Starting somewhere

This particular blog is not advertised in my on-line presence among ephemera Internet conversation (where I tend to beat the drum of liberty).

Here I have stored a few story fragments for that "future day when I take writing seriously." For many reasons, I have allowed myself to remain imprisoned in the fear of rejection and have thus used every excuse to not get to work on the 1,001 novels in my head that should entertain everyone. Fear has prevented me from persisting in the face of allowing survival to dictate the calender.

To surmount the rejection I have decided to publish the early materials of my late in life attempt to be a writer here on this fairly anonymous blog.

To surmount the calender, I am trying a three-fold approach: Spiritual, Intellectual, Organizational. Spiritual devotion is currently getting some impetus from our lovely Advent season for the Year of our Lord, 2016-17. {And yes that's A.D.} Also on the spiritual development front, my wife and I are beginning a study on the book of Job (from the Bible, q.v.).
Intellectual development is on-going, but my reading has dropped off because of my psychological difficulties in dealing with the tragedies in my personal life (currently trying to medicate it away with the distractions of luxury); renewing my focus to get back to reading and study.
Organizational development is only at the beginning for me, since I am trying to overcome mild hoarding tendencies combined with natural laziness and low-level anti-chaos training inadequacy (this has been compensated for heretofore by my wife's exceptional organizational abilities). The goal in considering organizational reality is to allow me to become more efficient with the use of my remaining time on this Earth. This blog will, however, be mostly concerned with examples from my lame early attempts at trying to be a story-teller, but as I come across techniques, articles, practices, etc. that help me to focus in on my writing, I will gladly share them.

So now to work. To prepare and to begin the rough drafts, and to avoid insidious distraction, I will have to work off-line.

Peace-out.

Transmissions from behind the world.287

stardate: 573498.287

Hello,

My name is Karl Olmstadt. This is my fourth transmission. Two great things happened today.

The first is that I transposed to a slightly more friendly universe. The transition was less abrupt and I felt no ill effects this time. The hunter I was trying to track doesn't exist in this world, but I think I have a hardware solution that I am trying to memorize so that if I transpose to the same world, I can start work on perhaps capturing or disabling the hunter. I don't think the hunters are organic, but I don't want to discuss my theories about them until I have more data or can capture one (of course without getting killed).
Another great thing about this universe is that my sweet wife is back. I would wish that she was able to transpose with me, but it is a curse that no one else should bear. It gave me hope to have her kindness again.

The other great event was a profound insight I gained at this morning's Rasta-Christian service. I am not allowed to attend the Cosmic Reveal portion of the service with the government nano-virus in my body, but I gained some great advice and I found out that there are some underground medical clinics. Tomorrow I have an appointment, hopefully I won't transpose before I can get some help.

I had a chance to query my priest about some things and he recommends that I record my name and some background biographical information for posterity. So, as you can see from the beginning of this transmission, I gave my name. I have to think about what I'm to say about my past, so I won't mention anything yet.

The nightmares have stopped, but the almost uncontrollable rage is still there. I'll keep this message brief since I am eager to find out about the progress of the nano-virus. I have to get some extra rest tonight and the usual doctor recommended extra water and no food. I'll report tomorrow.

From the underground--End Transmission.

Transmissions from behind the world.286

stardate: 573498.286

This small journal that I have started may be short-lived; I am starting to have nightmares and sometimes violent thoughts toward others. I was hoping that these effects of the nano-virus would be slower in coming, but without my scientific equipment, I can't monitor the progress of the invader in my body (and now my mind).

I have noticed the change in my personality, I seem to have an irrational anger and aggressiveness that shocks me with its virulence. I am going to make an appointment with my priest to see if anyone in the congregation has access to the government hospitals or clinics. There are rumors that a number of the doctors in the congregation have set up an underground clinic. (I can see why they've done it since the government's decree of stardate:201148.179 banned all private practice of medicine. This would have disallowed the doctors the ability to treat patients who are not party members or officials of the government.) I hope the rumor of the underground clinic is true; perhaps I can find a way to slow down the disease.

The space-time transpositions have stopped for awhile, but I am still in this strange and hostile world where kindness has been expunged.

I haven't mentioned this recording to anyone yet; I may bring it up at the next appointment with my priest. I will try to transmit to my data bunker again tomorrow.

One more thing that is starting to give me hope and seems to authenticate my association with Rasta-Christianity is that in all my space-time transpositions, the church is still there. I will have to go deeper into the principles of the Church if I can survive the government's "treatment".

Well... gotta go... I've got a tag on one of the hunters and I must see if I can find a hardware solution to detecting them since my Sense Powers are almost in complete decline.

From the underground--End Transmission.

Transmissions from behind the world.285

stardate: 573498.285

Today was really bad.

My involuntary personal transposition to closely parallel space-time dimensions, which was less frequent when I was among the Rasta-Christians, began to increase in frequency. I would have thought myself safer since no hunter can track a truly random transposition. But it seems that the transpositions are all of a kind. I seem to be locked into a group of parallel worlds where the State is profoundly supreme. My geas has not been released and the nano-plague is still coursing it's way through my body and even altering my thoughts. Today I transposed while awake for the first time.

One hour I was working hard at work and finishing my shift, and then I got that feeling I always used to get when I had awakened into a new universe. In this current world, my normally sweet wife was completely off her rocker. Even though one of the unavoidable side effects of the government's nano-virus is to kill my equanimous spirit and destroy any love I might have for other humans, I did try not to let it affect my close relationships. There was no repair today. To use an expression from my days on the colonial work crews, "everything has turned to shit".

