The Space Race - Thomas Stafford: "We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.
John F. Kennedy
Rice University
Sept. 12, 1962 "
Whatever happened to this spirit of striving for the impossible because we perceive it to be so? The whole world seems to be sitting on its collective mikta, scratching its head and staring at its belly button. The vast, overwhelming majority of countries are focused on internal affairs, relations with other countries, etc., and that's all well and good. But if we ever want to go anywhere, we're going to have to put aside medicare, give up giving terrorists the attention they crave, and look up into the sky again.
Assuming I don't get arrested or anything for saying this (everyone's still so caught up in trying to identify terrorists that I've heard they're incringing on free speech now... 'course, that was IM...), America, at least, needs a rival nation, perhaps even one that can be a worthy adversary. And this adversary needs to reach to the sky, challenge us to beat him to Mars or Io. We need something to kick start NASA again.
And don't tell me that NASA hasn't become idle; I know about the shuttle program and the ISS. But a shuttle couldn't get a flea to the moon, let alone a person to the aformentioned moon of Jupiter. Not to mention that every time something goes wrong, we're on the brink of giving up. (You know, if NASA could get some support, that'd go a long way, too...)
What do we really expect to find up there in the highest reaches of our atmosphere? (The shuttles don't actually completely leave the atmosphere, by the way.) I mean, The Andromeda Strain makes foreign bacteria sound so interesting, but that's not why we're there. I'm sure it's cool and all that spider webs are clumpy in freefall. But where's the intrigue? So we've got experiments going. Wa hoo. Yipee. Can we get any further along in the matter of getting off this rock? I mean, Earth is great. Beautiful. Extremely, and I'm not just being sarcastic. But what if there's more we're missing out on or postponing just 'cause we're so caught up in how much tax we might have to pay or whether Bob and Judy are going to go out tomorrow or break up? What if something or someone is waiting for us to step out the front door, walk out to get the galactic newspaper, and meet the neighbors?
Even if there's no one out there or you believe that there isn't any other life (or intelligent life) in the universe (though it's getting to be kinda rare on Earth... if only sane people ran the world... Hey, we could ship all the politicians off to Mars to duke it out verbally for all time!), look at it this way. There's a whole universe out there. Each one of us is one person out of over six billion. Those six billion plus people all fit on this planet of ours with a few square miles to spare. Our planet is one of the smaller ones in the solar system. The closest star could fit millions of our precious world inside it, and it's not even a big one. There are thousands, if not millions, of stars in our galaxy. And this little galaxy we call the Milky Way (much more creative than "Sun" and "Moon" and if you think about it, "Earth") is one of thousands, probably millions, in our ever expanding universe. We are so small. Don't you think we could stand to take up a bit more space, especially if you think there's no chance of encringing on anyone else's turf?
And if you do think that there's gotta be someone else out there, wouldn't it be nice if we weren't the shy, solitary, skulky neighbors for once?
Since the mid 1800s, probably before then (those ancient rock signs in South America that can only be seen from helicopter or plane), people have been dreaming of going up, away, into the sky. Why not now? Why did we stop dreaming? Are we so caught up in our tiny, everyday lives that we can't stop and wonder what we're missing? The universe isn't empty; it's as full of beauty as our own planet Earth, if not more. Hubble keeps sending us beautiful nebulae, awe-inspiring galaxies. Not to sound way too cliche, but there are whole worlds out there to explore, other solar systems, other galaxies. And here we are fighting over who should be the next person to fill a role in a beaurocracy.
I'm almost done, promise.
People used to look up at the sky, imagining that the individual twinkling lights were gods. Later, they realized that those lights were burning spheres of gas, and deciding that that's not a very nice place to visit, turned their gazes to the moon. As early as 1865, people like Jules Verne imagined visiting the moon. They must have thought it impossible. Merely flying was hard enough, but to go so high as to reach an orbiting satellite must have seemed impossible. The task seems so outrageous that some people doubt we've even achieved it. But now we know that it's possible. We have a reliable way to get there and have gone six times starting with Apollo 11 and ending with Apollo 17.
We've gone there, done that. Now we need a new impossible task. And we need the motivation to achieve it. I pray that one day soon, we'll have both and the full and undivided support of our currently distracted nation.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
Sunday, July 25, 2004
I don't know where this came from. It's kind of a bad rip-off of Stargate. Mostly, it's my "Wormhole X-treme is to Stargate as Stargate: SG-1 is to x" story. But I really haven't been thinking about it that long; it just kinda popped up with all I've been reading lately. But if you enjoy it, great. If you don't, I guess I need to find better ideas to play with.
Dramatis Personae (as they might be if I continue)
The General
Kevin Armstrong--old team French linguist
Liluye "Chani" Armstrong--new team German linguist (15)
Natalia Kuli--old team German linguist
George Kuli--new team Spanish linguist (18)
Lucas Kuli--MOCR (18)
Marie Miller--old team Spanish linguist
Gus Miller--new team French linguist (19)
Neil Miller--new team diplomatic leader and German linguist (16)
Pavel Koretsky--old team diplomatic leader and Russian linguist
Valentina Koretsky--new team Russian linguist (20)
**********
November 1st, 1986.
Though he towered over the room's other occupant, the six foot five inches tall civilian nodded respectfully to the general before him. "Thank you, sir. You know, I probably won't be able to come back here until she's out of the house, and by then..."
The Air Force officer smiled, even laughed a bit. "By then, you'll be too old to keep up. I understand. Even something so amazing as the 512 should never get in the way of your family." His face became serious again, as it usually was while he was on duty. "You realize we need as many good poeple as possible. I trust your daughter will have no aversion to joining in when she can if we're still around."
"I'll do what I can," the tall man replied.
