Rocket Writing

2010-10-21T09:26:00.001-04:00

Response to the "Words Matter" poll:

The words we use convey the amount of respect we have for each other. It is entirely possible to convey a lack of respect for someone specifically and eloquently without the use of generic derogatory terms. The use of these generic derogatory terms--including stereotype labels, demeaning and overused metaphors, and English words that have had their definitions bastardized--not only limits (and reveals the limits of) the speaker's command of language but often fails to specifically communicate the speaker's meaning.

Such speech patterns can often limn a lack of understanding of the topic at hand, especially in the case of stereotypes; the very terms the speaker uses to comment may not even apply to the subject at hand. The thinking required to avoid the use of derogatory and unspecific language--the search for more accurate diction--is the first step in assuring that the language we use is accurate and that it really does apply in the way we intended. Truthful words can hurt, and sometimes we need that as humans to grow into better individuals, but false words can not only hurt but also sow lies and hard feelings, even hate, throughout a community. The use of poor language to propagate hatred is inexcusable.

2010-08-11T22:21:00.002-04:00

I thank God for mental walls.

When the world feels like it's crashing and I turn a bad mood into thoughtless actions, once forgiveness is sought and granted, there's one barrier left before I can return to God: myself. How can I forgive myself when my actions scream that I'm a selfish idiot? How do you dissipate a guilty, despairing mood?

The God we serve is a God of love, of forgiveness, and most importantly at the moment, of new beginnings.

Is there anything to gain by me persisting in my foul self-loathing? Not if I've already sought forgiveness from those who I've hurt.

Then there's nothing left but to praise God for new beginnings and put the past (and mood) behind.

2010-08-03T19:43:00.002-04:00

Need to type up some notes so I can throw some paper out.

The smell of bradford pears and goose droppings...

Each idea with which we bind ourselves, each rule we design, each law we obey, is a construct. Our world, with its ideas of ownership, of money, of equal trade of money and worth, of companies, of stocks, of financial foul play; is a world of constructs built upon constructs, a Coruscant of ideas. To reach the ground, we must determine what is real and what is based upon it.

2010-07-25T10:50:00.002-04:00

Dear readers,

I have revamped this old blog to better showcase the Black Book series. The Iechnor Base site is a little too cumbersome to update to keep up with the series. I realize this blog is syndicated on Facebook, so if the posts start getting irritating, leave a comment, and I'll break the link. On the other hand, it makes me look like I'm getting on Facebook, so maybe it's not such a bad thing.

Where Black Book stands:

Book 1: Project Black Book (Currently a very disjointed novel; probably heading toward a collection of short stories/short novel.)

Book 2: Laws Among Friends (Currently a complete rough draft)

Book 3: The Announcement (Currently a handful of conceptual scenes)

Book 4: Under the Radar (Currently a short story)

Book 5: Best Left Dead (Currently.... *ahem*)

Book 6: Out of Enemies (Currently a concept and a very bad title)

Book 7: Rebellion Reborn (Currently a dark concept)

Book 8: Chain of Command (Currently an amusing concept)

For the past eight years, whenever I finished a book, I started a new one. Sometimes, I didn't even wait until I finished. This time, I'm going to try this editing thing. LAF is a good novel with a majority of the scenes being exciting, amusing, or interesting. But it can be more. I need to revise to fix some little details (like characters whose names changed halfway through or characters whose names should be a better differentiated from each other); and to fix some larger details (like a mounting conflict and the developing attitudes between Jenn and Chryson).

Project Black Book... Has some really good plot threads, good characters, flat characters, and characters that are introduced too late, as well as a really irritating pronoun problem, according to Ann Cecil. (Being the author, I know who 99% of the pronouns are referring to, just from context, so I'm rather blind to that.) I was going to give up on this completely, but it's still a great and fairly thorough introduction to the relevant part of the universe. Unfortunately, the relevant part of the universe is a little too spread out to make for a coherent novel. It needs work.

In light of all that, here's the plan:

Make sketches (or find pictures) for most of the settings, in order that the setting can really come to life in revisions.
Sketch most of the characters' outfits, so that the physical appearance of characters is a little more vivid and so that other characters address them more logically/appropriately given their assumptions based on clothes.
Read through Ella's and Ann's comments, make suggested line edits, and list major changes/inconsistencies to address.
Read through LAF and list the major changes I want to address.
REVISE!

Any help, especially on the artistic end of things, would be greatly appreciated.

2010-07-20T17:40:00.003-04:00

How many times have we been told to thank a soldier?

I never really believed in it. I don't like politics. If pressed, I won't tell you whether I agree or disagree with America's recent military actions. Whether a war is right or not usually isn't why the soldier went there. They had their reasons, and their reasons had nothing to do with me.

But then I start thinking.

About Stargate. The brave men and women who literally ran into dangerous situations and put their lives at stake for their countrymen.

About NCIS. The fictional marines who lost friends in the line of duty. The soldiers who were never the same after returning from war.

About a man I work with, a Vietnam veteran who speaks very vaguely about his time in "sunny, southeast Asia," who wouldn't advise another to repeat his experiences but who would have done it again if the situation arose.

About my neighbor, who left his wife and three children to fly several tours in Afghanistan. Who, even when he came home, made time to help his son with math over the summer, sitting beside him all day long.

I start thinking about how hard it must have been for them, so far from home, doing the jobs they were told to do. About all the discipline they must exercise to keep at it day in and day out and all the lip they might take from war protesters who see them as the hand of the government and not admirable human beings who learned fathoms of self-control, only to put it to use in some of the most grueling situations on earth.

When the man in Army BDUs passed my car at the gas station, I didn't know what I wanted to say.

I don't think I could do what he does. Whether I can, sure don't want to try.

I'm not going to argue that we need to be at war or that it's going to gain us anything. But that's not why most of those individuals are there. They're there, because they were asked to join and were told to go. They're there, because they've committed themselves to one of the hardest, most disciplined jobs in our country.

And that's admirable.

Soldiers don't walk through America in BDU's very often. I'm not going to tell you to compulsively thank every uniformed man you come across.

But think about it. Even if you don't like war, how can you object to the service and the duty that so pervades their lives? Could you do what they do?

When the man came back out and I was closing up my gas log, I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

"Hey." He turns to face me, returning the same smile I'd sent him on his way in. "Thank you for your service."

His smile broadens. "Thank you."

I hope we both drove away feeling a little bit lighter.

Hulu - House: Broken - Watch the full episode now.

2009-10-27T17:12:00.000-04:00

Hulu - House: Broken - Watch the full episode now.

What's so important about fiction?

From an engineering standpoint, it doesn't seem to do anything. It doesn't exert any force (F=ma), accomplish any work (W=F*d), generate power (P = dW/dt). Storytelling just seems to waste time. Creative writing isn't a real major. You don't earn money until you're a professional, one of the best, as opposed to engineering, where you just need a degree and a job.

But engineering doesn't feed the soul. There's no mathematical formula for hope. On the surface, fiction can make us laugh, release endorphins, space the day out so one isn't doing civil engineering assignments from sun-up to sun-down. Fiction also gives us examples, lessons from others' lives. Non-fiction can do that, too, and so can communities, but fiction can do it succintly.

Take this episode of House. Who doesn't secretly admire House's attitude and his courage in confronting others? We know it's not practical, but it's fun to imagine. This is an episode of consequences and of hope. No, most of us aren't on the same jerk level as House. We don't manipulate people like he does, but it doesn't mean we're any less broken. I love what the psychiatrist says at one point:

"Why do you value failures more than your successes?"
...
"Sucesses only last until someone screws them up. Failures are forever."
"So you accept that fact. You accept that there's nothing you can do."
"Okay, I accept the fact that there's nothing I can do. Now, what can I do?"
"You acknowledge failure, and you move past it. You apologize."
"Wow, powerful things, these apologies. You get someone to jump off a building. You say two little words and move on with your life. Hardly seems fair."
"Is that the issue?... You caused him pain. If the world is just, you have to suffer equally? ... You're not God, House. You're just another screwed up human being who needs to move on. ... Apologize to him, let yourself feel better. Then you can keep feeling better."

On a social level, too, this episode is important. I think, in general, people in the US are afraid of admitting they need help, and there seems to be a huge amount of disgrace associated with getting help. It's as though we are expected to do it all on our own, to be self-sufficient, to have everything in our lives under control, but in reality, we can't. If you're smart enough to handle everything life throws at you, you're not only a genius but also an abnormality. Use it to help the rest of us. The best feature of this episode is that it follows House's perceptions. It starts out with a load of resentment against the institution that builds and builds and builds as he sees more and as he fumes against it, but once he learns he can't always win, once he starts seeking for himself to find an answer, the people around him, the doctors and psychiatrists and even the other patients become real people, people he can care about and work with. The episode gets lighter, and I think his life does, too. That's something I think the viewers really needed to see.

political news for engineers - Google Search

2009-09-25T16:31:00.000-04:00

political news for engineers - Google Search

One of the most irritating things about hearing the news, whether from a paper, from the television (or YouTube), or from the internet is the lack of information. These sources aim at a third or fourth grade vocabulary level, do they not? I argue that they also aim at a fourth grade level of understanding. A typical political article quotes what a politician says and what other politicians say about it. Through it all, scientific hypothesis that have arguable merit are tauted as fact. Global warming, for example, may not even exist; even if it does, there can be no conclusive proof that it is caused by humans. The use of fossil fuels as opposed to alternative energy is still quite arguable. And still, President Obama undertakes massive projects, committing the country to change that may not even be possible, let alone preferable. What if the world changes and there's nothing we can do about it? Why can't we seek to adapt rather than stop it?

I urge all those who can to go to databases for your news. Find the issues in the news media. Research them in academia. Even that may not be objective, but it's ten logarithmic steps up from the news.

And if you're an entrepreneur starting a new news source, do the world a favor: don't just get quotes from the experts. Present the expert's findings--in detail--to your audience. Maybe only a small percentage of the population has both the initiative to read what you say and the education to interpret it, but with a strategic marketing plan, you can find them. After all, your job is to keep them informed to the best of your abilities. If you don't understand what the issues boil down to, hire someone who does. If you need an engineer versed in comp sci or fluid flow or aerodynamics or efficiency--whatever--I know where you can find one.

Research, guys. Our world's getting awfully lax with its future.

(Me, most of all.)

2009-04-20T17:54:00.002-04:00

Next USG symposium: How to defend Case in the event of a zombie attack.

Seriously, it is a common topic on campus (and hub-chat, apparently). Nominated defensible buildings include the Interfaith Center (ironically, but it does have enough concrete to block out wifi signals), Olin (has Project Club and the Formula SAE labs, among others), Clarke Tower (brick/concrete building with great "arrow-slits"), and, for some reason, Clark Hall.

In other news, the second quote of the year: "The issue 'X's computer finally bit the dust' has been resolved."

2009-04-16T13:32:00.002-04:00

Time Travel

Do you listen to Stargate or Quantum Leap?

Not really the question here, but let's play with it for a minute. According to both, if you change the past, it changes the future. According to Stargate, the changes pop into/out of existance, maybe in a puff of blue smoke. According to Quantum Leap, history changes and no one really notices.

I've got a new theory.

According to the scifi laymen's terms of Multiverse Theory, every decision every person makes splits the universe into parallel universes: one for each choice (or rather, one for each plausible choice, given the psychology of the people involved, weather, etc., that influence decision-making). If you base your history-changing in such a multiverse, then changing something in the past should never affect the present. All you're doing is retroactively branching a particular set of universes. It's like adding a canal upriver. Some of the water goes into the canal, sure, but that doesn't necessarily mean the river dries up. It just means there's less water coming toward the natural downstream.

If you're assuming that there's only enough water for one track and the canal is deeper than that part of the river, well, sure you've got a problem. But if you assume an infinite mass flow rate, problem solved. All channels are full: the deepest along with the shallowest. Maybe time doesn't work like that, but maybe it does. As for the "mass flow rate" of time... Well, we have precious little data on how time works. Not enough information.

2009-03-25T20:18:00.001-04:00

Quote of the year:

"It's a second order differential equation..." "...of deliciousness!"

2009-01-20T18:45:00.002-05:00

I feel accomplished with computers today.

Even though CHRYSON isn't working any better than it was when I took it to PerceptIS, I did make great headway with VINNET. Yesterday, M. helped me install XP and showed me how to investigate inside. Today was a voyage into Project Club to look for more RAM. Unfortunately, I didn't find it, but I did find a way to update my network card so my slow computer could at least use the gigabit internet here. I was quite proud of myself when I finished installing the network card. Well, my attempts at password-protected sharing didn't turn out so well, but I did manage to get a background from CHRYSON to VINNET via the network...

Now if only VINNET would stop acting up...

2008-12-19T12:07:00.001-05:00

Douglas MacArthur - "We are not retreating - we are advancing in another direction."

I like quotes. :D Could totally do a short story based on this! Or at least a scene... Those are short stories, right? Or short shorts...

Sark - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

2008-12-17T18:27:00.000-05:00

Quote of the day:

Sark - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: "In August 1990 an unemployed French nuclear physicist named André Gardes attempted a singlehanded invasion of Sark, armed with a semi-automatic weapon. The night Gardes arrived he put up signs declaring his intention to take over the island the following day at noon. He was arrested by the island's volunteer Constable, while sitting on a bench, changing the gun's magazine and waiting for noon to arrive."

So what if now I'd rather visit Sark over anywhere in France? I'm amused. It looks like a bizzarre little island, rather akin to the forgotten little planets in Star Wars. Cool, though.

2008-12-09T11:12:00.002-05:00

Quote of the day: "If you don't see people coming, you can't get out of the way." -my roommate

The first of two finals today start in an hour and fifteen minutes, and I feel much better about them than I did last night. Yay for getting perspective and for sleeping! Yay for worship music, too! I really like the stuff from right around 2000; it has more substance than the popular stuff lately. Or it's just more meaningful to me. Maybe that's it.

Anyway. I studied for manufacturing this morning, and I need a 55% to get an A in the class. That's pretty happy and stable. As for calc... I would very much like to get the 89% that keeps me at an A. I think I can do it, but stupid mistakes have cost me 15% on two of the three midterm exams (I got 99.5% on the other). Even so, I'd have to fail it to get a C in the class, so not too much pressure there. (Except that I really want the A. I've enjoyed that class too much to settle for a B.)

Then I can relax tonight and study my eyes out tomorrow for numerical methods on Thursday. All in all, it can't be that bad. I only need a 68% to keep my B in the class, but if I keep up with my consistent 84% in the class, it'll probably become an A with the curve.

Welcome to college reasoning: if I keep doing what I've been doing, it should curve to an A. Go figure. Still going to study my eyes out anyway. I'd be very proud of myself if I got an A in that class!

2008-11-19T17:36:00.002-05:00

Quote of the day:

Concerning chocolate-filled marshmallows:

Suitemate 1: "Why would you ruin good marshmallows like that?"

Suitemate 2: "Why would you ruin good chocolate like that?"

Suitemate 3: "Why would you ruin good chocolate with peanut butter?"

2008-11-15T11:46:00.002-05:00

It's been a Nubbins week. Last's Friday's episode of Sanctuary kicked it all off with the new creature-of-the-week: Nubbins, the breeding and attractiveness of Tribbles crossed with the open faces and male-aversions of Furbies crossed with the ears and viciousness of Gremlins (I'm assuming; I've never seen).

Episode two: Manufacturing, of all things. Our lab mostly finished the hammer handles. The last step was to cut off the last seven-eighths of an inch of turned steel, a bit approximately the six of a 9mm bullet that makes a wonderful nail file. "Anyone want their nub?" the prof. called at the end. I poke my friend and whisper, "Nubbins." He groans.

Finale: Oryx and Crake. After genetically engineering the perfect chicken-meat-producing ... blob... called a ChickieNob, a fast-food franchise springs up around it offering what may have made an interesting solution to the Sanctuary's problems: Buckets O'Nubbins.

A Nubbin week indeed. Happy word-mongering!

2008-10-06T11:47:00.003-04:00

I've not taken a single midterm and already my brain is fried. I'll manage somehow. Fortunately, they say sophomore year is the hardest. Once I get through this I should be all right. Theoretically.

At least calc is going well. Calc is amazing. I could probably do calc all day. Of course, I'm biased. Right now, we're "learning" stuff I already needed for other classes, so that makes it particularly easy--and fun. AND... We learned today in calc some vital information I need for my numerical methods midterm tomorrow. Woot. Assuming that's on it... and assuming I learn everything else I need. I'm so lost in that class until they sit me in front of a computer. It could be worse, I suppose.

As soon as my brain reboots. Three cheers for the wonders of hot chocolate, just as soon as I get back to the Tower.

Unfortunately, as I sit here and gaze sightlessly out into the empty column of Nord, my creative brain has rebooted, leaving the important (and/or applicable) portions to wallow in an organic BSOD.

I wish calc counted for more. It comes so easily and makes so much sense. I wish I could look at the people who are waiting for me to accomplish something and show them how easily calc comes, how complicated it looks but it doesn't have to be. Vector calc, anyway, so far as I've seen. The beautiful nature of two-variable functions and level-set diagrams, of gradients and mixed derivatives and the chain rule in a three-variable function. So beautiful. And comprehensible. And then there's numerical methods: the application of said beauty before it's learned. Woot. I can kind of see why Mike dropped it last semester, why he swore not to take it until after he finished calc. Not that it'll help. It's not really understanding the math that's the problem: it's distinguishing the nine nearly-identical processes of finding roots to systems of equations and why you've done it wrong if you start with an identity matrix instead of ending with it, even if you get the right answers each time. Miff. I'm not good with subtle differences, especially if arbitrary (non-descriptive) names are applied to each.

Off to study and then to my favorite class: scifi!

2008-09-16T21:49:00.001-04:00

Thwing should have unicorns!

The common consensus of 502-f.

2008-08-26T19:09:00.002-04:00

HELLO SOPHOMORE YEAR!

So proud of myself already: I got unpacked, and my room is as neat as it's going to be all year. Y'all who come, enjoy it while you can! Ignore that you can see only part of my desk--it's covered with study materials only, I assure you. Yes, the lava lamp and external speakers next to the CD player all count as study materials. I moved the fountain elsewhere.

You know, sometimes it just feels like cheating when you find the answer in the book for homework problems. Will someone assure me otherwise?

2008-08-11T12:17:00.001-04:00

There are things we do as humans, ways that we live, that are not explicitly wrong but that are not in God's ultimate plan--the plan for when He rules directly. These things do not put us beyond His grace and blessings for now but instead limit the blessings He can give. So how should we live?

2008-07-25T19:29:00.002-04:00

I miss writing. I miss scifi. I miss Ike.

But?

God is cool. Life is good. Work is challenging.

And...

I'm growing: stronger, smarter, more physically fit, more emotionally enduring, more spiritually faithful, and...

more tired.

I probably know enough about horses to be hired as someone's personal farmhand/stablemaster. As long as they didn't need much. Do you think I could put myself through college that way? Or should I just stick with writing. Salary? Scholarships? Hmm...

Go to shower before Dr. Who. Will invade director's house. Woot.

2008-07-21T12:59:00.001-04:00

Beliefs of a United Methodist Christian by Emerson Colaw, 1972

2008-07-19T19:47:00.002-04:00

SUMMER!

This has to be a quick rundown of what's been going on.

As most of you know, I'm working at a totally awesome United Methodist camp that happens to be located right beside the Flight 93 crash site. (Thank God they didn't crash into the camp!) I'm on horse staff, working from 7:30 AM to... whenever the barn is done, so usually somewhere between 7 PM and 9 PM. We care for twenty-one horses and eight ponies, all of whom have their own unique quirks, plus around forty campers, most of whom have easier quirks than the horses. (Ponies are so much more stubborn. If you have a choice, always work with horses, even if you're small!)

Just FYI, I've been involuntarily dismounted four times from horses and four or five times from ponies, but the worst I've gotten are some scratches and a sore butt. Hakuna matata. I've learned a lot about my reflexes this year; apparently, I tuck and roll when I'm involuntarily dismounted. Cool beans. I also learned (thank you, Chrissy) that I may or may not dig my nails into anything attacking me. I highly recommend not trying, because while I stabbed the ground last time, next time, the prankster might not be so fortunate.

Well, I'm ten weeks into camp and I haven't gone swimming. The lifeguard just called me and invited me, so I'm off. Hope y'all are having a great summer.

2008-05-14T11:30:00.000-04:00

It's official. Vista boots faster than Win 2000. My cell phone boots faster than Vista. But ME boots faster than my cell phone. Yay ME.

2008-05-08T02:07:00.000-04:00

Chryson, Jadzia, these I admire to some degree, yet I feel as though I'm more like Ezri. Why? Chryson respects no one; Jadzia is nearly faithless. Both of these fundamentally contradict my beliefs.

But Ezri is mild, timid. Her lack of confidence prevents her from accomplishing what she's capable of. The unweighted words of others weigh heavily on her, pushing her to the breaking point with the slightest tap. Isn't that how I am? The slightest thing goes wrong, and I want to cry. I have no idea what I'm capable of, because I don't really think I can do it. I don't believe I'm any different from anyone else, and when I do, I'm no longer the same.

That must be what I admire in Jadzia. She's bold, even into arrogance, but she can be told to back down. She can listen to others' advice. She lives loudly, in perfect control of herself and enlightened to the ways in which others give her power. I could be like that. I have been like that. I don't know if I should be like that. I'm not bold.

But I am stubborn.

From where I am now, accounting for where I was, I'm as likely to become Ezri as I am Chryson. I could be the shy one, sitting back and listening, hanging around, sitting in. Withdrawn, insecure, empowered but lacking the will to use it. Or I could be the one sitting in the middle, trading stories with all the misfits and the in's, gliding from circle to circle and shining in them all. Bold, arrogant, confident, inspiring, admired.

The hardest part of knowing I can be either is believing that neither is better.

2008-05-04T23:13:00.002-04:00

At last, behold the wonders of my skills. After studying for physics, I took my old note sheet and expanded it to five note sheets, only to compress it to two note sheets, all with the same information. Behold: I am organized! And I will have multiple copies to take with me in case anything happens. Now if only I could procure a calculator I'm allowed to use...

To bed with me, then, and to practice the exam come morning... later morning. Behold: it has yet to reach midnight, yet still I get me toward bed! What new wonders might I see, if already both college students in this room reach bed ere midnight?

2008-05-04T16:54:00.002-04:00

Once again, I find myself feeling like the image of a college student. Dressed in my church clothes, wearing my cheap, green flip-flops to avoid rubbing the new blisters on my toes, I struggle to open the door to my quad. Tucked under one arm are three physics test, a clipboard, three different physics textbooks, and a tin of homemade cookies. In my other hand, a cold can of Dr. Pepper. Yup, I'm a college student.

Now to check my grades from the past two finals...

In chem: A. Otherwise, I couldn't have missed the final.
In math: A. 92% on the final, enough to keep the A I barely managed. Whew.
Statics isn't posted.

2008-05-03T23:25:00.001-04:00

I wrote my first legend today. I was thinking about it all last night. This is how the Gertewet began. I'm quite proud of myself. What do you think?

2008-04-30T11:44:00.002-04:00

Chris:

"Remember: you can be your own differential equation fairy. And you can see whether you're a good differential equation fairy or a bad one."

"I won't guarantee it, but I'm pretty sure that by the time I'm finished, second order linear homogeneous differential equations with constant coefficients will be your favorite."

(Concerning biology) "This frog had a heart... not anymore."

"What do you get when you cross an elephant with a mountain climber? Nothing. You can't cross a vector with a scalar."

Chris: "I could use 75, but that's like killing a butterfly with a bazooka."
DSD: "Have you never done that? It's fun."

CC:

"The age of innocence is over and physics is now a matter of life and death."

"The image is as big as the object, even if the mirror is small."

2008-04-23T07:06:00.002-04:00

"I got sidetracked by stats in our last class."

"Statics."

"No, statistics."

"I. C. the difference."

Thanks, DSD.

2008-04-17T11:43:00.002-04:00

Physics labs. Ich habe nichts damit zu sagen. Nichts.

Ich habe Nummern. Sind sie nicht schoen? Wollen Sie meine Nummern?

Analysis, what? What's that? What's to analyze?

2008-04-15T13:49:00.002-04:00

To Be politics:

The situation:
Eighteen women are kidnapped from the western hemisphere by an alien race:
Dr. Lee, American MD.
Kalli, American, strip dancer
Pastor Ariel, American, clergy (Presby.?)
J. Nussbaum, American, database manager
Cpt. Crawford, American, pilot
Ophelia, Mexican, factory seamstress
S. Lewis, Canadian, massage therapist
D. Tyler, American, swim coach
Maggie, American, daughter of the Speaker of the House
J. Lewis, Canadian, daughter
Lauren Krege, American, student
Martinez, Chilean, teacher
Susan, American, deli worker
S. Dippel, German, civil engineer
P. Clark, American, USAF Journalist
Carol, US, college kid (BME, premed)
Kelly, US, college kid (CS)
Nelinda, Chinese-American, college kid (poli sci)

The last, of course, is Sarah Anderson, a student about to enter high school who blends with an alien before returning to Earth (to drop off some of the others before heading back to the alien base). All eighteen are returned to a USAF base by three officers at the base and by Vinnet, Sarah's symbiote.

What are the political ramifications? What happens? Any thoughts?

tbc. Need to work.

2008-04-07T19:46:00.003-04:00

New picture posted on the "Und So Weiter" section of my filer site.

"Crystal Dolphin Fae" came about from me wanting to draw more to convey how I think. No, I don't think in pictures, but my thought patterns mirror my drawing style. That's why no one wants to read my code. It's not organized, but it flows. Then it comes to a sharp point. It only makes complete sense to the artist.
That and I was too sick of chemistry to devote my whole attention to the lecturer speaking about the crystal structure and formation of semiconductors.

2008-04-03T15:23:00.002-04:00

I will not support the Day of Silence.

