a new location. That was not all the Scards.”

“I want to agree with you, sir…but…I think I understand them.”

“Just from that little contact?”

“The time was brief…but what was exchanged was not. I think that’s why some of the men couldn’t handle it. It was too much for them. They thought they were losing their minds. I am speculating, of course.”

“You mean…you think some of the deaths were suicides?”

“I can’t and won’t say that. I just know what I felt and what happened to me. Sir, the guilt was so incredibly strong from inadvertently causing death…by a simple attempt to talk. They value life. It’s important to them.”

“Do you know where they came from?”

“They called their planet Sesha.”

The captain spun on his heel and walked out.

~*~


Dath went about his regular duties, trying to ignore the stares that accompanied his passage. He knew that Captain Pertay had ordered his statements about the Scards to be kept confidential. No one beyond the captain, Dr. Rhome, and Dathan himself knew of it. So Dath was uncertain if the whispers were about the rumors Rott had told him of or of his so called heroic action in destroying the Scards. However, it mattered little to him now. When he was first out of sickbay and still reeling a bit from all that happened, then it was hard to ignore the men and women pointing behind a hand and whispering. However, he had begun to focus on the Scards and their new mission…and the gossipers fell into the background.

The new mission was to send a ship from the space station to the world of Sesha to see if there were Scards left on the planet. The purpose was two-fold, to find evidence of survivors and to try to communicate with them first before they could harm anyone else with their still not understood means of communication.

Dath had volunteered for the mission. Captain Pertay was not sure that it

***

I dislike titles

I never title things before I write them. I always write first and then the title comes as I write. Rarely a title suggests itself right away. Much more common is for the right word or words to strike me as I write. The hardest part of blogging is titling. Faced with that blank line right away, I often sidestep it with some nonesensical or meaningless thing, as one may have noted.

What is profound this morning? I hope something is. My profundity has been lacking recently. My vision has been tunneled by recent events. I've lost perspective. It's easy to lose any time and hard to recover some times.

Consider:

She slips and trips along the strips down by the ships, as she dips chips into whips and clips the trip short to return the tips.

No, not profound. I just like to play with words.

Xylemious and lithic trajectiles possess the wherewithal to cleft my osseous tissue but compellations will interminably abide innoxious.

I found a story frag I began a couple or so years ago and never finished it...

“Look out!” I yelled, and caught myself ducking, for all the good it would have done. As the ship came over the top of us close…too damned close, it was instinct more than logic that drove me to try to dodge that which I could not dodge. “Helm, track him,” I said through clenched teeth. “He’s so close you can touch him. You’d better not let him get away.” Swinging around, I caught Gunny Wilson’s eye. “Take him out.” The words were uttered as three individual units, not a single sentence.

“Damn right, sir,” Gunny answered, and immediately was one with his weapons control panel.

Rorke snagged my sleeve and pulled hard. It was the way he always tried to ensure that he had my attention. Rorke was a good second-in-command, and a good second-guesser. Of course I gave him my full attention. At least for a few seconds. I couldn’t afford more than that.

“This is madness,” he hissed low, trying to make his comments as private as he could in the circumstance. “You should break off and leave with an intact ship. You know that he can outgun us and outrun us. What advantage do we have?”

That was it. All the time I could afford for Commander Rorke. I pulled away from him.

“Where the hell is he?” I demanded from anyone in the Command Center who could answer the question. Then I dropped my voice. “Noted and logged.”

“But ignored?” the commander pressed.

“There he is, sir,” someone called out as our ship made a turn that brought the intruder back onto our view screen.

“I want to see him at all times,” I insisted calmly, but in a hard voice. The tone I used to let any man know that to do other than I commanded might be the worst choice he’d ever made. One more glance for Rorke and then I had to put my full attention on the attack I hoped would cripple, if not destroy, the enemy. “Not ignored, but not a chance. I can’t let him get away.” Then allowing a tone of desperation to creep in, I added, “I have to do something to show them we tried. You know we’re expendable. They don’t care if we live or die. All they want is this thing stopped.”

