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“My name is Darryl Draper. I am human. I was born on Earth, Chicago, South Side. I went to the University of Chicago, studied physics. I joined the army, did tours in Eastern Europe and Southern Africa. I joined the CIA after my third tour…” Draper paused, closing his eyes tight to squeeze out more memory. “After my third tour…after my third tour…I was an analyst before being recruited by Special Research, a secret DARPA division…my mission is clear. I have not lost focus. I have not lost focus!”

            Draper found himself repeating that mantra more and more. It was a reminder that he needed to pound into his head constantly, like a hammer battering a nail.

            He stepped out of his rest pod and stood before a wall that he had buffed until he could see a fuzzy reflection of himself. Oil black eyes the size of golf balls stared back at him. His head was massive and teardrop shaped, divided by a smooth cranial ridge that ran above his bulbous eyes down to the base of his skull. A glistening membrane in the middle of his chalk-colored face acted as a nose. His mouth was a puckering orifice with which he sucked in nutritious gruel, repellant to humans, but quite tasteful to the creature he had become.

            The dark gray, close-fitting garment he wore covered a gaunt body with willowy arms, long legs that bent sideways, and a mouse-like tail. His four fingered hands and feet were webbed. If he wanted, he could submerge both sets of extremities in elastic webbing. Draper found that feature the most intriguing of all. The body he inhabited evolved from amphibians and in spite of him being anxious to return to human form, Draper was fascinated by it.

These aliens…or Heritins…as they called themselves were faster than humans, and could jump to heights an NBA player would have envied. Draper was athletic, so he especially enjoyed pushing his Heritin body to the limit in the exercise arena. Heritins placed a premium on physical fitness. Any Heritin falling short of that requirement became useless. A useless Heritin was a dead Heritin. For the sake of the mission, Draper endeavored to be as useful as his assumed identity would allow.

            Heritins are superior to all species. We are destined to rule. Those who accept our authority will live. Those who resist us will die.

            That voice started out as a faint impression in his mind, a formless whisper he could label as nothing more than a product of a fevered imagination.

            If humans had not resisted, two thirds of your home world and all of your colonies would have been spared the ruin inflicted upon them.

            With the passage of time, a faint impression, a formless whisper grew more definitive, clearer, until it rang loud as a clarion call.

            Humans are lower animals. And like lower animals they must be taught to obey their masters. Your learning experience was harsh but necessary.

            “Go to hell,” Draper hissed in the rare occasion when he gave that voice credence. Mostly, he ignored it, continuing to consign it to imagination…or madness.

            The scientists who implanted Draper’s consciousness into a Heritin body theorized about the possibility of the host reasserting itself.

Maybe I’m not mad after all, Draper thought. Should he have been relieved or unsettled? Because either way, whether he was losing his mind to madness or this reassertion the scientists spoke of, the mission could still be jeopardized. And it became all the more important that he recited his daily reminders…that he reasserted his own humanity.

 

***

             

           

 

            Darryl Draper alias Umttor, Engine Caretaker, entered Bridge Side.

Ship Master Tuo stood on the watch platform, surrounded by holographic interfaces. He listened to numerous progress reports from department commanders and issued equally numerous orders.

              Draper stepped to his work slot, activating interfaces.

            “Caretaker, I need you to check Impulse Three,” ordered the Ship Master. “The engine is running at less than optimal.”

            “Yes, Ship Master,” Draper responded crisply.

            The Ship Master probably ran the most proficient vessel in the fleet. When Draper last checked, all impulse systems had met optimal requirements. Of course, just meeting any requirements was never good enough for Tuo. He had to exceed them.

            Draper linked to his interface and brought up the engine’s schematic. A set of numerals floated before him. He tapped a series of characters and the schematic glowed a pleasing shade of green. “Impulse upgrade completed, Ship Master. Engine proficiency is ten percent above normal operational parameters.”

            The Ship Master turned to face Draper. “Very good.”

            A fragment of the host’s memory brushed across Draper’s awareness. He felt a wave of respect and gratitude toward Ship Master Tuo. Umttor had not been a very promising Engine Caretaker at the beginning of his career. But Tuo had taken the young officer under his wing, tutoring and mentoring him until the latter could practically disassemble and reassemble any ship component with his eyes closed. Draper found himself basking in Tuo’s approval.

            “Approaching Mobile Dock,” Ship Guidance Specialist Grinta announced. “Thirty Units to contact.”