I recognize that it has a worthy goal: the cessation of harassment in educational environments. However, its scope is too specific for me to support.

I will not support, enable, or condone the continuation of any gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transexual activities. These behaviors are flat-out wrong according to my beliefs. While I recognize at the very least the futility of arguing that they are unnatural or learned behaviors, I will stand by my position that they are unnecessary, especially in middle and high schools. According to what I believe, no one needs to be engaging in sexual activities in these age groups, and abstinence from any sexual behavior will not harm anyone. The people who tend toward gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transexual activities could choose to abstain, and I believe that is the best course of action for them.

Regardless, I understand the Day of Silence is not about supporting those behaviors. It's about protecting the people. I believe no one can do anything to make them sub-human or to separate them from God's grace. To adhere to that grace, I am mandated to love not only those like me but also those from other cultures, with other believes, and with other habits. In the interest of loving the members of the "LGBT community," I must care for their well-being, physical, mental, and emotional, and therefore strive to end their harassment. The goal of the Day of Silence is this end. However, I believe its emphasis on the LGBT case is misplaced. By all means, include them, but include other groups as more than a side note. Does no one see the racism still active in our country? Does no one hear the stereotyping of the populations of various countries? Does no one note the slander of one political party about another? Will no one fight against the unhealthy images in our culture that lead overweight kids to be made fun of or that bring skinny girls to become anorexic or bolemic?

The pressures degrading the people calling themselves LGBT are wrong, but they are no more or less wrong than those acting against many other people. In all honesty, who hasn't been made fun of? Who hasn't been harassed? It's wrong, but it's not limited to this one population. I applaud the general goal of the Day of Silence, but I won't support it until its emphasis broadens.

As a side note, I don't see what the spread of awareness can accomplish. If you seek an answer from school administrators, you won't accomplish what you seek. Administrators and teachers should have their jobs at stake for condoning any harassment, but they cannot possibly control the acts of other students. There are always empty hallways and unsupervised corners with no present authority. There are always bus rides and bus stops. There is always the neighborhood and the walk home. These are where harassment really occurs: where no one else can see it or stop it. Trust me. I know. You can raise awareness among the student body, among the administration, and among the parents. You can make every person in the world aware of the issue. It won't change anything until the bullies' hearts change. And the parents' hearts change. It won't change anything until you can look around at every person in sight and know that they won't hurt you. It won't change anything until attitudes as a whole change, and that's a tall order. Go, by all means. Change our culture. Teach us to be tolerant of one another. Teach us to love. While you're at it, teach us moderation. Still think it's possible? People are too varied for one approach to work, but universally, all you need to do is change hearts. I don't think the Day of Silence will do anything for that but create resentment, ultimately working against your goal.

2008-04-02T17:02:00.002-04:00

A student's prayer before tests:

Any students, writers, or God-seekers reading this: please feel free to submit revisions/additions to this for the rest of us to reference in the future. What is our prayer as we study? For that matter, what is God's role in academics? All responses welcome.

Heavenly Father,
thank you for this work.
Thank you for everything I need to finish it.
This is good.

Please keep my heart focused on you;
keep my mind focused on my studies
so that I may praise you for all You've helped me do;
let the fruits of my studies glorify You.

Let all that is in me praise you
for all the good You give me,
work and studies included.
Please keep me focused.

2008-04-02T13:46:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, I feel utterly useless, as though all I am amounts to nothing and as though I could never accomplish anything worthwhile.

Today, as I walked under the cloud-free blue sky, feeling the cold wind trying to sneak into the collar of my hoodie and various layers, I realized that that can't be true.

I am a student at Case Western Reserve University, not some random catch-all college that produces ho-hum alumni, but an educational institute that at times competes with MIT, the third-ranked engineering college in the world (could be wrong on the scope) and often with Carnegie Mellon, another highly-respected university. I wouldn't have been accepted into this incredibly geeky community if I hadn't any talent for it, and I wouldn't hold A's in my classes if that talent had lost its potency.

I associate as an equal with a group of very intelligent, very talented (and some very hard-working, persistent) achievers, and though I am not the best, I don't need to be.
And that's just for engineering.

I am a writer who has attended an international workshop that accepted eighteen young writers that year--with one of my worst stories. I was close to attending a similarly-sized writing group at a Governor's School of Pennsylvania, likely thwarted only by my chosen genre and open will to write any story that appeals to me, whether with my own characters or someone else's. My writing may not be perfect or comparable to Timothy Zahn's or Jim Butcher's, and definitely not to Tolkien's or Rowling's, but it is better--in style, plot, and characterization, to many published books. I have a very real chance of being published so soon as I finish something original in the genre I love--science fiction novels--rather than the one with better publishing statistics and at which I'm worse--science fiction short stories. (Alas, the harm in adoring character-oriented fiction and developing as I write: It takes me 5,000 words to show the progression of a character a short story writer would describe in a sentence. I could do it, I suppose, but only when accompanied by the groaning and tortured screaming of my inner muse.)

These things aren't what life is about, I know, so they should not matter so strongly to me. At least I don't need to be best. I just want to be good enough to have a future in them. To some small extend, they're like the assurance that God will shape me into the person he made me to be. It's not a measure of where I am now, but it is the confidence of what I will become that pushes me to do the work required to get there.

2008-03-29T20:04:00.001-04:00

Powerful faith: faith the size of a mustard seed
is not only having faith in God
and living your life devoted to Him,
trusting Him for everything.

Powerful faith is having faith
that your will is aligned with God's,
that He has transformed your heart,
and that you love like God loves.

Powerful faith is the certainty
that you are so close to God,
whatever you ask will be given to you
and you ask carefully but generously,
according to the Holy Spirit's prompting.

Powerful faith moves mountains,
withers fig trees,
heals physical wounds and spiritual,
stops thunderstorms,
and inspires witnesses.

It is not for the weak of heart.

2008-03-29T14:20:00.003-04:00

On a lighter note...

I had intended to post stuff every other week this semester. You can see how well that's going. I just don't keep in touch with people enough. I don't make time to. I hardly get my homework done on time, and I don't spend much time on the internet at all. The only reason I even use my computer most days is for the routine: check e-mail, check weather, check e-suds, write papers, keep notes for ENGR 145 and Black Book, listen to music, and sometimes to read Erica's stories. Oh, right, and www.freerice.com , too: my homepage. I'm up to 42, but I only play when I open a new browser. My days of living on the internet came to a close a long time ago. There's too much to do here to not be here in mind and spirit as well as body. It's part of living in the moment.

I don't suppose I've mentioned Black Book much. It's my new project, though it will likely last a decade. The first draft lasted five years, and that was for only five books. This one should be eight or nine. Who recalls the Reeses series about which I've written so much? Now take all the copyrighted material out and replace it with more scientifically feasible yet still analogous counterparts. Welcome to the world of Project Black Book. How to explain better?

In 1969, the United States Air Force began phasing out Project Blue Book, an official investigation of unidentified flying objects that sought a scientific and fully comprehensible explanation for every sighting, including the famous weather balloon explanation for the Roswell, New Mexico, crash and no explanation for the low-profile Kecksberg, Pennsylvania, hubbub. These are the documents eventually released under the Freedom of Information Act and cited in various UFO documentaries. Some of the sightings never received suitable explanation, however, and the documentation of others, procured under that Freedom of Information Act, are heavily edited with thick, black marker, to prevent the release of information pertaining to current projects, namely, Project Black Book, which replaced Blue Book in 1972 with a new mission: to catch the actual flying saucers and gain scientific and strategic information from these sources. As years passed and the project had no opportunity to prove its worth, the United States Air Force shifted its attention from the excitement of yesteryear to Earth-bound politics. Its attention and funds diverted from Project Black Book, leaving the small shell of a mostly empty base in the tiny town of Cohagen, Montana, two and a half hours north of Miles City.

Over the years, the Air Force found it convenient to have such a dead-end project to relegate officers too insubordinate for active duty and too intelligent to let go. By 1995, Project Black Book consisted of four officers and a token number of MPs and Airmen. Brigadier General Donn Marshall, Major Joliene Patrick, Lieutenant Kyle Fairfeld, and Tech Sergeant John Bailey were perfectly capable of fulfilling Black Book's mission and spent many years of boredom not only searching the empty skies for the silver flying saucers but also elaborating on the base's unique aspects. It was during this time that they gave the Project the nickname of "the Bed and Breakfast" or "B&B," even going to the extent of hanging a welcoming sign in front of the office/warehouse in which they worked.

In that year, Project Black Book fulfilled its original mission, revitalizing the entire project. They succeeded in capturing an alien spacecraft, but one of the occupants, a rebel Gertewet symbiote named Kitchell, took the general as its next host and left. Over the next few years, Kitchell and the original Black Book staff, now led by Marshall's neice, built a friendship between the United States and the Gertewet. At Donn Marshall's request, the Gertewet provided enough information to Project Black Book that the project could grow in its research and development mission by procuring more technology from the Gertewet's enemy, the Kemtewet, a similar species who ruled many human-occupied worlds in the galaxy and who had previously visited Earth, looking for new hosts.

Officially, Project Black Book was to reverse engineer any captured alien technology in order to either advance current technology, for the Air Force or possibly for the general public, or provide a defense against possible alien incursion, which concerned the Air Force enough in the 1960's to fund Black Book in the first place. Despite the procurement team's distaste for Kemtewet rule, they were not to engage the aliens but in defense. After all, Congress hadn't declared war, and the Air Force didn't have the interstellar resources (from Black Book) to fight one. For the time being, Black Book could only procure new technology, reverse engineer it, study applications of it, and maintain a casual friendship with the one Gertewet they knew.

That all changed in 1998.

Book 1: To Be (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, and a number of curiously familiar characters)
Book 2: Heart of Gold (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, Matt and Sally King, Katorin, Jenn Cors, and Chryson, among many other familiar characters)
Book 3: TBA (featuring S/V, Vandrof, David Rice, and many other familiar characters)
Book 4: Under the Radar (featuring Sarah, David Rice, Chryson, and characters that will be familiar by then)
Book 5: Best Left Dead (yes, I'm keeping it. I love it too much to let it go. But it'll be better this time, trust me.)
Book 6: Out of Enemies (featuring Setira, Chryson, Teresh, and Tacita, among others)
Book 7: Rebellion Reborn (featuring Chryson, Setira, Kitchell, Katorin, Tacita, etc.)
Book 8: Chain of Command (featuring Setira, Chryson, the Marshalls, etc.)

That's right. I'm not just rewriting the S/V series. I'm adding. And, as you can see, about the only things I'm keeping from Stargate are the concept of the Goa'uld and Tok'ra (Kemtewet and Gertewet). Okay, and the NID, who are now NFI-Com (National Freedom of Information for the Preservation of Constitutional Rights and of Citizen and National Security Commission). Okay, and the Ha'taks (Muuldepet)... kinda. These are cooler and more pretentious. That's right. As if a gigantic, gold-plated pyramid wasn't pretentious enough. No more System Lords, though; that's too simple. The Kemtewet now have a much more interesting structure: one emperor (like Ra, only not) ruling over six kings (kinda like system lords, I guess), who rule over five lords, who actually rule over planets. But since that's not enough enemies, there are also Kemtewet servants for the kings and emperor, who would rather not have to deal with humans at all. And they have culture! Folk songs, architecture, designers, maybe writers, scientists/reverse engineers. And competition, though I won't get into it until we meet Chryson in Heart of Gold.

OMGoodness! I love Chryson! If you've read anything about him (yes, Chryson is supposed to be male), you can't tell me he isn't completely lovable! I can't wait to write the books with Setira and him. Then again, I guess very few of you are familiar with how Setira turns out. Think Alliah from Dune, only basically good and less self-centered.

What else has me so excited about this series?

The crew from the Scifi Fridays I host hath decreed that the Black Book series (dunno why it's called Black Book since it's mostly about the Gertewet and Black Book falls into the background) is "engineering fiction," not science fiction. People complain so much about science fiction not being scientifically feasible, I'm trying my hardest to keep within that realm. Okay, so I have a few typical scifi magic concepts that I don't want to bother explaining: FTL, short-range transporters, evolution of the galaxy, etc. Typical write offs, explained by the ever-powerful Plot. (Refer to discussions last night throughout SG-1 viewing.) I ask my readers to forgive me a few if I adequately explain evolution and physiology of the 'Tewet, along with how their modifications to humans work. (Might keep the healing and extra strength as magic, too, but I'll explain the glowing eyes and weird voice.) Perhaps if I adequately explain the dimensions and development of the Kemtewet space craft (which I adore--someone build me a Kaxan, please!)? Remember the fun Tollan symbiote-indicating device and the Tok'ra memory device? I'm planning something that's a hybrid of the two, and Case has the perfect material to make it work. Thank you Martin, Blankenship, and Xie for your research. I hope you don't mind me publicizing it in fiction. I already know the origin of Black Book, NFI-Com, and the Kemtewet, as well as their internal politics, for the most part, and the politics and workings of the Gertewet. I know how Black Book and Cohagen develop throughout the series, why, and even the distribution of personnel throughout the departments.

So excited! I wish I could include sketches in my stories. After I go through all the trouble of creating them to write it, and the details don't quite make it into the story. Anyone recall Vinnet's dress in Best Left Dead? I have a color picture of it, and I really wish I could make it and have somewhere to wear it.

Oh, yeah. Mike has been told he should major or minor in poli sci. (I wouldn't put it past him.) Anyway, he pointed out a bunch of things that weren't politically accurate in the Announcement. They're being fixed. The changes work out well in the beginning of "Under the Radar," when Chryson comes back to Earth.

New characters!!! YEEEEE!!! You know how the others who were kidnapped with Sarah disappeared in the original version of To Be? They stick around now. We'll see them in the second half of To Be (which needs a new title), possibly in Heart of Gold, definitely in the Announcement, definitely in Under the Radar, and who knows after that? They all have their own back stories and personalities, some of which conflict enough to generate spin-off short stories, methinks. (Kalli and Pastor Ariel. Sorry I can't spell Kalli's name right on here. There should be a heart over the i.) Oh, and one of the abductees turns out to be so important that she's a catalyst for major plot events throughout the series.

Yeee! I love this series! It's always so dismal when I go back through my fifty-four pages of notes and see how little I have when I think I have so much, but I trust from my readers' reactions that it's all going to turn out pretty well. I'm trusting Mom, Molly (who hit me when she read BLD), Emily (who nearly or actually cried when she read BLD), and Mike (who picks on me for BLD) when they say it's publishable plot and characters. After reading Tobias Buckell's Ragamuffin, I'm inclined to agree. (Sorry, Toby, the story's great and the characters interesting, but your writing style is hard to get through in novels. You're very used to short stories.) Someday, I tell you. Someday, this is going to be published. I don't know when or by whom. Maybe I'll look up the editor I meet at Alpha and give him the first shot at it. Maybe I'll go to conventions and network. Maybe I'll intrigue someone by my supposedly contradictory major. Or maybe it'll turn them away. I have no way of knowing. Either the logic goes "She's majoring in engineering; she can't possibly write." or "She's a writer majoring in aerospace engineering. Practical. Probably really loves space. She's devoted and probably really awesome." I can dream, anyway.

So. Feel free to ask questions. I might answer.

And when it's published, read it. 'Twill be a blast.

2008-03-29T13:24:00.002-04:00

Follow-up to the crash since I never posted any:

While we were sitting in the health center, Mike pointed out that there was a piece of my glasses missing: the hinge. We figured it was still sitting in front of the parking garage, where I crashed. Well, a doctor took me back and did what she could to clean it up, but she couldn't tell if I needed stitches. I don't know if I told her that a part of my vision on the left side was faded. I don't know if either of us noticed how dazed I was. Shock, I guess. Lucky for me, it didn't hurt that much. I guess I had a headache from the impact, but the actual torn flesh got smacked or scraped or squished so much, it was numb.

But I had an appointment to go to, and I was going to do anything I needed to to get there. Right. I missed it. And the two classes after it. When I resigned to not making the appointment with my professor, I asked Mike to go tell her. (Turns out, I was heading to visit the wrong professor, but in the end, it didn't matter.) I also asked him to take the paper that was due that day, but he didn't. Looking back, now that I've heard his assessment of that day, I must conclude that he was more worried than I was and his information overload didn't allow for my research paper to take priority like it did in my brain. All well. My professors understood it as an emergency and let me off the hook. (I still wanted to turn it in. I'm probably the kind of person you want on a mission to save the world. I'll be bleeding and beaten half out of my mind and still try to get everything right.)

Everyone left for a while for some reason or another, and they wouldn't let me leave. The health professional had me all bandaged up, but she was waiting for the real doctor to get back from lunch. So I lay there, trying not to stress. I knew it was all my fault. I remembered thinking that the bike might not go over the curb. I remembered that I should have worn a helmet after the first crash of the year. (But by golly, I wanted to see my alarm clock from my bed, and I had no other way to keep it up that high!) I knew my parents were going to freak. I knew it never had to happen. My stupidity had given me a big bloody gash, broken glasses (how was I going to tell Mom?), a very important missed appointment, and two skipped classes--my most important ones of the day. Or maybe I didn't have to miss them. How long did I have to finish there? Maybe I'd miss the mandatory humanities class, but I still had time to make my 3:00 fiction writing class. If only I didn't need stitches. I didn't think I could do stitches. The thought of a needle going in an out of my skin, sewing it together like the holes in my camo skirt, terrified me. The pain that had to cause! I couldn't take pain. I couldn't deal with it. Please, God, I thought over and over, anything but stitches. Anything but stitches! Finally, to at least try to hold myself together, to push away the regret for later, to push away the worries until I could do something, I sat up, waited for the room to stabilize, tottered to my feet, and got my Bean (media device) from wherever I kept it then. I played the uplifting Christian music I rely on so heavily and lay back on the bed, only this time, the music emphasized everything that had gone wrong. I cried. Eventually, I tried to stop. Just listen. Wait and listen.

The doctor came in after a while, and I resumed my brave face. Jokes to break the tension. Act pleasant above all else. I don't think she fell for it, but she at least pretended to. My shaking voice and hands might have given me away. She told me I needed stitches and that she was going to call Campus Security to take me to the emergency room, which I was thankful for, since I hadn't a clue where it was, though it couldn't have been more than two blocks away. I might could have walked... Anyway, she suggested I have a friend meet me, and I called Mike to ask if he would go with me, if he minded the chance of missing his afternoon class. He said he didn't. I still didn't like asking him to.

The doctor was kind. She gave me a bag of something, I think. Maybe she put my bloodied gym shirt in a paper bag. I don't remember. She gave me ice, though it melted long before I saw another doctor. I don't remember when Mike got there. It had to have been at least five minutes from when I called; I know he was on Northside, but he biked back as fast as he could. Whenever he got there, neither the doctor nor he would let me carry my own backpack, though I would have if they'd let me. It couldn't have been that heavy.

The doctor sent me down in the elevator, and Mike and I waited at the bottom for campus security. (Come to think of it, I don't know why we had to wait. Their office is one floor below where we were waiting, as I found out when Idaho made me lose my phone later on.) Mike didn't say much, so I tried to keep talking. Anything to keep my mind off my parents and my stupidity. I had to have a decent story to tell people. How could I deal with admitting that I'd crashed my bike while not wearing a helmet? "Klingons," I told Mike. "I got attacked by Klingons, and I won." We bantered like that for a while... kinda. He was distracted or something. I wonder why. We laughed at my coat, which had about a dollar coin-sized hole in the shoulder, spewing little puffs of white feathers into the air.

Eventually, the campus security SUV arrived, and we climbed into the back. The officer was really nice, too, and he and Mike talked the whole way. We took a spiraling path from there to the emergency room. I don't think it was much farther than two hundred meters in displacement, but we had to go around the edges of the block to get there. The weird hospital has the emergency room embedded in the very center of the entire complex. The officer snarled something sarcastic about a car blocking the drop-off zone and Ohio drivers' ineptitude. We got in all right in the end, glad for having met him.

I don't really remember much about waiting. I filled out some forms, described my pain as about a four. Mike admonished me for that. He said I would have gotten attention faster with more pain, but I answered that I was stable for now and had no reason not to wait when others might need the attention before I did. The hospital couldn't have been that stupid. Surely, they took into account both that I had a bleeding head wound and that someone had already tended it for the moment. I was pretty calm by then, starting to regain my senses, and we talked pretty much the whole time, the only people laughing in the emergency room waiting area. I'd have been sick with anxiety if he hadn't been there, and I knew it. He might have been instead of me, though. I never knew.

About 5:30, they called me back to see a doctor. After some preliminary cleaning, she looked at it and said, "You have a piece of metal in there."

"Really?" Mike and I looked at each other, information clicking into place. "So that's what happened to the hinge."

Sure enough, she pulled the hinge of my glasses out from my eyebrow. Now, remember: the first health professional, the health center doctor, and I had all looked at it, trying to determine how deep it was. I don't think any of us suspected it could hide an entire hinge. Well, we mused over it, and then she threw it out! I moaned about it, sure we could have fixed my glasses with that one part.

Six stitches in the end. They weren't as bad as I expected, though they might have been if things hadn't played out as they had. Mike held my hand. The doctor talked to one of us, probably Mike. I don't remember. They talked about skiing, about school, our majors, how we met. She commented on how nice he was to come with me. I agreed.

He walked me back to Leutner for dinner. I wasn't as dizzy as I had been, but it was still a long walk. The cold wind felt especially sharp against the new wound, even if it was covered with a band-aid.

Somewhere in the middle of it all or shortly after. Maybe that night. I don't know. At some point, it struck me that God had been with me through it all. I don't know why it happened, but I do know that it could have been hundreds of times worse. If Mike hadn't been there, I would not have staunched the bleeding. If I hadn't had racquetball that morning, I wouldn't have had expendable clothes with which to staunch, contaminated by the locker room floor, though they were. If it hadn't been cold that morning, I wouldn't have worn my big, puffy winter coat, and the hole in the coat would have been in my better clothes or in my shoulder. Had I not gotten stitches, no one would have found the hinge in my face. Had Mike not accompanied me, I would have freaked out in the emergency room worse than I did in the health center. And missing class turned out to be okay... just this once.

2008-02-27T20:53:00.001-05:00

Random notes among random notes:

Reversing the polarity actually worked!

Step one: have polarized screen between light and room (on computer case).
Step two: ensure no light gets through.
Step three: reverse the poliarity.

Poof!

No longer just science fiction!

2008-02-15T18:01:00.001-05:00

12/8 amusing pseudeutsch

Projectklub

Achtung! Alle Lookenpeepers!

Diese Computermeachine ist nicht fuer Fingerpoken und Mittengrabben. Sie ist einfact Springenwerk zu schnappen, Fusen zu blowen und Corken zu poppen mit viele sparkenspitzen. Sie ist nicht fuer gewerken bei die Dumbkoepfen. Die rubbernecken Sichseeren muss die cotton-pickenen Haender in der Pockets keepen; relaxen und watchen die Blinkenlichten!

2008-02-15T16:49:00.002-05:00

11/29

12:30

I pick myself up off the ground, mostly concerned with getting out of the parking garage's driveway. My glasses are missing, and I reach for the one piece I see: the side. Someone points out the rest or hands them to me. I don't remember which. My bike is so far away, but I must notice someone else moving toward it; I start walking away. Someone coming the other way stops to tell me my forehead is bleeding. A swipe at my forehead comes away bloodier than I expected; a second swipe covers half my hand. Mike is beside me now with both bikes--his and mine. His eyes widen, and he looks worried. I know University Health Services are nearby--almost right across the street. I start walking that way. He stops me.

Apparently, I was bleeding worse than I realized. He urges me to use something to stem the bloodflow.

"Gym bag. Purple shirt." It's an old one. I think Mom tried to convince me I outgrew it six years ago. No loss, except that it's the coolest shirt I have that's appropriate for gym.

Mike drops his bike on the grass and fumbles for the gym bag wrapped around my handlebars. I stand to the side and watch a drop of blood trickle onto my pale blue coat. I lean forward so the next one falls onto the grass. I watch it like a rain drop falling from the tip of my nose.

Mike passes me the shirt, and I hold it against my face, heedless of the sweat and grime embedded in its fibers. I dropped it on the locker room floor earlier. All well. I know I need something more than I need something clean.

Just then (maybe earlier) someone I know parts ways from the masses of hungry students whose classes ended at 12:20. I've talked to him but not much. Is his name Ray? He says something to the effect of, 'Oh, God, Shannon, are you all right?"

I probably mutter something like "I'll be fine." Isn't faith wonderful? More than that, isn't our culture wonderful? I'm so conditioned to believe that I have to be fine that I can be standing on a street corner, dripping blood with my second pair of glasses this school year in pieces in my hands and still think I'm fine!

2008-02-15T16:43:00.002-05:00

11/14/07

There are four kinds of knowledge: memorization, comprehension, understanding, and experience. They are interconnected and interrelated, perhaps interdependent, but they are not identical.

Memorization is knowing the facts, the surface of a concept. It is knowing what is or what happens. It is the simplest form of knowledge and the most common one to test. Memorization is the emotionless connection of semantic information.

Comprehension is deeper. It is knowing how ideas are connected, the mechanism of how an event or state--even a static state or fact of existence--occurs. Comprehension can be communicated through words.

Understanding is deeper yet and more exclusive than one might imagine. It is knowing two steps or more beyond how a state developed--it is knowing why. People can be led to understanding, but it cannot be taught. One must achieve it on one's own through personal analysis of the comprehension available. All understanding implies comprehension, but not all comprehension requires understanding. Understanding may change one's comprehension subtly so that it no longer reflects others' comprehension. Understanding is key to the best enjoyment of life; it is so important that it may supercede all other forms of knowledge.

Experience is akin to understanding, but it offers a different perspective. While experience may not always provide understanding or even comprehension, it does provide some memorization and a kind of emotional knowledge. Experience, like memorization and comprehension, provides input for understanding.