"Good." The general stood, taking the other's hand in a shake. "God be with you, Kevin."
"You, too." With that, the two parted.
June 13, 2003.
"You've got to admit," Chani declared as soon as the commercials started, "that if he wasn't evil, wasteful, and annoying, Anubis would have been a really cool ally."
Kevin shook his head. He'd long ago given up trying to 'discuss' these points with his daughter. She always came up with too many counterpoints anyway. Her attention shifted back to the TV, where snippets from an upcoming episode flashed across the screen.
He frowned, something in the commerical evoking memories of a promise he'd made years before, a promise they had called in. Earlier that evening, he'd received a message from his old employer, explaining that his presence had been requested and his daughter's as well. His first instinct had been to say no, but he knew they wouldn't let him just change his mind. Besides that, he was positive his daughter would love to go.
She was so young. He had been nineteen when he signed on, and he'd always thought of himself as being too young. But Chani, she was fifteen, barely that. He couldn't imagine that they didn't realize that.
Fortunately, her mother thought that it was a good idea, that it might give Chani something to work towards in school. At least the teen wouldn't have to worry about getting a summer job.
**********
Chani glanced down at her clothing for the fifth time in three minutes. "You know," she remarked, "all the times I've flown, and I've worn tennis shoes on every flight. Are you sure we won't have time to change before getting there?"
Kevin sighed. Since they were to be landing right at the base, it gave more meaning to the words 'direct flight' than she knew. "We're going to be late, even as it is," he mumbled, "so I really don't want to take the time to change." His eyes hadn't moved from the novel in his hands.
"So, um, what are your cousins like?" Chani grumbled, fidgeting with her skirt again.
"They're nice." He then pretended to be completely absorbed in the book.
Finally, she looked up from her clothes and around at the other people on the aircraft. "Hey, Dad, don't you think it's a little odd that this plane can hold something like thirty passengers, and there's only, lesse, seven of us?"
He shook his head. "It's a small airport."
"Small airports don't have direct flights from the other side of the country. You can barely get one to GSP anymore, and that's only five states away, not forty-eight."
"We got lucky."
"Scheisse. This is flying, remember? You don't get lucky unless it has something to do with the pilots' abilities or how fast you got through security."
A woman across the aisle and in the row in front of them snickered at the remark. Kevin shook his head. "I don't know, Chani, so settle down. It's a long flight."
She sighed then stared out the window. Delicate designs of light green, dark green, and other tiny shapes crawled by, where she could seen them through the breaks in the puffy white and gray carpet of clouds. Above the plane, the sky was clear and blue, a hue of which rivalled faceted sapphires in beauty.
Though the view was wonderful, she shortly declared it predictable, consistant, unchanging, and therefore boring, so she glanced back at her father. Her jaw dropped when she saw him conversing lightly with the woman across the aisle.
"Computer programming," Kevin replied, answering the woman's question. "You?"
She grinned. "After you left, we all heard about it, and the general even told us why and encouraged us with 'family always comes first.' I went home, raised the kids, and started teaching fifth grade."
"That's great."
Chani tapped his arm. "Dad?" she asked pointedly.
He coughed a couple horried, wet smokers' coughs. "Chani, this is Natalia Kuli. I used to work with her."
The teenager smiled half-heartedly. "Hi."
Natalia waved in reply but stared at Kevin. "You didn't tell her, did you."
His eyes darted back and forth. "I didn't know I was supposed to."
A visible realization crossed the woman's face, and for a few moments, she looked as though she couldn't decide whether to laugh or to remain caught up in the seriousness the situation seemed to demand. "They never sent you the Introduction Guidelines, did they."
He shook his head, his eyebrows falling together. "Introduction--"
"Language?"
"Yours."
Natalia nodded then looked to Chani. "Sag mir, warum kommt ihr hier?"
She shrugged, obviously surprised at the transition into German. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to respond. "Family reunion."
"You weren't so far off from the truth, Kev. All four of us are comin' back to teach these young 'uns what it's all about."
"How many?" he wondered.
"For now, just five." She glanced to Chani, but addressed Kevin. "The Introduction Guidelines insist that 'new recuits' so to speak are to be told most of it on the way, without detailed explanation of devices until we're inside."
He shrugged. "Guess I'd better get started. Nice talking to you again, Natalie." Kevin then anchored a bookmark in his novel and deposited it in the seatback pocket in front of him. "Chani, we aren't going to a family reunion."
"I got that, but thank you, Captain Obvious." She thought for a moment. "Guidelines to introduce people to what?"
"The 512," he answered, belatedly realizing it would be nothing more than a number to her. "Put it this way: You're right. Aliens do exist, and they've been here."
Her eyebrows rose, and for a second, she could say nothing. "You're joking, right?"
Dramatis Personae (as they might be if I continue)
The General
Kevin Armstrong--old team French linguist
Liluye "Chani" Armstrong--new team German linguist (15)
Natalia Kuli--old team German linguist
George Kuli--new team Spanish linguist (18)
Lucas Kuli--MOCR (18)
Marie Miller--old team Spanish linguist
Gus Miller--new team French linguist (19)
Neil Miller--new team diplomatic leader and German linguist (16)
Pavel Koretsky--old team diplomatic leader and Russian linguist
Valentina Koretsky--new team Russian linguist (20)
**********
November 1st, 1986.
Though he towered over the room's other occupant, the six foot five inches tall civilian nodded respectfully to the general before him. "Thank you, sir. You know, I probably won't be able to come back here until she's out of the house, and by then..."
The Air Force officer smiled, even laughed a bit. "By then, you'll be too old to keep up. I understand. Even something so amazing as the 512 should never get in the way of your family." His face became serious again, as it usually was while he was on duty. "You realize we need as many good poeple as possible. I trust your daughter will have no aversion to joining in when she can if we're still around."