            Thirty Units, meaning three hours, Draper translated to himself.

            Tuo stepped off the platform and the glimmering interfaces he was observing vanished in a sparkling dissolution. “It won’t be long. Once all ships are amassed, it will be on to victory. This vessel and you, the finest crew in the fleet, will be instrumental in our coming triumph.”

            The Bridge Side crew cheered the Ship Master’s inspirational words. He is a brilliant warrior and an honorable friend, Draper thought. At that second, he stiffened. Was that his thought or the host’s? He suppressed a shiver and quickly returned to his routine tasks.

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There was no doubt that the sound of the blast he triggered could be heard by the entire settlement. That should have been more than enough signal for them to escape.

            Dern made it to the first level and leaned against a wall. Pain, verging on debilitating, raced through his body with savage abandon. He clenched his jaw, drawing on Flare to stay in motion. He headed toward a door at the end of a pathway leading from the stairwell. Before he could extend a hand to open it, the door burst off its hinges. An armored figure eclipsed the doorway.

            Dern tried to back away, but a cold, metal grip seized his neck, yanking him outside.

            “My hunch paid off,” came a wretchedly familiar voice.

            Dern made out three men, one woman, their weapons trained on him.

One of the men, Tunnel, stepped forward, a cruel sneer etched into his face.

            The former SD soldier clutched his captor’s wrist in a vain effort to wrench himself free. Metal fibrous fingers on his neck constricted. Dern flailed with all of his diminishing strength. He struggled to breathe, his world spiraling into darkness.

            “Wait, don’t kill him, yet,” Tunnel said, placing a restraining hand on the enforcer’s shoulder.

            “Fucker killed my boss,” the enforcer growled, tilting a helmeted head ever so slightly in Tunnel’s direction.

            Tunnel pointed his pistol at Dern’s dangling right leg just above the knee and fired.

            Dern would have howled in pain were his airflow not reduced to a trickle by an unyielding grip to his throat.

            “He’ll die,” Tunnel assured the armored man. “But slowly, slowly enough where he’ll wish he were never born. And in the process we might extract from him the location of his friends. They’ll die slowly too, maybe slower than him.”

            The armored man unflexed his fingers dropping Dern at his feet like a sack of rubbish.

            Dern heaved in a few ragged breaths before lunging on one leg for the enforcer’s blaster. He grabbed the weapon’s barrel, ripping it from the thug’s grip. Turning the Tanner around, he blasted the enforcer point blank in the head.

A chunk of helmet tore away in a fiery gout. The armored man toppled backwards, crashing on his back with a heavy thud.

            “No!” Tunnel fired on Dern, hitting the former SD soldier in the left rib.

            Dern leveled the Tanner on his nemesis and a bright bolt flared from its muzzle like a flaming sword of judgment.

            Tunnel’s goons opened fire, striking Dern in the shoulder and upper chest, throwing off the latter’s aim.

            What would have been a headshot, ended up hitting Tunnel’s gun arm. The powerful beam blasted the hijack leader’s pistol to molten fragments. The hand holding that weapon was blown away well past the wrist.

            Three more flachettes slammed into Dern’s body.

            Dern stumbled from the impacts, but managed to drop low and pour out a devastating arc of fire that carved through Tunnel’s goons like a hot blade through cold gel.

            Their beam-riddled bodies thrashed in a storm of flesh-rending energy before collapsing in bloody, smoking heaps.

            All the while, Tunnel was on his knees staring despondently at a sizzling stump where his right hand used to be.

            Harnessing what little strength he had left, Dern limped determinedly toward his downed foe.

            He kicked Tunnel square in the chest, knocking the latter on his back, then stamped a foot on the criminal’s wound.

            He applied, grinding, unrelenting pressure to Tunnel’s stump, eliciting a blood curdling cry from his opponent. Had he listened to the vengeful chorus in the back of his head, he would have gladly prolonged the suffering he was inflicting.

Instead, he removed his foot and stepped back. Never would he stoop to the sadistic level of a murdering bandit.

            Tunnel glared up at the former SD soldier, unbearable pain and hatred twisting his face into a demonic caricature of itself. “You…you’re already…dead! You won’t survive this day! No way you survive this day!”

            He was right. Dern reconciled himself to the accuracy of that prediction. No matter how hard the Flare worked to heal him, his wounds ultimately were fatal. Bottom line, he was dying. He felt himself slipping slowly into oblivion. He didn’t have the strength to fight his demise. In fact he welcomed Death.