2007-10-25T08:54:00.001-04:00

College is awesome.
It still has bad times.
This morning is one of them,
but the rest of the day doesn't need to be.

Went to bed late.
Got up early.
Nearly slept late.
Didn't.

Took laundry to elevator;
can't walk with the bag.
Elevator full of trash;
took the stairs.

Resigned myself to pay
the extra dollar for the extra machine;
waited so long to do laundry,
it wouldn't fit in less.

Dealt with the sticky detergent,
all at 7:40 AM.
Swiped my card to finish--
and nothing happened.

My clothes are just sitting.
Dirty.
Roommate swiped her card.
Nothing.

Back to fourth floor.
Waited for the phone to ring
to meet someone for breakfast.
Finally realized we were just going to meet--
no call involved.

Rushed to the dining hall to try to catch him for a couple minutes.

I wasn't sure if he'd still be there. It'd probably be easier if I hadn't seen him at all. I don't know. His bike wasn't there, but there's no reason to bike unless you have classes immediately afterward. As I walked in, though, and fumbled my ID card out, I looked out through the front glass and saw him walking away, a still shot in profile of him glancing out toward my dorm. I just missed him. And then... I would have felt like a complete jerk if there'd been the slightest tinge of malice, if it had been anything other than me being entirely stupid. I wouldn't have worried about the washers, about getting up too early, about not feeling great, about not studying for the test yet... Just for two minutes to talk to him. It sounds stupid, but I could have laughed it off somehow. I could have blown it off and taken all my laundry upstairs with me to do at some undisclosed later date. As things are now, it's the capstone to everything that feels like it's going so wrong this morning. If only I knew I was spending all my bad luck now to make up for it with the chem test.

God, grant me the peace of mind to accomplish this morning those things which must be done to fulfill your plan in my life.

2007-09-30T18:49:00.000-04:00

My brain is so fried right now. I wish I could have seen an fMRI while I was working on this; my initial impression is that it would show increased blood flow relative to while I work out plot details, which would in turn show increased blood flow relative to calculus class, probably by a factor of about 2/3.

I'm just frustrated right now. I feel like just because I leave out a word here and there in e-mails or leave out two or three trains of thought, people think I'm nuts. Seriously, there's not enough time in the day to explain every single thing. Besides, at that point, you start approaching Ontongard level of communication, and I don't think that's healthy in our society. We need to leave things out, distribute information unevenly, keeping most close to the vest to preserve the identifying differences among us. Communicate the largest thoughts only, not the intermediate processes; if we understand everything, we lose the diversity that, like disassociated gases, expands our horizons within whatever container we find ourselves. (I like these disassociated gases analogies.)

I'm tired. Four hour exertion for three paragraphs! Ridiculous until you account for the sink-or-swim nature of the material. My head hurts; my eyes are dry. I need a break before I consider something else. Are my own assignments restful? Is programming in a less-than-completely foreign language restful? Is dinner restful? I'd better leave before it closes. Just five more minutes.

Five more minutes.

2007-09-30T15:59:00.000-04:00

Questions of the day. Please, please, please respond if you have any thoughts on any of these. I would really like to know, and I'm not allowed to research most of them in the class that generated the questions.

Do ADD/ADHD, binlingual patients experience increased pathological language switching, and if so, is this caused by a condition of the cingulate gyrus?
What are the advantages and disadvantages of poorly/quickly-functioning cingulate gyri, and is there an instance in which this would be vastly preferred? Furthermore, does a poorly/quickly-functioning cingulate gyrus affect actual and perceived intelligence?
How does caffeine affect the cingulate gyrus?
What would happen if a person had a strongly-developed caudate and a poorly-developed/quickly-functioning cingulate gyrus?
Should one of the distinct differences between Kemtewet and Gertewet be that the former causes abulia (an apparent loss of will or motivation) by effecting lesions in the frontal lobe?

Let me know.

(While writing essay) Stupid cingulate keeps switching on me, throwing in computer programming terms with neurolinguistic studies and Christian identity issues. They're interesting combinations, but I don't think my prof will be too thrilled when she reads about the experiment with the three Boolean variables (properly referred to as a 2 x 2 x 2 analysis, but that doesn't make as much sense).

Please no one ever call me on Sundays; I so lost the good vibe I had for this assignment. The one time I was actually on task for two hours straight, I would have finished in only one more had my cingulate gyrus not been severely activated. It's not used to switching quickly but among languages and plot lines.

^{For support, he references Crinion et al., whose experiment with bilingual brains shows increased blood flow in the temporal lobe and caudate corresponding to three variables: meaning, input language, and output language.}

2007-09-15T13:56:00.001-04:00

I'm apparently building a reputation for myself, whether I realize it or not, and I find myself at a "crossroads," of sorts.

It's an ethics thing. I want to be responsible. I want to help people. That's all it is, and it hurts to think that the people I thought I was helping resent it.

I'm naive in many ways. I freely admit it, because I don't see myself as jaded, and there are many things in which I am far from experienced.

Someone on the floor got sick last night and lost his dinner in the lounge. The others sitting around him said he hadn't been drinking, so I believed them and figured he would be fine with time. That meant there was one thing to do: clean up the mess. No one else was going to; they all left the room immediately, and even though I probably couldn't name half of them, and I had just walked in, I figured I should do it. Unfortunately, there isn't a storage closet of cleaning supplies that I know of. That's in the RA domain. Unfortunately, the RA on my floor wasn't feeling well and had gone to sleep early. The number for the RA on call was posted on her door, so I called it. No one answered. Reluctantly, I sought out another RA, the one on third floor. I showed him the situation, and he took over from there.

This morning, my roommate informed me that that particular RA is a lot more strict concerning alcohol (or something; she was being vague). He sent the guy to the hospital, and the implication I picked up on was that there are consequences to be explored in the future. I was going to just brush it off and figure that he'd brought it on himself and, if he wanted to drink, should have done so in moderation, rather than "reupholstering" himself. Then another guy from the floor sat down beside me at "breakfast" (aka 1:30 PM meal) and basically asked me what I'd been thinking. Well, the rest of the night was totally awesome for me, and I'd not put that much emphasis on the event. I told him I'd had a great night, to which he replied, essentially, "A great night sending people to the hospital?"

I never got along that well with the people on the floor, mostly because I never stuck around long enough to get to know them. Before, people just knew me as my roommate's mysterious roommate. Now, I guess I have a reputation for being a party pooper or something. I don't really care what reputation I gain if it accurately reflects on my character, but I don't like when people resent me. What was I supposed to do, anyway? There's a properly set chain of command here, and I'm not inclined to work around it. Besides which, like I said, the stuff needed to be cleaned up. It was sinking into the carpet and the couch, and I like sitting in the lounge; I didn't want it to stay.

So... I think I'll avoid people from the other quads from around, especially the guys. I have a lot of friends elsewhere, who I usually hang out with anyway. And if I gain a reputation for being an ueber-good Samaritan, well, it has two benefits. Anyone who needs help will know where to find me. As for my floormates and their activities, they'll know to exclude me and to be more careful while they're here. Good for them. It's not like I go out and look for people to throw into trouble. It's like they said: you don't get caught if you just sleep it off, like the guy who joined ZBT did the night I saw him walk in drunk. Maybe I'm actually part of the problem, but I don't want to be a part of the solution. Maybe I actually condone underage drinking, because I don't feel like condemning the people who do it. But let me say this: enough experiences of the third-floor RA sending ya to the hospital, and ya'll teach ya'rself how to avoid it, either by being more responsible or more careful. I feel fully justified in my actions.

2007-09-06T14:45:00.000-04:00

Character Assessment, part I: Vulcans.

Prompt (feel free to respond for yourself):

What qualities do I admire in literary characters, and to what extent, considering my core beliefs, should I aspire to emulate them?

To some extent, I admire the Vulcan devotion to logic. Everything must be evaluated, and that leads to more informed decisions. Once you are duly informed, you can anticipate future events. Emotions can cloud proper judgment and eclipse even the values you hold most dear, as in the case of revenge and killing. Logic can be a voice of restraint, keeping you from rash actions and well-deserved consequences; and it can be a voice of action, propelling you to do what must be done. I admire Vulcans because I adhere to intuition with only a cursory glance at logic, and I recognize that intuition is not a reliable adviser when compared to logic and fairly complete intelligence on the situation. But should I emulate them?

Vulcan adherence to logic in the absence of emotion lends them an inhumanity that undermines the compassionate, loving nature of Christianity. How can you show love to others without feeling love yourself? How can you love your neighbor at inconvenient times without abandoning logic's assessment of the cost? At base, the love of Christianity--agape--defies traditional, human logic, as does, at times, any conversation of the Holy Spirit. To adopt any adherence to logic, even Spirit-based logic, one would have to allow it to yield to agape.

2007-08-28T14:00:00.001-04:00

8/27/07

"The literary community is short-sighted. They don't realize that by leaving the atmosphere, you can see more," I told one of my peers at lunch today. He had only just related an anecdote of how he had been laughed at for choosing to write an essay about the necessity of extraterrestrial transportation. I couldn't help but agree as I recalled to myself the number of times I stared up at the stars at night, transfixed by their beauty, even in the suburbs, and felt caged. The world is a big place, sure, and there are many things yet to learn and understand about it. But wherever you go, someone has been there. Maybe not in the past century. Maybe not for several millennia, but so long as your feet are touching dry ground, there's a good chance someone has stood there before, or at the very least, within a hundred feet of there.

The earth is a big place, with many natural and artificial wonders to explore. Take this building, for example. It used to be anywhere from two to four brick and stone buildings, and now a three-story glass atrium has joined them into a single, tame space. It's a beautiful place to sit and type essays and stories while I wait for my class to begin. Take the forests of Table Rock, South Carolina. They're gorgeous, dappled with jubulent sunlight, cooled by the shade of a hundred thousand deciduous and evergreen trees, and supplied with wide, shallow, rippling streams. They're intriguing, but they're not new. You're not likely to notice something that will really help someone unless you know about everything that's been established in the field so far. But getting off-world, well, that's straight-up exploration. Everything's new. You can report anything you see and it won't have been pre-confirmed or pre-established.

Besides that, though, there is a lot of argument that we're not taking care of our planet. Even if you're not convinced on global warming, there are still recycling problems, pollution, and extinction of entire species to consider. And even if you're fine with those, there are the social problems that are still part of our planet. Abortion, crime, and mal-treatment of various kinds, including war, torture, slavery, forced prostitution, and other defilements of the gifts given to us, all of which date back as far as people have forgotten what it means to love one another. We have some ideas of how to counteract these. "Tree-huggers" and missionaries, green-thinkers and rescue missions, animal rights groups and non-profit organizations like Compassion International, World Vision, and the International Justice Mission all work as hard as they can to correct what they see is wrong in the world, even while others, who like the way things are, work just as hard (with seemingly more outcome) to un-right the same wrongs. It's all a gigantic mess.

It's quite tempting to start over. Maybe if we tried again, somewhere else, while all this was still going on, we could see how it all started and how to stop it. Maybe while we expand the knowledge of science with experiments in new environments; of engineering with new challenges and conditions; of literature with new experiences and observations; maybe we'll see things more simply, as did anyone who had the risk of death in the wilderness hanging over his head. What is simpler than loving and depending on one another for your lives? Maybe we can take this learning back to "Old Home Terra" (see Heinlein's Time Enough for Love) and change the world. How has expansion affected any previous culture? Has there not been peace for the period of that expansion? Has there not been a burst in education, in science, and in learning? Has there not been more tolerance with trade and exploration?

Maybe the human race was created (or, to be PC, indelibly ingrained at some point in evolution) with a deep-seated need for expansion and for learning. If so, what are we doing stuck on one little (albeit beautiful) clump of atoms, confined to one regular orbit around one mediocre star? Don't get me wrong. I love our planet. I love our accomplishments, but we are people of the first derivative. We seem to care more about positive change than our current, high positions, so let's create some positive change for everyone. Let's create a positive change and send the overflowing pennies and Sacagawea dollars out to everyone. (Not literally, of course. Don't dare believe I think more money is the answer. More money to the space program than to politicians, certainly, but not necessarily more money per person.) Let's get out there and learn. Let's change several worlds at a time.

"By leaving the atmosphere, you can see more."

2007-08-28T09:49:00.000-04:00

Do you realize how bizarre cola is? It's like something out of nineteenth century science fiction: bubbling tonics, potions to give energy that are some unnatural, industrial color. *sip* I can't believe anyone can stand the stuff. *gulp*

Hi from college! I'm sitting in the auditorium, waiting for the second day of class to begin. Right now, computers are about as prevalent and visible in here as notebooks are, and the combination of the two is about equal to the empty desks. Still, this is a massively cool place with massively awesome people. As for the teacher, they seem okay, too, though I don't have nearly as much data to work with. Oh, and my roommate should be in her somewhere, but I don't see her. She had another class before this, though.

This is a pretty cool place, though, and I'm happy to be here. It's busy, though, so if anyone wants to talk to me, drop me an e-mail; I have to check it for school, anyway, and I will respond within a couple days... if I sense that you want a response. But I probably will.

2007-06-24T23:12:00.000-04:00

Success.

Selfish desires led me to faith in God, whereby I may become selfless.

Future.

I want to know I will enjoy my life. God, who plans for all that I have and all that I am, can use my personality to serve Him. He teaches me to be content.

Personality.

I want to be a good person, though and through. Being good is being God-like, which happens the more I open myself to His Holy Spirit.

Provision.

I want everything I need. God provides for all my needs, even those I don't acknowledge. He will provide exactly what I need, and it is His choice not to give excess.

Import.

I want to be important to someone. God's love and care for me show my importance to Him.

Accomplishment.

I want to do great things. What can exceed the plans of He who created the universe and everything in it, including me?

2007-06-20T23:48:00.000-04:00

Heart of Gold
Chapter II: Mission

Two days on a small spaceship with a creature in your brain gives you ample opportunity to adjust to its—her presence. She insisted that her given name was too long and she preferred to go by Chrys to her hosts and few close friends. After that, she was all business.

For the remainder of this mission, she explained, we would go by my last name since it was rather superfluous now but I would respond to it while still adjusting to the life of a spy. Then she recalled why we were going. A local interstellar gang had accrued a few more Ha'tak motherships than the minor Goa'uld they'd served. They consequently decided they would bully the Goa'uld into giving them whatever they wanted. The Goa'uld was embarrassed enough not to call on the system lords. Chrys would have loved the situation if nothing else had happened, but it had. The gang demanded more and more of Marinduque until he demanded more and more of the four planets he ruled, crushing the people into poverty and tearing their families and villages apart.

Even before leaving, Chrys knew Sedesh didn't have long to live, but they had hoped to complete one more mission together. Part way through, Chrys realized he needed a new host quickly and barely received news before he left that the lead gang member, Qadir, had realized he was a spy.
I gazed out at the approaching planet from the Tel'tak's pilot chair, in control of my own body for one of the last times before the end of the mission. I couldn't believe that now, when I finally embarked on the adventure I'd always wanted, I'd be so scared. Any of the Mirach-Lucian Alliance who found out we were spies would kill us. No one had ever wanted to kill me before; it was a frightening proposition. It seemed that all of a sudden, I was constantly under the threat of death, first from AIDS and PML and now from the Alliance.

And the Goa'uld, of course. But don't worry. I've only ever lost one host to an enemy, and that was nearly four centuries ago.

His thought seemed unfinished, and as I thought about him, I realized why. You're not really as confident as you say you are.

No. Each new enemy has ample opportunity to kill me and you. We may die in the next few days and forfeit every chance we had of saving those people and preventing an opportunity for a united Goa'uld front. But we can't be intimidated; half the battle is between us and our expectations of them. We can't afford to either overestimate them—and defeat ourselves—or underestimate them—and hand them ways to defeat us.

Wow. So how do I defeat them in my mind? I wondered, trying to stop marveling at the beauty of space and focus on the task.

Any time you catch yourself feeling afraid or intimidated or losing confidence, find a reason to laugh at them or to reassure yourself that you are better than they are.

If that's what you do, you must feel afraid pretty often. It scared me even more to know that I was right.

* * *

Turquoise choker wrapped twice around a wrist and secured, Chrys gathered all the supplies we might need and loaded them into a supply vest that completely covered the tank top I wore. Then, regretfully, she zatted her former host once, letting the blue tendrils of engineered electricity overload his vacant nervous system. Returning the zat to a leg holster, she glanced around the room one more time to make sure we had left nothing personal to be found on the ship, just a few scraps of litter from stored food and a couple cases of zat'nikatels and naquadah stolen from other Goa'uld.

Simultaneously, she swept her mind clean of any personal clutter. Sedesh's body was now nothing more than a tool. She was human, and I didn't exist. A long time silent supporter of the Mirach-Lucian Alliance, she had come to finally serve Qadir. It was a thin mental façade, thin enough to reassure me that it was fiction, but it could almost pass a za'tarc test and definitely any regular lie detector test.

Finally ready, Chrys threw the corpse over a shoulder and dashed out the Tel'tak's exit. She had landed near the gate leading into the Alliance's central courtyard, so after a short dash during which she shoved past the gate's guards, she arrived where she could make the scene she wanted. As she stopped, she hauled the body from her shoulder, flinging it to the ground, drew the zat'nikatel, and shot it a second time.

Then she looked up. The milling gang members and cronies, their slaves, servants, and workers, and anyone else in the main square stopped their business at the sound of weapons fire and gazed over, silent. Chrys kept her voice within human tones as she cried, "I found this man trying to give information to Marinduque! This is how we treat shol'vah, Sedesh!" She zatted him a third time, and the body disintegrated from sight.

Weapon in hand, she slowly looked around the crowd, picking out familiar faces on the way. Aziz and Jabbar, the Alliance's second most powerful members, who took turns executing raids, stood together on the stairs leading into the command palace. Two other Alliance thugs, Dasa and Wafai, stood near carts of plunder, which they had been assessing for practical and bartering value. On the edge of the crowd, caught as she skittered between two buildings, stood a slave woman named Najwa.

Good. Nearly everyone is here. Chrys slowly reholstered her weapon. As she did, she heard soft footsteps on the stone behind her and resisted the urge to duck. Even so, she took the blow on the ear and rolled with it, frustrating her own balance on the way to make it look less controlled. Looking up from the ground, she was pleased to see Aziz's sturdy, unkempt form.
The man's gruff voice held only a s light accent from his native dialect of Goa'uld. "It is not your place to decide judgement. We were tracking him, Hashak!"

"And what did that get you?" Chrys demanded, pulling herself to her feet. "He arrived at his destination by Stargate, not by Tel'tak. I heard him reporting to Marinduque."

Aziz studied her for a moment then motioned to the crowd…

* * *

I lay still on the room's cushions, trying my best to ignore the new cuts and deep bruises marking my skin and screaming at the slightest budge. It was almost pleasant, and I almost asleep, when I heard a faint whisper somewhere near my head.

Suddenly, Chrys's consciousness surged forward in my mind, wedging between my thoughts and muscle control. Her human-sounding voice barely tickled the room's silence. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"You killed him," an equally quiet female voice replied, strained by tears.

"I suppose that distresses you," she continued, venturing to a conversational volume. "Did you love him?"

"Like no other." We felt the tip of something hard rest against the top of my head. At point blank, it wouldn't have to be a laser weapon to ensure our deaths. If the erratic motion on my head meant anything, though, she was trembling.

Chrys continued calmly, as though nothing had changed. "Then I regret I must inform you that Sedesh died two days ago from natural causes. I obtained his permission to use his body here."

"He trusted you?"

"With his life, and I trusted him with mine."

The weapon against my head had begun to relent, but the force returned quickly. "Then how could you shoot him like that?"

"By remembering that he was gone and that any means to restore his life would have corrupted him." As she spoke, Chrys leaned my head back to look up at the woman, now letting the zat'nikatel's tip rest against my forehead. She recognized the woman as the slave from whom she had received much information during her last stay. "You wouldn't want that, either."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Chrys berated herself for forgetting the slave's limited life experience. "I forgot how much you don't know, Najwa."

Uncertainty grew across her face, framed by the beige, embroidered headscarf she wore. Despite her token of modesty, her rich, brown dress revealed more than enough skin on her upper body to keep her comfortable in the desert heat.

A few of Chrys's memories of her came to mind, launching ripples of shock through me. You had an affair with her?

Naturally not. One or both parties must be violating a commitment for it to be an affair. Qadir sent Najwa to me for several purposes.

And you took advantage of her?

Chrys's mind scrambled to the defensive, aborting her usual cockiness for the moment. I spent time with her, respecting her as I would anyone else, and I did nothing without her and Sedesh's full consent. She closed my eyes, devoting her full attention to me. I will do nothing that discomforts you unless it is absolutely crucial to the mission. Even if I do, you have the option of overriding my control.

I do?

My control is not absolute. If your mind is more focused than mine, you can block my control. Just don't tell the other hosts. You're not supposed to know. Chrys smiled slightly, reflecting on her fondness for me, and I relaxed. She trusted me innately, as a necessity of both her existence and the success of the mission. I had to do the same, and she would do all she could to help.

Chrys opened her eyes again, staring up at the slave and letting the smile fade from her lips. "Najwa, we need to talk."

Her narrow head began shaking, sending her curly, black hair flying with the scarf's confines. "You must swear to speak only the truth."

"I swear," Chrys replied, secure in her ability to manipulate words to convey a false impression without lying.

Najwa finally circled around to stand beside us, zat'nikatel still trained, and Chrys sat up to watch her. The slave's voice remained soft. "Why are you here?"

"To finish the assignment. The Alliance must be defeated if we are to vanquish the Goa'uld."

"Who plans to defeat the Goa'uld?" she wondered, exited.

"I speak only the truth. Sedesh and I loved you, Najwa, but I will never tell you. I trust you with my life here, but the less you know of us, the better you can aid us."

Her eyes narrowed. "Not good enough."

"Too bad."

The zat'nikatel in her hand fired.

* * *

It was still dark when I awoke, which I took to be a good sign. The restraints that kept me from moving, however, I took as a bad sign. My eyes opened to reveal the same room lit by soft candlelight, which silhouetted Najwa and revealed rope tight on my ankles and wrists, pinning my limbs to corners of the couch bed, as well as a metal vest with a blue oval of light.

"It's a trinket I found here," Najwa explained. "It reveals whether one is basically good or basically evil. I've never before seen it flicker when set on a person."

My heart sank as Chrys's memories placed it: a Tollan symbiote indicator. She would know when Chrys spoke. I faced her again. "What do you want?"

"Answers. No lies. No evasions." Her every motion rang of desperation as she paced beside the couch. "How do you know me?"

"No lies?" My mind searched frantically, but Chrys still had not awoken. "I barely remember you. Sedesh's memories got transferred to me. That's why I'm here—"

"No evasions!" she shouted. "How do you remember me?"

My first day of adventure ended in lonely interrogation. A pair of tears escaped my eyes. "I… He… Sedesh wasn't…" I closed my eyes in frustration. "I can't. If you and the Alliance don't kill me, they could do worse. Please. This was the only chance I had to live. I still need it."

"Need what?"

"A trade. My life for Sedesh's. Wasn't my choice."

She glanced at the indicator, which still glowed solid blue. "You're not a Goa'uld, are you?"

"No. No… Never heard of the Goa'uld until two days ago. Never know all this was out here. Please, Najwa, trust us. She loves you. And I won't hurt—"

Chryson took control moments after awakening, accidentally lighting my eyes in her rush. The indicator turned red, and my voice suddenly stopped.

Thank goodness you're okay! I need your help.

When in doubt, say nothing, she retorted tartly, angry.

Najwa stared, zat'nikatel ready. "So you are Goa'uld."

Chrys kept her voice soft but still Goa'uld-esque to further differentiate herself from me. "And if I were? Physical species does not automatically determine philosophy. I still endeavor to free you and your people from both your oppressors."

"And replace them?"

"I have too much work to do to bother remaining on these planets," she answered condescendingly. "I will leave as soon as I finish."

"I don't believe you. All Goa'uld are the same."

"It's that kind of thinking that leaves you vulnerable to surprises and mistakes. You must treat each foe as an individual or you will fill in his peculiar weaknesses with your own assumptions."

Najwa ignored her. "How do you know me, Goa'uld?"

Chrys rolled her eyes, nearly exasperated. "Whether or not you care to face it, you already know me. Sedesh was my last host. We took his name as ours for his last mission, but it was me you spoke to. I hope I may again gain your trust."

As she listened to and thought about what Chrys said, Najwa bent over the floor, looking as though she might become ill. After a couple minutes, she looked up. "Do you have any proof?"

"Only in memories." She glanced around the room then returned her gaze to Najwa's eyes. "Qadir assigned us here the last time. He waited until after I had crushed Marinduque's resistance before he sent you in to me as a reward. You looked so uncomfortable, and I could tell you were bothered by Sedesh's age. So we had a relaxing evening. Dinner. Talk. Games, even. It was such a nice change from the usual routine, for both of us, I think. After a few nights like that, I told you why I was there, and you began gathering information for me from your associates. I almost had enough when Sedesh became too weak for me to sustain, and I left to find a new host."

Tears raced down her face as she listened, but the zat'nikatel wavered less and less. Finally, she cried, "Sedesh was not a Goa'uld!" and pushed the trigger.

The blue arc of electricity couldn't miss.

* * *

I awoke first again and panicked when I realized we weren't in the same room. We were tied to the same chair but now sat in the middle of the market square where Chrys had made her entrance scene. Qadir stared down at me from only three feet away, his ugly, bulging face scrunched together in concentration. "The host awakes!" he announced to the crowd. A terrible feeling started to gather in my stomach. Then the leader leaned down to my face, close enough that I could smell his foul breath. As he spoke, he ran a hand through my hair then rested it on my shoulder. "I apologize for what's been done to you. I'm sorry we can't free you, but you can speak of the Goa'uld's atrocities now until we punish it."

I shivered and said nothing.

The man squatted down beside me, absently running his hand down my thigh. "What's your name?" he cooed.