“We’re closing the distance, sir,” Lee, the helmsman reported.

“We shouldn’t be able to,” Rorke amended. “He can outrun us. We know that.”

“He’s just drawing us in,” I nodded. “Letting us think we have a chance and then…” I trailed off.

Now my second came and stood directly before me. “And you’re going to walk into his trap? That’s suicide, sir, and it’s also grounds for me to relieve you if you don’t back off. Sir.”

All eyes in the center turned to see what would happen. Sure, I knew he was right. He was right in everything he’d said from his statement about this being madness to saying he had grounds to relieve me. But if I didn’t at least try, Command would have their own grounds to relieve me. It was the perfect no-win situation. But I couldn’t stand losing. I wanted to find the way I could win.

I looked past Rorke. “Continue closing. When we are in weapons range, put everything you have on him…and then run like hell after the opening salvo. Throw a few plasma charges in our retreat path too. Maybe they might confuse his instruments enough to buy us some time.”

“Aye, sir,” helm and weapons responded simultaneously.

“We may not be able to completely outrun, but if we can get the artificial moon between us, it might help our situation.”

“If we can get it there before he destroys us,” Rorke insisted.

“We’re going to try anyway,” I said mostly to the crew of the Command Center. Nearly all of them had gone back to their tasks as I had given orders. Yeah, they knew the score and wanted to help our chances all they could too. That’s why they lost quick interest in the showdown between Rorke and me. Thankfully. Commanding a fighter craft is hard enough without being outgunned, without having my exec questioning everything I did, and without the crew losing trust in me. That was the kicker to it. I didn’t care if Rorke questioned me or disagreed with me. But his extreme outburst in front of the crew was uncalled for. Perhaps justifiable, but still uncalled for. It was the best gift the crew could have ever given me that they’d let it go so easily.

“I know it’s a slim chance, Poul,” I said quietly to Rorke. “It’s the only one we have. We have to try. This bugger keeps coming back because he knows he can get away with it. You know someone’s going to have to take the fall because Command won’t admit their deficiencies.”

“And I’d like to go home and see my wife and kids after this mission,” he countered.

Well, I couldn’t damn him for that. I’m sure everyone on this ship wanted that. I’m sure everyone on the alien ship wanted that too. But we all couldn’t get what we wanted. I held my tongue and didn’t come back with the snide reply my mother always had for me when I was a kid…you’re old enough that your wants won’t hurt you if you don’t get them. Right, Mom. What I wanted most from you were the basic necessities of life. It did hurt when I didn’t get them.

I shook my head. That damned woman was not going to mess with my mind yet again, and especially not now.

“He’s slowing,” Lee told me.

“Okay, then we slow. Cut our speed in half.”

“But, sir, we won’t catch up to him…”

“I know,” I interrupted. “We won’t get our butts blown off of us so quickly either. You’ll get your turn. Don’t be so quick to die.”

“So you admit that is a real possibility?”

I ignored Rorke and moved around him and studied the alien ship on the view screen. Oh, she was a beauty…sleek and slim, just right for slicing through the vacuum of space. I grinned. Funny how we still held all those design ideas sacred. There was some small amount of friction…negligible. It wasn’t necessary to make a spacecraft aerodynamic, unless it operated in an atmosphere also. Still, the smooth, backswept lines were classic and beautiful to the engineer’s eye. She was dark too. Some scattered light from various stuff in orbit around our planet gleamed off the dark skin. No lights. The aliens took full advantage of all advantages.

“He’s stopped, sir.”

“Stop us.”

“Now what?” Rorke whispered behind me.

“We could talk to him.”

Poul laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“You have a better idea?”

“Yeah…blow him away where he sits.”

I turned. “We aren’t in firing range yet. We’d have to get closer. You were the one who didn’t want to do that. You wanted to retreat and let him go.”