            “I agree with you,” Dern said with a faint smile. “I’ve reached the end of my days. And so have you. You get to go first.” Dern pressed the rifle’s muzzle to Tunnel’s forehead and triggered it.

            When the smoke of a point blank discharge cleared, nothing existed above the hijacker’s brow line but a smoldering little crater fused with scorched pieces of brain and skull.

            A growing remnant of Hooper’s enforcers gathered at the end of the alley.

            Dern tried to raise his rifle, but severe injuries hobbled him. He fell to the ground. Fumbling to get his rifle into position, he rolled on his side, coughing up blood.

            Maybe he should point the rifle at himself, he thought. The approaching mob looked too worked up to deliver him the mercifully quick death he would have preferred.

            A strong breeze brushed over him. Dern looked up, squinting in disbelief.

            What appeared to be a Coalition recon drone hovered above at ground hugging altitude.

            Assault rifle rounds smacked against the drone’s hull. The drone soared toward the threat, crimson beams flickering from its raptor wings like shards of glass. Half the mob was cut to pieces. The rest scattered in a wild panic.

            Dern witnessed the drone’s assault and then closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.

            After several minutes, he stopped breathing…

 

 

            He opened his eyes. Dimness surrounded him. He found himself in a prone position, face up. He glanced to his left, saw a bio display and recognized that he was inside a stasis tube. Confused, he tried to clear his muddled head. Flashes of memories zipped through his mind, coalescing into the realization that he shouldn’t have been alive.

            The stasis cover retracted and light poured into his confinement.

            A face he recognized came into view. A woman’s face.

            It took a moment for Dern to connect a name with that face. “Alita?” He croaked in a voice he hadn’t used in…how long?

            “Dern, how are you doing? The doctor decided it was ok to wake you.” Alita smiled, pressing a hand to Dern’s shoulder. “No, don’t try to get up.”

            Dern managed a self-deprecating grin. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. His body felt heavier than a block of lead.

            “Where…am I?”

            “You’re on a Coalition patrol ship, in the medical bay. You’ve been in a medical stasis tube since we were rescued seven months ago.”

            “Seven…months?”

            “A Coalition patrol arrived in response to my distress signal.” Alita’s smile brightened. “My signal got through. They came in the nick of time. You were dead, but not dead enough to be too far-gone. Their doctors revived you and placed you in this tube for extensive treatment.”

            Dern could only marvel at the concept of being dead, but not dead enough. The wonders of Coalition medicine.

            “Where are we going?”

            “You’re going to be dropped off on Talham at a top rehab center. The doctor expects you to make a full recovery there. I’m told it’s the best in Coalition space. Me, I’m going home to Earth for a very long period of rest and relaxation.”

            “You’ve definitely earned it.” Dern hefted a forearm, offering a thumbs up to his friend. “Good job back there.”

            Alita waved away the compliment. “We’d have never gotten off that planet alive if it weren’t for you.” She lowered her voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but word of your exploits spread to the highest levels in the Coalition. You’re going to get a reward.”

            “A reward?”

            “Yes, you’re getting a new suit.”

            “A…new suit?”

            “A scaled down version, like your old one, but yeah.”

            The news gave Dern mixed emotions. He felt so attached to the old suit it became a part of him, even when he wasn’t wearing it. It was a beautiful, familial, symbiotic feeling. Yet, when he destroyed it, a euphoric sense of liberation came over him. Was he ready to receive a new suit? Renew the addictive meld between man and machine?

            No more questions. No more concerns. From now on he would look to the future with optimism. “I guess I’ll be reporting to my new job after all.”

           

             

           

             

               

             

           

           

           

 

             

             

           

 

           

           

             

           

            

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Interrupted Journey: Part 14

An armored, tortoise shaped vehicle, smaller than a TVV weaved conspicuously down Routh’s main street. The vehicle turned onto a narrow path separating two small buildings. A top hatch sprung open and figure emerged, nimbly leaping off the vehicle and scurrying deeper into the path’s recesses.

***

 

 

            Hooper’s enforcers fanned out across the settlement searching for the escaped prisoner.  They were aware that additional prisoners had also escaped, but Hooper’s instructions to his people were explicit. Lowtower’s capture was top priority. As for the other prisoners…kill on sight. Don’t waste precious time on their apprehension.