Stifling a whimper of frustration, I said nothing.

"We will punish your captor, but before it awakes, I'll have your name."

"Cors," I whispered, glad Chrys had chosen an extremely memorable name.

"Cors," he repeated. "Then what is its name?"

"I… I don't know. He doesn’t go by a single name."

He nodded. "How long has it been since you were taken from your village?"

I was about to answer with the truth until I caught Najwa's eyes in the crowd. Two days ago, then I left Earth, would reveal a connection between Sedesh and me and bestow his disfavor on us now. I had to take the question in a different light. I hadn't really been back to my hometown, however, since I left for college. "Three years."

He reached a hand up to caress my cheek, and I grew more tense. "I am so sorry we must end your life so young. It is such a waste of a well-kept form. But we must vanquish your captor."

My eyes widened with the realization that they would kill me, and I could do nothing. Chryson! I screamed in my head. Wake up! Do something!

To my surprise, she awoke and this time left me with control. What has transpired?

They're going to kill us!

I know that.

Before I could relate anything else, Qadir's chubby, sweaty hand grabbed my chin and moved my head so he could look into my eyes. "I know you're in there, slave keeper. Speak with us or prolong your suffering."

Be brave, Chrys cautioned. This may get bad, but I won't let them kill you. Then she told me what to say.

I finally looked up into Qadir's almost black eyes, surprising him enough that he checked the Tollan indicator. "He says it is beneath him to speak with you directly, that your diversion from abolishing Marinduque's power disgusts him."

"Coward!" the fat leader roared. "Speak for yourself and we will not hurt your host!"

Chrys's subsequent retort bothered me, and she recommended that I let it. "He says he doesn't care when there are so many potential hosts nearby." More tears squeezed from my eyes, and the whole crowd retreated a step.

He picked up a metal ring from the ground that looked somewhat like a spring-form pan only longer and with a smaller radius, and locked it around my neck, now holding my head as still as my other extremities. "Cors, I must ask you to put your captor in control."

Thank you, Jenn. You did well, Chrys commended as she took control. I relaxed, glad not to face the fear anymore. The Tok'ra began by laughing heartily, aloud so as to frustrate the Alliance. "You think a brace can keep me in place? Now I have no choice but to kill this host!" Her unnatural voice echoed through the square, silencing the crowd. She continued laughing for a full thirty seconds before looking back at Qadir. "You humans have an odd way of treating allies."

"You are not our ally!" he roared back. "Who do you serve?"

"Myself, same as anyone else on this planet." She grinned. "So might there be something I could do for you to barter for my freedom?"

He spit on the ground my feet. "Why have you come?"

Chrys glared at him, but her only other response was to spit at him.

Wiping the saliva from his chin, Qadir stood up so that he towered over us. "You are of no use to us; you will die slowly to pay for those you've caused to suffer." He turned his back and reached toward a nearby rack of pain sticks.

To quote a pirate, "that was the opportune moment."

Goa'uld are stronger than humans by, like, a lot. So are Tok'ra. They just don't usually find occasion to demonstrate it. Chrys did. She strained my muscles quickly and, though the ropes dug into my skin, managed to loosen or break them all.

Hearing the ample noise, Qadir spun, bringing the stick to bear even as the crowd drew weapons. Chrys ducked the pain-inducing device, snagged a device from Qadir's vest pocket, and activated it, dropping it to the red clay of the ground. Then she buried my face in the filth of his clothes, holding her breath to avoid the fumes of spent alcohol and tobacco. With a bright flash of light that we barely saw, the square fell silent as its occupants fell, stunned.

Chrys grabbed Qadir's vest to keep him from falling.

* * *

Qadir and his cronies had done nothing to the cargo ship we'd arrived in; consequently, all the great Tau'ri food Chrys and Sedesh and previously bartered from Vinnet had been left untouched, available for a time such as this. Chrys tapped the Goa'uld shield with a pinky, saving the other fingers of my left hand for clinging to the Hershey bar. She knew that Qadir, trapped though he was on the other side, couldn't hear only because he hadn't yet awoken. His metabolism was too slow to allow him to recover quickly.

Ignoring him, she opened the door to the flight deck and sauntered to the pilot's chair, setting her feet on the Tel'tak version of a dashboard.

"What do you want with me?" whispered a newly-awakened Najwa from where she was bound tightly to the copilot's seat.

"Little." Chrys kept her voice Goa'uld-like and didn't bother to glance at Najwa as she at the chocolate. Silently, she finished the bar, licked her fingers clean of the rare prize, and folded her hands. Then she spoke, still not looking at the other. "You leave me with little choice. You destroy my favor with Qadir, who threatened my host. You betrayed my trust and taught me a lesson I may never forget. You leave me no choice but to slaughter all my birds at once."

"Birds?"

"'Kill two birds with one stone'," she repeated. "But you're my third bird, and with the others, killing may not be enough."

She fell silent for a moment; then we heard her crying softly.

Chrys closed her eyes; she hadn't meant to scare her. "You taught me not to trust. You didn't teach me not to have compassion. I'll find a place for you, out of the way of what will happen."

"What is that?" Najwa sobbed.

The Tok'ra leaned forward and stared straight into the slave's brown eyes, as Chrys had done many times before, now holding her in a fierce lock of stares. "I will kill my birds, just as I was sent to do."

"You're an assassin," she breathed.

Leaning back in the seat, Chrys broke the gaze lock and watched the shifting views of hyperspace. "Of sorts." She let a few seconds pass then commented, "You also gave me a bright souvenir." The indicator on my chest glowed a steady ruby red.

"You earned it."

A bright flash of anger shot straight from her lips. "You don't know—" Then her mind caught up, and she thought about it. Tok'ra were partners with their hosts. They were supposed to love them and protect them—body and mind—but as she looked back, even over the past few hours, she didn't feel that she'd done so.

"You've done what you had to," I assured her. "I haven't objected. It's a scarier galaxy than I ever imagined, and I'm glad you can cope with it if I can't. You've done nothing wrong."

You see this only from my point of view, Chrys objected.

"So? Whose else's do I need to consider? I know where I stand and where you're coming from. That's the only frame with which to view our interactions."

"You're the host?" Najwa guessed quietly.

I jumped at the sound of her voice and pulled my feet from the dashboard; I hadn't noticed that I'd been speaking aloud. Staring at her bound completely to the chair, I suddenly felt rather awkward. I wanted to trust her—she seemed so innocent—but Chrys cautioned against it, and ultimately, her fiery grudge won out. Still, I couldn't deny my identity with the Tollan indicator glowing like Caribbean ocean water on my chest. "Yes."

She stared openly at me. "You invited a Goa'uld into your body? You passively forfeited your life for its?"

"Tradeoffs," I summarized. "I'm content with my decision, even after the crap you and Qadir put me through." Even as I glared at her, my anger faded; she just looked too helpless, too naïve and vulnerable tied to the unyielding Tel'tak seat. "Look. We're not going to hurt you. Like he said, we'll leave you on some other planet, out of the way of this whole mess. You can forget about it forever."

"He who?"

I winced. Chryson was a male personality; I was his first female host. It took effort to think of him as a woman. "The, uh, Goa'uld inside me. It promised to leave you somewhere safe." Stupid English language pronouns; they just didn't fit Tok'ra well.

"I cannot trust the promises of Goa'uld. They speak only lies."

"Yeah. Whatever," I replied, relaxing. Chrys did have everything under control.

You needn't be so cavalier about the Goa'uld, the symbiote warned. I may consider them predictable and hold them in contempt, but they are both powerful and manipulative. Najwa is merely resigning herself to the fate any Goa'uld might deal her.

I glared at the control console, annoyed. "But you're not—"

She doesn't know that, and since she wouldn't believe us before, we can't trust her to believe us now. To her, all the evidence shows that we are Goa'uld; we cannot risk revealing the Tok'ra to her.

"Right. Okay." I couldn't help but compare the situation to classic spy literature, and the comparison struck me as the most humorous part of my day so far. A warm amusement came as Chrys's reply; he would have liked to be one of the heroes in those novels. A broad smile burst onto my face as I tried to picture him.

"You enjoy being a host?" Najwa observed, breaking into my thoughts.

I blinked at her. "Why shouldn't I? You can't spend your time missing what you used to have, or you'll become bitter and miss all that you have now. Maybe it doesn't look like I have anything, but I am alive. I'm getting to undertake an adventure rather than sitting at home, doing what everyone else is. And I have a great relationship with my symbiote. It's scary out here, but I wouldn't want it any other way."

"But you have left everyone you ever knew—"

"And not for the first time," I replied, thinking back to when I left for college, among other occasions. This was just a little more permanent.

Perhaps we could arrange a visit.

I smiled in response, but spoke to Najwa. "It gets easier each time. Life's about changing and learning. It's not easy, but it can still be good."

"But you forfeited that life for the Goa'uld's."

"I chose to share it. That decision kept me from dying and spared me a lot of pain. Quit trying to make me regret it. It's already done anyway."

Frowning, confused, she relaxed a little against her chair. "I just want you to know the Goa'uld are evil," she mumbled.

"Sheesh!" I growled, standing again. "Is that all you guys out here even think about? Get a life already!"

"They prevent us from achieving what we desire."

"So practice contentment… or rebel. You've no right to pity yourself until you've tried to change something." I shook my head. Even by trying to change the subject, I'd not even changed the subject. "Have you ever seen a wolf before… or a dog?"

Najwa shook her head.

"Oh." I shrugged, wishing I'd had a picture with me. "They're great animals to watch. Their movements are hypnotizing—almost human once you learn them."

She didn't seem to care…

* II *

4666 words

2007-06-19T23:09:00.000-04:00

Heart of Gold
Chapter I: Cure

Everyone told me this wasn't how my life was supposed to turn out, that I could beat the AIDS and return to my life. Everyone said there was hope for me, especially because of my phenominal health record up until that point.

But in their eyes I saw the despair eating away at their souls.

They didn't have to tell me that AIDS had never been cured, and neither had the opportunistic deaseases I had: progressive multifocal leukoencephalopathy. I did the research. They didn't have to tell me that I could only hope for four months. I read the Wikipedia entry. They didn't have to tell me how utterly hopeless my situation was, and maybe it gave them hope to leave it unvoiced, to pretend to prolong the ignorance. Maybe it gave them hope to not acknowledge the fact that if I, one of the healthiest young adults in the western world, had succumbed to disease, anyone could.

And sadly, they are the ones who don't know they were wrong. All the medical staff with their quick, sympathetic glances; all my friends and family, who endured long silences and awkward conversation to try to comfort me; all the community members and professors, who sent me cards and flowers and caring thoughts I'd never known they'd possessed. It's a shame I never told them otherwise, even after I knew. All except for one.

Dr. Repaski was a retired Air Force officer who still preserved his connections in the armed forces. When he heard PML was incurable, he gave me the number for a researcher investigating "a possible cure for terminal disease." It fit the cliche of seeming too good to be true.

* * *

A short, blonde-haired woman wearing a low-quality business outfit entered my hospital room one afternoon and gently set a hard laptop case on the seat of one of the visitors' chairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

I smirked, opening my eyes wider. "Sarah Anderson, I presume?"

She turned and smiled--nervously, I thought--and crossed to the side of my bed, extending her hand politely. "Yes, Jenn, I am."

I shook her hand, returning her smile, then motioned for her to sit. "Might want to be careful or you'll catch whatever I've got."

"AIDS isn't contageous with casual contact, and I'm healthy enough to handle PCL," she replied. She closed the door before sitting beside my bed.

"I know. But I just can't believe how bad my luck has been. Do you know how low the percentage of AIDS patients actually develop this?"

"No," she admitted, "but I'm not a physician or anything."

That surprised me; I'd been told that she was the head of some breakthrough medical research. I pushed myself a couple inches higher on the pillows at my back, trying to face her sitting up. The effort was useless. "Then why are you here?"

Sarah Anderson leaned forward in her chair to face me levelly. All the nervousness was gone from her demeanor, leave her deadly serious. "I came to offer you another choice."

"About what?"

"Traditional medicine has no way to cure AIDS or PML, only ways to treat them. I'm here to offer you a cure, along with a job, housing, and a marriage if you want them. I'm not at liberty to disclose many of the details, but it's a package deal. All or nothing. If you get there and you don't want it, you probably won't be allowed to return here."

I stared at her, slightly shocked, and all I could think of to say was "That was slightly prepared."

Smiling, she began to relax. "This is my job. I've done it pretty often."

"What kind of job are you offering?" I wondered, knowing it probably wouldn't relate in the least of my major, astrophysics, or my still-burning childhood dream of being an astronaut.

A grimace flicked across her face. "Espionage."

"Espionage?" I repated, startled. Of all the things shoul wouldn't tell me, of all the obviously classified information she was dealing with, that must have been the least sensitive for her to reveal it. "For who? Against who?"

"You wouldn't know them if I told you, but I'm proposing the entire deal on behalf of a US-sanctioned rebellion against a feudal government with which we're all but at war."

I resettled myself on the pillows, hiding my shock. "That doesn't relate to my major."

She smiled again. "Don't worry about it. The marriage, of sorts, I referred to would be with a professional in the field who would do all the work. He's the one who would heal you, but he needs your help."

"For what?"

"That I can't say, exactly. But if it makes you feel better, I've done it for other reasons, and I wouldn't want to live any other way."

I frowned. "A lifestyle change, too?"

"Yes."

"So you married one of these rebels?"

"In a sense, yes."

I fell silent, trying to decide. Actually, I had already decided I didn't want to die, but this may have been too strange, even for me. I wanted to be sure of what I was doing. "I have a boyfriend."

Sarah Anderson looked away at last. "You can't come back enough to have a relationship. I usually end up telling families of people who do this that they've died, though it's sometimes easier to tell them you might come back but carry out the will anyway."

"So this is full time."

"Almost twenty-four/seven, year-round. Like I said, you might be able to come back for a day or two, depending on the political climates there and here. I wouldn't advise it. Because I work here, many of them don't trust me."

"Trust is important in espionage."

She nodded. "I don't spy, though; I recruit."

"Right." I thought over what she'd said: a cure, a job, a marriage, and a near-complete abandonmnet of everything I knew. How much did I want to live? On the other hand, how much had I always wanted adventure? "No backing out and no complete information until I've already agreed?"

"Unfortunately. The Air Force requires it."

"Can I at least talk to the guy before I marry him? Or is there a possibility for divorce?"

"Yes, of course you can talk to him beforehand. He'll want to make sure he likes you, too. And if it really doesn't work out, he'd rather risk his life to leave you than stay."

"Okay then." Forcing a smile onto my face, I reached out and shook her hand again. "Nice doing business with you, Ms. Anderson. My family will be here in a half an hour. What do you want to do after then?"

Her first genuine smile of the day lit on her face, making her look a couple years younger than me, as though she might be just eighteen or nineteen. "I'll make arrangements while you visit, and we'll leave as soon as you're ready."

* * *

I hadn't really expected a plane ride on a stretcher, but the PML had already paralyzed my body from the waist down. My doctor insisted that I was in no condition to fly, but Anderson assured me that the plane was more than suitable for keeping me in health. I had to agree that it was one of the plushest vehicles I'd ever seen. She let me enjoy take-off before returning to business.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement I need you to sign before I can tell you anything else."

I skimmed over it, understanding repeatedly that whatever she was about to tell me, I couldn't tell a soul on earth, except maybe the president, if we ever met, a few officials I neither knew nor cared about, or any officers or staff at Stargate Command. I signed as though my life depended on it. Oh, right, it did. "Done."

She took it back, looking highly relieved. "Thank you for all this. Now where should I start?"

"Well, tell me about this guy I'm marrying."

"Okay, technically, you're not getting married," she began, sitting on a couch adjacent to my stretcher. "I only made the comparison becuase if you ever do marry, your husband cannot possibly know you as intimately."

"That's creepy," I remarked.

"only on the surface. Chyson will hear every one of your thoughts, and you will hear all of his."

I frowned. "Why? And why could he possibly need my help?"

"He's not human, and he's--"

"Not human!" I screeched. My eyes popped wide open, and I nearly tried to bolt straight up.

Anderson moved to the floor beside me to hold me still. "Calm down! We need you to save your strength at least until we get there, and it's a long trip."

"Okay, okay. I'm just really excited. Is this a result of SETI?"

She shook her head. "Another program contacted the Tok'ra. Please just settle down, at least until I explain what's going to happen."

"right." I gave her a reassuring, completely calm and sane smile. "Go on."

"once we land, I'll drive you to Stargate Command. The doctor there will take a small blood sample in case future DNA comparison is necessary. While that happens, some of the SGC personnel will talk to you if you have any more questions. Then we'll go to the planet where the Tok'ra base is right now. When--"

"Planet?" I repeated softly, excited but trying to avoid her scolds.

She nodded again, grinning. "We have a way to travel to other planets in seconds."

"Sweet," I whispered. "So when we get there?"

Her excitement disappeared, replaced by worry. "I'll take you to talk to Chryson and his host, and if you--"

"Host?"

She sighed. "Tok'ra are symbiotic creatures that look like little snakes or dragons, but they're highly intelligent, and extremely passionate. They live in their hosts' necks and interface directly with their brains."

"Sounds dangerous." And disgusting. But she'd already told me she was one of them, and I didn't want to offend her.

"it isn't. I've never heard of a symbiote killing its host upon entry, only exiting. Even then, they're more likely to kill themselves."

"What about infection?" I wondered, knowing I was more than susceptible to it.

She shook her head. "If Chryson is going to cure you of AIDS, he can handle something as minor as an infection. I got shot once by a handgun and healed within a few hours. The man who recruited me to become a host once walked away from a crash-landed cargo ship. You don't have to worry about it."

"Good." That was when it hit me that I was going to live. The AIDS that I had fought for the past two years, the PML that had confined me to the hospital, was going to disappear, and it would mean almost nothing to these people. Like rubbing Neosporin on a scraped knee and covering it with a Bandaid. I was going to sell my life to them in gratitude for what they considered miniscule. That made me wonder what they thought was important. "You said it's a rebellion against an established government?"

Anderson nodded. "The Goa'uld are a race of beings similar to the Tok'ra who have ruled over human-inhabited planets for millenia. They oppress the humans and make them worship the Goa'uld as gods. The Tok'ra might not have fought them just for that, though. The Goa'uld also take unwilling hosts. I know Chryson can save your life, and I know you can save his. But until you two actually blend, you can back out."

"thanks. That's comforting." If she hadn't looked so grave, I would have laughed. I'd signed up to join the interplanetary justice league! Not only was I going to leave Earth and meet aliens, I was going to fight against the galaxy's injustices! If only I could have told my family; they would have cheered instead of crying. Glancing at her, I took a chance. If the aliens didn't like my humor, I might as well have found out then. "Can I confess something to you?"

She tensed but nodded.

"I think this is the most awesome day ever in my life."

Her wide grin returned, along with her relieved expression. "I'm glad. I only hope that holds true."

"It probably will," I assured her. "So do these Tok'ra symbiote things just hang out and heal or what?"

* * *

Whether because of my situation, my excitement, or some sane part of my brain still working, the Stargate was one of the most beautiful devices I had ever seen. Going through the wormhole, even on a gurney, was more exciting for me than any rollercoaster I had ever ridden. The sheer physics of it astounded me, even after spending my entire time at the SGC talking to Dr. Samantha Carter, the resident astrophysicist. I had to touch it to believe it, and it did not let me down.

I was still thinking about it long after we arrived on a desert planet with a clear, bright sky tinted with the shades of a beautiful red sunset. Eventually, I noteced that a second person had taken hold of the gurney to help carry it over the desert sands, and she spoke light-heartedly with Anderson.

"Matt couldn't come?" the brown-haired woman in strange tan clothes asked, sounding disappointed. Her back was to me; I couldn't see her face and could barely hear her over the desert wind.

"He's a little behind in school," Anderson answered. "Does he always neglect his homework so much?"

The other woman let out a short chuckle. "Always. Either you or Vinnet is going to have to get on him about that."

I startled mentally at her open dicussion of top secret topics, but neither noticed.

"Vinnet can. She's more of a stickler for duty. I'd just as soon let him figure it out for himself."

"Then get on him, Vinnet. He can learn by practice."

Suddenly, the two stopped walking, and I picked my head up to look around. Just as Anderson put her hand on my shoulder to get me to relax, something popped out of the ground and surrounded us. For a moment, I thought we were being eaten. Then a light flashed, the open desert landscape changed to an enclosed blue cave, and the thick rings around us fell back into the ground. They moved me about five more feet before stopping again.

The new woman turned to me, her eyes flashing with a mysterious golden light I had seen only once before. "Thank you for what you are about to do. It is only through the sacrifices of people like you that the Tok'ra persist." Her strangely deep voice almost faded from my ears by the time she spoke again, this time to Anderson. "We would like to continue speaking to you in the commisary at your convenience."

"Of course." As Anderson began Wheeling me to my destination, wherever that was, the other Tok'ra left in a new direction.

"Who was that?" I wondered.

"Katorin and Sally King. Sally's son, Matt, has been staying at my house since they blended."

Something in the pit of my stomach managed to sink, even though I was lying flat. "She's not allowed to go back and visit him?"

"Not often. Usually not unless there's official business, and I usually take care of that unless the Council wants to send someone unaffiliated with Earth."

"Sounds complicated."

"it can be. Mostly, it's just irritating." She turned the gurney into a side corridor, which turned out to be a small room, and stopped it beside an old man lying on a blue table that matched the walls. Then Anderson smiled at me. "Yell if you need anything. I'll be down the hall a little bit hwere I won't be eavesdropping. Otherwise, I'll speak to you and Chryson when you wake up."

"Thanks," I mumbled and watched her leave.

Again, the utter surreality of it threatened to overwhelm me, and I reminded myself I was actually there. I had actually lived a couple weeks with PML, met with an alien, and traveled to another planet through a wormhole and on a gurney, no less! I was lying beside an alien who wanted to, as far as I could tell, possess my body so he could go on fighting the injustices of the galaxy. and here I thought I was going to grow up to be excited about astrophysics all on my own.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I looked over at the guy again. He looked human, just like everyone else I'd seen. He was big for an old guy, more muscular than I had ever hoped to be, and he had no right to be so tan while bed-ridden. Yup, I was jealous. Under the light sheet draped over his body, he seemed to wear the same ugly tan uniform as Katorin, which poked out over his shoulders and left his arms bare to the too-cool air. Around his neck, he worse a bright turquoise band of stones held together by dark leather; the taut muscles in his neck held it an inch from his skin in some places.

after a couple minutes, his eyes flashed as they opened, and he turned his head to face me. A pitifully small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "I was beginning to think Vinnet would never arrive." His eyes closed as he spoke, and he left them that way. "What is your name?"

"Jenn Cors," I replied softly, almost afraid I would wake him or break him with my voice. He looked so tired.

"You are from the Tau'ri?"

"I... don't know."

His brown eyes blinked open for a moment then shut again. "Sarah brough you from her planet?"

"yes."

"Then you are Tau'ri." His grin widened slightly. "I always wanted a Tau'ri host. So exuberant and naively corageous. Like me."

I chuckled slightly at his generous description of himself but said nothing. Even if I was one, I hated meeting with dying people.

"How do you feel about the Goa'uld?"

"Think I'd have to see one to be sure, but they sound pretty dispicable," I answered honestly but still softly.

He opened only one eye this time. "Are you always so quiet?"

I tried to shake my head. "No, sir. It just doesn't seem right to be loud. I'm always quiet around old people."

He chuckled to himself, the sound resembling a heavy breath or slight cough more than a laugh. "You should get over that quickly. After all, little Vinnet is well over four hundred."

"No way!" I replied, my voice sneaking a little louder.

His smile faded, and his eye closed, and for nearly a minute, I reassured myself that he had't died by watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. finally, his soft, deep voice returned. "Jenn Cors, do you want to be my host?"

"I think so."

His brow knitted. "I don't like leaving those I've become attached to. Jenn Cors, do you want to host me until one of us dies? That could be nearly two hundred years."

I bit my lip. He seemed like a cool guy, and though I hadn't heard every detail, every Tok'ra host I'd seen acted pretty happy. It looked like an adventurous lifestyle, and any adventure for two hundred years beat dying in less than four months. "I'm as sure as I can be under the circumstances."

He nodded. "Then I will let you and Sedesh talk. Kiss him when you're done."

"Okay."

He was silent again for a while until a weak, thready voice came into the room. "Chryson wants to remind you that it will take time for him to heal you. He has used much of his energy keeping my alive." He paused for a moment, and I saw his breaths come quicker. "I hosted Chryson for two hundred and one years, and he has saved my life many times over. I hope you have so much fun with him as I have." He paused again. "Do you have antyhing to ask me?"

"No," I answered, fighting tears from my eyes. He looked so frail, so totally empty of the vivacity that echoes in the fitness of his body. We both knew he was going to die soon.

"Then kiss me."

Hesitanty, I rolled onto my side and used my upper body to lean over him, my arms shaking, and I pcked him on the cheek."

"Thank you," he whispered, "But that won't help Chrys transfer."

Shaking, totally insecure about what I was doing, I covered the man's shrivelled, open lips with my gloss-coated lips and waited for something. Sure enough, something enered my mouth, and for an intant, I thought it was the old man's tongue. Until it kept going. Whatever it was reached the back of my throat before it stopped passing my lips, and it tasted like blood. Startled, I gagged on it, hardly noticing as I feel back onto the gurney. A small, blue-green-scaled tail flicked in front of my nose then trailed aong the roof of my mouth. With the first breath of fresh air that hit my lungs, my vision went black.

Calm down! a toneless voice commanded. You are going to be okay. No one will hurt you. The worst is over.

And then the memories came, good and bad and full of emotion. Chryson had lived through the worst of times, but all of it only left him more resolved to fight hard and well and to get his fair share of joy out of life.

* * *

My mind awoke long before my body cared to, and it only wanted to hit the snooze. All I remembered besides the feeling of something forcing itself into my mouth was lying in a hospital bed in Ohio, safely dying of an incurable disease.