Sometimes, I panic when I am stuck in these kinds of worlds, but I realize logically that things may change for the better. Emotionally, I know better. If I recover this personality, I hope I have transposed back to my original home. I hope I haven't forgotten my home--perhaps it never existed and I am doomed to wander forever.

The darkness is closing in, but these recordings seem to have a therapeutic effect on my thought life. Perhaps I will delete them when (or if) I recover.

May God have mercy.
From the underground--End Transmission.

Transmissions from behind the world.283

stardate: 573498.283

I had forgotten…

That I was an underground man…

It was easy to forget during the festival season of the Rasta-Christian Church. I had participated in services from last Earth Day until Ash Wednesday, and though I tried to sneak into more Rasta services, it was not to be.

Before I was an underground man, I am still an underground man.

During the joy and trouble-free social interaction of the RC community, I never seemed to worry about anything and the days rolled by. But now, as the Ahajalya slowly began to leave my body, I could feel and see the darkness approaching. A change in the structure of reality began to make itself felt; it was as if a great wind began to howl. I could now sense the malevolence of the hunters as they closed in on my location. But as my powers weakened, I hoped that by the time the hunters had narrowed their search to the district of the sprawl where I lived, I would be emptied of the detectable manifestations of the Spirit.

Night shifts at the Spaceport began to seem longer. Work and play could not hold my interest as before when the joy of connection was upon me in services. In those times, I had seen beneath the surface of personal interaction…

Now, however, I could see myself making social mistakes, but I was powerless to arrest my swift decline, and then I began to care too much about myself again.

This recording is an attempt to chronicle the changes in my physiology, as I was forced by the government away from the Rasta-Christian Church. The Fundamentalist Government Church had wasted no time in following its legal decree with an injection of their nano-phage cocktail. Our priest assured me that the Rasta-Christian way is supreme and with Ahajalya to facilitate the Spirit’s works I could overcome the government plague. But he had not realized that the State would use coercion to keep me from this the Eighth Sacrament.

I retreated to those moments in my work shift and free time when I could begin to chronicle my personality deconstruction. I only hoped that when the nano-virus ran its course, I would still be able to find my way back to our happy existence.

From the underground--End Transmission.

End of May

After the terraforming was completed in 2763AD the hinterlands of Mars remained sparsely populated, but due to automation became a productive agricultural source for the outer planet colonies. The Irwin family dirigible is shown here coming home to the old Irwin homestead from the southeast forty square mile tract near the mountain range leading to Olympus Mons.

End of May

Even though I still suck at writing (as far as salability goes), I will keep trying. Here is an excerpt from one of several stories I am working on:

As the black helicopters closed in upon the house of the last Libertarian; the man, knowing of the coming doom, pushed himself furiously at the keyboard to finish the essay. The upload completed just as the cables to the battery shed were severed and his beloved computer died for the last time. Much kinetic energy was dumped into the man’s body as he suddenly died of lead poisoning. Dark clad, humanoid figures sprinkled controlled substances around the floors of the studio and living spaces of the remote homestead as incendiary devices began the work of oxidation catalyst to the vulnerable materials of wood, plaster, books, paper, plastic, and rubber.

“Today’s latest victory in the War on Drugs culminated in the death of suspected drug lord Algernon Southworth, of PacNW sector alpha.” On the vacuous screen, a video file buffers and the inset begins: a great billowing column of black smoke overshadows the tall dance of orange-yellow demons sucking life out of an old Victorian farmhouse…Another clip loads, “and in other news today, the Justice AI sentenced three bureau technicians to penal servitude on Orbital Satellite Two…”

“Shut it off, you’ll wake the children,” snapped a tired edgy voice.

“Shhh, I think I knew that guy,” returned Keith as mute appeared over the ticker-line of market performance metrics, and the closed captioning activated. “Jane, I worked with that guy several years ago and…”

“If the children wake up and start crying again,” Jane whispered, “the block captain will be all over our asses…”

“Yes, of course you are right,” sighed Keith as he remembered that verbal flogging he had received from Olga about some of the neighbors' complaints against the children—it was just hard to keep things quiet with four children under age five and a deaf mother with whom one had to shout at to communicate, all crammed into a one bedroom apartment.

“But you know Jane, old Al was right about what would happen to our standard of living after the policies of Obama, Biden, and Ms. Clinton and all their flunkies in Congress had taken root…”

“Keith, I’m sick of hearing about politics—let’s just go to sleep,” interrupted Jane. Keith lay fretting as he thought about all the Americans that had been asleep the last twenty years. “You’ve got that interview tomorrow,” mumbled Jane as she drifted off to sleep. Yep, big number 400—maybe this will be the job, mused Keith as he too drifted off to sleep. The com-screen noting the lack of attention dropped itself into stand-by mode.