“Look, Jim.” Oh, boy. When he used my first name, he was going to get philosophical, and I didn’t have time for a morals debate right now.

“Unless you have something practical and helpful, don’t start that,” I said quietly.

He drew himself up, looking very offended. “I was going to point out to you that if he isn’t going to just run this time, then we don’t have much choice but to fight. If he’s going to stick around a bit, we don’t know that he’s not taking intel while he’s messing with us. We can’t take the chance.”

“Mr. Lee, bring us on a parabolic path toward the alien. Half speed.”

“What are you doing?” Rorke asked.

“Playing a game. Since he is. Make him wonder what I’m up to. If I can keep him off balance enough until we get close enough to fire, maybe we might have that chance to blow him away.” Then to Lee, “But be ready to peel off and run at any second.”

“Yes, sir.”

Poul considered and then shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t have any better ideas though.”

I nodded once. No point in making a bigger deal of it than that. “Let’s go.”

The ship sat perfectly still as we moved in. Then it began to turn a bit as our craft executed its parabolic path…turning to watch us. What the hell was their commander thinking? I woulda given my left arm to know. I grinned. I could always get another left arm, just like I’d had my original one replaced after it was once damaged so badly that it couldn’t be repaired. Bionics were very advanced though and most people couldn’t tell it wasn’t my own arm.

“Jim…”

He never finished the sentence. He didn’t have to. I’d suddenly gotten a creepy feeling. The hair on the back of my neck stood out. That’s when Rorke had said my name. That’s when I saw the light being discharged from the alien craft.

“Hard to port! Full speed. Evasive maneuvers. Get us the hell out of here!”

It took little provocation on my part to get Lee to act. He had us going immediately. The change in direction and speed was so sudden that Rorke and I were thrown to the floor.

After that, I’m not entirely sure what happened next.

“You okay, Jim?”

Was I okay? I didn’t know. Something was not right. I felt pain. I was confused. However, I seemed to feel a sense of relief and then immediately wondered if that was appropriate or not.

“What happened?” I rasped out and then felt like I was in a bad drama holo.

“Take it easy,” Rorke said. “Don’t get up so fast. You look a little confused.” Then he was gone. I could hear his tight voice. “Random course changes, Lee. Keep going. He hasn’t hit us yet. Maybe we can get behind the moon after all.”

Yeah. That sounded right. Hide behind the moon. I remembered having that idea. I rubbed my head, trying to get myself back together.

“Doc’s on the way,” someone called out.

For me? My head was beginning to clear slowly. I still didn’t recall exactly what the hell was going on even though I felt a sense of urgency. That urgency drove me to pull myself up. I had to see what we were doing, and why.

Ouch! My head protested the idea of standing and it let me know it. Objects were moving in my field of view. Objects that shouldn’t be moving. Bulkheads aren’t mobile. If they weren’t moving, and they shouldn’t be, then I must be moving…right?

I felt hands grasping my arms and it was a good thing or I probably would have fallen.

“What…what’s happening?”

“Fenton, put him in his chair,” Rorke said and then I was moving, with assistance. However, I remembered enough to recall we’d been in trouble. I had no idea why, or with whom, or what kind of trouble.

“Poul…what’s happening?”

“Just sit here, sir.”

Hard to argue with that, especially when my rubbery knees wouldn’t support me, and two men were putting me into a chair.

“I think we’re going to make it, sir.”

“Just keep going, Lee. We’re almost there.”

Then everything went black.

~*~

“He’s waking up,” a voice whispered.

Yeah, I was. Was he talking about me? I could tell through my eyelids that the light was too bright. As soon as I cracked my eyes, they ached and teared and I closed them, putting a hand over my face. Then the light level changed.

“That better?”

I was able to get the eyes open this time. My slightly blurred vision cleared slowly.

“Doc?”

“Yeah, it’s me, sir. Your recall in that area seems all right.” Some little nerdy looking guy who’d been next to Doc moved back, and I guess he left.