"I'll do what I can," the tall man replied.
"Good." The general stood, taking the other's hand in a shake. "God be with you, Kevin."
"You, too." With that, the two parted.
June 13, 2003.
"You've got to admit," Chani declared as soon as the commercials started, "that if he wasn't evil, wasteful, and annoying, Anubis would have been a really cool ally."
Kevin shook his head. He'd long ago given up trying to 'discuss' these points with his daughter. She always came up with too many counterpoints anyway. Her attention shifted back to the TV, where snippets from an upcoming episode flashed across the screen.
He frowned, something in the commerical evoking memories of a promise he'd made years before, a promise they had called in. Earlier that evening, he'd received a message from his old employer, explaining that his presence had been requested and his daughter's as well. His first instinct had been to say no, but he knew they wouldn't let him just change his mind. Besides that, he was positive his daughter would love to go.
She was so young. He had been nineteen when he signed on, and he'd always thought of himself as being too young. But Chani, she was fifteen, barely that. He couldn't imagine that they didn't realize that.
Fortunately, her mother thought that it was a good idea, that it might give Chani something to work towards in school. At least the teen wouldn't have to worry about getting a summer job.
**********
Chani glanced down at her clothing for the fifth time in three minutes. "You know," she remarked, "all the times I've flown, and I've worn tennis shoes on every flight. Are you sure we won't have time to change before getting there?"
Kevin sighed. Since they were to be landing right at the base, it gave more meaning to the words 'direct flight' than she knew. "We're going to be late, even as it is," he mumbled, "so I really don't want to take the time to change." His eyes hadn't moved from the novel in his hands.
"So, um, what are your cousins like?" Chani grumbled, fidgeting with her skirt again.
"They're nice." He then pretended to be completely absorbed in the book.
Finally, she looked up from her clothes and around at the other people on the aircraft. "Hey, Dad, don't you think it's a little odd that this plane can hold something like thirty passengers, and there's only, lesse, seven of us?"
He shook his head. "It's a small airport."
"Small airports don't have direct flights from the other side of the country. You can barely get one to GSP anymore, and that's only five states away, not forty-eight."
"We got lucky."
"Scheisse. This is flying, remember? You don't get lucky unless it has something to do with the pilots' abilities or how fast you got through security."
A woman across the aisle and in the row in front of them snickered at the remark. Kevin shook his head. "I don't know, Chani, so settle down. It's a long flight."
She sighed then stared out the window. Delicate designs of light green, dark green, and other tiny shapes crawled by, where she could seen them through the breaks in the puffy white and gray carpet of clouds. Above the plane, the sky was clear and blue, a hue of which rivalled faceted sapphires in beauty.
Though the view was wonderful, she shortly declared it predictable, consistant, unchanging, and therefore boring, so she glanced back at her father. Her jaw dropped when she saw him conversing lightly with the woman across the aisle.
"Computer programming," Kevin replied, answering the woman's question. "You?"
She grinned. "After you left, we all heard about it, and the general even told us why and encouraged us with 'family always comes first.' I went home, raised the kids, and started teaching fifth grade."
"That's great."
Chani tapped his arm. "Dad?" she asked pointedly.
He coughed a couple horried, wet smokers' coughs. "Chani, this is Natalia Kuli. I used to work with her."
The teenager smiled half-heartedly. "Hi."
Natalia waved in reply but stared at Kevin. "You didn't tell her, did you."
His eyes darted back and forth. "I didn't know I was supposed to."
A visible realization crossed the woman's face, and for a few moments, she looked as though she couldn't decide whether to laugh or to remain caught up in the seriousness the situation seemed to demand. "They never sent you the Introduction Guidelines, did they."
He shook his head, his eyebrows falling together. "Introduction--"
"Language?"
"Yours."
Natalia nodded then looked to Chani. "Sag mir, warum kommt ihr hier?"
She shrugged, obviously surprised at the transition into German. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to respond. "Family reunion."
"You weren't so far off from the truth, Kev. All four of us are comin' back to teach these young 'uns what it's all about."
"How many?" he wondered.
"For now, just five." She glanced to Chani, but addressed Kevin. "The Introduction Guidelines insist that 'new recuits' so to speak are to be told most of it on the way, without detailed explanation of devices until we're inside."
He shrugged. "Guess I'd better get started. Nice talking to you again, Natalie." Kevin then anchored a bookmark in his novel and deposited it in the seatback pocket in front of him. "Chani, we aren't going to a family reunion."
"I got that, but thank you, Captain Obvious." She thought for a moment. "Guidelines to introduce people to what?"
"The 512," he answered, belatedly realizing it would be nothing more than a number to her. "Put it this way: You're right. Aliens do exist, and they've been here."
Her eyebrows rose, and for a second, she could say nothing. "You're joking, right?"
Saturday, July 17, 2004
It's kind of a cross between my own cool experience, Stargate, Star Wars, and Star Trek. Since I really don't know Star Trek that well, it's probably not going to work, but what the hey?
*********
Captain Archer sat back in his chair on the bridge. "On screen." Immediately, the screen before him, which had previously shown only streaming stars, changed to show a man in red robes wearing a black headdress. "I'm Captain Johnathan Archer of...." With a flick of the man's wrists, he found himself staring down at Earth.
********
"I can't shake him!" Luke cried, desperately trying to escape the vessel following them out of the Maw.
"We've got a bigger problem, kid!" Han warned, pointing to the starboard side of the forward viewport. His eyes widened. He'd never had any urge to become so personal with a black hole.
A loud cheer echoed down the hall: "Yes!" It was soon followed by a new Jedi by the name of Corran Horn. Just as he entered the cockpit, his jaw dropped. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah," replied Han.
"Luke?"