The Mission: maintenance mechanique used onboard the SS Bayern

The Mission, Stardate Supplemental

First Officer MacDougal reports that the mission to Titan has been truncated pending the outcome of the case of the Pfalzgraff's disappearance. In the interim, SN-MK1 was sent ahead to Titan in a small converted attack space-dirigible to set up a base camp. The envelope superstructure was kept in orbit for use as a communications satellite and the sealed control cabin was dropped by parachute to be landed at a suitable location for the manned portion of our mission. Here is a photo taken by a perimeter remote probe with daguerreotype to document our exploration site:

The Day I Fell to Earth

I first gained consciousness on a beach of a Caribbean island in the year of our Lord 1630. I had no memory of who I was or where I had come from. I awoke in a sweat; a strange garment of a silver metal fabric encased me from head to toe and seemed to perfectly trap heat. By chance I had at a strange belt about my waist with a utility knife attached which I quickly put to use in cutting much of the strange fabric away from my body lest I should perish from the heat.

I had not time to marvel at the strange dress I wore or why I knew the year was 1630. (1,630 years since what and how do I know this sea is the Caribbean?) Thirst consumed me. Compelled by my need for fresh water I staggered along the beach in hopes of locating some stream or river flowing into the sea. The sun beat down mercilessly upon me and as I began to think of perhaps ambulating toward the verdant vegetation above the high tide line to find cool shade, the sun seemed to grow dim. My vision narrowed as blackness enclosed my sight. I had almost reached the refuge of shade when the world began to spin about me and blackness encased me.

When next I awoke, it was to the pleasure of coolness...

The moist coolness after the burning sun convinced me that I must be in heaven or close upon the journey there. I awoke with a start as I realized that someone or something was touching me. My eyes opened and I thought that I still had not awakened because of the darkness around. My eyes grew accustomed to the dim light from the crescent moon and I saw staring into my face the beautiful faces of no less than three women of various ethnic extractions. My reason was beginning to return, and as I began to wonder how long I had been unconscious or where I was now, I really began to think that I was in heaven. I marveled as much at the curious stares of the women as at their beauty--such beauty that it almost hurt to look upon them. I began to stir and the women faded back out of sight.

I could barely lift my head, but my eyes wanted to follow the retreating figures. My reverie was suddenly interrupted by the point of a nasty looking steel bladed spear placed against my neck. My attention suddenly captured I looked down the long shaft of the spear to see standing before me a tall muscular woman dressed in bronze breast–plate, greaves, and gauntlets and nothing else. The excess of strangeness coupled with my memory loss and my weak physical condition conspired to blank out my thoughts. As I fell back unconscious, before my eyes closed I saw an unpleasant snarl on the mouth of the warrior woman.

Consciousness began to return like the light of pre-dawn as it heralds the bursting forth of the furnace-like sun. I expected to be in pain as I awoke but only felt the cool breeze caressing me as I rested supine on soft and clean linens of fine cotton fabric. My eyes opened to see towering over me a white marble column crafted like those of the Ancient Greeks. I lifted my head to see revealed in the afternoon light a row of these columns surrounding a large rectangular space topped by a white marble roof and supported by these columns. In this large open-air room in two neat rows were more than a dozen beds upon which lay men in various states of injury. Most of these men slept, but at the other end of the first row of beds two men had raised themselves to sitting position and were speaking softly to one another.

End of May

Chapter One: "Call Me Al"

Stratus dragons slithered across the moon’s face in a balmy black velvet sky as we drove across the airfield under the tower’s dispensation. After the obligatory words, we sat and waited as the China Air heavy dirigible arrived just ahead of the encroaching fractonimbus arms of another wad of gentle mist and rain. At the edges of the moon, glaring at the massive aerial displacement before an arrogant threatening mob of water vapor, the great ship shadowed the docking mast as automated weighted cables spewed in four directions. The steel spheres dragged short furrows before the behemoth ponderously stilled itself under the flutter of electric ducted fans.

Umbilicals and safety lines made fast the tardy vessel in refracted artificial light shining upward to dissipate in the vast parabolic sweep of the monster freighter’s plasteel hull. The radio crackled to life with the liturgy of aviation. Algernon Southworth blinked and turned away from the artificial moon resting at moorage and the bright white of landing lights and baggage car headlights. The ritual words opened the approach field for the solitary night excursion. At least, the stores will have fresh fruit tomorrow—and maybe more parts for our aging equipment. The air smelled fresh through the half opened window of the lighting maintenance van.

Momentarily awakening from twilight sleep, over in shotgun position, the old marine awoke with instant eerie silence and reached for the bronze clipboard, quickly noted time and date. By the last 600 seconds of the day, Algernon called off the airfield. Old Jake Arnold was back into his meditative state. As the bulk in the right seat dozed, solitude descended on the two men, quiet articulation of the hanger door ceased. Another 30,000 seconds, another 4 trillion dollars—
I’m glad the port pays us in WuLong dollars.

Return to Earth

Part 01
The navigator, being conservative at heart, and a mathematician in accuracy, plotted our approach into the Solar System at an angle at least 15 arc seconds above the solar plane in angle from the center of Sol. We had retained our enormous temporal velocity built up before we had embarked upon the change in the Aether drives pushing us into trans-light velocities. Going that fast was like time travel, but it was nice to only have to spend a week in cold sleep rather than years (or centuries). During the typical space-time hiccup we experienced every time we transitioned from normal space to extra space the same momentary lapse of reason amused us on the bridge.