Sickbay was never my favorite place to visit, especially when I found myself waking there. I hated the place so much that I never even
came to talk to Doc here. I always summoned him to my quarters or the Command Center. An ol’ soldier like me had seen the inside too many times, especially from my back. The first thing I began to do was take stock of myself, trying to figure out how bad, and how long the doctor was going to have me to torture.

“What happened?” I asked when I realized that my recall in that area wasn’t as good.

“Just take it easy, sir. You were lucky. The Command Center didn’t get hit badly.”

“We got hit?” I tried to sit up. Bad idea, and Doc knew it. He pressed me back down.

“Let that be a lesson to you. Now lie still and be a good boy and maybe you’ll knock a day or two off your hospital stay.”

“Hospital.”

That was a bad sign. Doc never referred to the sickbay as the hospital. Did that mean I was in a real one? I focused my eyes on the lined and pale face of our middle-aged flight surgeon. We were all pale. Comes from space duty. The most natural light we see is a couple week leave homeside two times a year. There’s the occasional planetfall and down time on an alien world and a handful of days leave at home spread out around our repair calls at home port. Pale didn’t necessarily mean sick. However, Doc Nedvac looked sick. He looked paler than ordinary.

“Doc,” I whispered. “What happened?”

He licked his lips and ran a hand through his chopped greying hair. “Do you remember the alien ship, sir?”

That connected. I did remember a large alien craft, just like all the others that had come in for hits on our planet and orbiting platforms recently. We still didn’t know who they were or why we were the object of their wrath. But we’d spotted one coming in and were going to, at least, chase it away, at best, blow the sucker up.

“Yeah.” I paused, searching the doc’s face. Too much worry there. “He got us.”

“Yes, sir. We nearly got away…but you know, they are faster than our ships.”

If I’d felt a little fluttery in the stomach when I woke, now I was sick as a dog. My stomach churned and I felt a nauseous wave break over me.

“Doc…how bad? What happened?” I picked my head up from the pillow and reached out a beseeching hand. I noticed it was wrapped in white. The left hand was gone. The left arm was gone. What the hell else had happened? What about my crew? Nedvac said the Command Center hadn’t been hit hard. If I was like this, what about the part of the ship that had been hit hard?

The doc stepped closer, ready to push me back down if I tried to sit up again. “Take it easy, Cap’n. You’re not going to help yourself any by hurting yourself more.”

Damn him. This delay tactic of his when he had bad news had always annoyed me, and I’d chewed his butt out about that more than once.

“If you want me to take it easy, start answering my questions, Mister, or I’m coming out of this bed and make you eat those glasses that never stay up…to start with.” Oh yeah, that was good. I always managed to sound the toughest when I was the weakest.

“The ship took a couple of hits. Lower side got it the worst. Engineering…” He shook his head. “Upper decks seem to be mostly just shaken up from the beating the lower decks got.”

“Shaken up?” I repeated as I held up the nub of the bit of left arm I still had.

“It’s okay, sir. You didn’t lose the arm. It was banged up enough that they had to remove it for repair or replace. Don’t know yet which it will be. Bionics is still assessing what they removed.”

Of course. I should have guessed that possibility also. I just wasn’t thinking straight, and how could I right now? I rubbed my face with the bandaged right hand, or tried to. It hurt enough that I stopped before Nedvac could reach over to stop me.

“Report,” I said firmly. “Status of my crew and ship.” Being firm was part of what you did as captain, especially when you needed information like I’d just demanded. It sure was hard as hell to do convincingly when your head hurt and you felt like you were about to puke all over yourself.

“Ship was towed to space port for assessment. After the two hits it took, the aliens decided to take off. Guess we scared them, huh?” But there was no humor on his face. “Crew…forty-seven dead.”