The Jedi shook his head. "I'm doing all I can." His voice sounded strained. "The engines aren't doing much. I'm trying to use the Force to help pull us away."
"Your Force isn't helping much, kid!"
"Han, will you..." Just then, the rickety ship they had borrowed lost hull integrity, pulling all three out into space and nearer to the event horizon.
********
SG-1 sat in yet another briefing. This one focused on some significance of a special gem on PS9-356. Apparently, it might hold the key to safely removing symbiotes from their hosts. Jack really didn't care.
Just as he thought he couldn't take any more, he saw a bright, white light. He grinned, thanking Thor for his brilliant timing.
********
"...the Starship Enterprise." Archer stared. He was just in the Expanse. How could he be home already? He looked around, where he noticed three other people in the small room with him, floating weightless, as was he. A blonde woman floated at the other end of the module, and a graying man was by a small computer terminal. He heard a bark, whereupon he turned around to see his dog, Porthos.
The gray-haired man spun around, a gigantic grin on his face. "Hey, Carter!" Then he looked around again. "This isn't Thor's ship..."
She nodded. "No, sir, it isn't. I'm not entirely sure, but I think we're aboard the International Space Station."
Archer frowned. "The ISS? The space station built in the early 2000's?"
"Yeah....?"
*********
Captain Archer sat back in his chair on the bridge. "On screen." Immediately, the screen before him, which had previously shown only streaming stars, changed to show a man in red robes wearing a black headdress. "I'm Captain Johnathan Archer of...." With a flick of the man's wrists, he found himself staring down at Earth.
********
"I can't shake him!" Luke cried, desperately trying to escape the vessel following them out of the Maw.
"We've got a bigger problem, kid!" Han warned, pointing to the starboard side of the forward viewport. His eyes widened. He'd never had any urge to become so personal with a black hole.
A loud cheer echoed down the hall: "Yes!" It was soon followed by a new Jedi by the name of Corran Horn. Just as he entered the cockpit, his jaw dropped. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah," replied Han.
"Luke?"
The Jedi shook his head. "I'm doing all I can." His voice sounded strained. "The engines aren't doing much. I'm trying to use the Force to help pull us away."
"Your Force isn't helping much, kid!"
"Han, will you..." Just then, the rickety ship they had borrowed lost hull integrity, pulling all three out into space and nearer to the event horizon.
********
SG-1 sat in yet another briefing. This one focused on some significance of a special gem on PS9-356. Apparently, it might hold the key to safely removing symbiotes from their hosts. Jack really didn't care.
Just as he thought he couldn't take any more, he saw a bright, white light. He grinned, thanking Thor for his brilliant timing.
********
"...the Starship Enterprise." Archer stared. He was just in the Expanse. How could he be home already? He looked around, where he noticed three other people in the small room with him, floating weightless, as was he. A blonde woman floated at the other end of the module, and a graying man was by a small computer terminal. He heard a bark, whereupon he turned around to see his dog, Porthos.
The gray-haired man spun around, a gigantic grin on his face. "Hey, Carter!" Then he looked around again. "This isn't Thor's ship..."
She nodded. "No, sir, it isn't. I'm not entirely sure, but I think we're aboard the International Space Station."
Archer frowned. "The ISS? The space station built in the early 2000's?"
"Yeah....?"
"How did I get here?"
The graying man frowned. "Thor didn't beam you? Sure looked Asgard to me." He looked back to the other woman. "That look Asgard to you?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Who are you?" Archer questioned.
The man indicated himself. "I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, and this," he said, pointing to the woman, "is Major Samantha Carter."
The captain nodded, extending a hand to shake the colonel's hand. "Captain Johnathan Archer of the Starship Enterprise."
Thursday, July 15, 2004
I am currently writing from Advanced Space Academy in Huntsville, Alabama. For future reference, they hardly have any technology. Snec has more sophisticated technology. XP, more computers, etc. Alright. Lemme see what I can say while I'm here before I forget.
I would start back at Alpha Mission, but I more clearly remember the EDM (extended duration mission) since we did that this morning. By the way, NASA is the king of ... of... whatchamacallits. Beware of special space camp quotes. They indicated a fictional condition.
Okay, so the EDM is six hours long. (More like five and a half since we break for lunch.) Anyhow, my position was ISS (that's International Space Station for you non-NASA fans) commander for the first four hours and MS1 (mission specialist one) for the last two hours.
The first "half" (as in, the first four hours), we were in the shuttle (Enterprise for you who know). All eight of us: Enterprise commander and pilot, two mission specialists, station commander, station specialists, and a couple of flight engineers. At T+00:05:00 ish, the commander had a "heart attack" and collapsed on the control panels. The mission specialists got up out of their chairs, whereupon they "broke their arms". Along with one of the flight engineers, they thought they could safely stand at that time, as the MSes had done in the one hour misions. At a safe time of after T+00:08:30, we stood and took care of the "injured".
During this, the commander apparently "floated" down to below deck to get out of the pilot's way. Someone opened the unpressurized airlock. So, of course, he got "depressurization sickness". He was "moaning with the benz," as he puts it. I didn't pay attention.
Sometime after he was cured and the MSes were out on their EVA (extravehicular activities), four of us crawled into SpaceHab. At that point, three people passed out, and I was "disoriented." (Oh, yes, the crawlway back to middeck definately looks like a Stargate.... Right...) Eventually, someone came and saved all of us, and we finally figured out that there was a crack in SpaceHab. So after searching with helmits on inside a simulator, we finally found this tiny crack. And what does the commander (who saved us) do? She puts her fingers right by the crack, where she "loses" all of them.
We all came extraordinarily close to "dying", but... Nobody did, actually.