I worked my tongue around my mouth, but I found nothing other than the persistent iron taste of blood. I felt okay. Maybe a little tired.

I lay there a few minutes, almost drifting back to sleep before I heard voices.

"I'm glad we weren't any later," Anderson commented.

"Leave it to Chryson to wait until the last minute before saying anything," another, vaguely familiar female voice replied. "How are they doing?"

"I will check," an alien voice replied. Cold fingers pressed agaisnt my neck for a couple seconds. "She is alive." They moved and gently pressed a tender spot on the back of my neck. "Chryson is responsive but tired.I would expect he is at his limit."

"Gambler."

I wrestled my eyes open to gaze up at Anderson's chin.

"Good morning," the second voice--Sally King's?--said cheerfully.

I frowned at her, warding off a headache with my squinted eyes. "What's good?" I mumbled, still in the same hopeless, grouchy mood I'd been in for the past couple weeks.

"You are alive," Vinnet answered simply. "The PML must have progressed further than I had anticipated for you to remain unconscious so long. Please relate my apologies to Chryson."

Instinctively, I glanced to my left, hwere the old man's body lay, covered completely with the sheet. There was something that needed to be said concerning the body, something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't recall it.

A hand rested on my shoulder, and I turned to see Anderson's--no, Vinnet's--concerned face. "Jenn, please tell me where you are from."

"Akron," I answered quickly. Then another name crossed my mind as being the right answer, and it boethered me that I couldn't place where it was. I gazed at Vinnet, hoping for some miracle to cure my confusion.

She had one ready. "Iechnor was the homeworld of Chryson's first host. Since you are only his fourth host, his other hosts' memories will affect you more."

I nodded as she went along, taking in all the information I could and slowly reassuring myself that it wasn't a dream. "How many hosts have you had?"

"Sarah is my fifth, though I am younger than he."

Katorin nodded. "All Tok'ra are born with memories of how to the fight the Goa'uld, but Chryson has an exceptional talent for evading them. His abilities have been put to better use."

"Doing what?"

Infiltrating parties far worse than the Goa'uld and destroying them before they replace a predictable enemy with an unpredictable one. I make sure the more unimaginative of us can still do something.

I was too confused trying to figure out who had spoken to be in any clear state of mind when I felt a sudden burning in my eyes and the hands I wanted to touch them with wouldn't move.

I'll be doing this often; you're going to have to learn to be calm.

Then, with hardly any warning, my mouth began to move, and a strangely deep voice came from my vocal chords. "I appreciate the kind words with which you refer to me, but if you will excuse me, I must leave." My legs swung over the side of the gurney, and the entity possessing me took only a moment to gain my balance.

Katorin glared at me--no, us. "Your last mission is voice. You should rest until the Council reassigns you."

I felt the sudden urge to laugh at the mention of the Tok'ra High Council, but the entity, Chryson, allowed only a chuckle to pass my lips. "My last mission was crucial, and I left under favorable circumstances. Sedesh gave me his permission to use his body upon my return to the mission."

A memory surfaced to counter my confusion. Sedesh, despite his conservative nature, had cared about the people they wanted to save enough to allow Chryson to use his corpse dishonorably. Both believed the mission to be of the utmost importance and urgency, and both knew that circumstances had conspired to make Sedesh's untimely death quite convenient.

"No." The recruiting Tok'ra sounded offended. "You know the ways in which we honor our hosts. Your plan has too many risks."

"you don't need to tell me about risks, Vinnet," Chyrson replied, glaring down at her through my eyes. "I would hardly consider it if I couldn't minimize them. His body need be seen for only a few seconds. A zat'nikatel works as well as any wormhole vortex."

"After two centuries, he deserves better."

"yes, he does, but he agreed that it would be better to further the mission than to uphold his post-mortem rights." Chyrson continued to glare at Vinnet, though she really wanted to look back at her former host.

Vinnet stared right back, unfazed. "Do you have any corroboration of that?"

The exact sense of Sedesh's perspective flipped across my mind, and I remembered somehow that the gambler Tok'ra was speaking truthfully. I started to say something in the way of defense but still had no control of my body.

Chryson broke eye contact and finally walked around to Sedesh's side. "I don't need to explain myself to you or the Council. I would say the same with a za'tac detector and it woudln't make a difference. Thank you for your work, Vinnet. I will see you when I return."

I didn't see their expressions as the other two reluctantly left, but I couldn't imagine they'd be thrilled. Why'd he do that? I wondered to myself. They seemed genuinely concerned.

They were, the toneless voice answered, but without reason. I know my actions are right, and once you accept what's happening, you will, too. They and the Council limit themselves by adhering to tradition. I had hoped their hosts would change that.

Oh. I watched quiety as my hands tucked the sheets around Sedesh then picked him up. He left heavier than anything I could lift, but my arms held him all the way down the hall the way I had come and back through the Stargate.

* I **4685 words*
A/N: I could post chapter two soon, but I'd like to know if anyone is reading this. Please leave a message after the tone--I mean, as a comment... or e-mail, etc, what have you...

2007-05-18T16:31:00.000-04:00

The last days of school suck. It's been a while since something bothered me so much, but welcome to this week.

I spent sixty-three hours of my rare spare time working on a project which the judges graded as B-quality. And now that I know that, I still have to take my project to some of my judges and beg them to let me finish. I put so much energy and enthusiasm into that project, only to stare into the nine faces of judges who seemed dead-set on grading as harshly as possible. Nine unenthused faces staring blankly at a project that looks like almost nothing on-screen but took so much work and sweat and tears and logic and time and frustration and tedium to finish with that much quality.

Did they not see the pages and pages of debugging I added in my portfolio? Do they think programming or HTML coding or image manipulation go quickly? For crying out loud, I almost had to do everything pixel by pixel! There were things I did pixel by pixel! I just don't think they have an appreciation of how much better it is becuase of all the work I put in than it was when I had a prototype.

Pray for me. Pray so that if/when I speak to some of these people again, I won't completely lose my temper. Pray that I'll have the perspective that God wants me to have, whatever that may be.

And for now, now that I'm done modifying stuff and done e-mailing people, it is Friday, and I have a date whenever he arrives, followed not too long by a new Heroes, new SG-1, and new Atlantis. Happy weekend to all and to all a good night.

2007-03-29T16:22:00.000-04:00

Gender Survey Follow-up

Is it more socially acceptable for women or men to display characteristics of the opposite gender?

Let's face it. There are just some things men are allowed to do and women aren't. The idea floating around out there is that men should act manly or goofy while women should act feminine or the same way they always have. Everyone knows they should try to conform, usually by clinging to the stereotypes that have developed. But in certain capacities, displaying some characteristics of the opposite gender is fine, and in some, it's social suicide. So which situations are which?

Men and women agree that there are certain gender lines that are slowly eroding and situations were it's perfectly fine to act like only the opposite gender would fifty years ago. Four out of 5 of those surveyed believe it's not inappropriate for a woman to have a job in which she is a boss over men. Over 90% said it was appropriate for women to pursue careers in traditionally male fields. The majority of those surveyed believed neither gender should obsess to pursue physical perfection, with the understanding that hygiene is a separate issue. Four out of five thought it was fine for a father to stay at home to care for his children while his wife works. Three out of four said it's okay for men to wear pink. Two thirds, however, believed that homosexuality is not socially acceptable. Clearly, this is where most people draw the line.

The men were split on only two issues. Only one more man believed it would be acceptable to have a female president than believed it would be unacceptable. Also, only one more man believed that not all women should concern themselves with "girl things" than thought all women should.

Yet there were issues on which men and women flat-out disagreed. Two thirds of women thought there should be more opportunities for women to participate in male-dominated sports while four-fifths of the men disagreed. Surprisingly, sixty percent of the men said all men should concern themselves with "guy things" while, of course, 80% of women thought not all men should. And as far as sewing and cooking go, four out of five women said all men should know how while three fifth of the men said they shouldn't all know how. (I had to chuckle when I read that. I thought, "They'll be up a creek when they rip one of their favorite shirts or tear something to shreds that they just don't have the money to replace." Besides which, I doubt they thought it through completely. Grilling and barbecuing count as cooking.)

2007-03-25T12:12:00.000-04:00

Please answer the following questions and submit them. I need this for my English project, so please send this to as many people as you can.

Is it more socially acceptible for women or men to display characteristics of the opposite gender?

Your gender:
Male
Female

Your age:
15 or younger
16-20
21-35
36-50
51 or older

Is it appropriate for a woman to have a job in which she is a boss over men?
Yes
No

Is it appropriate for women to enter traditionally male fields, such as science or technology?
Yes
No

Would it ever be acceptible to have a female president?
Yes
No

Should there be more opportunities for women to participate in male-dominated sports such as baseball and football?
Yes
No

Should it be socially acceptible for women to not actively pursue physical perfection?
Yes
No

Should all women concern themselves with "girl things" (make-up, clothes, obsessive cleanliness, shopping, boyfriends, etc)?
Yes
No

Is homosexuality acceptible?
Yes
No

Do you enjoy the company of sensitive men?
Yes
No

Should all men concern themselves with "guy things" (hunting, sports, video games, burping contests, etc)?
Yes
No

Is it acceptible for a father to stay at home to care for his children while his wife works?
Yes
No

Should men obsess to keep themselves in top physical condition?
Yes
No

Is it acceptible for men to wear pink?
Yes
No

Should all men know how to sew and cook?
Yes
No

Thank you very much for taking this survey. If the submit button does not work on your computer, please leave your answers in a comment.

2007-03-24T10:32:00.000-04:00

We know God plays many roles in our lives. We go to church and know that He's our king and our master, our father, our high priest, etc, etc, but how often do we actually think about the definitions of these words and how they relate God to us?

If you have anything to add, please do.

King	commander of troops legislator, executive, judge majestic, noble collector of taxes responsible for his subjects' mass well-being	Ephians 6:11-12 "You Are My King" Audio Adrenaline Psalm 8:1 Luke 20:23-25
God	object of worship center of life	< >
Master	"so poor that I sold myself into slavery" duty and committment to serve him do as He commands to deserve punishment don't ask questions of responsible for care of servants, even in menial matters	Romans 6:16-18
Creator	source of life creative master of physics and all natural laws	Genesis 1:25 "God of Wonders"
Savior	rescuer "life-debt"	Romans 3:21-26
Sustainer	constant provider	Exodus 16:4
Healer	comforting physician for the soul Great Physician able to cure/heal anything	Matthew 17:14-21 John 11:1-45
Friend	intimate share secrets appreciate his company help each other support each other agape & phileo	John 15:15 John 21:15-17
Father	agape provides the best he can for his children wants his children to excel wants his children to learn wants his children to be happy/contented wants his children to love, especially each other	Matthew 21:28-32 "Big House" Audio Adrenaline
Brother	intimate/close/familiar/less distant than parent protective of siblings friend	Mark 3:35
Spirit	noncorporeal mind/minset of an entity (God) able to inhabit humans & demonstrate its own traits	John 14:16-17 Galatians 5:22-26
Alpha	start of life/giver of life catalyst (for missions, for words that need to be spoken)	Revelation 1:8
Omega	end of life one who ends things
Messiah	Him on whom they waited revolutionary
Immanuel	God with us missionary/ambassador from heaven	Matthew 1:20-23
High Priest	our representative to the most holy being head/president/overseer of all activities in the church body	Hebrews 2:16-17

2007-03-24T10:15:00.000-04:00

16 December 2006

Selfishness. We've all been taught that it's bad to be selfish. From childhood, we've been told how important it is to share, and at church, we learn to put others first. But I have to admit that part of my faith journey has been driven by selfishness, by my asking, "What's in it for me?" Because we have a very personal and loving God, though, I think this is a valid question. The answer amazed me so much, I considered my faith before I knew it to be almost nothing.

"What's in it for me?" Obviously, part of the answer is that we have all our sins forgiven. This is so big, it's almost all you hear about. It's big, for sure, but it's not something we have much perspective on. We can't often see exactly how our sins divide us from God, so it's hard to appreciate forgiveness beyond the peace of mind it can give, especially when we still have to deal with the consequences. Since this is what people hear about most, it's hard for them to know that it's a great thing to do to committ themselves to God.

A very evident difference that falls into the category of "What's in it for me" is the opportunity to have a personal relationship with God. It's truly amazing. Becuase He has forgiven our sins, ew are free to talk to Him; we can ask Him for things we hope to have or see happen; and most amazing of all, we have His Spirit living inside of us. When Christ died on the cross, an earthquake shook the city of Jerusalem and tore down the barrier between the Most Holy place, where only the High Priest could enter once a year, and the Holy place, where the priests regularly went. A short while later, God fulfilled the symbolism of that event by sending His Holy Spirit to rest on the disciples. The Spirit, the mind and attitudes of the most powerful entity in and outside of the entire universe, who is ultimately love, goodness, kindness, peace, patience, joy, and benevolence, has taken as His temples each and every person who loves Him. No matter where you go or what you do, if you're a few thousand miles away in a foreign country with all their witchcraft and voodoo bent against you for evil purposes, you have inside of you, ready to arm you with the armor and weaponry of His attributes, the greatest power the world has ever seen, ready to protect you because He loves you and has made you one of His children. That is what's in it for me.

On a more and less selfish notion, there is one more thing in it for me. When God's Spirit in me bears fruit, when I read His Word, take it to heart, and act out is commands, I change for the better. When I do as He tells me, I do good things for others, and I grow to be a better person, just as He wants. Out of selfishness, I must want what He wants, because He wants the best for me and those around me. Now, the best may not be easy, right, or glamorous, but it will develop in me an attitude that bears the fruit of the Spirit, an attitude that I can be privately proud of enough to perpetuate its effects in and around me.

Martin Luther King, Jur., had a dream that one day African Americans and caucasion Americans would all just be Americans, that there would be no deep distinction as there was in his time. He would be proud of us now. But I have a dream, too, and like Martin Luther King, Jr.'s, it can be summarized by a line from the Lord's Prayer: "Thy kingdom come." I don't know what heaven will be like, but by God's graciousness, I have understood glimpses of what our world would be like if everyone honestly followed Him to the limits of their capabilities. It's beautiful. People get along rather than fighting, bickering, or harboring harsh thoughts toward each other. They share each other's burdons and build each other up emotionally. They're more concerned for people and less worried about circumstances. They speak freely about God because He is a part of their lives. To the credit of the human race, I tihnk we're closer than we were in Jesus' day, which would show that His coming really did make a difference. Outside the church, I don't think there were non-profit organizations devoted to helping others in far away places. With our globalization, we're generally much more accepting of foreigners than the Pharisees were, though we've still a few races we see as "Gentiles". On the whole, we're doing better, but we've still got a long way to go. All I know is I want to be there when God's kingdom comes.

So "what's in it for me?" A lot. We get God's forgiveness, His Spirit, the opportunity to develop a relationship with Him, His will done in our lives, the devotion to become better people, and through His grace, a free pass into His kingdom when it comes, all from choosing to honestsly follow Him. Isn't God amazing?

2007-03-12T15:41:00.000-04:00

1 Thessalonians 4:13-5:11

"Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words.

"Now, brothers, about times and dates we do not need to write to you, for you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, "Peace and safety," destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

"But you, brothers, are not in darkness so that this day should surprise you like a theif. You are all sons of the light and sons of the day. We do not belong to the night or to the darkness. So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled. For those who sleep, sleep at night, and those who get drunk, get drunk at night. But since we belong to the day, let us be self-controlled, putting on faith and love as a breastplate, and the hope of salvation as a helmet. For God did not appoint us to suffer wrath but to receive salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. He died for us so that, whether we are awake or asleep, we may live together with him. Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing."

Let us all remember Miss Ilene and everything she taught us. Just as we will live with God, we will see her again without the pain and frustration she's known the past few years. Praise God that He allowed us to know her.

2007-02-23T10:29:00.000-05:00

FAMINE TONIGHT!!!

Woot!

Please pray that God will give the other adult and student leaders and me His patience and peace. Please pray for my friend, too. She's going through tough times and can't see the end.

2007-01-29T08:16:00.000-05:00

Life in 18

Need caffiene.
The world is slowing
but rushing to catch up with itself.
I finished it all,
all but the tie
and the skirt.
All well.
So much for benevolence,
but I did more than my part...
I think.
I'll try to do better, though
with the few supplies
stashed away in my locker,
the one sweater crumpled away
for months,
languishing in the top of the tall, thin,
supermodel
locker.
Let me know when I awake;
I'll want to talk to myself,
inform me of where I am,
what I should be doing,
and what I should have done.
Let me know when I awake;
I'll want to tell me to get to work,
to focus on something for a change,
something with debatable
interest and importance
but that which they've said
holds the key
to all the future
happiness and livelihood.
But I already have
joy and life
if only I could
slow this life
enough to appreciate it.
I know it's there
it's available
and I need to reach it
and I need to reach it soon,
for the good of all mankind,
or at least the parts of it
who know me
and for the good of me;
my best interest is letting go,
diving in,
surrendering completely,
sacrificing my hollow autonomy
to the Sovereign One,
the only Sovereign One
who can truely exist
without another's breath.
How lonely.
I'm glad I don't have to.
I can't.
I'd suffocate in every aspect.
Life without love
without trees, without hope, without beauty.
Without innocence, even naivete.
Cold.
But that's not the way it is.
Even with the failures
the uncertainties
the pain and the stress,
even with others' shortcomings.
That's the beauty of it.
You compensate for them,
and they'll compensate for you,
'cause that's the way we're designed:
not always perfect on our own
but perfect together,
protecting,
trusting,
hoping,
persevering.

2007-01-21T18:04:00.000-05:00

It was either tell half my family I didn't love them or do this.

God, how I wish that was the first sentence in some gripping fiction story and not a reflection of my life. How much easier that would have been. How much pain and struggling and indecision would've been avoided. How much harder it would've been to look forward to college. How many tears would have been averted.

I couldn't tell anyone I didn't love them. It would have been a lie. It would have torn me apart. It does to just think about it now, now that it's all supposedly over and done with. But it's not. It's all coming back, harder this time, just because the government says I can deal with it. What if I can't? What if I'm going to fall apart in the upcoming months, because I'm not as strong as I'm supposed to be? What if I have to learn slowly and have all my emotion ground away by the very people I love and who love me?

Parents are so impossible sometimes, especially when they're the closest friends you have. I almost wish I were a normal kid and that their opinions didn't matter so much to me. I wish I didn't always believe them, only to be torn apart when their opinions conflict.

Sheesh, I never thought it affected me so much. I never knew how much pain and hurt I'd been hiding behind those sheafs of hand-written fiction. No wonder the world accepts me. I can hide anything by convincing myself it doens't hurt. That it could be worse and I'd still be brave enough to face it with sarcasm and a light attitude. Or an attitude at all. Anything but the indifference that has sheltered me for so long. I can live with anything, can't I? Anything but that. Even this, so long as it's not that. So long as I don't have to tell them I don't love them anymore.

But every time they mention it, every time they suggest to each other that I should stay with them, it brings me back to that courthouse. To that question. What do you want to do? Who do you want to stay with? Who do you prefer?

All I said was that I look forward to a time when I won't have to choose. When it will be me on my own, making my own choices among my own friends, without any binding committments to those who've given so much to me. To those I can't stand to hurt. A time when it will be me and my ordained schedule and my committment to God and my studies. They always rebut with something that ends up meaning, "It won't be that nice." But they're speaking from their own experience. Their parents were never divorced before they graduated, were they? They never felt that tension. "Who do you prefer?" "What do you think?" "We missed you at Thanksgiving" and "We wish you were here for Christmas." Even the semi-pleasant "We get to have you for two holidays this year!" I know they mean well, but they don't know what it's like, and whenever I mean to explain, whenever I start to answer, as always, the words never come out right. I never say all I thought or communicate how I feel. Because everything they hear from my mouth filters through their experience, their perspective. They don't understand how much I love both of them, and that just muddles things more.

I should start breathing regularly again. My lips are going numb, as are my cheeks. But I have to say this now. I have maybe twenty mintues, and after that, who knows? I'll have to put on my strong face so when I go to youth group like a promised I would, they won't stare at me and wonder why I'm so upset. I don't want them to wonder. I don't want their sympathy until they've heard the whole story, and I won't say it in front of the whole group. They're good people, but I don't trust them that far. I don't trust many people that far to be able to let them listen to me in person. Usually my parents are among them, but not on this.

God, why have you taken all my best friends from me? Why do I have to feel like I'm going through this alone? Who is this possibly going to benefit? Can this feeling of being mentally drawn and quartered possibly teach me something that will benefit anyone? I suppose I can face anything else with superficial emotions because of this. The superficial emotions that have kept me safe so far but that will probably ultimately cut me off from people. Maybe it will save me from experiencing something they referred to in Stargate: "If you had one fault, it was because you cared so much that it tore you apart when you couldn't help." If it weren't for this, maybe that'd be true for me. But is that a good thing? Is it a good thing to keep everything at an arm's distance so you don't remember what it was like--the bad times or the good? Is it a good thing not to feel someone else's emotions so deeply you have to do something? Of course, I can hardly do anything for myself.

The last time I talked about this was about four years ago. So much has changed this then. I thought I had changed since then. I suppose not. It was as as superficial as my emotions except for my connection with God. God, I know you have a plan for me. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. I wish I didn't have to sit at that table and look at her face. She looked distraught, and I don't want her to feel like that. I know it's not her fault, but she doesn't always help.

This isn't my fault. I didn't really chose this. My only choice between this or telling one of them I didn't love them, and I couldn't do that.

2007-01-18T10:12:00.000-05:00

Plot dragon:

Michelle awoke at the soft scuff of her bedroom door being opened as quietly as possible. Struck with fear with her mind still dulled with the remnants of sleep, she stared into the darkness, trying to discern anything from the swirls of shadows in her room. Unable to stand it any longer, she reached out to turn on a nearby night light. As soon as she moved, a hand clasped over her mouth and a weight settled beside her on the full bed, pinning down one of her arms. Another hand held her outstretched arm in place.

As she lay there, stunned with fear, a man's voice whispered into the stillness of her room. "It's me, Chris, okay? I'll let go if you'll be quiet."

Tears leaked down her face, landing in her hair. She didn't know any Chrises that might sneak into her room; his reassurance meant nothing to her, but she nodded anyway.

Immediately, his hands withdrew from her skin, and he shifted over to the edge of the bed. "Sorry about that," he commented, still whispering, "but I didn't want you to wake them."

Hardly listening, she flicked on the night light and waited for a burst of retribution. When it didn't come, she looked back at him. He was fairly muscular; his broad shoulders sprouted thick arms that peeked out from beneath his short sleeves, but he would definately have lost an arm wrestling match against Christopher Judge or Michael Shanks. His face was somewhat round with a thin goatee lounging beneath his widely-grinning lips. He looked genuinely happy as he stared at her, and nothing about him appeared predatory or opportunistic.

As the seconds passed by, his smile faded. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"No," she whispered quietly as tears streaked down her face again. The shock had killed her normal impishness.

Sighing, he got up and closed the door, checking to make sure no one else had awoken. Then he sat on the computer chair across from her bed. "I'll explain while you get what you need."

She sat up and hugged her knees, not moving to obey him. "For what?"

"For breaking out of here," he snapped, his voice straining to keep low. He calmed himself. "Look, have you ever felt like you don't belong here?"

"No."

"What?"

"This is my house. This is my room. This is where my family lives or part of it. Of course I belong here."

Chris rubbed his face with a hand. "Fine. I get it. This is where your memories are. We thought that might happen."

"What?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Vinnet, I'm your borther. I know you don't--"

"You've got the wrong house. My name's Michelle." But the name he called her sounded familiar; she had used it for one of the characters in her stories.

He leaned out of the chair and knelt by her bed, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "I know that's what everyone calls you, but I know who you are. Doesn't that name sound right?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't fit. It can't hold everything of who I am."

Smiling again, he hugged her. "I knew it was you! You may not remember it all, but you still have your gifts."

She pulled back. "I don't know you. I'm not leaving with you in the middle of the night just because you say you know me."

"Well..." He stood up again. "Can we catch up with each other until it's not the middle of the night?"

"And have Dad wake up to find you inside?"

"So you'll come now?"

"No. I'm waiting to talk to my dad."

He nodded to the clock in the corner. "You're eighteen now. You can do whatever you want."

"And don't you forget it."

Frowning, he let his voice get louder. "Are you the girl I've been looking for or not? Are you the rebel at school who used a plastic toy hammer to post ninety-five complaints on the principal's door? Are you the one who totally imagined what it would be like to be part alien and wrote about it for over 150,000 words? Are you her or not?"

"I did that," she admitted, "but I"m also the girl who cries whenever she's in trouble, because it doesn't happen often. I don't think I'm wyou think I am."

"And I don't think you're who you think you are, either." He stared down at her. "We're twins, Vinnet. I was born two hours before you, and our mother allowed them to take me to be trained to use all the gifts they identified in our DNA. She game them her consent to take you, too, but your father noticed when they switched you. He didn't know about me. You were supposed to come with me to Antarctica.

"Ever since I was reminded about you, I've been spending all my spare time trying to find you. It's taken me ten years of hard work to get here."

"And you expected me to remember you?" Michelle stammored. "How could I?"

"I do. I remember from that night on. When do your memories start?"

"When I was three, but I tend not to remember much at all."

He sighed, exasperated or disgusted. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you felt alone. I'm sorry I missed intimidating all the boys who wanted to date you--"

"All two?" She shook her head. "I don't believe you, but you seem sincere. I'll meet you on the balcony of the food court at the RP Mall at eleven, okay? We can talk there if you know where that is."

He frowned but nodded. "I don't suppose you can give me a ride?"

"You got here from where, Antarctica? You don't need a ride to get to a place half an hour away."

"Right." He drifted back to the door. "Please don't mention this to our father."

"I'm eighteen; I can do what I want," she repeated, "but I wasn't planning to."