When we broke on through the last space-time guffaw before circumlunar orbit (preparatory to dropping to Low Earth Orbit), something came undone in our minds. There was some missing time here and there and final approach did not seem so comfortable as we thought it might be. There was nothing we could immediately do since the hyperdense electromagnetic field protecting our ship from debris (take a meteoroid the size of marble going at 2.5 million miles an hour-what would it do to your ship?) still blocked any radio or laser communications. Even the gravity ripple communicator could not be activated this deep into a gravity well and with Aether drive engines running--that's crazy talk. But our blackout tinged with relativistic disturbances was different this time.

Part 02
"What was the shudder?" The Midshipman gasped as a violent lurching of the stellar frigate threatened to eject him from his seat at the helm.
"That," intoned,in a perfect English accent, came the voice of Lt. Cmdr. Chief Astrogator MacDougal, "is the subspace gravitation wavefront reaching our vessel at about 59 percent of standard light speed."
"What a trip...I mean roger Sir," gulped Midshipman Carlos. I had better refrain next time from too much space cake when I'm about to go on duty. It is so hard to keep a straight face with all this great sensory data to process.

Part 03

This picture shows our vessel, the HMS Lorelei

Our four engines combined displace 350 cubic meters (around 12,500 cubic feet) generating 70,000 metric tonnes of thrust. The ship displaces 28000 cubic meters (about 1,000,000 cu. feet) and masses about 15,000 tonnes. Typical performance in normal space in greater than 0.01 Earth gravities in gravitational field strength environment are 5G's (Earth gravities).
The engines are Eastinghouse HT6 Dynamic Aether Field Drives built at the Phobos Shipyards under contract by Kapek Enterprises, Inc.

Below 0.01G's grav. field strength environment, the aether drives may be activated in Spin-warp mode where the ship only partly interacts with normal space. This mode is very sensitive to gravity fields and thus a careful course needs to be plotted. The advantage is that your pseudo-velocity is now (for this ship) at about 0.058 light years per hour! (This is about 3.4 x 10 to the eleventh power miles per hour.)

The Vampire

“The killer awoke before dawn…”


The fitful sleep broke before the pounding upon the door.

The victim passed into the realm.

The sickness overwhelmed, and I, …

I watched her precious life fade away.

I hated myself for watching, but who would see the end?

I hated myself---in the eternal night.

The vicious day intruded and I…

I could not, … awareness faded… I almost welcomed...

The sharpened wood came in its time and…

I fought ferociously… something compelled me…

I thought that I might welcome the final rest…

But, there is no redemption for the lost.

I am gone, please… I wanted something else.

I wanted something better. This is not the way of the world.

I deserve the final end.

The… endless… hopeless… despairing scream… Oh God…

Blood… and I want to…

Oh, the endless death…

Why did they not triumph?

The fitful sleep…


“Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain…”

The Mission, part 4b2a2

"What shall we use to...fill...the...empty...spaces...when...we used to talk..."

A modification is made in the command structure of the SS Bayern. Doctor Robert Perry joins the mission as our new Interface Officer. StuWiFoo RF Ninja Acolyte will continue as our Sensor Operations Officer. I considered placing StuWiFoo in the position of Internal Security & Task Force Officer, but his semi-pacifistic philosophy would have given me no end of trouble in inter-personal conflicts with Major Karl Haliburton (an English mercenary in charge of my personal body-guard regiment of Imperial Marines). Major Haliburton will be the Internal Security & Task Force Officer and since he is very much a professional, I should have no problems with him and StuWiFoo in our staff meetings and in operations. To round out the Interface department, I mention also that our staff includes Monsieur Empuuli Mbuntu in the position of Weapons & Defense Officer and Dr. Wun Hung Lo in the position of Communications Officer.

For the record, and as a loyal peer of the Empire of Greater German Federated States, I mention that our mission for the SS Bayern is in all respects politically neutral and in accordance with loyalty to His Imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm IV.

The above disclaimer and statement of intention is to warn any of Napoleon's spies that the employment of Mr. Mbuntu (a citizen of Algeria) is in accordance with the Treaty of Berlin in regards to former colonies and their International Rights.

I, Pfalzgraf Joachim Irwin, recognize the wisdom of our Kaiser's policy toward the Empire of China and thank him for the permission to hire the excellent Dr. Lo from Beijing University for our mission.

My thanks go out to my good friend, Doctor Perry, and my favorite Minister of Propaganda for the state of Rheinland-Pfalz.

"So you...thought you...might like to...go to the show...! I've got some bad news for you sunshine...Pink isn't well--he's back at the Hotel...and they've sent us along as a surrogate band...Tonight we're going to find out...where you fans really stand..."

Can’t you see, I’m not me…

Can’t you see, I’m not me…

We seemed to float down the steps to the limousine—hand in hand—the short spring sun shone through the afternoon firs and pines. The murmur of the falls skittered behind the world—we were one flesh. O, how sweet like a fine chocolate was the moment of our beginning.

As the machinery closed in upon the moment and arrival at our abode drew us apart, I wondered why I couldn’t remember our trip. The soft shackle of our friends’ and relatives’ love brought us back to our comfortable masks and we smiled and played our parts.

After two hundred sixty million seconds, we walked again in the old world simulation. And our son (son?) broke through the quiet moment with his delight at the wonder of good English tea. We were laughing in the sunshine of the moment and enjoying the kindness of our legend.

Seventy-one million seconds later and the first end had come. The cracks in the surface of the working dream began to show. I couldn’t stop the decay—the damage had spread too fast. What happened to the substance of things hoped for?

We smiled and turned and pedaled more swiftly. I became cruel at times—and I was alone in a crowd again, like in my childhood. She cried alone at the crushed flower.