Around then, we docked with the station and all got completely out of the orbiter, walked across a concrete floor, around some floating kids (figuratively) up a few stairs into the Liberty module of the ISS. All was pretty much going well. We had a few anamolies, including balloons marked "smoke" (whereupon we found the fire) and "pee" and "poo." One of the flight engineers stepped on "solid waste" and popped it. That was about the only anamoly I fixed.
Then we had a meteor shower. Oh, fun. So after a few checklists and flipping several switches, (Please ignore my horrid grammar.) we evacuated into the Columbis module. All eight of us. Fun. Some confusion there with MOCR (aka. mission operations control room, aka mission control, aka Houston). And when we came back, we found a stuffed, bloody flight suit. We all kind of looked around like "Who did we forget?" Actually, I was wondering if SpaceGhost had killed the person we sent ahead to hit a button on the keypad.
For lunch, we were "beamed" to the cafeteria. The following are the gists of our (meaning my) conversations before and during the EDM:
I would start back at Alpha Mission, but I more clearly remember the EDM (extended duration mission) since we did that this morning. By the way, NASA is the king of ... of... whatchamacallits. Beware of special space camp quotes. They indicated a fictional condition.
Okay, so the EDM is six hours long. (More like five and a half since we break for lunch.) Anyhow, my position was ISS (that's International Space Station for you non-NASA fans) commander for the first four hours and MS1 (mission specialist one) for the last two hours.
The first "half" (as in, the first four hours), we were in the shuttle (Enterprise for you who know). All eight of us: Enterprise commander and pilot, two mission specialists, station commander, station specialists, and a couple of flight engineers. At T+00:05:00 ish, the commander had a "heart attack" and collapsed on the control panels. The mission specialists got up out of their chairs, whereupon they "broke their arms". Along with one of the flight engineers, they thought they could safely stand at that time, as the MSes had done in the one hour misions. At a safe time of after T+00:08:30, we stood and took care of the "injured".
During this, the commander apparently "floated" down to below deck to get out of the pilot's way. Someone opened the unpressurized airlock. So, of course, he got "depressurization sickness". He was "moaning with the benz," as he puts it. I didn't pay attention.
Sometime after he was cured and the MSes were out on their EVA (extravehicular activities), four of us crawled into SpaceHab. At that point, three people passed out, and I was "disoriented." (Oh, yes, the crawlway back to middeck definately looks like a Stargate.... Right...) Eventually, someone came and saved all of us, and we finally figured out that there was a crack in SpaceHab. So after searching with helmits on inside a simulator, we finally found this tiny crack. And what does the commander (who saved us) do? She puts her fingers right by the crack, where she "loses" all of them.
We all came extraordinarily close to "dying", but... Nobody did, actually.
Around then, we docked with the station and all got completely out of the orbiter, walked across a concrete floor, around some floating kids (figuratively) up a few stairs into the Liberty module of the ISS. All was pretty much going well. We had a few anamolies, including balloons marked "smoke" (whereupon we found the fire) and "pee" and "poo." One of the flight engineers stepped on "solid waste" and popped it. That was about the only anamoly I fixed.
Then we had a meteor shower. Oh, fun. So after a few checklists and flipping several switches, (Please ignore my horrid grammar.) we evacuated into the Columbis module. All eight of us. Fun. Some confusion there with MOCR (aka. mission operations control room, aka mission control, aka Houston). And when we came back, we found a stuffed, bloody flight suit. We all kind of looked around like "Who did we forget?" Actually, I was wondering if SpaceGhost had killed the person we sent ahead to hit a button on the keypad.
For lunch, we were "beamed" to the cafeteria. The following are the gists of our (meaning my) conversations before and during the EDM:
Thursday, July 08, 2004
This marks the one-year anniversary of this blog! I should throw a party! Here's a look at about 1/1000th of the history of this blog:
July 8: Start blog, review hypertext fiction for my two-week hypertext class.
August 18: New link for my hypertext site.
September 19: A snippet of Reeses.
October 3: The beginning of the template.
November 6: Lethargic Major General.
December 1: "Your writing's not just half decent, it's bloody good!" (-Mara Jade)
January 2: Progress report on stories.
February 6: Dissing "Chimera"
March 3: Dear Baka and Beranmee
April 2: Random thoughts.
May: Quizzes and trying new HTML stuff with the new blogger. (My inner child is still 16)
June 7: Another scifi essay.
July 1: A new original story that wasn't as inspired as I thought it was.
So how 'bout everyone come over to my place, and we'll have ice cream, cake, and dark chocolate?
July 8: Start blog, review hypertext fiction for my two-week hypertext class.
August 18: New link for my hypertext site.
September 19: A snippet of Reeses.
October 3: The beginning of the template.
November 6: Lethargic Major General.
December 1: "Your writing's not just half decent, it's bloody good!" (-Mara Jade)
January 2: Progress report on stories.
February 6: Dissing "Chimera"
March 3: Dear Baka and Beranmee
April 2: Random thoughts.
May: Quizzes and trying new HTML stuff with the new blogger. (My inner child is still 16)
June 7: Another scifi essay.
July 1: A new original story that wasn't as inspired as I thought it was.
So how 'bout everyone come over to my place, and we'll have ice cream, cake, and dark chocolate?
Friday, July 02, 2004
Hey, if you're incredibly bored, check out these links:
What kind of Stargate bad guy are you?
Which SG team are you on?
Which scifi?
Which Jack are you?
Random POTC
What kind of Stargate bad guy are you?
Which SG team are you on?
Which scifi?
Which Jack are you?
Random POTC
For those of you who like Sarah and Vinnet, this is the official introduction of my post-season seven character. I'm not exactly sure if I'm going to make this stuff official in my mind, but if this character crops up elsewhere, you'll remember her. This is a little wordy, but enjoy!