***

"What?" the passenger exclaimed, turning to her friend in the driver's seat. The short, friendly girl wore a blue hoddie, jeans, and green tennis shoes and usually had a smile on as well, but at the moment, she was just too worried.

Michelle nodded. "Yeah. He woke me up, told me to pack some stuff, and then explained that he's my long-lost twin brother."

"Why didn't he just knock on the door? I'm sure you dad would've liked to see him."

"He said my dad didn't know aobut him." She shifted and gave the old Protegee some gas as the light at the largest intersection in town turned green.

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know. So he explained all that supposedlly happened when we were born and how I was supposed to be swtiched at birth but EDad noticed and thwarted that plan. Oh, and he says my name's Vinnet, too."

"As in the Tok'ra?" Jean wondered incredulously, having heard more than she cared about the story.

Michelle nodded. "Yup. Then I convinced him we should talk at the mall, but I didn't want to go alone."

"This is a bad idea."

***

Chris had been pacing the balcony for half an hour; the mall employees had begun to stare, and he suspected that one of the security officers would come speak to him soon. He didn't care. He was too worried about his sister. The longer he spent with her, the more he would be able to sense her, but right now, he only had a faint idea of her presence, unlike the strong, almost telepathic link he felt with Merritt.

Finally, he looked up to see his sister in a camoflague skirt and almost martial outfit walking with a shorter woman in a blue hoddie. His twin made eye contact, but they diverted to the Chick-Fil-A line before heading his way. When they both had drinks, they sat at one of the half booth tables.

He sat in a chair across from them with a nervous smile. He sensed Vinnet's presence now; she was nervous, too, but not as much as he. "Good morning," he greeted.

Vinnet returned the greeting, but the other girl glared at him.

***

"This is my friend Jean," Michelle continued.

Chris turned his smile to her. "Nice to meet you."

"You know," Jean began, her tone proving her lack of patience with him, "you should have more decency than to break into her room in the middle of the night and tell her to leave everything."

"Jean," Michelle cautioned, "just leave it."

"No!" She glared at him. "I want to know what you were thinking!"

He slouched in his chair. "I didn't know how they treated her. I just wanted her to come with me, where she belongs."

"She belongs here, with her friends!" Jean exclaimed. "Now, you'd better have a really good explanation for why you want her to leave behind her family, friends, and foundation to go with some guy she's never heard of before."

He held his face in his hands. "Because if we wait much longer, you're not going to be able to learn all the techniques you would have learned at the academy where I grew up. I don't want to see all my sister's potential wasted becuase I didn't do anything."

2006-12-13T07:23:00.000-05:00

At long last, I have determined that there is nothing else to do before I turn in my senior paper later today. Sure, I didn't exactly correct everything my reviewer suggested, which is contrary to the purpose of getting a high grade, but then, (s)he wasn't very specific on what I needed to do. Serves him/her right if it's not the way (s)he wants it. Sheesh... Even I know better than to be vague in reviewing.

Anyway.

It's done.

I'm making webpages later, but now I have to go study for the AP Physics test first period. ttyl

2006-12-07T17:40:00.000-05:00

I have to complain a little about my reader for the senior paper. He didn't really make any sense. Here, take a look at his comments:

Scored outstanding in "The writer documents his sources and does not allow his research (support) to "write" his paper." But then he said... "Do not allow your sources to write the paper for you." And... "Identify all quotes and sources before you use them in your text."

Scored outstanding in "The writer demonstrates a clear understanding of the issue/subject.' But then he said... "Make clear what you know about the subject."

"You must work on... removing sentence errors." None of which my peer editor, two English teachers, or I caught, by the way.

Scored satisfactory in "Errors in grammer and usage do not interfere with the understanding of the paper." But then he said... "Grammatical and punctuation errors seriously hurt the quality of the paper."

WHICH IS IT?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND?

Please, Mr. or Mrs. English Teacher, write descriptive sentences! You're speaking in general terms; what are your specific examples?

2006-12-05T10:22:00.000-05:00

Amusing, eh? All this work to get up to the twelfth grade. (And I still can't spell...) Oh, but that's not all. All this: having gained my parents' trust, along with a great relationship with them; having read so much when I was young and written so much since; having worked hard enough in all my classes to think I have a chance of getting accepted at MIT; having attended such wonderful opportunities as Alpha, SRU's writing workshop, and PGSS--Having gained all that responsibility and respect from hard work and trustworthiness, only to return to our beloved school and find that the teachers don't trust us, that you need have no responsibility for your own time, because they're certain you can't make good use of it.

Okay, so honestly, I don't always make good use of time. Take the fact that I'm sitting here typing (with my pinkies sore from writing too much HTML recently and using the shift keys so much) rather than studying or modifying my web pages so they can actually look cool or writing my beloved "Best Left Dead." *shrug* I don't have to make sense, do I? At least I am exercizing my mind much more than I was when I awoke to Narnia's soundtrack this morning. Man, was my mind numb!

I am wondering, though, how much I did wrong on that assignment I just handed in. She was so certain it would take all period. Is it just the phase of the year that I'm good at memorizing stuff suddenly? Is it genetics--do computers just seem an extension of myself, as they seem to for my family?

2006-11-28T21:28:00.000-05:00

You are Orange Wolf type, who is plain and simple. You give an impression of being very clean and tidy. You don't get shy and are open sort of woman. You are very straight forward in that you do not really care about the others feelings and emotions. Therefore people think you lack feminine consideration.You are intelligent person, and have wide knowledge. You will not be influenced by emotions and therefore can make decisions objectively.You can express your individuality well, but in personal life, you tend to build a wall around you and will not let others intrude your life. This makes you open to criticism.You think high of your private life, and may not be able to see the situation you are placed. You can make calm decisions, and your criticism may give a wrong impression of you, but really you are kind and generous person.To those who can read your true feelings, they will appreciate your greatness. You don't have any wicked feelings, and are person of pure heart. You show humane generosity to people around you.You don't care about public opinion, and you live your life at your own pace. You will take time as long as you think is necessary before you come up with conclusion that you believe to be reasonable. And once you decide on things, you will go for a long term version, and your result will be consistent and steady.You can observe men well, and will choose by taking your future into consideration. After getting married, you will be better at being a mother than a wife. You will not depend on your husband so much and will have an ideal family.

Orange
Wolf
Earth.

Got everything right except the earth part, which says I'm a lot more methodical than I am. Ha ha lol. Probably worth it for the orange wolf part, which says "can give one's heart and soul for his passion"

http://world.doubutsu-uranai.com/

2006-11-28T20:56:00.000-05:00

Three simple questions I propose:

What alien race most fascinates you?

Why?

Which would you be if you had a chance?

It wouldn't be fair for me to ask if I wouldn't answer.

I am fond of four:

The Zhirrzh from Timothy Zahn's Conqueror's trilogy. In the first book, they seemed the most hostile, inhuman race I had ever come across, yet in the second, they seemed so human. The juxtaposition is intriguing, but they're just too alien for me. In the end, I would like to stay mostly human, thank you.

The Fremen from Frank Herbert's Dune. Their culture is entirely based on water, so much so that they almost worship it. Almost every activity in their daily lives is tied to water somehow. Even though their human, their culture is odd enough for me to consider them alien. But it does seem a rather bland livestyle, so I would never wish to be one.

The Tok'ra from the series Stargate. I think what fascinates me about the Tok'ra is that they're a real mix of things that, as humans, disgust us and things that we're extrememly comfortable with. On the one hand, what makes a Tok'ra a Tok'ra is the symbiote that crawls into a host's skin and anchors itself to the host's brain, allowing it to, at times, take complete control of motor skills and probably a few other systems. We humans don't really like the possibility of something controlling us, especially physically. Nor are we particularly warm toward the idea of something living in us. And for that matter, most of us wouldn't be thrilled at the idea of no secrets whatsoever that the Tok'ra hold so fond. Yet in all that, the symbiotes respect their hosts as individuals, or they would think nothing of taking a host against his will. They hold no secrets among their ranks (supposedly), but yet they're spies. They seem rather philanthropic yet they're bent on the utter destruction of the Goa'uld. More juxtaposition. Fun.

Finally, the Pack from Wen Spencer's Ukiah quartet. Like the Tok'ra, the Pack is a blend of opposites. They're caring and compassionate, yet they're all FBI Most Wanted for a whole host of crimes, including the murder necessitated by the war only they know to fight. They stress individuality, but only because they're so close to having only one collective mind. One of my favorite scenes from the entire series is when Ukiah, the gentle protagonist who is part of the Pack by lineage, not action, is started in a Giant Eagle when Rennie, the Pack leader with a reputation as a mass murderer, picks up Ukiah's "son" and starts to treat him like his grandson. It's lovely.

So for the third question, I'm not sure; it's a tie between the Tok'ra and the Pack. Both heal quickly and easily, but both races began as a fight against a larger, fundamentally evil, mother species. The Tok'ra have a decent life span of about 200 years for hosts and 2000 years for symbiotes, but the Pack members can only die by murder. You know, the potentially infinite lifespan might be tempting if you didn't realize that the Pack members have about a thousand enemies bent on world domination and the utter destruction of the Pack. Me being who I am now, I couldn't be either. I couldn't put myself in a position where I would be obliged to kill even the evillest creatures in the galaxy. (That's what I think now, while these things only play across the small theater of my mind.) If I were either, though... *sigh* Blood mice... I would have to be a Tok'ra. In the end, my intolerance for pain wins out. Being a Pack member would leave too many chances to heal from the dead and be killed all over again. That's not my cup of tea, so I'd rather be a Tok'ra and be allowed to work on cool technology. Besides, Tok'ra have neat things like zats and holographic projectors, space craft, and blue crystal tunnels. All Pack members have is motorcycles, a few blankets, and a bunch of conventional weaponry, ie. machine guns, knives, etc. I'm definately more of a laser weapon person than a projectile person.

Laser Beams--pewpewpew!

What d'y'all think?

2006-11-22T17:36:00.000-05:00

NHS vs. PGSS

Please somebody explain this to me.

On my third application to the organization, I got into the National Honor Society. The induction was last night, so lately, I've been seriously thinking about the oath they make you take, though quite seriously, there is no way they can make you believe in it if your acceptance is contingent on whether you repeat after the president.

"I, being made aware of the honor which is being bestowed upon me by my acceptance in the National Honor Society..."

Except that no one did make us aware of the honor. Okay, so they made us work at it to get in, and they told us we were accepted, and NHS has a sort of reputation out there that people who have already been through school are aware of. But the fifty or so of us first-time students standing with candles in the school auditorium last night--who told us? What is the honor of which we're now apparently aware? What even is honor?

To me, honor is accepting only that which you have worked for.

Receiving an honor was being recognized for outstanding reading, computer achievement, writing, and creativity in fourth grade out of my entire class.
Receiving an honor wasn't accepting participation trophies in cheerleading, dance, and gymnastics.
Receiving an honor was being picked to go to art camp over the summer in elementary school.
Receiving an honor was being allowed into the gifted program at the middle school.
Receiving an honor wasn't doing well on achievement tests and the subsequent awards with them.
Receiving an honor was being accepted to Alpha writer's workshop and notified as a semifinalists for the governor's school for arts for creative writing.

Receiving an honor was being accepted to the governor's school for sciences, being allowed to learn volumes over the summer and meet a whole bunch of cool people, and in the end, standing up with a certificate of commendation for surviving the five weeks.

Where is the honor in being accepted to the National Honor Society when it is contingent on activities that I'm committed to for other reasons and already being rewarded for? If academics come naturally because of what my parents have taught; if service comes naturally because of my committment to God; if leadership comes naturally because of my committment to myself to be only myself; if character comes naturally because... because I've committed myself to God and He made me to be me--if all these things come naturally and I earn their natural consequences because of them, what is the honor in National Honor Society? Is it just formal recognition from the school for what others have already commented loudly on?

If so, is that such a good idea? If I've already been recognized too much, how is one more "honor" going to affect my perception of myself? I'm so afraid that if I lose an accurate view of who I am, of where I fit, of the measure of how good (or bad) I am and the measure of how far I will always have to go, how am I to preserve that which people recognize? (In other words, what if I get a big head?)

One last thought.

Sitting in the auditorium last night, thinking about what each of the speakers said, thinking of how much work God still has for me, I did not feel half as honored there, among my classmates and those in the grade beneath me, as I did to be sitting at the banquet at the end of Governor's School among ninety-nine incredible juniors and seniors, their families, and our professors. Whereas NHS has an emphasis on continued service, PGSS had an emphasis on learning with a little bit of service. Yet in my opinion, the average govie excelled more in all four areas--academics, service, leadership, and character--than the everage NHS member. Maybe the difference was creativity. Maybe the difference was the pool from which the memberships were drawn. In either case, I will always be more proud and feel more honored to be a govie than a member of the National Honor Society.

2006-11-18T15:47:00.000-05:00

Just puttin' a probe out to see if anyone would be interested in me posting my entire, unedited senior paper on here when I finish. I say unedited, because I've been averaging almost three hundred words per paragraph, I'm a hundred and fifty words over my total, and I've got four paragraphs to go. It's about how science fiction aids in the development of technology and scientific theories, with the main points being:

It disperses uncommon ideas.

It generates interest in related fields.

It encourages people to enter related fields.

It inspires scientists and inventors.

If anyone's interested just leave me a comment, and I'll post as soon as I'm finished.

2006-11-17T10:16:00.000-05:00

Free backgrounds found at:
http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Ring/9982/backgrounds.html

2006-11-15T10:10:00.000-05:00

Nothing too new and spiffy to say here. I'm going to work on Best Left Dead.

2006-11-14T10:05:00.000-05:00

So, basically, everything in html goes in these litte arrows, but I doubt they'll show up in here. <> If they don't, just use the "," and ".", only with shift. Excluding the brackets, a basic webpage has to have the following.

html
head
title
/title
/head
body

/body
/html

The / just ends whatever command was opened earlier. I think you can figure it out from here if I just give you the tags and say what they are.

html--opens the page

head--I wish I knew. It just goes at the top where nobody sees. Anything in the head section won't be visible on the page.

title--what you want to display up above the menu bar on the webpage

body--where you put the stuff you want people to see

center--centers stuff after it.
em--italics
strong--bold
h1 (or) h2 (or) h3 (or) h4 (or) h5 (or) h6--heading tags. Makes stuff big and bold.
hr -- horizontal rule. These are handy; I use them in ff.net all the time.
p --paragraph. Automatically puts spaces between paragraphs.
!--blah, etc-- --comments
ol--ordered list. You know, with numbers.
ul--unordered list with bullets
--definition list--didn't teach
br--open tag, needs no closing--puts a blank line

COLOR SITES for HTML codes:
http://www.immigration-usa.com/html_colors.html
http://www.ctyme.com/colors.htm

2006-11-13T10:12:00.000-05:00

HTML fiddling

*evil laughter ensues*

So, here I am, sitting in compsci again. Lunch is next period. That's shiney. So... The teacher's telling us to type our schudules in a list in an html document. Somehow, that bothers me. I mean, I don't mind it so much on here, when I go into rants about each one, but I don't like just listing it all like that. I dunno.

La. My paper's going pretty well. Hey, I should be working on that project that's due tomorrow. Okeeday. ttyl. Y'all have fun until I find something to do with all this random text.

2006-11-09T10:12:00.000-05:00

Fiddling

"Sarah Elaine Anderson"

Period 4

So, anyway, if you haven't guessed, I'm finally learning HTML!!!! Yay!!! ttfn. Must go visit guidance councilor...

2006-11-09T10:01:00.000-05:00

Boo.

Should be working on senior project. Or the class I'm sitting in, webpage design. But... I'll have time. My fingers hurt; my nails were long for so long, my fingertips are now really sensitive to pressure. But it'll go away. It always does. And then I can go back to playing guitar in time to relearn all my holiday music.

But I'm happy. My physics teacher let me do the problems I overlooked on the test yesterday, and it took me much less time than I expected. I should worship God in the morning much more often! I can always think better afterwards.

You know, God is pretty amazing. Just wanted to point that out. Really looking forward to the youth retreat tomorrow. Unfortunately, one of the members of my church (who gave my dad and his wife a pair of incredible drawings as a wedding present) died on Monday, and we're leaving shortly after the memorial service. I don't quite know what to think, because I don't think I ever saw or spoke to him, but I hope it doesn't dampen the start of the youth retreat too much. From what I've gathered, I doubt he would want to negatively affect a retreat.

ttfn.

2006-09-27T10:46:00.000-04:00

It's Wednesday. Lab day. I miss PGSS. But it wasn't so bad. Actually, it's rather interesting to calculate the components of the forces acting on an object that's hanging by three strings. But I'm a nerd, and I just proved it again. (If you're interested, the final results were 3.46 N i, 10.2 N j, and 10.2 N k for 1 kg.) Anyway, I'm bored. I'm trying not to finish Tamora Pierce's "Sandry's Book" until after the English test 5th period. No sense getting me all confused and trying to put four teenage mages into "In Cold Blood." The little voice inside my head that gets all the answers right says that would be a bad thing.

But other than that, there's not much going on today. "Meet at the Flagpole" was this morning, but I only caught the tail end of it, because I rode the bus. It stinks, but it was enough so that I'm not in a bad mood now, thank God. (Literally.)

Okay, technically, I should go. Lunch starts in about one minute, and it takes longer than that to log off.

Bis spaeter.

2006-09-26T10:17:00.000-04:00

Trapped. Restricted. They (the "establishment," to pull from sixties terminology) must realize that all the rules, the regulations, the interruptions in the midst of tests that come on the most inconvenient days, are succeeding in making me despise a whole lot of things. Crowds. Honestly, I can only stand them in certain situations. Like Creation. I don't really mind crowds there. Well, I do, but I don't mind them as much as I do here, where everyone stumbles down the halls in semi-living stupors.

Really, I just hate reading In Cold Blood, and I know I'm supposed to have the last... 30 pages read by fifth period. If it were by Tamora Pierce or Wen Spencer, I know I'd have no trouble whatsoever. But authors with more complex writing, such as Timothy Zahn or Frank Herbert, their books take longer. And authors with boring writing and dry subjects, well, their works are just impossible. But I guess that's what nonfiction's for--making sure you're still able to read the most impossible literature on the face of the planet. I'm just griping. We have this whole stupid mandatory reading thing yet to go, and I actually have material I have to read during it. But when I'm done, if my muse returns, they can't stop me. The whole point of the reading time is so that we can do better on the PSSAs. Well, surprisingly enough, I didn't do as well on writing as anything else--there was one area I didn't score "advanced" in. Therefore, it would be logical to conclude that my "sentence" during this time should be to write, no?

On a brighter note, if people would just leave me alone and if I had nothing better to do, I'd be done with my senior paper by now. One of the next things we need to do is find six valid sources for information, all in varied media. Well, whahoo. I've got seven webpages, three pdf's, two books, a magazine, four reference books, and a list of six plausible contacts for interviews. I think I'm set, and that's not even been assigned yet. I think it's due October 19th. lol. Put the word "science fiction" in something, and I'm biting at the bit to finish. But, alas, inclusion classes must progress at the pace of their slowest members, and we only work on senior project one day a week. Three days are for "modern humanities" and one day is reserved for artists. I'm bored.

On an even brighter note, Timothy Zahn made it into the refrence books I was looking in this morning, as did Frank Herbert, Arthur C. Clark, and H.G. Wells. Tamora Pierce isn't there yet.

So... I should get back to the murder story. I have an essay to write on it tonight and no time in which to do it. I also have a math test after English that I didn't study for. But I swear I did homework all afternoon yesterday! I just have so little to show for it...

2006-09-25T10:38:00.000-04:00

hi. This is a post. Haven't been on a computer all weekend. Got to go research stuff for senior project. ttyl bye.

2006-09-22T10:44:00.000-04:00

Quote of the day: "Captain, where there's a will, there's an or."

Question of the day: Why can't more people be better in school?

Ted's question: Why can't you stay home from school?

I'm bored.

Can't you tell?

I'm bored.

Bored as...

;) j/k I'm just totally disillusioned about school right now. It's slow. It's boring. Our assignment in computer class today was to make a new file and save four images in it. HA! What a joke! That took a grand total of two minutes, and only because I was picky about it and wanted to get the pics off my flash, but the school computers don't load flashes unless you're logged off when you plug them in.

I starting reading again this morning--Timothy Zahn's Spinnerette--and found out I only have the first quarter. It's a tough call now whether to continue or to stop. I don't want to get a whole quarter of the way into it and not be able to get my hands on the rest. But anyway. Hopefully the prologue was enough to lure my muse back. Okay, so obviously not since I"m on here.

Hey, I"m going to go type up a letter to the principal. ttyl.

2006-09-21T21:51:00.000-04:00

So... I've gotten complaints that I don't update often enough, and since I said I would during the "activity period" today and never did, I'll go now.

PHysics--boring as usual; went over circular motion for a while then started programming our SAM-bots. We had just typed in a piece of program when the bell rang. I was late to purpose.

Purpose--Not much here. Added a couple phrases in "Shogakun" and started getting ready to send "Take Care" to F&SF. I'll work on it more next week. Just wish it were quiet in there so I could work.

German--Not used to seeing nude mermaid pictures. Not sure I want to be used to it, either. All well.

Webpage--Good class for multitasking. I read "Shogakun" *and* did my work; the teacher goes too slow. Waaaaay too slow. Maybe it'll be better next semester.

English--What's his name keeps poking me. I am so going to flip out one of these times. I warned him, so it's not really all *that* uncalled-for. Presentation tomorrow about the perfect school. Only two-thirds of our group actually contributed. We tried, but the other girl didn't talk. Her loss, hopefully.

Calc--Russo wasn't there today. Made me sad; the student teacher is incredibly boring. Russo can at least disguise the fact that you're going over old material by using humor. The student teacher thought we'd never gone over it before. I worked on tonight's homework all period.

Acting--I was so looking forward to it, but alas, today was picture day, so the juniors took over the auditorium, which meant we couldn't do our stage fighting. :( So we played Mafia in the chorus room with a deck of cards we weren't supposed to have.

Econ--slow. But I guess that's okay. The teacher's entertaining, at least, so it's not so bad. I got my life somewhat organized, at least, as much as I can without actually doing anything. He says this chapter's hard, but that's only because we're working with graphs and their applications to real life and the explanatory variable is on the y-axis, which is stupid. C'est la vie.

Forgot to remake the Halloween invitations. All well, Maybe I"ll do it over the weekend. But I did at least engineer two fake people for the party. One is an ominous figure in all black with a mask, so without looking carefully, you can't tell whether it's a real person or not. I attached to him the hand I usually hang from the ceiling and the "bloody" sword with a trigger so that when someone moves one of the chairs, the sword should move. But it doesn't work, as is true with most of my MacGyverisms. The other is a white ghost I usually have on the ground. She's hanging this year, though, complete with dangling high-heeled shoes.

I was thinking I might be a pirate this year, but I went with faerie instead (can't spell that word anymore). It's cool. Soft, black dress with teal, lace sleeves and curly, sheer, black, sparkling wings. It has potential.

Okay, I didn't mean to get on here, so I'm going to go to sleep. Good night.

2006-09-07T09:59:00.000-04:00

Okay, guys! Who's happy? That would be me!

After a long and harrowing evening last night, trying to figure out the calculus part of physics that we almost covered in time for the test today (which went well, except for the last question, which I found two answers to), I am finally having a good morning!

So, anyway, getting an answer on the physics test was a plus.

Second period, I got called up to the guidance office while I was trying to work on Legacy. Nothing bad, just good news. But apparently, no one's really supposed to talk about it until they officially release the information on Sept. 13th. Okay, Caleb? September 13th!! So, I'll get to work on that then.

Third period was good, too, which is the real reason I'm on. I HAVE A FAN!!!!! One of the people from German got on last night and read THE ANNOUNCEMENT--the ENTIRE thing, and he loved it. He also read the first chapter of Legacy and is looking forward to more, and he says he's going to read "the rest," which could be embarrassing, considering how much worse they are. But if he enjoys it, more power to him.

And he says that I should send my ideas to the writers/people in control of stories at Stargate and see if they'll use it. Someone else suggested that, too. It just seems a bit presumptuous to me. I don't want to just write to them and say "Hey, a bunch of people really like my stories; would you like to use them for an episode/arc?" I mean, it'd be really cool, but it's also pretty gutsy. I don't think I could. But it's exciting to think that someone could get excited about my story. It's cool! I'm happy!

I'll go back and work on the third chapter of Legacy, then, since the good news from the guidance office took me away from it during study hall.

Y'all have a nice day, now, ya hear? I may be on again later!

2006-08-29T10:41:00.000-04:00

http://www.gateworld.net/news/2006/08/fans_rally_savestargatesg1.com.shtml

2006-08-29T08:58:00.000-04:00

thinking on screen for ideas for a snippet of writing...

what do you say when you and the person you're trying to encourage are both overwhelmed with grief? Is there anything you can say?
wow. this is really depressing. I don't feel like feeling depressed. What else can I write about? Legacy's pretty much a sad, dark story, despite . *mwa ha ha ha ha*

Ha, guess it doesn't matter.

2006-08-05T16:08:00.000-04:00

Space Pirate

I always wanted to be a pirate. You know, the kind of pirate you read aobut in books with real paper pages. The ones who pillage and plunder and say cool sayings like "Shiver me timbers" and "But why is all the rum gone?" Okay, so I always knew they could keep the rape bit; that's far from getting on my to-do list. But the real draw of being a pirate, the part that everyone fantasizes about, is the freedom. There's nothin' holding you back because the law's already against you--and you're too swift and smart to be caught.

I always wanted to be a pirate. I just never had the finesse to really pull it off.

****

"What do you mean I can't go back to my ship?" A red-headed woman in a torn, soiled, but form-fitting flight suit slammed her fists agianst the counter in the Contraband Regulation Office of the United States.