I closed my eyes. Yeah, I was gonna be sick for sure now. Forty-seven people had depended on me to make the right decisions and I didn’t. It wasn’t the first time I’d lost crew members, but it was never easy, and you never got used to it no matter what those old doddering, but famous, generals told you in the great lecture halls of the academy. They would give you the kind of inspiring lecture that a general was expected to give, and then when the awe and entourage was gone, the regular instructors would bring you back to reality…but even they couldn’t prepare you for a moment like this one.

“Thirty-four had serious injuries. The other sixty-two had minor or no injuries,” Doc went on dispassionately.

“Poul?”

“He’s serious, but he’s gonna be okay, Jim.”

Now I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. The doc almost never used my first name unless he had really good news or really bad news.

“How bad?” I had to figure out what the doc really meant.

“He’s mostly just banged up. You know…getting thrown around when the ship takes a hit.” The man shook his head. “Is this some macho contest that you two have going…to see who can take it the most? Never did understand why you couldn’t sit in your command chair, strapped in, instead of…”

“Shut up,” I interrupted…but quietly. My headache wasn’t up for this rant. “What about you?”

Doc formed a quirky little wry grin. “I was lucky. I was in the lift coming to the Command Center. All I had to do was hit the deck and roll.” Then the smile was gone quickly and he put a hand to his back and rubbed. “Damned medical kit. I’ll be okay though. No sweat.”

I suddenly felt very tired, like the world was about to collapse on me. I heard myself exhale noisily.

“You need to rest,” Doc said. “I know you won’t though. But eating yourself up over what happened won’t bring anyone back. I’m going to order up a sedative.”

I uttered a quiet expletive. I hated those damned drugs. I always felt worse after a drugged sleep.

“I know, but it’s for the best, sir.”

~*~

I was just as curious to hear this as the Board of Inquiry was. I had gained back all the memory of the incident that I was going to. Curiously, Commander Poul Rorke had studiously avoided me not just at the hospital, but afterwards. And since we didn’t have another ship ready to outfit, our command was inadvertently helping him avoid me as we both had to work up our separate reports and other associated paperwork to finally lay all the men and women to rest, and get the survivors evaluated for fitness for duty, or possible re-assignment. It was personally gratifying that only a couple had to be re-assigned because of post-traumatic stress disorder. Since I didn’t have complete recall of the events, I feared the worst, including losing my crew. And my command.

I’d stayed awake late into many nights trying to reconstruct what had gone wrong, but it was a no-go. I remembered beginning to chase the alien craft…and after that there was little that was clear. Mostly I remembered images and feelings. The sight of bright light coming from the ship…what was that? Common sense suggested it must have been a weapon of some sort. My intuition agreed with that assessment. I remember feeling frustrated and angry, but about what exactly? Our apparent lack of ability to get away?

I unconsciously rubbed my forehead. It was a habit I’d adopted for some reason. With a laugh I’d told myself it was like trying to bring a genie from a lamp. It never made the memories appear though.

A tone sounded and the movement of the people around me woke me from my reverie. I was the last one on my feet as the board members came into the room and filed behind a long table at the front of the room.

Five aged and venerable men, extremely top ranking officers all. And one woman. She was significantly younger and in a uniform of sorts, the company issue dress coveralls from the contractor who’d built the ship. I’d never met her, but I’d heard a great deal about her. She was one of the designers of what we lovingly called our “hunk of junk”. But more, she didn’t just sit at a desk and put theory to simulation and feed the designs to builders. “Rita Wrench” liked to walk the shop floor and see how her ideas took form and see practically why they worked the way they did. Rita McCoy was well respected in the service and she’d earned the highest praise that a woman could among male engineer co-workers. She had balls. And she wore them well. Rita had escaped being labeled that other thing that most assertive women were tagged with…bitch.

All the proper and required preliminary stuff was read and announced and checked off and recorded by the order and regulation following officers, while Rita looked on carefully, not looking overly interested or overly bored.

And then finally they began.