OH, by the way, I think I've finally figured out how to have Reeses happen before season seven. It was hard, and I don't like it. They really messed everything up for me by kicking General Hammond off and giving Earth a way to kill the Goa'uld. Oh, well, I guess I'll live.
A lone figure marched down the ramp in the SGC's embarkation room, wearing traditional Tok'ra garb. Her hair was chin-length, somewhat frizzy, and the exact hue of dark chocolate. Her eyes were a striking blue, and not in just the normal sense; the usually white part of her eyes were blue, as were her irises.
Just after the wormhole shut off behind her, General Hammond gave the all-clear. As he entered the room, her eyes flashed with an ever-so-slightly green light. He flinched at this; like Colonel O'Neill, he could never really get used to it. "Welcome to Earth," he greeted.
She bowed and replied in the strange voice belonging to the symbiote, "Thank you, General Hammond. I appreciate the opportunity to return. I am Aldwin."
Hammond nodded politely. "How can we help you?"
"Two of the others need new hosts."
**********
Sarah held a hand to her head. This was giving her such a headache. "I'm sorry, Kathy, you don't understand what you're asking me to do."
"No," the woman across from her bit back, "you don't understand. My husband is dying here. It can't be that difficult to get him in any earlier. They say he has days left, Miss Anderson!"
The Tok'ra drew in a calming breath. "I've got that. But there is absolutely nothing I can do. Even if I--" The ringing phone interrupted her soon-to-be-callous argument. She picked it up. "Sarah Anderson."
"Hello, Sarah," Jack's voice chimed. "Aldwin dropped by today."
"Yeah?" Hope filled her voice. If she could get a symbiote for the man in front of her, his wife would stop breathing down her neck.
"Said they need two. Also got a new host, by the way."
"Really? What's he like?"
"She is weird. You'll have to see for yourself."
"Okay. Be there soon." As she hung up, she met the stares of the two in her office. "He said they're ready for you."
"What are we waiting for, then?" questioned Kathy.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "I need two people, healthy or not, to do this, but I can take only those volunteering for the procedure."
She nodded. "I'll do it."
*********
The Tok'ra, Matt, and the couple were riding silently toward the SGC when Kathy, who now sat beside her husband in the vehicle's middle row, asked, "If it's a procedure to cure cancer, why can healthy people undergo it?"
"Because the purpose of it isn't really to cure cancer." Sarah glanced at their faces in the rear-view mirror, making sure they were ready. Several months before, one of the Tok'ra had died because she hadn't arrived soon enough. After that, General Hammond had authorized her to brief the volunteers on the way.
"What do you mean?" Kathy's quiet husband peeped.
"Six years ago, we contacted a race of aliens called the Tok'ra." She paused to let the information sink in; the goal wasn't to give these people heart attacks. "Tok'ra cannot survive outside a particular environment: the human body."
"Eww!" Kathy squealed. "We won't do it! We won't do it!"
Sarah shrugged, guessing that her husband wasn't having as much of a hard time. "Hear me out. Tok'ra have an ability to cure their hosts of pretty much all diseases, including cancer. They can also heal wounds much faster than the human body alone."
Kathy glanced to her husband than back to Sarah. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat calmer. "What's in it for me? I don't have cancer."
"You're so worried about Brian; you'll get to be with him," Matt explained.
"Not necessarily," Sarah corrected. "You see, the Tok'ra aren't exactly a peaceful, industrialized civilization."
"They aren't?" she asked, worry in her voice again.
"Not really. The Tok'ra are a small group of rebels, who oppose an enemy we've been fighting for the past seven years. This enemy will kill without forethought. Actually, there's hundreds of them, and they think humans exist only to serve them."
"That's it. Turn this car around; we are not doing this," Kathy stammered. "I've heard enough. Even if all this is true, you're a hypocrite, asking us to be these Toka when you're not."
Matt's laughing broke into the following silence while Sarah and Vinnet switched. "You are quite wrong," the symbiote began, trying to limit the strangeness of her voice. "Sarah is, in fact, a host. Since all you've heard is classified top secret, she could not reveal my existence before now."
Brian raised an eyebrow; he accepted this easier than his wife did. "And that makes you...?"
Vinnet smiled slightly, glad that there was still hope that these two might become hosts. "I am the Tok'ra symbiote inside Sarah. My name is Vinnet."
Kathy pointed to Matt. "How does he know?"
"His mother is alos a Tok'ra host. Bizzare circumstances allowed him to gain knowledge of us."
She still looked worried. "I don't think I want to do this."
"If you do not," the symbiote replied, losing some of the tight control of her voice, "you could be allowing some of our few to die without reason. We are in desperate need of hosts in order to continue our battle against the Goa'uld."
"The what?" questioned Kathy.
Sarah surfaced again, ready to clear up what Vinnet had said. "The Goa'uld. They're the bad guys I was talking about earlier."
"Wait." Kathy stared at the side of Sarah's head, trying to figure out what had happened.
"Now, Vinnet made everything sound more desperate than it really is. Yes, the dying Tok'ra back at the base might die before we find someone willing, but they might not. If you really don't want to do this, we can send you to another planet instead. Hebridia, maybe. There's plenty of peaceful worlds out there." While she said this, Sarah stopped her car at the base's gates and rolled down her window.
The guard grinned and lood around the car. "You're clear to go in, Reeses."
OH, by the way, I think I've finally figured out how to have Reeses happen before season seven. It was hard, and I don't like it. They really messed everything up for me by kicking General Hammond off and giving Earth a way to kill the Goa'uld. Oh, well, I guess I'll live.
A lone figure marched down the ramp in the SGC's embarkation room, wearing traditional Tok'ra garb. Her hair was chin-length, somewhat frizzy, and the exact hue of dark chocolate. Her eyes were a striking blue, and not in just the normal sense; the usually white part of her eyes were blue, as were her irises.