            Hooper jumped out of his personal transport and approached the mouth of an alley at the far end of the market district. A group of enforcers were gathered there. A power-suited enforcer pointed an armored finger at the terrain vehicle parked in the alley.

            “That’s the vehicle, boss,” the enforcer said with an eagerness to please that percolated through his voice projector. “That’s the one missing from the facility.”

            Hooper glanced at the vehicle, but refrained from venturing into the alley. He frowned.

            “My guess is, the prisoners exited the vehicle and they’re hiding out somewhere in a four block radius,” said the enforcer.

            “That’s your guess?” Something in the way Hooper posed the question caused the guard’s confidence to falter.

            “Well…we are inclined…”

            “Don’t incline,” Hooper interrupted with a frigid-eyed gaze. “And don’t give me guesses. If you idiots are done with your break you may resume your search.”

            The enforcers scattered in obedience just as another terrain vehicle pulled up with Tunnel and three of his people inside.

            “When were you going to tell me that Lowtower’s at large?” Tunnel asked with a crooked smile from the vehicle’s front passenger slot.

            “Evidently, I didn’t have to,” came Hooper’s sour retort.

            “I’ll be happy to lend a hand to the search effort.”

            “I  want Lowtower alive.”

            Tunnel couldn’t say he was surprised by Hooper’s bone headed insistence on Lowtower’s survival. Still…

            “Alive,” Hooper repeated with cold emphasis.

            “I got you,” Tunnel griped. “But the time will come when you’ll wish he was dead, then I’ll have to step in.” He signaled his driver and the terrain vehicle screeched away from the scene.

 

 

            No one expected him to return to the ziggurat building, the place of his unbearable captivity. With the bulk of Hooper’s forces combing the settlement town, Dern managed to slip into the ziggurat’s lightly secured rear entrance. He waylaid a pair of the building’s personnel, knocking one unconscious. The other he kept conscious for interrogation.

            “Where’s my suit?” He whispered into the frightened man’s ear. Dern verbalized no threat, yet duress was enough to induce the man’s cooperation.

            “Thank you.” A precision chop to the side of the head laid the man out cold.

Dern eased his victim to the floor and skulked deeper inside the building.

 

            He burst into a room whose dusty, well-worn appearance suggested it was a storage space. A large table occupied the center upon which his SD suit was laid out neatly. Four engineers surrounded the table poring over the suit with a variety of analytical instruments Dern had never seen before. They looked up at the apparition in the doorway and paused with collective uncertainty.

It took a moment for them to draw a connection between the armor suit on the table and the person glaring rivulets of rage in their direction. It took a moment for the acid-boiled truth to sink in, and when it did their faces transitioned from curiosity to paralyzing fear.

            Dern saw his suit in the possession of men who had no business touching it and he felt a deep stab of violation. An SD soldier’s suit was like a second skin. It was his protection, his life.

             Dern controlled his breathing, allowing a veneer of calm to dampen his ire. He had the desire, the ability, even the right to rip these engineers to ribbons for laying hands on his property. Instead, he drilled them with a hard, unwavering stare. “You have five seconds to get the hell out of my sight.”

            The engineers cleared the room, giving him the widest possible berth in less than four.

            Dern walked over to the table, reaching out with some hesitation before taking his battered armor in a firm grip.

 

 

            Tricked! Hooper slammed the side of his fist into the wall of the TVV he was riding in. He should have known Lowtower would make a beeline to retrieve his suit. He should have damn well known! He jumped out of the TVV when it stopped in front of his headquarters building. A dozen vehicles filled with his enforcers converged on the site. A panicked flow of occupants streamed out of the building when they learned that the dangerous fugitive was inside.

            “His suit is depleted of all power,” one of the escaping engineers informed Hooper. “It’ll take at least an hour for it to be recharged.”

            “Then we’ll see to it he does not get that hour.” Hooper gestured for a trio of newly arrived enforcers to suit up. It took all of five minutes for the enforcers to encase themselves in their Series A5 armor. They picked up their Tanner assault blasters and pounded toward the entrance. Hooper and about twenty enforcers followed close behind the armored spearhead.

           

            Tunnel’s vehicle parked just beyond the jumble of other vehicles massed in front of Hooper’s headquarters. They had Lowtower cornered. Yet Tunnel could derive no satisfaction from that development. Nothing short of Lowtower’s demise would sate his thirst for blood.