~*~

“No, I don’t recall,” I told the chairman of the board as he pelted questions at me. “The last clear memory I have is spotting the ship on our scopes and giving the order to begin pursuit.” Absently I rubbed my forehead. “After that I have a gibberish of images…that I’m not even sure that I can put in chronological order.” I let my hand drop. “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the best reconstruction of events that I can give you.” I paused. “Unless you want me to tell you the tidbits I do remember.”

The slim old man was toying with a stylus. If you let his wrinkled face and white hair fool you into thinking he was a doddering old man who needed to be retired, you were a fool indeed.

“Since those tidbits, as you call them, are not very complete and by your own admission, not necessarily chronological, we’ll pass on that at the moment. Perhaps later, as other facts come to light, you might be useful to us then.” He dropped the stylus on the table and leaned back. “You may step down.”

I nodded, picked up my hat, and stood. I’d never been in this situation before. I didn’t know if I should salute the board or not. If it weren’t for Rita, the answer would have been obvious, at least to me. Saluting civilians was just not done. However, there was more brass at that table than there had been in the skin of my ship. So I saluted and then returned to my seat.

~*~

“Well, I think the best indicator of our major actions is the log and the automatically recorded video signal from the cameras on the bridge, not to mention the data recordings from all the instruments in the Command Center,” Poul Rorke told the board.

“We have studied it,” General Corsair responded. The man at the left of the table looked sour to be told how to do his job by a mere commander, a man maybe half his age. “Of course, it does not provide answers to all our questions, Commander. That is why you are here.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was not my intention to be insubordinate. In a tense situation, I confess that I might doubt my own recall. I merely wanted the board to have facts instead of panicked remembrances.”

“Panicked?” Rita spoke up. “You panicked, Commander?”

I knew Poul Rorke well. I could tell that he hated being nailed by that question, and by a woman. Not that I was a chauvinist, but Poul was. To him a woman was only good for a handful of things and questioning him was not one of them. He squirmed for a moment. Not much, but knowing him the way I do, it was so obvious to me.

“It’s hard not to become uncertain and fearful in such a situation, ma’am,” he said evenly.

“Of course, I understand that. But you said you panicked. Is that accurate or not, Commander?”

He toyed with his dress uniform hat for a moment, looking at it. “No ma’am. I might have been…very concerned, and surprised by some of the things that happened, but I believe I was in control of myself the entire time.”

“You believe so.” Then before Poul could try to alter the picture she’d just constructed of him, Rita said, “Please answer the general’s question.”

And so for the first time I got to hear Poul reconstruct the events of that day, that moment. I could tell he was reliving the moment. I saw it on his face.

...

Kwa insee trepe nor

Imagine it. One hundred and eighty miles straight up. You rode 1.5 million pounds of thrust to get there. The vehicle is sturdy, robust and reliable. And yet compared to the harsh environment just inches away, it is a mere eggshell that could blow open for all the precious air to hurry out if even a micrometeoriod pierced through the wall.

And then you leave the safety of your craft and don an extravehicular activity (EVA) pressure suit and step outside. If a micrometeoriod could ruin your day inside the space craft, it would drive through the suit layers much easier. Those layers are all that stand between you and instant death. A small opening might stand chance of repair. Small. Very relative term. How small? How much margin before the pressure differential cannot be held back by the damaged material? So every hour you stop whatever you are doing, no matter how long or hard the task, and meticulously inspect the gloves. And astronauts have found cuts on their gloves during EVA.

Then imagine fastening onto the end of a fifty foot arm and going full reach away from the space craft. That is truly as alone and helpless as it gets. Hanging out over the entire earth, total blackness of space in the other direction and all help not just fifty feet away, but getting into the airlock and beginning the repressurization...stalled in the airlock for the wait since instant pressurization would be deadly. That far away from assistance. Yes, a fellow astronaut, always on EVA. However, extended, extensive, permanent help, rest, and safety are further away not just in distance, but in time as well.