The calm, brown-haired officer behind the counter spoke slowly. "Your ship and its contents are evidence against you in your upcoming hearing. Now, you have had the right to be silent since you entered." He laughed, as though the statement held some sort of humor. "Anything you say violating your Fifth Amendment rights will be used against you. You don't need an attorney yet, but if you want one, you'll find a way. You know the rest. Please don't resist as these officers escort you to a detention facility."

"No, look, I don't have any 'contraband' on my ship! Nothing! I'll leave if you want, go out to that new Alpha Centauri settlement..."

As calm as the man behind the counter, a pair of uniformed police officers stepped forward and each took the woman by an arm. She grasped the far edge of the counter and held on so tightly that her knuckles turnedd white. "Please, if nothing else, tell me what you found that makes you so sure I need to be locked away!"

The man didn't look up this time, but he did at least respond. "Human remains."

"What!" The woman jerked in the officers' grip and anchored her elbows over the counter's edge. "What do you mean you found human remains? There's none of that on my ship! You've got the wrong captin; mine's teh one that looks like wood--the Black Nebula. You've got the wrong ship; c'mon!"

Annoyed, one of the police pried her up with his shoulder and carried her out. All the while, she pounded steadily on his back.

****

Okay, so I'm a peaceful pirate. Sort of like Robin Hood. I don't do it for the riches; I only take what I need to keep going, and the Nebula's not fancy. I meant what I said back there; there'd better not be any 'human remains' on my ship, or someone's gettin' dropped at the next port. I don't kill people, and I don't want anyone to be harmed. If I stole so much from anyone that they can't live anymore on what they've got, well, they're welcome to come with.

Besides all that, I just plain don't want no one to be rottin' away on my ship! Dead bodies clog up the life support systems, and that's not something I want to have to replace!

2006-08-05T13:51:00.000-04:00

OC Spin-off of one of the early Stargate episodes....

Though the second honeymoon was his idea, Vinnet chose the vacation location. As things turned out, it was no longer the secluded retreat she recalled it to be.

The couple stepped out of the Stargate onto the doorsetp of a primative village. Wood and cloth huts were barely distinguishable over the village's rope and cloth perimeter, especially since the builders seemed to have found no dye whatsoever. Or was the dye merely an indistinguishable shade of brownish-tan?

As they stood staring, a group of armed horsemen stormed from the cloth boundary and approached, strategically surrounding the two. One stopped directly in front of them; he appeared to be a leader, though his wicked-looking bow looked just as strong and well-used--and deadly--as the others'. "Why have you come?"

Sarah frowned up at him; she had enough greater experience than her husband to know that the planet should have been deserted. "Excuse us, but we came to partake in your local resort. Can you direct us there?"

The mounted men exchanged surprised and disgusted glances, and their leader glared directly at David Rice. "You should know better than to let your woman speak in public, especially without her face covered."

"What?" He frowned, unnerved by the obvious inequality here.

"It means death," the leader explained, "but come. Perhaps if this is her first offense, an arrangement can be made for her continued well-being." He nodded his head behind him to the village, and he and the other horsemen rotated their mounds to face it, allowing them to herd the strangers safely into a confined area.

***

Immediately upon entering the cloth boundary, Sarah was jostled into a separate part of the encampment, one in which all the occupants were female and clothed in flowing skirts streaming from tight or modest bodices. From there, she ofund herself ushered into a tent and provided with an embroidered blue dress. Only one of the seemingly ever-present crowd remained: a motherly-type woman with kind, almond-shaped eyes and tangled black hair. "Go ahead and change," she commanded, her tone soft but stern, in the same tone that tells a child that his mother is angry but attempting to remain calm.

Having caught a scent akin to rancid meat, blood, and body odor mixed together, Sarah skeptically lifted the gown with two strategically-placed pinches. "This? Do you realize how glad I was to be done with fancy gowns after I accidentally tore my wedding dress?"

The matron eyed the Tok'ra's clothes with an equal amount of skepticism. "It is an affront to our integrity when a woman wears a man's clothes."

She frowned, taking in her spaghetti-strap shirt and embroidered bell-bottom jeans. "You're not going to find many men wearing anything like this."

"But it is not a skirt." She pushed the blue gown closer to the younger woman. "Put this on before I dress you myself!"

Sarah reluctantly obliged after her symbiote reminded her that they would have to find their husband before attempting an escape; a raucus in a dressing tent might lead to his demise elsewhere. As she turned around and remorsefully exchanged her comfortable clothes for a gown that was too tight and too long, the matron grabbed hold of her left hand and tugged at its adornment. "Rings are only for the rich, girl."

She clenched the hand into a fist and jerked it out of the matron's clawing fingers. "Touch it and die," she bit out, not thinking of the words' literal meaning. "Clothes don't mean much to me, but that ring is a symbol, one I'm not about to forsake."

The matron's eyes narrowed. "I can make you do little, but it would do you well to obey the man who will see you after me."

Sarah rolled her eyes as she puleld the dress on and barely managed to close it. "I doubt it. I'm not in the habit of completely obeying anyone, even those I'm closest to and respect the most," she admitted, thinking of how often she ate chocolate against her symbiote's wishes.

The woman stepped forward and sinched the gown tighter to the Tok'ra's body. "You had better start. There are consequences here you aren't accustomed to."

She gasped witht he force the woman used and thanked Vinnet that she was healthy enough to deal with less oxygen. "Not just peanut butter or this suffocation?" She received a glare that was a clear no. "All right, well, I didn't mean to come here; can't David and I just leave?"

"That is up to him--if Munro and Pansin have no further interest in either of you."

Sarah slowly turned back to fully face the matron, becoming astoutly aware of a misplaced catch digging into the small of her back and the fact that she would either have to lift her skirts--thereby keeping her hands full most of the time--or take very small steps--thereby limiting her motion. Either way, the dress served as an effective means to limit her potential as an adversary. Glancing to the other's clothing, she noticed that it lacked the same drawbacks; the skirt ended at her ankles and appeared formless and baggy rather than tight and restrictive.

She dismissed it for the moment, figuring Vinnet would think of a solution at the opportune moment. "You just watched me change, and I don't even know your name."

For the first time since she entered the tnet, a smile became evident on the old matron's wrinkled face. "I am Jalali. How are you called?"

"Sarah, and my symbiote's name is--"

"Irrelevant," Jalali insisted, unfamiliar with the term. "Come. Pansin wishes to meet you as soon as you are decent." From an indistinguishable pice of furniture by her side,, she picked up what Sarah had assumed to be a handkercheif, though now she saw that it was attached to an elaborate headdress that was suspiciously the same shade of blue as her dress. "Put this on, and cover your facce when you leave this area."

The Tok'ra took it from her then stared at it as if it had bit her. "This is heavy!"

Jalali chuckled gently. "That's the price of beauty, girl." She moved behind Sarah and yanked on her long hair in a manner that could have had some constructive purpose. "Hold still."

"It's hard when you're ripping out my hair," she replied, with ann abortive attempt to face the impromptu hairstylist.

But with most of her hair locked in Jalali's grip, it succeeded only in lifting her hair off her neck. As he subject settled again, the native ran a rough-edged fingernail along the thin line of a scar, sending shivers through Sarah. "Could you please not do that?"

"How did you get this scar?" she wondered, tracing it wagain ith her fingertip.

Usually unwilling to discuss it and now in a bad mood, Sarah glared emphatically at the wall in front of her. "It's personal."

Jalali's voice grew stern again. "Who hurt you?"

She turned around slowly, this time with the other's consent, as though any eye contact might permaturely end her unappreciated protectiveness. "My friend had no intention of hurting me, and she did her very best to heal it afterwards. Now, if you don't mind, David and I would love to get all the formalities over with so we can go home."

Jalali motioned for Sarah to turn back around, but she refused. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but will it be good enough if I braid it?"

The matron nodded. "It will suffice."

Sighing with the first relief she'd felt so far, Sarah fixed her hair with quick, well-practiced motions. "What now?"

*

Jalali led the Tok'ra to another cloth barrier, and theree had her don the headdress, which Vinnet complained stressed Sarah's neck too much. The native woman calmly strapped a veil across her own face then across Sarah's, hiding everything but their eyes.

*

David watched helplessly as the crowd separated him from his wife. Despite his desperate attempts to break through it to get to her,, he could not overcome so many. For him, she was more than just his wife--she was also his tour guide and protector when off-world. On the previous world they'd visited, the mere mention of the fact that she was a Tok'ra brought her more prestige than either of them thought necessary. Apparently, the smae would not work here.

He was helplessly herded by the horsemen to a hut in the center of the village; there, two of them dismounted and shoved him inside. A minute later, the lead horseman entered and reclined on a nest of cushions in the cneter of the back of the tent. He indicated a smaller next of cushions a few feet in front of him, and David nervously sat there.

"Where are you from that you do not know the laws?" the young, black-haired leader demanded.

"A planet called Earth, why?" David shifted on the cushions; was it the pillows or his anxiety that made his position so uncomfortable? "What laws do I not know about?"

The black-haired man blinked in surprise. "The laws protecting women's modesty. When you arrived, your woman was wearing the clothes of a man, her face was uncovered, and she spoke without being spoken to."

"Yeah...?" He glanced around at the primative style of the tnet, at all the weapons and outdated signs of wealth. Then he turned his attention back to the leader, a sinking feeling of foreboding settling in him. Just because the Stargate was extremely advanced technology, it didn't mean that all the places it led were anywhere near as advanced--technologically or socially. "I just don't have a problem with that. I know she loves me and she wouldn't cheat on me; that's all the assurance of her 'modesty' I need."

"That's not enough for everyone. Laws and laws. If we forsake one, we might forsake any and foolishly exchange order for anarchy."

David frowned. "The women on Earth violate your laws all the time, and we don't have anarchy," he mumbled, suddenly amazed at women's achievments in the United States.

Apparently, the man didn't hear. "Such audacity as your woman showed is usually rewarded with death. Unless you provide ample reason to do otherwise, I must carry out the punishment."

"Okay..." He sighed, trying to think of anything that might help. "When we came, we weren't aware of your laws. We didn't even know anyone lived here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is ignorance an excuse for murder where you come from?"

"No, but it's a factor in determining a just punishment." Realizing the difficulty he'd endure defending his wife, David felt his skin go numb and a cold weight settle in his stomach. "Another factor would be... the consequences of killing her. She has powerful friends who would avenge her death." He didn't know for sure if that were true, but he was certain that either the SGC or her fellow Tok'ra would use whatever means available to them to free her--if only he could convince this primative madman not to kill her first.

The "primative madman" nodded thoughtfully. "Then perhaps you are right and death is not the best form of retribution, especially her death. After all, it was your responsibility to teach her proper and modest behavior."

Gulping with sudden trepidation, David realized his mistake: they were her friends who might avenge her. "Wasn't that her parents' responsibility? I haven't been married to her long enough to break any habits."

The man smiled slightly, and relaxed back into his next of cushions. "I will consider that."

Before either could say anything further, the curtain over the doorway whipped aside and two figures in flowing skirts entered, stopping just inside and letting the curtain fall back into place. The leading figure, dressed in brown, bowed respectfully, but the one clothed in expensive-looking, embroidered blue fabric walked around and sat beside David, leaning gently against him. David, unaware of who was behind the embroidered veil, leaned away slightly. The leader glared at the whole show then glanced at the brown-clothed figure.

"Please wait outside, Jalali."

She bowed her head. "Yes, Pansin." Then she retreated to the other side fo the curtain, and he turned his attention back to the couple.

"A woman does not sit with a man while he conducts business."

They eyes above the veil narrowed, and the blue figure got up and leaned against the tent's central support column instead. "Of course not," Sarah's voice replied.

"Nor does she speak without being spoken to," Pansin added.

She shrugged, innocently glanced at the ceiling, and barely caught her headdress before it slid off her head.

David stared at her. Yes, he recognized her eyes and posture now, but seeing her dressed in such a way, he could barely recognize anything else. He shifted in his seat, divided between the urge to stand with his wife or sit and "conduct business" with the Mongol. "You're not going to be able to keep her under your laws for long; you'd better let us leave," he cautioned.

Pansin shook his head. "We still have not carried out just retribution for the breaking of our laws."

David glanced nervously at his wife, wishing their roles were reversed. "Did you have something in mind besides anyone's death?" He glimpsed the further narrowing of Sarah's eyes and the slow, steady rising and falling of the veil; she was trying hard to control her temper, and for some reason, Vinnet hadn't taken control.

The leader's grin made him nervous before the Mongol even spoke. "We will separate you. This will teach you that you do not deserve a woman if you cannot control her and will teach her how to be a woman."

Sarah raised her hand half-heartedly into the air. Sensing that he finally might have some control, David responded, "What do you this of this, Sarah?"

She straightened up from her relaxed pose immediately and moved to stand right behind him. "This is ridiculous! We've got enough roles going on how that we don't need to take on some primative society's perception of what a woman's supposed to act like. If you agree to this mikta's terms, willingly or not, I'm going to ask Vinnet to deal with this, and she won't be peaceful about it. Our next plan of action, regardless of this guy's 'sentence' is to take you and go home.

"And, David, if he needs convincing, remind him of Vinnet's centuries of espionage and the extensive combat training associated with that." Finally done with her rant, she glared pointedly at Pansin.

The Mongol leader frowned, but still addressed David. "You let your woman talk like that?"

David nodded. "She is more knowledgable than I am about these things; I like to hear her assessment. Besides which, she's right. Vinnet has probably had enough of your prejudices."

"And who is Vinnet?"

Unsure of how to explain, David glanced to his wife, though he knew Pansin wouldn't let her speak unless spoken to. Maybe if he appeared to be completely in command, he could convince the Mongol to let them leave. "Vinnet is a warrior who..." Many cultures hated the Goa'uld and for good reason. Would this culture punish his wives for their existance? "...who travels with a cloaking device, which makes her invisible, and who speaks only to Sarah. She's impatient with this delay in our travels." With the veil over his wife's face, he couldn't tell if she was smiling or scowling.

Pansin's expression, however, was perfectly obvious: a self-satisfied grin. "You threaten me with a voiceless phantom? Do you take me for a fool?"

"She's not voiceless; she only speaks to and through Sarah." He looked up at his wife, the visible one. "Does she have anything to say?"

Sarah nodded, closed her eyes, and looked away for a moment, completely hiding the flashing eyes that meant Vinnet had taken control. "You know me too well to question whether I would like to speak," she answered, not bothering to hide her voice. Unlike her host had, she now turned to Pansin. "Unless we have anything further to discuss, David and I will now leave."

With a speed none fo the three had expected, the Mongol leapt from his cushion nest and backhanded her across the face. "You know our laws now; there is no excuse to defy them."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Vinnet punched him in the stomach, swept his feet from under him, and pinned him to the floor. "Both Sarah and my husband warned you I would not stand mroe abuse. You now have two options: let us leave peacefully or struggle now and suffer the consequences. I am not as mild as those I travel with."

The Mongol leader struggled slighly against Vinnet's well-placed grip. "It is disgraceful for a woman to fight; you need to learn how to be a woman."

"Tok'ra do not have gender. We all fight or study or lead, regardless of the gender of those we fight through."

Pansin shook his head, and with a twist of his wrist, drew a knife from his felt and jabbed it into her torso. Alarmed, Vinnet slammed his head hard against the column her host had been leaning on, knocking him unconscious. Then she retreated to heal her host's body.

David looked even more alarmed than her symbiote felt. "Are you okay?" he shouted.

Trying not to go into shock, Sarah stared down at her bloodied bodice. Not really knowing what to do since her symbiote was ignoring her, she pulled the knife out with a pitiful grunt.

Almost as much in shock but aware they had to stop the bleeding, David took the knife from her hand and cut off a portion of her gown then bundled it up and pressed it against the wound. Then, as gently as he could, he laid her flat on the ground, hoping gravity could help stem the bleeding. "Hang in there, Sarah, you hear?"

"Dave, he pulled a knife on me. We weren't going to hurt him, not if he cooperated. But he stabbed me. Vinnet says it's the intestines, liver, and Bauch. He could've--"

He clapped his hand gently over her mouth. "Save your energy for Vinnet. We'll be okay." He raised his voice, and looking to the tent's door. "Medic! We need a medic in here!"

There was no response. "Healer," Sarah corrected.

He nodded. "We need a healer!"

Jalali poked her head in then immediately rushed to Pansin's side. "Are you okay?" She checked his pulse then tried to wake him to no avail.

"He might have a mild concussion," Sarah whispered, "but Vinnet thinks he should be fine."

David relayed her words to the matron, leaving out the mention of Vinnet. "But before he passed out, he stabbed my wife!"

The matron called in two of the horsemen from outside. One watched over Pansin while the other held David away to allow Jalali access to Sarah. The matron knelt beside her and peeled away the sticky strips of fabric to study the wound. "This is not good."

"Tell me about it!" Sarah moaned. "I'm not going to be able to eat until tomorrow night!"

The matron replaced the bandages as they were and placed her hand on Sarah's forehead, looking seriously into her face. "You may die. It is the spirits' judgement of your crimes."

"Your spirits had better answer to my God."

Jalali turned back to David. "Continue to place pressure on the wound if you want her to live."

He nodded, pulling free of the guard's grip. "And keep her quiet and concentrated on healing. Right."

She nodded once and fled from the tent. The two horsemen glared at him but said nothing. David returned to his wife's side, pressed one hand with the fabric against her wound, and held his other hand to her cheek.

Slowly, her eyes opened, and she glanced around the tent, her gaze finally settling on him. "Now would be a good time to get out. They won't expect an injured person to run away."

"Maybe because you can't?" he reminded softly.

Her shoulders twitched in an imitation of a shrug. "It'll hurt, but even if I get worse, I'll be much better off among the Tok'ra or at the SGC. Plus, it wouldn't scar as badly. Not to mention that we'd get out of this whole mess."

"Shh." He pressed a little harder with the fabric. "Save your energy."

"Dave, this isn't chocolate ice cream. I wouldn't suggest it without Vinnet's consent. She's working from the inside out to avoid internal bleeding; the inside's much better than it was. This might be our only chance."

He nodded to indicate the horsemen. "With them here?"

She looked. "Seth and Sokar, I thought we were alone when Jolly left." she leaned back more fully. "Some honeymoon. It would've probably been better if the Goa'uld had retaken this planet."

"Why?" He had never heard her speak in such a way concerning the Goa'uld.

"They wouldn't go through this biased junk. They'd just say 'You're a Tok'ra. I don't like you. Let me kill you' and we'd get on with it, not like this drawn-out parody of the workings of Congress--"

"Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"Get off your soap-box."

"That's kind of hard to do while I'm lying here, trying not to bleed all over the oriental rug."

"Just try."

A third voice broke in. "You said something about silence?" Jalali reminded as she entered again, followed by a younger girl carrying a package probably containing medical supplies.

"We were just discussing your culture and the possibility of cutting our honeymoon short," Sarah explained loudly. "The healers back home have medicines that would make me better in minutes."

Jalali took a leaf from her assistant, removed the bandage, and placed it inot the wound. "Impossible. But this will take away your pain."

Sarah jerked as the leaf touched her. "No more! Please, no more. Dave, don't let her use any more of that. Take it off!"

Both of them frowned. 'What's wrong?" David asked.

She settled a little, but met his eyes pleadingly. "That plant is the active ingredient in the serum Ra used." She had told him the horror story several times. "If it paralyzes Vinnet, I might die! Keep it away!"

Without consulting with the presumed "healer," David pulled the leaf out, cut a clean bandage from his shirt, and applied pressure again. Then, to clam the miffed native, he held up the bloody leaf in his other hand. "She's alergic to this."

"it will numb the pain," Jalali insisted.

"It numbs more than just the pain, and she needs that to heal."

The matron frowned but nodded. "We need to move her from here."

David worriedly glanced to his wife, who nodded her consent. "We'll be fine by morning; moving now won't make much difference."

***

Jalali left them in an underfurnished by unoccupied tent, presumably alone for the night. Restlessly torn between caring for his wife and getting ready for bed, he sorted through the few belongings they'd brough while Sarah slept. Nothing had the potential to help them. He finally decided to sleep, though it was still early int he evening. Before he did, however, he pulled away the bandages on his wife's abdomen to check the wound.

Sarah shifted slighly and unhooked her veil, at last revealing her face. "Okay, now I feel better." She sat up slightly, resting on an elbow, and rubbed at her eyes. Then she gazed inquiringly at David's probing fingers, which met only intact skin.

"Vinnet did a good job for only a couple of hours," he commented.

Her eyes flashed. "Thank you, though it is my responsibility to heal my host." She sat up farther and pulled the headdress off. "Where do we stand concerning our departure?"

He shrugged. "We could probably go now if you're up for it."

"We could recover from worse, if need be. We should have left long ago. I'm sorry, David. That may have been our best opportunity."

"I would think so," broke in a third voice. The couple looked up to see Pansin had entered, followed by a pair of henchmen. "My father and I have decided on a punishment for your crimes." His smile was sickening. "We will relieve you of your woman since you cannot handle her. She will then be beaten and sold."

David's voice was slow and low, giving the impression of a patient strength and fury near its ignition point. "You have unfairly detained us all day and denied us our freedom. We spoke reasonably, to no end, and when Vinnet clearly expressed herself on your terms, you stabbed her and now plan to subject us to mroe injustice. Where does it end, Pansin?"

"I just told you. That will be the end."

2006-07-05T11:18:00.000-04:00

How many numbers?6
Number?14
Number?2006
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Number?20
Number?06
Number?00
Number?-.1
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Number?Number out of range. Please enter numbers between 0 and 100.
Number?Number?-1
Number out of range. Please enter numbers between 0 and 100.
Number?-.02
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Number?Number out of range. Please enter numbers between 0 and 100.
Number?.2

2006-06-15T23:20:00.000-04:00

oceanic_sentry's Xanga Site: "Wednesday, June 14, 2006"

*grins* I feel special. Not because of his pain but because he thinks of me.

Feel lucky. He's nice. But I won't say too much about it, because I know he reads this. ;P

2006-06-12T18:49:00.000-04:00

Confluence begins in:

Viel Spass

Here?

Perhaps here?

Kein.Odd.

Just messing around with html.

2006-06-12T16:58:00.000-04:00

Quote of the day: Truth depends greatly upon perspective. The varience between two perspectives is enough for each to call the other's truth falsehood.

2006-06-12T15:40:00.000-04:00

Your Linguistic Profile::

70% General American English

15% Yankee

5% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

How You Life Your Life

You have a good sense of self control and hate to show weakness.You're laid back and chill, but sometimes you care too much about what others think.You prefer a variety of friends and tend to change friends quickly.You tend to dream big, but you worry that your dreams aren't attainable.

How Do You Live Your Life?

Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2

"Sky falls, you feel likeIt's a beautiful dayDon't let it get away"
You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments.And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too.

What's" Your Theme Song?

Word of the day: merg.

2006-05-31T08:45:00.000-04:00

So I've got computer access during school again, after I went over my notes for my English presentation today. So I went to dailysudoku.com, figuring it was something of a constructive, school-related activity, especially since some of the teachers have assigned sudokus in math classes. But, no, the idiotic firewall has it blocked under the category of games. Miff!!!

Gtg, just got an idea: google image search for sudokus!!

2006-05-27T13:41:00.000-04:00

A CONTINUATION OF THE TWEEN STORY

A day later, Sarah reclined on her bed, reading a new science fiction novel and trying to ignore Vinnet's incessant explanations of the fiction's impossibilities. In the middle of it all, the phone rang, but she ignored it as per the rules of grounding. In the next room over, she heard her mother answer it.

"The Air Force?" she seemed to repeat after the voice on the other end. "What do you want now?"

She listened and replied, "By now you should know by heart every last detail, especially after that Senator Kinsey came to ask her more questions. It's a wonder you don't--"

Silence. "From what I've seen of him, I agree, but that kind of language is unnecessary." It was probably Colonel O'Neill on the phone; few others would have the audacity to use strong language when speaking of a member of Congress.

More silence. "Well, then, I want to listen in. Classified or not, I am her mother, and I want to know what you're saying to my daughter." A short pause. "Yes, I know what classified means but--"

Sighing, Sarah stood and ventured out of her room into her mother's office, where she caught her attention and whispered, "I'll tell you what's going on; just let me talk to him."

The mother reluctantly handed over the phone. "Be quick."

Sarah nodded, and focused on the phone conversation. "What's so important that Mom couldn't take a message?"

"Thank you!" O'Neill breathed. "Tell your mom thank you.

"The High Council called this morning, said they'd need a pair of hosts soon--don't know how they know. It's probably some sort of test."

Setting her head in her hands, Sarah frowned. "They couldn't have picked a worse time."

"They probably conspired with Kinsey to have it work out that way," he replied.

Vinnet surfaced suddenly, allowing Sarah's mother to see the flash of her eyes and O'Neill to hear her modified voice. "The Tok'ra would not sink to such a level!"

The colonel released an exclamation of surprise. "For crying out loud, could you give me some warning before you do that! Is her mom still around?"

"No, she left the room," Vinnet lied, gazing over at the parent.

"In all honesty," she continued, "this may be a good time to take a short leave. Senator Kinsey has caused much trouble here, which may die down with time."

"Someone will pick you and two others up on Saturday," he commented. "If you can't find anyone by then, don't worry about it."

"I will," she promised just as he hung up. She did likewise and turned expectantly back to the mother. The two gazed at each other in an uneasy silence similar to that shared between two strangers who each believe the other is attracted to their significant other.

"You said you'd tell me what's going on," the mother reminded flatly.

Vinnet nnodded slowly and allowed her hoset to speak again. Sarah sighed deeply before beginning. "I did. And it's more complicated than I thought it would be. "

"Colonel O'Neill believes you about this... alien?"

Sarah nodded. "Absolutely. He was only worried that you might've heard."

"Okay." It was good to know that this Air Force Colonel wasn't concerned about her daughter's second personality. "Why did he call?"

"Before we came back, we promised the High Council that we would do something for them. They're ready now."