Why was the time not seen when the young men and women were my fellows—why do they only see an old man?

{The conditioning began to wear thin. I never noticed it until the regular 500,000 second self evaluation revealed a flattening of the summary curve on my performance metrics. At first I thought it was an equipment malfunction—perhaps the interminable Martian dust was fouling the assembly equipment.

I seemed to be exhausted too soon. I trained too well for this—what was wrong?

“Invalid command…address d87001e53348aa buffer under-run. Please input new command!”

My eyes opened. How long was I sleeping?
“System halt…initiate restart…initiate restart…”
I triggered the kill process until…}

The Mission, The Great Hiatus

The test of the "State 4 Vacuum Manipulation" (a different approach than the standard Aether Drive) on a test vehicle in the hanger of the SS Bayern began with all of the usual precautions and in some ways was considered a routine test. Even to this very hour we are not completely sure what happened the day of the test. According to the logs kept by our Assistant Archivist, my son Samwise, we supposedly had on staff two great Scientist-Masters of the Temple of Quantum Aether Mechanics—our records do not show that these two people ever existed. Samwise was observing the State 4 test near the field limit threshold when the experiment went wrong. The Quantum Aether field refused to stabilize and the small aerial excursion craft into which the new experimental engine was installed, vanished in the field collapse. I was quite certain that we had only lost some expensive equipment and that no other staff members had been harmed, but my son remembers complete biographies and conversations and events involving the two scientists that do not even exist in our records. Thinking that I had over-worked my son, and hoping that his delusion was temporary, I decided that it was time for all of us to take a break from the never-ending task of preparing for the future mission to Titan.
We intended to take the remaining aerial excursion vehicle for a short visit to the Resort of Mare Tranquilitus. The trip to the moon would take our minds off of the mountain of work facing us and perhaps help to inspire us to greater effort. As we began the process of unpacking the other vehicle from where it was stowed in the farthest reaches of the hanger, we were nearly killed by a sudden thunderclap of compressed air as the first vehicle reappeared in the middle of the hanger. The brilliant red glow of the hull of the craft and the warm current of air flowing outward to singe our hair and clothes indicated to our dazed minds as we picked ourselves up from the deck that it might not be a good idea to go near the returned craft.
After the craft had cooled sufficiently and I had summoned my staff, we sent in SN-Mk1 to have a look at the interior of the excursion craft. The interior of the craft was changed in dramatic ways. The large and expensive Mk3 Portable Analytic Engine was missing and the steam conduits powering it were not even installed in the craft any longer. Instead of the fine Aether Valve Tube display at the controls of the craft there was only a flat soft crystal screen and strange tiny switches and buttons. And to top all the other strangeness, all the labels on the very different appearing equipment were in English instead of German. Daguerreotype machines were brought in to make a visual record of all the strangeness. When we came to the engine nacelle where the new experimental Aether Drive was installed we found a completely different configuration of field windings and a mysterious humming coming from the engine compartment—apparently the Vacuum State energy field was still engaged at some sort of standby level. At least this was our immediate theory until we could take a closer look at the different experimental engine.
Since I did not want to ask one of my men to do something dangerous that I was not willing to do, I decided that I would attempt to activate our new drastically changed excursion craft. My son wore me down with his requests to accompany me on the test until finally I acceded. Together we would prove our new vehicle; this is how we came to be in our current predicament…

The Mission, Stardate Supplemental again

Pfalzgraf's Update: The SS Bayern continues to be built by Irwin Technologies & Services. The current project is the deployment of upgraded Analytic Engines of Dort for the use of the Trade Development department of the future mission to Titan. Please welcome our new Cargo Master and Assistant to the Archivist of the Mission, Samwise Rheinhardt Irwin, the Pfalzgraf's own son and heir. Yeoman MacAllister reports that Brother Stu-WiFoo, RFMonk acolyte, is to be our new Interface Officer; he will be assigned a new assistant, Simulacrum Nipponensis, a gift from the Empire of Japan. As SN-Mk1 (as we have named the Mechanical Man) builds its AI data tables in order to be of full assistance to Brother Stu-WiFoo, it has begun its training in computational Netwerken Gewerken.

The Mission, Stardate Supplemental

The sting of my sound mental thrashing subsided after the time of my rejection by the Trigonometry Sensei had passed some distance into the past. My training under another Sensei (Master of the Art of Alternatives in Mathematica) was completed at only a mere 90%--not a good showing. But after the pain of my failure in the one discipline of Mathematica where I should have done much better, I comforted myself that construction on the space dirigible was still progressing well. The command bridge was completed and new Analytic Engines were configured and installed; the astronomical and aethereal calculations would begin for the mission.

My new training at the Sister’s Temple of Takoemeq began under a new Sensei, the Sensei of Electronischen and Netwerken Science. This Sensei was familiar to me and had begun my training when I still aspired to the Temple of Wireless.