Imagine it. No words or drawing can paint the picture. I can't, because I've never been there. But I think about it. I try to imagine what it is like, and I can't. Not fully. Only the few who've been there know, truly know what that moment is.

When comes the day when that experience is usual and normal for the average citizen rather than for the few selected and trained and pared down...months and years of waiting and training. Whence the day when a commute to space is no more than a commute to work is now?

I don't expect it in my life time, but I hope that my work contributes some part to making it so for the not distant future.

Dream it.

If you can dream it, you can do it.

Taking stock

Things have slipped a little and a lot in the past month or six weeks. The big slippers I'm only too aware of. The little slippers have managed to surprise me; in light of other goings on they managed to slide right past me. So it's time to halt in my steps for a few moments and figure out what is going on.

I have too much to do. Oh, sure we all do. Everyone is so busy these days. I do have all those "have to do" things as well. But my fun avocations have piled up and now seem an impossible to separate and organize pile. That's what I'm trying to figure out right now.

For starters, I need a list...
1. reading
2. art
2a. illustrations for book
3. writing
4. pattern art

For the moment, let's start with that. Those are the things that seem most important to me at the moment. Well, that makes it easy, right? I could spend one night on each project and have the weekend left for what strikes me. It seems so simple that way. But it never works out that way at all. Nights seem so short and many times I only get an hour to invest in whatever I choose to do that night. That's hardly enough time to really get into some projects. So what I really want to do is to have two, three or more nights in a row on a project. Okay, fine...sounds good to me. Then the others fall behind. Rats. No simple answer. Not to mention that unexpected things come up and spoil the rhythm of one night each. I guess there is no one good way to do it. Very frustrating for one who generally is quite organized and can always find time to tuck in for something that comes up.

So has life gotten that hectic that I can't do this anymore, or have I slipped that far from the ability to organize? That's a hard call to make. Who knows? I suppose it doesn't truly matter in the grand scheme of things. In a hundred years who will know or care? That's the pragmatic and realist way to see it rather than getting tied up in knots over it. But it doesn't really tie me up in knots. I just puzzle over it the same calm way I puzzle over a sudoku, or the Sunday crossword. The answer is there, one just must be able to apply the logic and the knowledge to entice the answer out.

Then on the other hand, I could go home, play with the dogs and talk to my wonderful spouse all night long.

102 and rising

Such a lovely weekend. After the other fun I've had, the doc told me on Friday that I had bronchitis. I only had a temp of 98.2 then when his nurse checked it. But the bottom fell out fast and by Saturday I was way far out of it...with a temp of 102+. But thankfully and with lots of prayers for relief and these newfangled wonder drugs, I am on my feet and at work on Monday morning, not feeling very bad at all. It figures...mess up my weekend instead of my work week.

However, rather than dwell further on what is past and rotten, this morning brought a brisk, breezy morning. The sky was clear and I found Jupiter right away. He was bright and jovial, smiling down on me as I drove to work, a good companion. It was not until I got onto the arsenal, however, that I was far south enough to have the "mountain" out of the way and I got the most wonderful surprise. There was the very old moon (4 days away from new), low in the sky, not far above the horizon. He was bright orange and very slim, almost unnoticable. If I hadn't looked up once more to peek at Jupiter, I never would have seen it. Jupiter was not far above the moon. A handsome pair, and quite the treat to see them together like that. It was enough to motivate me to pull over after I'd made the turn to my building and just watch for a long moment. Most wonderful and lovely. That's when I spotted the security guard who was just watching and apparently had already been parked. Time to move on before he began wondering who was sitting half way out in the road at 5 am. But that moment was a great one. For me (yes, geeky me) it was a wonderful way to start the day and the week. The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His handiwork. Psalm 19:1

Just had to come back and edit to note that I just looked up from the computer and out the window near my cave. I can see the moon high in the sky now from my desk. Cool that I saw it just rising and now can see it from my desk. Cool to me anyway.