He mother raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What High Council?"

She bit her tongue, nervously deciding what to say. "The ruling body Vinnet answer to. They're the ones who decided to let us come back."

"With what stipulations?"

"I have to help them continue their existance in the same numbers."

Aware of only one interpretation of the cryptic statement, and oblivious to the fact that Vinnet's species reproduced asexually, her mother started into a panic. "Sarah Elaine, you're too young to do that, and you're already promissed to get married first! I'm not letting you throw...."

The Tok'ra gazed at her, confused. Halfway tino the heard of the speech, she understood where the misunderstanding originated. "Mom," she interrupted loudly, "I said I'd help them keep the same numbers, not more. They don't have kids!"

"Then what in the world are you talking about?"

Sarah hesitated, unsure that her mother would appreciate the real answer any more than she had the misinterpretation of it... or any more than Kinsey had when he'd heard. "They need.... um..."

"Spit it out already!"

"Hosts," she finished reluctantly. "They can't survive long outside of humans, and when their hosts get old, they need new hosts."

The mother frowned deeply and came into the room to sit on her office chair. "Is that... sanitary?"

"Yes, Mom. They're clean enough not to overwhelm the combined immune system. But that's not the point."

2006-05-25T12:35:00.000-04:00

As you know, I come on here most reliably at the end of the school year, on the random days when I have absolutely nothing to do and access to a computer. Two periods and lunch ago, I finished my last final this year....

FROH!!!
HAPPINESS!!!

Anyhow...

How 'bout a random update on life, the universe, and everything?

At the moment, most people in my class are reading something, though there's a cluster of spoons-players across the room from the back corner where this computer is. I was working on Legacy, but I decided to come back here and check my grades. Despite the sudden windfall of good luck concerning my history and English grades, my finals brought them back down to solid yet high Bs. There's still a little hope for English, though; I got five bonus points for buying the literary magazine. Dunno if she's put it in yet.

As for other things... Most of you know how much of an anti-conformist I am, so you could hardly know how much it pains me to admit this, but... I got a boyfriend. He's sweet, too, writes me poetry, compliments me... I'm not sure he doesn't deserve someone who knows him better than I do, so we'll see what happens. It's a long distance relationship, and I'm not sure our summers are going to be clear enough to get together any time at all, and once we go to college... Well, he's thinking Duke in North Carolina, and I'm hoping I might be able to get a bunch of scholarships and go to MIT... (Pardon my redundancy in saying "Duke in NC," but I get Duke confused with Duquesne in Pennsylvania.) So... This is all in God's hands.

Oh, Ted's doing well now. The swelling on his face is almost gone, thanks to the vet pulling the offending tooth and the subsequent use of Clavamox. Now if he can just manage not to tick off any birds.... Oh, right, didn't I say? Yesterday, he was out in the yard and chased a young bird to the fence, where the bird escaped into the neighbor's yard. But that managed to tick off a quarter of a flock, and they dove after him for a couple minutes. He seem all right. Extra proud of his bravery, if anything.

Still not progress on the Announcement. Miff. I stink at anything that relates to romance. Why didn't I wait ten years before writing this plotline?

But I've been thinking about Legacy since I ran out of books to read and couldn't get caught up in Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke. I tried to figure out the plot, but I can't get it to fit on one piece of paper. Especially once I try to figure out the alternate plots, which should thoroughly frustrate people. Maybe I'll post some of it later, some of the alternate, even though people won't have a clue what's going on.

I love typing.

It's fun.

It's fun to type at a "normal" speed and have people look over and say "That's crazy! How can you type that fast?" Of course, I've only been around computers since I was five... Behold the myriad benefits of having computer programmers as parents. Not that that year of being absolutely obsessed with the internet and everything in it didn't help my typing....

Hey, by the way, people, GOD IS AWESOME! Just though I'd say. You know, in case I hadn't mentioned that before. Songs of the day: "Undefeated" by Audio A; "All Around Me" by Audio A; "Get Down" by Relient K; and the edition of "Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher" by Audio A. There's nothing better than listening to Christian rock for an hour and a half before really having to face people in the morning; you get all pumped up and close to God and then see the people who don't know much at all about you and don't care to. It's a lot easier to be a Christian when you're in touch with God. Yup. I would be the one who wrote "Paster Don: 'As long as there are math tests, there will be prayer in school'" on my cheat sheet (legal) for my math final, which went very well, thank you.

Speaking of finals, my health teacher stopped by the gym this morning and told me I was the first one to score 100% on the health final in years. I hardly studied for that; I just fleetingly glanced at my notes and did the homework that was due and made educated guesses on the multiple choice and matching.

Thank you, God, for regular, non-honors classes!!! That's the light point in the day.

Okay, I should get going. Legacy isn't really calling, but I should work on either that or the Announcement.

2006-05-22T17:12:00.000-04:00

Studying for stats, I decided to use ff.net stats for practice problems, and I want to share my findings, which really annoy me. It appears that the number of hits explains only 12% of the reviews in the Announcement, though overall, on my account, it accounted for 48%. Miff. I thought people were nicer than that. It also appears that, overall, only 2% of hits on a story result in a review. That's pitiful!!!

My meager two percent.... the faithful.... thank you.

2006-04-21T18:57:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't gotten on in a long while, and I know some people, at least, read this. Frankly, I think I'd prefer that only people I know would read it, but c'est la vie.

Where to begin after so long, for those of you who might actually care about my life?

I just got asked to prom last night, and I never expected it. Unfortunately, it's in another state, and I'm not sure my parents will let me go yet. Of course, I'll have to finish my English essay before then, because it's due the Monday after and I'm taking the SATs on the same day as the prom. That ought to be fun. "Here, let's wear myself out with a big honkin' test and then go party the night away like I never thought I would before." Seriously, I doubted anyone would ask me to my own prom (and no one probably will), let alone someone else's. But he broke up with his girlfriend recently and really wants me to go with him. I'm... astonished. Maybe this could kick-start a writing spree on the Announcement, if only I weren't completely sleep-deprived, which is why I'm typing on here: I can think of nothing else I have the energy to do, which has been my chief reason for avoiding computer time in the last year.

Anyway, out of energy on that subject. There's not much to say yet.

School. Is. Wretched. Or, rather, inane. Yes, there's a good word for you.

Gym. What's the deal with assigning homework in gym? It's a physical class, for crying out loud; there's no place for homework! I'd rather just go out and play catch afterschool if we have to do something outside of class. *evil glare at teacher*

Statistics. Boring. Confusing. Take your pick. The teacher's great, really, but after a while, it's just too much of a routine. And what's the deal with having ten different ways to get an answer for whether or not a claim is correct? On the other hand, it could help me with my senior project, especially now that I've got a crusade to go on. (More on that later.)

History. As usual, can't stand it. It's too much work for people who're dead or forgotten by now. It'd work better if it just covered the notes and we could all listen without the threat of a test. Basically, history isn't worth an hour, let alone forty minutes a day.

English. Finally, the English assignment I've always wanted, and just at the point in the year where I want to just ignore school. My essay's supposed to be a literary critique on The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it so far. Finally, science fiction is recognized as acceptable fodder for high school English classes! I have hope yet! And if/when I'm an English teacher, my students will so be reading Mara Jade's fan fiction and identifying all the wonderful rhetoric she uses.

German. I abhor Wochenende! I hate going in on every Montag morning and having to talk about my weekend. Ninety percent of the time, I don't do anything interesting or anything I ever want to talk about. The other ten percent, I don't know how to express it in German, and I don't care enough to share it in English. They don't need to know what's going on in my life. I'd just as soon post everything on the Internet... sooner, in fact, as is evidenced by this post!

Physics. Still sick of the teacher, just like everyone else. His teaching style isn't as bad as last semester, but it's still getting more tedious, nerve-wracking, and generally ridiculous as the year progresses. I was an idiot to sign up for AP Physics next year and to consider it as a career. But basically, I don't know what I want, and no one wants to give me a direction.

Health. For as horrible of a concept as it was, the teacher makes health a surprisingly okay class. There's a bunch of characters in that room, just as there are in German, and when combined with the teacher (not the student teacher, mind you; she's pretty bad), it makes for a pretty entertaining blow-off class. Of course, I don't listen hard to any of the self-improving advice given; like others, I feel incredibly good about myself and don't think I need to improve myself on that front. Just try to prove me wrong.

So my crusade, since I know you're all sitting on the edge of your seats. They cut the funding for the arts at my school... I think. That's what I've heard. So. I'm ticked. They have enough money to put stinkin' astroturf on the field and to give it traction with itty bitty pieces of tires. But, no, they can't fund the arts, which force kids to learn discipline and often give them motivation for going to school. And not only that, but apparently, they're also discouraging kids from taking band or art. What the hey?! You can learn so much more from those classes--more practical things--than you can in health (ooh, yes, condoms are more important than pianos or graphic design... not). Do they have any idea how important graphic design is to our culture? If all the graphic designers suddenly died, our world would basically fall apart. People wouldn't be as subject to impulse buying, suddenly, which would probably send the economy into recession. Oh, yeah, we need economists but not graphic designers? And they keep saying that we need to be creative, but they're cutting the legs from under the programs that stimulate and encourage creativity!! We need the arts. I'm not even an artist--I play two instruments about once every three months, I only do cover art, and it's not professional at all, I can't do much of anything in front of people--but even I know the arts are extremely important. I'm a writer, and though it's part of the English department, technically, it's very closely related to the arts. It requires thought, hard work, and creativity, just like any other art form. They have no basis for reducing the art program, not even their precious standardized testing crap. (And those of you who know me know how very rarely I use that word. But it applies here.)

The STC's, as I shall now refer to them, carefully hiding the true name of the test, do nothing for us students. And isn't that what education is about? If you need to measure a student's progress in school, don't you DARE take the time out from the student's learning to do it. I like AP English. It's one of the top two English classes I've ever taken, by a far margin. What do the state and school board think they're doing, depriving me of the class I earned the opportunity to take? If they're trying to get me to learn, how dare they make me learn less just to see if I have, in fact, learned anything? The same applies to math. CHS Stats is one of my favorite classes. Why, then, did I have to put my learning and understanding on hold just to show the state/school board that I learned something last year? Those contradictory, uncaring bureaucrats!

Okay, rant over. Probably. What else?

Oh, there's a foreign exchange student over, the main reason for me being on even less than normal. She's been here for three weeks, but she's going home Wednesday. We get along okay, but we're not best friends or anything. It's been tough, for both of us. At first, they (she and her mother) preferred convenience over the custody arrangement, which would never fly, especially for me. I'm not going to throw a boulder into a calm swimmingpool just to make a stepping stone to the other side. I'll swim--it might be wet, but it leaves smaller ripples. Well, we've got small ripples now, though it's been hard to put up with the crowded bus for a week at a time. Then she had a problem with my church, or my youth group, it's hard to tell which. So now we're comfortably speaking about a hundred words per day to each other. It's frustrating, but I'm glad for the experience... and I'll never do it again. I say again: I'm greatful for this opportunity. And I'm living alone or with only family until college; Mom is not allowed to adopt until I'm out of the house.

*sigh* I miss my dog. I haven't seen him since Sunday. He's the cutest dog on the planet, and he loves me as much as my parents do, and they're my best friends.

Which reminds me. My best friend my age is sitting on a steel fense the width of a razor blade. Her parents want to move back to California by next year, but she's got only one more year in school. They keep setting deadlines for the house to sell or for her dad to get a job there and then setting them back when they're not met. It's horribly frustating for all of us. But then, I guess she was doomed to move back as soon as she met me--it happens to all my best friends. But maybe just this once for just one more year it won't. We'll all be leaving after that. And her parents say it's because of her mom's asthema (which was only better there because they keep going to smoke-filled restaraunts here and the humidity's higher), and the better job opportunities (which was why they moved here), and the better school (they don't want her to be stressed out next year, even though our school here is actually better), and the better church (if they'd stop comparing every church to their home church, they'd see that we have very good churches here; they just need to get involved). And to top it all off, they say they don't have any friends; their friends here stopped talking to them. But the thing is, there are hundreds of people here who would gladly be their friends and adopt them into a community of fellowship if only they'd let themselves meet them!!! I know plenty of awesome people their age! And, look, it took me six years to know them. But now I'd rather not leave the church because they're so cool.

*sigh* People annoy me. My muse annoys me. I annoy me.

I'll go take a shower.

2006-03-31T22:24:00.000-05:00

Legacy Scrap
(Same as before--Announcement ch 14 spoilers. Same ones, I think. Maybe not. Just typing to see what people think.)

David waited nervously in a room with Dehrwin, hoping only that Sarah wouldn't find out what he was doing unless everything turned out okay. "Tell me one more time why I should trust this guy?"

Dehrwin rolled his eyes as he sat on a chair beside the door, relaxed. "He is a Tok'ra, and they are allied with the Tau'ri."

He shook his head; the information was no comfort when he already knew it. "So just because we're allies, I'm supposed to automatically trust this guy?"

"You believe he may be untrustworthy?" the Jaffa replied disdainfully.

"I believe I don't like having to trust someone I don't know," he replied tersely. "Can't you tell me anything else about him? What's he been up to in the last year?"

The Jaffa, who was easily twice as massive as David, sent a warning glare his way. "Many times, it is extremely obvious that you are Tau'ri."

Suddenly, the door opened, allowing in the subject of their discussion and closing again. Vandrof scanned the room, taking note of its occupants. "You wanted to see me?" he asked Dehrwin, who pointed to David.

"We met once," David said. "You already had your host by the time I got there."

Vandrof frowned. "You left shortly after that. We didn't have time to speak." He glanced behind him to Dehrwin then back to the human. "Why are you serving as a lotaur?"

David shook his head. "Only after you tell me why you're serving a Goa'uld. Sarah's pretty freaked out about that."

"Wait," Dehrwin broke in. "Why did you not say before that you knew each other?"

"We don't know each other well," David answered, not taking his eyes off Vandrof, "but we apparently should."

Vandrof nodded. "I have not seen Vinnet since she obtained permission from the council to remain on Earth for another year. How is she?"

"She was doing fine until you showed up," David replied venomously. "Whatever you told her while you were chatting, it really unnerved her."

Dehrwin's eyes widened, and he interrupted again. "You lied to me! You said you wanted the Goa'uld out of Senane, but you don't, do you."

"Not now, Dehrwin," Vandrof replied. "No one wantts to see any harm done to her." He turned back to David. "Tacita is not a Goa'uld, but she does not want Vinnet to know. This entire palace is a test designed to show the character of those who request to serve her. I was sure she'd pass until I heard that she'd brought a lotaur and Jaffa. None of us ever have lotaurs." Both he and Dehrwin looked to David for explanation.

"If it makes you feel better, she told me not to come," he admitted, "but I promised her back on Earth that I wouldn't let her go. When I caught up with her offworld, I was able to convince her to let me tag along."

"You had to convince her?" Dehrwin interrupted disbelievingly.

Vandrof nodded impatiently. "The Goa'uld in the throne room of this palace is, in fact, a Tok'ra, a friend of mine." He turned his attention back to David. "And of yours as well. But who are the Jaffa?"

"How do I know I can trust you with their identities? Vinnet feels responsible for their well-being; I'm not going to poke holes in their safety net."

"Despite a shift in priorities, I am still who I've been--I have not changed as much as Vinnet has."

"I think it's that priority shift that's got her worried."

Vandrof's eyes shifted uneasily from David to some indeterminate infinity behind him. "The highest priority of any Tok'ra is to protect Egeria and to futher her cause. Ever since Egeria was lost to us, her cause has been in the forefront of our minds. But now some of us have to switch back to our previous committment."

2006-03-31T13:20:00.000-05:00

Legacy
(Warning: Announcement chapter 14 spoilers)

After finally getting his wife calmed down, David roamed the caste's dim, high-ceilinged halls in search of water for both of them. After twenty minutes, he found what appeared to be a kitchen, though it was a far cry from the kind of kitchen he was accustomed to. He wildly began searching the bizzare cabinets for cups, sliding open many of the stone and gold doors with enough force that they rebounded from the end of their tracks. Two cabinets in a row, he heard extra bangs and suspiciously spun to find a tall, muscular Jaffa in full armor, whom he recognized as Dehrwin, one of the Jaffa Tacita had sent.

Suddenly nervous at his presence, David bowed exactly as Vinnet had taught him and straightened up while watching the Jaffa's toes. He couldn't help but notice that Dehrwin
had cornered him the first time he left his wife's presence. "May I help you?"

Dehrwin's loud, demanding voice unnerved him even more than his imposing presence. "How long have you served your master?"

He shrugged, belatedly realizing a real lotaur might not. The real answer was that he didn't serve her, but he couldn't say that. "About a year."

"How often does she treat you poorly?"

David quickly glanced up to see Dehrwin's expression, but there was no emotion to be read. He still had no clue explaining the Jaffa's purpose. His mind reeling for an answer, he improvised. "She treats me much better than I could ever deserve." It wasn't a lie, and it even sounded humble and subserviant--score one for the fake lotaur!

"Is that so?" Dehrwin retorted. "I heard she reprimanded you this afternoon." He stared at David's folded hands. "Did she also bruise your hands?"

"Yeah..." He looked at his hand, where Sarah's extra-strong grip had been focused while she gave birth. "Um..."

The Jaffa's voice softened. "You need not be treated in such a way."

He frowned, desperately trying to rein in the frustration he felt at not being able to truthfully justify his wife's actions. "You weren't there; you can't judge her by the result of a situation you're unaware of. I was there for her when she needed me."

"I understand your loyalty, but you must not sacrifice your well-being for it."

"It was an isolated incident," he insisted, now forgetting the humble servance facade and glaring at the Jaffa.

Dehrwin stepped forward menacingly. "If you continue in her service, it will no longer be an isolated occurance."

"You don't know that, because you don't know her! You've only known about her for a single day." Shaking his head, David took a quick, deep, calming breath. "You've only been around her for less than a day. After a while, you'll see that she wouldn't do anything to me. Besides, why do you care?"

The Jaffa lowered his head and his voice, as though he were revealing a secret. "I believe in freedom for humans and Jaffa. The Jaffa already have a strong start; humans are still subject to the oppression of the Goa'uld."

"So do you see me as an equal?"

Dehrwin hesitated just a little too long.

"That's fine. It's just a question." He had asked only to determine where he stood in the other's mind. "And it sounds like you're very noble. But I'm not feeling at all oppressed at the moment."

"Vandrof said Senane used to live among the Tau'ri. Is that true?"

He took a moment to recalled what "Tau'ri" meant--Earthlings--before answering cautiously, "Yes."

"Then you are a Tau'ri?"

He swallowed, wondering if he was about to get into trouble. "Yes."

Dehrwin shook his head. "Then how can you have no complaint here? I have heard much of the Tau'ri; they are the ones who end systems such as we have here. How can you be content with that?"

At a loss for an answer, David shrugged. "I just... can."

"Is her host a Tau'ri as well?"

"My wife."

Dehrwin nodded his understanding. "So being her lotaur, you have ample opportunity to sabotage her efforts until you can find someone to remove the Gao'uld and restore your wife to you."

"Of course." It was so nice of him to provide David with a cover story.

"I can do that for you."

The Tau'ri panicked for a moment; he couldn't really let anyone remove Vinnet, who was as much his wife as Sarah was. Then he feigned regret at a lost opportunity. "The SGC gave me this mission. They want me to find out as much about her and where she same from as I can--in case any more Goa'uld can make it to Earth the same way. So until I know that, I can't let you do that."

A bright grin grew on Dehrwin's face as he listened. "We could always interrogate her first."

"No! I couldn't put her through that!"

"But you could allow a Goa'uld to control her, to invade her mind that much longer?" the Jaffa snapped, disgust clear in his empathetic tone.

"To prevent others from going through this? Yes!" Beginning to wonder if the other believed him, David hoped he wouldn't have to resort to the truth; his wives would be furious.

"Interrogation would be an effective means to get that information in a time frame that would allow you to prevent any similar Goa'uld action among the Tau'ri."

"When I say no, I mean it," he insisted, his voice growing louder. "The other Jaffa, the ones she brought with us, are intensely loyal. If they hear wind of any action against her, we're both going to be up a creek."

Dehrwin frowned, missing the meaning of the phrase. "Then when you have your information, how will you put it to use?"

"I'll contact the SGC, who'll send a team here to extract us. I've got it under control. All you should do is create a diversion for the Jaffa when the time comes."

The Jaffa seemed to ignore him. "You could obtain the information you seek from Vandrof. He seems to know much of Senane."

"Yeah, he does." But if he were really a traitor to the Tok'ra, would he be safe speaking to him alone, even if the information he obtained could be valuable to Vinnet?

2006-03-27T20:33:00.000-05:00

Haven't forgotten about the Announcement. But as I'm trying to wind down the story, it's getting really sappy, and I can't stand it. I need to get it over and done with, whether it's good or not, but I'm having a hard time thinking with the characters while everything's going on in my life. I'm guessing it may take me until July to get over this bump in the road, but I'm not sure. School won't wind down until June, at which point, I'll be going to SC and either PGSS or PGSA for creative writing, depending on whether I get accepted to the latter. That doesn't end until July, but I'll probably have AP stuff to work on over the summer. So... It's not looking good. Legacy's been bugging me for a few weeks now, and I can't help but work on it. Probably up to fifteen or twenty pages by now, and I can't share until I finish the next two chaps of the Announcement. It's annoying, because I'm really falling in love this with story. It's so different from everything that I've written, which is pretty funny, because it's still fanfiction. But the entire thing has this intense irony permeating each scene which makes you (or at least me) really frustrated with the characters. (Which is fun--it's not often that an author can be frustrated with her characters!) I know what I'm working up to in this story, and have even gotten inspired for a sequel, though I doubt anyone will want to read it. At least it gives me direction for this one. II just wish I could hurry up and finish the next two chapters of the Announcement so I can try to debut Legacy. I doubt anyone's going to like it as fanfiction, though; I should look into switching it over to original fiction, though that'll add some serious amounts of exposition that I'm not sure I can stand. GRR!!!! I wanna write it, but besides being a little stuck, I should be working on other things. Anne's coming in two days, and we're still not ready for her. (Can you imagine me having a sister for a month? This'll be odd!) The guidance office still hasn't gotten back to me on what I'm supposed to do. I'll go to the main office if I don't hear back by Wednesday, though that's cutting it pretty short. The GC's going to wait until I have a study hall, I bet, and that's a whopping three hours before we pick her up. Feels like that'd be cutting it awful close. And this isn't the time I really want to get shortchanged on study halls. I'm behind in about everything. Big history test on Thursday and Friday that I can't stand to study for, but I have to. Reading The Great Gatsby, too. Sorry, Mrs. S, but that book needs to be burned! I don't care if he's got that symbolism stuff and silent depth going throughout it. I'm starting to believe some authors can do that without putting too much forethought into it--that's what it feels like I'm doing in Legacy! It started with my huge plans for Sarah and Vinnet, and then a few more plot bunnies attacked (two), and now it's amazingly complicated. I mean, I don't think I even really considered whether I was going to do the scene with Vandrof (amazing irony, I'm telling you, kinda like the end of Reeses, only more dramatic); I just wrote it. *sigh* Back to the real world. I'm stuck reading Gatsby again. I was so hoping we'd get it over with at the beginning of the year, when it was fresh in my mind and I wouldn't have to read it again. There were some points I wanted to cry when I was reading it, and not for any sympathy for the characters. They can all become Goa'ulds for all I care. *grin* There's a crossover for you! Daisy was really one of Hathor's hosts. Not too pleased with physics at the moment. But, hey, I got accepted to PGSS!!! Now if only I can prove to myself that I can do this science and engineering stuff. The longer I fail at it (aka high B's), the more I wonder if this is really what I want to do. I know it's not my first option, but it is my second. I doubt I can make a living off of writing, not now with my moodiness and laziness.

Ego's getting a nice watering this week. Amanda and Jenn from the school's literary magazine have been complimenting my submission, which is always nice. (Apparently, I wasn't supposed to put my name on it, but when all I saw were the posters, I wasn't so sure about it.) Anyhow, it's nice to know some people around here appreciate it. Like I said, I got accepted to PGSS, too, so that's shiney. Hopefully, though, I'll get accepted to PGSA. Creative writing is *so* much higher on my priorities than science... It comes more naturally.

Wish me luck when I send my story off to Analog magazine. I'm hoping to get a response.
It's getting late, and I should probably be able to think tomorrow. I'll get on later maybe.

2006-02-11T23:10:00.000-05:00

http://www.tobiasbuckell.com/crystalrain/excerpt.htm

Just wanted to share this incredibly awesome book I finished a couple hours ago. It's by an author who I got to meet over the summer, and this is his first book. But don't let that keep you from reading it; it's one of the most gripping books I've read in a long time. Right up there with Wen Spencer, who won the John Cambell award a short while ago. Seriously, Tobias Buckell has got to be as good as Timothy Zahn, and possibly better than Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole.

Crystal Rain itself is unique as far as I'm concerned, though it's got elements that remind me of Pirates of the Caribbean (SFBP), Timothy Zahn's Cobras Two, and even the Pack in Wen Spencer's Ukiah series. Add in a pair of cultures, a protagonist without a memory (always fun stuff!), and spiffy, shiney technology.... I'm so glad he's writing another book!

So... I hope I don't sound like a sales person, but it's really awesome. Had he left any holes, this would definately be a candidate for fan fiction, but seeing as how it took me four books to feel ready for Pack fan fiction, that's not going to happen any time soon.

*sigh* Back to boring books now. Of Mice and Men is waiting for me to finish by the end of the weekend. Merg.

I'm starting to see that reading new books is only fun if someone else is reading them with you... No, reading good books is just more fun if someone reads them with you so you can chat about it. *evil grin* Jenn, Jena, get ready for some interesting reading. That's why you're not in AP English, right? (Hmmm, which is worse? Huck Finn or Mice and Men in the same amount of time?)