One unfortunate aspect of this Department at the Sister’s Temple was that it had a very close relationship to the Mage of Redmond. The Mage of Redmond espoused the belief in and loyalty to the Emperor's Temple of the Closed Difference Engine. This dangerous conceptual view of the right use of the Difference Engine was espoused by all the Tyrants of the various Technocracies and Empires of the Stellar Federation. The view included going beyond the normal protections desired by most of the technical guilds to the desire to control all intellectual property. Unfortunately the economic influence of the Mage of Redmond had compromised many tech-temple leaders who were desirous of funding for their departments. The Mage’s influence had extended to my overlord, Posav Maantenon, and we are forced to learn the convoluted mysteries of the “tiny-flaccid” universe. So my training in the Servo-Analytic Engines of Redmond has begun and sometimes it can wear a pilgrim down, but if I persist through the 2,197 levels of Secrets of the Dark Mage I will then have enough experience points to break away from the evil and return to my own domain and fortify it against the evil.


Here following is step number two of the 2,197 to achieve knowledge of the Dark Mage:

What About .NET and WinFX?

The .NET Framework consists of a library of classes called the Framework Class Library (FCL) and a Common Language Runtime (CLR) that provides a managed code execution environment with features such as just-in-time compilation, type verification, garbage collection, and code access security. By offering these features, the CLR provides a development environment that improves programmer productivity and reduces common programming errors. (For an excellent description of the .NET Framework and its core architecture, see Applied Microsoft .NET Framework Programming by Jeffrey Richter.)

The CLR is implemented as a classic COM server whose code resides in a standard usermode Windows DLL. In fact, all components of the .NET Framework are implemented as standard user-mode Windows DLLs layered over unmanaged Windows API functions. (None of the .NET Framework runs in kernel mode.) Figure 1-1 illustrates the relationship of these components:


Figure 1-1. Relationship of .NET Framework components



WinFX is "the new Windows API." It is the evolution of the .NET Framework that ships with Windows "Longhorn," the next major release of Windows. It will also be installable on Windows XP and Windows Server 2003. WinFX provides the foundation for the next generation of applications built for the Windows operating system.

The Mission part4b3a&b

The Mission part4b3a

In the name of Joachim Irwin, via Shlomo MacAllister, the Irwin estate places the following new ad for new staffing:
(Wanted:
Qualified Military Pilot for Scientific Expedition—two positions available—Referrals to link: “i//a: 1789cc4585cc2300w” --Babbage Engine access code--Serious Inquiries Only)

The first gentleman to answer my ad was a former British Space Agency test pilot named Thomas R. Carlisle. This candidate seemed to be the perfect fit for the job of Pilot and Chief Helmsman, except that his resume only mentioned that he had attained the rank of Major in the British Royal Aerospace Command and had been honorably discharged from service after completing only one mission.
When Shlomo brought Major Tom into my office, I looked up from my oak and steel desk to see a trim and neatly dressed man with an earnest and friendly smile lighting up his otherwise plain features. When asked to sit in one of my fine leather chairs, I noted the sharp click of boots on my beech covered floor as he strode to the chair. After we had bowed in greeting and Shlomo had departed to attend to other matters, we began our interview. Beyond the normal review of qualifications and a brief discussion of the Psychiatrist’s screening report, I wanted to know why Major Tom had been released from service after only one mission.
The tale that emerged was enough to fill a small volume many times over but the gist of it was that during a routine test of the new Eastinghaus Aether drives, Major Tom’s spacecraft had nearly been lost. He was brought back safely to Earth by the means of several course corrections and a circum-lunar orbit. All of this drama was never publicized by the Imperial Press Agency, since at the time Napoleon V’s France was ahead in the development of the Aether drive. After this mission, Major Tom was quietly retired and all British Space Agency craft were fitted with better sensors and the new Embedded Binary Difference Engines to allow the pilot better control of his vessel.
Major Tom was not very happy about being drummed out of the British Space Agency and was glad to sign onto our mission—we were glad to have him.

The Mission part4b3b

The second position for pilot and helmsman was finally selected; and this candidate was as opposite in personality and background to Major Tom as can be imagined. Matthew Grisholm of the Unified States Alliance in America came from a working class family in the Confederate States sector of the USAA. This outdoorsman had become interested in flight when news came to the Unified States of the development of the Verne Cannon—the Empire of France could now launch a projectile around the world. Matt Gus, as he was known to his friends, joined the Scientific Corps to study Astronomy and Orbital Mechanics at Georgia Technical Institute. When war broke out between the USAA and Imperial Mexico under Maximilian III, Matt joined the Alliance Air Corps and began his life-long love affair with flying by piloting attack dirigibles in the bombardment of Mexico City. Sick of war and still holding the dream of being the first man from the Alliance (USAA) to travel into outer space, Matt resigned his commission in the Alliance Air Corps and went back to Georgia Tech to complete his Doctorate in Astro-Geo-Physics.

The Mission part4b2a

Since I had been blessed with the beginnings of the crew for my expedition I began to consider how I would fill the other vital positions necessary to properly staff the SS Bayern. I began to discuss the problem with my yeoman, Shlomo MacAllister, and he suggested placing an ad with the International Royal GeoSpatial Society. The ad would read as follows:

Wanted for Mission to Titan
(undertaken by Pfalzgraf Joachim Irwin):
Gentleman suitably talented to fulfill the following position,
--Interface Officer
This position has the following subordinates and responsibilities:
Sensor Operations Officer
ECM—electronic counter measures
ECCM—electronic counter-counter measures
Weapons & Defense Officer
TAMP—target acquisition & missile penetration ;)
SDC—shields & damage control
Internal Security & Task Force Officer
Communications Officer
CPDMA—communications, protocols, data manipulation & acquisition

Before I allowed my yeoman to post the ad, I wanted to consider asking my brother, the RF Ninja Acolyte, Stu WiFoo, if he wanted the position. I could think of no one more qualified than my brother, because though his current knowledge of the Information Aether was limited, I knew that his extraordinary dedication to the Wireless Temple and to the cause of learning would be an invaluable asset to the mission. It only remained to me to make the inquiry with Stu WiFoo’s sensei...