Just after the wormhole shut off behind her, General Hammond gave the all-clear. As he entered the room, her eyes flashed with an ever-so-slightly green light. He flinched at this; like Colonel O'Neill, he could never really get used to it. "Welcome to Earth," he greeted.
She bowed and replied in the strange voice belonging to the symbiote, "Thank you, General Hammond. I appreciate the opportunity to return. I am Aldwin."
Hammond nodded politely. "How can we help you?"
"Two of the others need new hosts."
**********
Sarah held a hand to her head. This was giving her such a headache. "I'm sorry, Kathy, you don't understand what you're asking me to do."
"No," the woman across from her bit back, "you don't understand. My husband is dying here. It can't be that difficult to get him in any earlier. They say he has days left, Miss Anderson!"
The Tok'ra drew in a calming breath. "I've got that. But there is absolutely nothing I can do. Even if I--" The ringing phone interrupted her soon-to-be-callous argument. She picked it up. "Sarah Anderson."
"Hello, Sarah," Jack's voice chimed. "Aldwin dropped by today."
"Yeah?" Hope filled her voice. If she could get a symbiote for the man in front of her, his wife would stop breathing down her neck.
"Said they need two. Also got a new host, by the way."
"Really? What's he like?"
"She is weird. You'll have to see for yourself."
"Okay. Be there soon." As she hung up, she met the stares of the two in her office. "He said they're ready for you."
"What are we waiting for, then?" questioned Kathy.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "I need two people, healthy or not, to do this, but I can take only those volunteering for the procedure."
She nodded. "I'll do it."
*********
The Tok'ra, Matt, and the couple were riding silently toward the SGC when Kathy, who now sat beside her husband in the vehicle's middle row, asked, "If it's a procedure to cure cancer, why can healthy people undergo it?"
"Because the purpose of it isn't really to cure cancer." Sarah glanced at their faces in the rear-view mirror, making sure they were ready. Several months before, one of the Tok'ra had died because she hadn't arrived soon enough. After that, General Hammond had authorized her to brief the volunteers on the way.
"What do you mean?" Kathy's quiet husband peeped.
"Six years ago, we contacted a race of aliens called the Tok'ra." She paused to let the information sink in; the goal wasn't to give these people heart attacks. "Tok'ra cannot survive outside a particular environment: the human body."
"Eww!" Kathy squealed. "We won't do it! We won't do it!"
Sarah shrugged, guessing that her husband wasn't having as much of a hard time. "Hear me out. Tok'ra have an ability to cure their hosts of pretty much all diseases, including cancer. They can also heal wounds much faster than the human body alone."
Kathy glanced to her husband than back to Sarah. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat calmer. "What's in it for me? I don't have cancer."
"You're so worried about Brian; you'll get to be with him," Matt explained.
"Not necessarily," Sarah corrected. "You see, the Tok'ra aren't exactly a peaceful, industrialized civilization."
"They aren't?" she asked, worry in her voice again.
"Not really. The Tok'ra are a small group of rebels, who oppose an enemy we've been fighting for the past seven years. This enemy will kill without forethought. Actually, there's hundreds of them, and they think humans exist only to serve them."
"That's it. Turn this car around; we are not doing this," Kathy stammered. "I've heard enough. Even if all this is true, you're a hypocrite, asking us to be these Toka when you're not."
Matt's laughing broke into the following silence while Sarah and Vinnet switched. "You are quite wrong," the symbiote began, trying to limit the strangeness of her voice. "Sarah is, in fact, a host. Since all you've heard is classified top secret, she could not reveal my existence before now."
Brian raised an eyebrow; he accepted this easier than his wife did. "And that makes you...?"
Vinnet smiled slightly, glad that there was still hope that these two might become hosts. "I am the Tok'ra symbiote inside Sarah. My name is Vinnet."
Kathy pointed to Matt. "How does he know?"
"His mother is alos a Tok'ra host. Bizzare circumstances allowed him to gain knowledge of us."
She still looked worried. "I don't think I want to do this."
"If you do not," the symbiote replied, losing some of the tight control of her voice, "you could be allowing some of our few to die without reason. We are in desperate need of hosts in order to continue our battle against the Goa'uld."
"The what?" questioned Kathy.
Sarah surfaced again, ready to clear up what Vinnet had said. "The Goa'uld. They're the bad guys I was talking about earlier."
"Wait." Kathy stared at the side of Sarah's head, trying to figure out what had happened.
"Now, Vinnet made everything sound more desperate than it really is. Yes, the dying Tok'ra back at the base might die before we find someone willing, but they might not. If you really don't want to do this, we can send you to another planet instead. Hebridia, maybe. There's plenty of peaceful worlds out there." While she said this, Sarah stopped her car at the base's gates and rolled down her window.
The guard grinned and lood around the car. "You're clear to go in, Reeses."
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Quote of the day: "Everything you've heard in the media, depending on what it is, is either true or not true." Thank you for that observation, Amanda Tapping!
Question of the day: How are all the not-so-smart people politicians and all the smart people teachers? Is there some rhyme or reason for that?
Ted's question: Are you ever coming home?
Reeses progress report: I was thinking about working on Reeses this morning, but the story below distracted me. I'll not say anything so I don't spoil it for anyone.
I'm thinking about writing something about a Fremen Tok'ra named Aldwin/Khala. I'll post it if it doesn't apply to my friend's story.
Question of the day: How are all the not-so-smart people politicians and all the smart people teachers? Is there some rhyme or reason for that?
Ted's question: Are you ever coming home?
Reeses progress report: I was thinking about working on Reeses this morning, but the story below distracted me. I'll not say anything so I don't spoil it for anyone.