1 comments:
rfmonk said...

when master interupted my passive network scanning of the core downtown area by somehow hacking the irc and taking control of my box, I imagined that I was going to be in trouble for something. However I was greatly relieved, to my astonishment I was being asked for by name from what the foo fighters considered a very reputable man and a decent hardware hacker in his own right. Of coarse I would accept, what an oportunity to work with skilled artisans, adventure, and continue mapping on a greater scale the grids many galactic nodes...

The Mission part4b1

(Biographies of the crew members of the SS Bayern)
Those balmy days of summer when I, Joachim, became reacquainted with the man who was to become my Chief Astrogator were care-free and, dare I say, fun. This gentleman was a friend of Mary Juanita Spleefus, whom I had met at several Spacer Guild parties that I had been invited to join. James Ya-Rasta Makeha-meha MacDougal was a member of the Rastafarian Presbyterian Church of the Triune God of Power and was making the rounds of the various technical guilds to raise money for his Church and Astronomical Temple of the Greater Caribbean. James had come from a lineage of strange but God-fearing people who resided in the Free Republic of Jamaica. His great-grandfather, Kameha-makameha, had come to the island from Tahiti after attempting to circumnavigate the earth in his catamaran. The storm that brought him to shore in Jamaica also grounded a ship of Scottish colonists bound for the colony in Darien. These survivors made friends with the locals and established the First Rastafarian Presbyterian Church of Jamaica in the town where they settled down. One of Kameha-makameha’s descendents organized enough of a revolution to secure equal status in the British Commonwealth for Jamaica. But the real story here was that the secrets of the Polynesian method of navigation were passed on to his descendents and James had received these secrets and had extrapolated profound secrets about space-time that had earned him a full-ride scholarship to Cambridge. His paper, “On the Effects of the Luminiferous Aether on the Curvature of Space-Time” brought an invitation to MIT where he continued his research until the elders of his home church asked him for help in establishing the Astronomical Temple. With the opening of the solar system to manned exploration made possible by the Eastinghaus Aether drives there was a great demand for astrogators who could think faster than the binary analytic engines and program the proper instructions for these calculating machines in order to guide the spacecraft of the world’s empires.

When in the course of conversation at one of the fund-raisers, and when James found that I was planning to build the SS Bayern and journey to Titan, he immediately wanted to come along on the journey. I was profoundly flattered that he would be my Astrogator and extremely grateful when he was willing to wait while I ransomed my craft back from the Pirates of Penury. All that summer and into the fall we had occasion to meet at Mary Juanita Spleefus’ house and take the Eighth Sacrament and speak of the discoveries we would make in the name of our Creator.
But then studies began again in earnest at the Sisters Temple of Takoemeq and my brother went forth into the fierce northlands and my path turned away from the Temple of Wireless for a time.

The Mission part4a

“Time keeps on slippin' slippin' slippin' into the future…”

The glow of the spaceport faded as my steam turbine cargo van lurched onto the autobahn at a mere 115kph. The wind and rain howled and kicked the old van as the wheels split their time between hydroplaning and gripping the ruts and pot holes of the unfinished roadway. Numbness crept into my body as I struggled to pilot my wallowing barge and my eyelids drooped with their command, “must sleep...” In my mind, I tried to rehearse my busy day—I was so disappointed with my performance at the Sister’s Temple of Takoemeq. In the war of priorities fought every moment between my duties at the spaceport, my studies at the temple, and the time needed to direct the continued work on the space dirigible, I had lost position in my class in the studies of the sacred math runes. I would still learn the knowledge, but the record before our Great Technocrat, Societas de Usa Howmuch would not be evident. My only hope was to work harder on the Lord’s Day between services. I was not too concerned with Comrade Chairman Howmuch’s notice or even Chief Sealth’s or Posav Maantenon’s notice since my position was so far beneath them in the hierarchy. I was disappointed with myself for attempting to do too much too soon. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the need for survival on the roadway brought my attention back to the perilous journey home.

“I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free
Oh, Lord, through the revolution”

The Mission part3

In the Land of Sealth the months passed quickly under Posav Maantenon, the money began to flow and the Pirates of Penury were happy with the ransom I paid every month. Under Posav’s henchman, O’Riley, I began my training in the knowledge of the spaceport. I learned the secrets of Morgannis’ robbery of the peasants which were the metering of the liquid aether used by everyone to power the glow orbs and power the difference engines. (This was a sad story, for the discoverer Thesolosius had wanted to give the power of the liquid aether to everyone, but his Over-Lord, Eastinghaus was beholden to Morgannis for much gold and sold Thesolosius down the river.) Under O’Riley I moved quickly to other realms of knowledge; after two months I was brought to study direct transmission of high intensity liquid aether. This kind of knowledge is not usually imparted to the normal wiremen of our Guild, so I was eager to learn. After learning of the dangers of the high intensity liquid aether (tales were told of the disintegration of any who were careless with this great power), I was permitted to study for a short time the automata controlled by the binary analytic engines of the Embedded Temple. Life was good again as I moved to the night watch at the spaceport—my family was free and my studies began again at the Sister’s Temple of Takoemeq.
Now that it looked as if I might have stability of good conditions, I began to question whether I should eventually continue down the path of secrets toward the Temple of Wireless. I had discovered other paths of knowledge that would eventually permit entry to that temple; I only needed to penetrate the dark mysteries of the Calculus. I began to hear about LaGrange, Leibniz, Newton, and of course Gauss—I must break through the Differential and Integral Calculus—I know that the secrets of Maxwell’s silver hammer will break down the door to wave mechanics and propagation and help me when I grok the electronischen of antennas and subspace aether. Now if only, to sleep…perchance to dream…
Posted by Mad Russian the Natural Philosopher at 1:15 AM
1 comments:

rfmonk said...

Urgency gripped my heart and emotions as I noticed the great temple library baren of upper coterie, niether were they to be found lurking in or about the rfmon. A lot of noise lately about custom crafted scripts made for the sole purpose of targeting one specialized facet of the matrix, so I had expected many observers patiently laying,jacked in to the shadows of cyberspace. Their absence only meant one thing, master had decided it was time for there departure to further cloak their access points, and I struggling with the outer cabal math runes, once again to be passed up, ignored, for lack of skill. I must work harder, longer, further, deeper--maxwell, why are you so far off? Farther than the stars themselves.(exellent story, thank you for the blog-from-word-tip, cool)

The Mission: Pictures 03

Lady Augusta Ada Lovelace, patron of Sister's Temple of Takoemeq. First programmer of Babbage's Analytic Engine.

• Ada

The Mission part2

The sun was on the rise, the taste of Java Boenerges on the tongue, I was awake and walking the long trek to the Land of Sealth, and as my higher brain functions began to return, I remembered why I was so willing to serve in that kingdom again. I had taken the king’s coin before and had served honorably under the uncaring Ibau Kochranus. Those years long ago had been fruitful for my purse and had allowed me to become an initiate in the understanding of the binary difference engine. In my prosperity I had even begun construction on my space dirigible

SS Bayern.

When I was cast out in the time of Chief Sealth’s Ally’s loss of Twin Towers to the barbarian heathen, I vowed never to serve the king again unless on my own terms.
Some day Ibau Kochranus will receive judgment…I began to think before remembering the teachings of Isa and immediately began to pray as I walked through the dusty streets. I must be patient and swallow my pride and hope to distinguish myself under Posav Maantenon, he was known to be generous to those who served well and ruthless to the slackers. And the Lord God knew my desperation—the memories of my frightened family as the Pirates of Penury carried them away as hostages came unbidden to my mind. I had sold everything I had to get them back, but the pirates had only ‘loaned’ me back my own space dirigible that I might return to Terra and find treasure to redeem my family.
With my craft parked in orbit I fell to earth in one of the escape pods to return to the Temple of Wireless to learn more of the secrets of the aether and the communication of data. With this knowledge I could pay back the pirates and learn how to build the subspace sensors that I needed to avoid the pirates in the future. Alas, with no money for entrance to the Temple of Wireless, I served as a tinker and studied under the Sister’s Temple of Takoemeq. Thus began my new line of research that will some day (hopefully) bring to me the understanding of the Secrets of Maxwell and Gauss and perhaps even Heisenberg. When I had had enough to at least buy a servant’s scholarship* to the Temple of Wireless, I had begun the trek only to find my path directed to the Land of Sealth.

The Mission: Pictures 02

Chief Sealth's Ally loses his great towers to the barbarian heathen.

The Mission: Pictures 01

Morning departure from the temple.

The Mission part1

Later the same day…

To use my brother’s metaphor…

The Mission

Stepping through the servant’s entrance into the temple courtyard from the hot dusty street brought soothing coolness to my bare tired feet. I paused a moment at the first Bulumbi booth and looked up at the cherry blossoms floating in the air as a light breeze stirred through the trees lining a flagstone path. As cool peace settled into my soul like the petals touching the ground, I wondered if today I would see my brother training among the other acolytes. My hand touched the latch of the shutter-door of the booth; two voices distracted me from the ritual words. I paused to look toward the voices breaking down the path toward my sun burnt ears.
“When you return with the dowry and pay the entrance price, you may continue your training, StuWiFoo Wan,” clipped and kindly, yet measured and precise, spoke the first voice. Shocked, I recognized the second voice’s reply, “Yes Sensei, I shall go unto the fiercesome northland and return with treasure for the temple.”
I began to wave and call to my brother as I watched him give a final bow to the Master. My greeting was interrupted by the final words of the Master, “A pebble must strike the pond, waves of purpose will propagate.” Suddenly my brother had departed and the Master stepped forward. I had time only to wonder to myself how an old man such as the Master could move so fast when immediately before me stood the small figure of the sensei.
“As for you, wireman, you cannot serve here yet,” interjected the Master. My jaw dropped from the word, “But…”
“The Merchant King of Sealth has called you back into service, Posav Maantenon has requested you himself! You will go tomorrow!” I found myself bowing as the Master’s final words cut into my thoughts, “Your path will twist, but you must bend as the pine tree grows on the mountain rock.”
“Yes, sensei…” croaked my distant voice. My hand was still upon the latch of the Bulumbi booth door. Three hundred twenty-nine flower petals touched the earth. The electric sky darkened. Tomorrow…