I'm thinking about writing something about a Fremen Tok'ra named Aldwin/Khala. I'll post it if it doesn't apply to my friend's story.
(Thought I'd share a bit of a byte of inspiration.)
A brown-haired woman of average height stooped to enter her white 1991 Ford. As she slid in, she glanced at her watch. Ten thirty at night already, and she had an hour and a half drive ahead of her. She sighed. The visit with her parents had been pleasant enough, but she couldn't wait to get back home to her husband and her dog.
As she pulled out of the driveway, she turned up the radio; a little rock music never hurt anything. She wondered if any news had come concerning the house. Shortly after moving in, she and her husband had realized that it was too big for the two of them. When it bothered them too much, they had decided to put it on the market.
She barely saw the swerving car coming her way with its lights off.
The impact threw her forward, slamming her short-haired head into the steering wheel and blowing the horn. For the first couple minutes, she lay there unconscious.
Darkness. Pain. Wet. A flashing light. A glimpse of the interior of an ambulence, faces. Darkness.
**********
The woman cracked open her eyes. All she saw was a white ceiling with hanging florescent lights.
A face appeared over hers in something reminiscent of a blue hazmat suit. The face glanced to the woman's left then back to her. "Hello," he greeted softly. "If you can hear me, move your toes."
She lay there a moment, her muscles in a kind of trance where it seemed that moving one would upset the perfect balance achieved in the others.
"Just admit it, Tom," a female voice chimed from across the room. "They're all still dead. The eyelids were only a muscle spasm."
"I don't think so, Judy. This one looks alive."
"So do msot of the toy animals for sale at Super*Mart."
The woman twitched her toes. It felt good, so she cracked them. That got their attention. Presently, she tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but the doctor she could see gently held her shoulders down. "Don't move yet. Can you speak?"
She frowned and rasped, "Of course." It hurt to talk, so instead of elaborating, she looked around the room. One other blue hazmat person stood to her left. The floor was grey tile, and pine cabinets lined the walls above and below dark blue countertops. As far as she could tell, only a single, heavy, pine door led out of the room. Various maschines were attached to her, half of which she couldn't identify.
"What's your name?" asked the first person, Tom.
"Anita Mario Acto--Strauss," she answered, remembering that she had recently married.
"Should we tell her now?" Judy, the second doctor, questioned.
"No. Let's wait until later," Tom replied, his tone heavier than before. "When were you born?"
Anita felt as though her heart had stopped. "Did something happen to John? Is he okay?"
He shook his head. "We'll answer all your questions later." He turned to his assistant. "Judy, will you please check her vitals, make sure she's stable?" She nodded and got to work.
"Please, if something happened to John, I need to know. Is he okay?" Anita begged frantically.
"We'll explain everything later," he promised again. "When's your birthday?"
She sighed, appearing to hold back tears. "June fourth, 1977."
The doctors' jaws fell agape for a few seconds until smiles emerged. "1977," Tom repeated. "Amazing."
A brown-haired woman of average height stooped to enter her white 1991 Ford. As she slid in, she glanced at her watch. Ten thirty at night already, and she had an hour and a half drive ahead of her. She sighed. The visit with her parents had been pleasant enough, but she couldn't wait to get back home to her husband and her dog.
As she pulled out of the driveway, she turned up the radio; a little rock music never hurt anything. She wondered if any news had come concerning the house. Shortly after moving in, she and her husband had realized that it was too big for the two of them. When it bothered them too much, they had decided to put it on the market.
She barely saw the swerving car coming her way with its lights off.
The impact threw her forward, slamming her short-haired head into the steering wheel and blowing the horn. For the first couple minutes, she lay there unconscious.
Darkness. Pain. Wet. A flashing light. A glimpse of the interior of an ambulence, faces. Darkness.
**********
The woman cracked open her eyes. All she saw was a white ceiling with hanging florescent lights.
A face appeared over hers in something reminiscent of a blue hazmat suit. The face glanced to the woman's left then back to her. "Hello," he greeted softly. "If you can hear me, move your toes."
She lay there a moment, her muscles in a kind of trance where it seemed that moving one would upset the perfect balance achieved in the others.
"Just admit it, Tom," a female voice chimed from across the room. "They're all still dead. The eyelids were only a muscle spasm."
"I don't think so, Judy. This one looks alive."
"So do msot of the toy animals for sale at Super*Mart."
The woman twitched her toes. It felt good, so she cracked them. That got their attention. Presently, she tried to pull herself up into a sitting position, but the doctor she could see gently held her shoulders down. "Don't move yet. Can you speak?"
She frowned and rasped, "Of course." It hurt to talk, so instead of elaborating, she looked around the room. One other blue hazmat person stood to her left. The floor was grey tile, and pine cabinets lined the walls above and below dark blue countertops. As far as she could tell, only a single, heavy, pine door led out of the room. Various maschines were attached to her, half of which she couldn't identify.
"What's your name?" asked the first person, Tom.
"Anita Mario Acto--Strauss," she answered, remembering that she had recently married.
"Should we tell her now?" Judy, the second doctor, questioned.
"No. Let's wait until later," Tom replied, his tone heavier than before. "When were you born?"
Anita felt as though her heart had stopped. "Did something happen to John? Is he okay?"
He shook his head. "We'll answer all your questions later." He turned to his assistant. "Judy, will you please check her vitals, make sure she's stable?" She nodded and got to work.
"Please, if something happened to John, I need to know. Is he okay?" Anita begged frantically.
"We'll explain everything later," he promised again. "When's your birthday?"
She sighed, appearing to hold back tears. "June fourth, 1977."
The doctors' jaws fell agape for a few seconds until smiles emerged. "1977," Tom repeated. "Amazing."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)