 

            Additional vehicles pulled up, spilling enforcers. They tramped into the building while Tunnel watched. He opted not to go inside since it appeared Hooper and his people had things well in hand…

            An ear-bursting boom ripped the air. Gouts of flame jetted from shattered windows. The entire face of the ziggurat building was scoured away in a ravening rinse of fire. A devastating shockwave punched outward from the blast, sending chunks of the building raining on the street below.

            Tunnel shielded his head with his arms as fragments of the devastated administration building pelted the roof of the terrain vehicle. Much good that would have done if the entire building landed on top of him.

            Profound silence fell over the scene.

            Tunnel opened the vehicle door, emerging into a swirling soup of dust.

            “Boss...is it safe to walk around out there?” One of his men asked nervously.

            Tunnel ignored the question and surveyed the destruction before him with starry-eyed shock. He saw bodies scattered in the open, a few partially buried under debris piles. An enforcer in Series A5 armor lay pinned beneath a two foot thick piece of alloy slab. The enforcer grabbed hold of the slab and pressed it off him with minimal effort.

 

 

            Dern stumbled down a rear stairwell, feeling like he’d been chewed up by a prehistoric leviathan and spat out. He had rigged his suit to self-destruct. An SD soldier could resort to that option only under the direst circumstances. Dern could think of nothing direr than his current predicament. Little hope he held for surviving on this godforsaken granule of a world. But if he was going to die, he felt it best to go to his grave knowing he would not be leaving behind an intact, high-grade weapons system in the hands of criminals.

Dern rested on a wall close to the second floor landing. Bits of shrapnel were lodged in his body and his head throbbed ferociously from where he struck it after being torpedoed by the blast. He thought he’d cleared the explosion’s radius enough to escape unmolested. Evidently the blast yield of his suit’s micro reactor was a little stronger than he expected. That feature of his suit he didn’t study as much as the others. Then again, he always assumed that if he was going to trip a self-destruct, he would be inside his suit, not trying to flee from it.

            After a few seconds to catch his breath, he resumed his descent. The Flare worked in overdrive to keep him conscience. Even so, Dern’s vision blurred and he moved sluggishly, as if on legs made of iron pillars. He hoped he’d created enough of a diversion to give Alita and the others a chance to head for the port. They were hidden in a parked terrain vehicle when he left them at the detention center.  He told them to stay put until the big event.

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CONGRATZ and Much success to the 2015 GLYPH COMIC AWARD Nominees that were announced on Tuesday March 31, 2015 from the GLYPH AWARDS Facebook page. The award will be presented on May 15, 2015 at the AFRICAN AMERICAN MUSEUM in Philadelphia. Check the ECBACC site link below for specifics. I can relate with each creator's anticipation from last year when my franchise THE ADIGUN OGUNSANWO™ was nominated and on the GLYPH Award night WON in the category for Best Comic Strip or Web Comic. KEEP PUSHING FORWARD GLYPH NOMINEES!

Complete 2015 GLYPH Nominee List at the following link:

http://ecbacc.com/wordpress3/category/glyph-comics-awards/

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We have another submission making 5 submissions we have now. The Pencil Gladiators competition needs 10 contestants to battle for N30,000 cash prize and also a chance to have their artwork colored by a super colorist and possibly even sold. But we need 6 more contestant for the competition to take off. We have postponed the competition for one more week to give artist the chance to send in their entries. Check out the latest entry

 We have 5 entries and we are still looking for 5 more contestant to participate in the month long event where the winner takes home N30,000. Check HERE for more details about the event and below for the entries so far. You would think that a competition like this will get massive participation but that's not the case.  If you haven't sent in your entry, you have just 2 days left to enter for this competition. If by next Friday we don't get up to 10 participant the competition will be cancelled.

Check out the entries submitted so far here:

http://comicpanel.org/index.php/content-blog/399-check-out-the-entries-so-far-3

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The term Afrofuturism was first coined by writer Mark Dery in his influential 1994 essay Black to the Future, to provide a name for work which addresses black themes through science-fiction and technoculture lenses. Descriptions of it vary from Afrofuturist author Ytasha Womack, who calls it “elements of science fiction, historical fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy, Afrocentricity, and magic realism with non-Western beliefs”, while others, such as Afrika Bambaataa, take a more gnomic approach: “Afrofuturism is dark matter moving at the speed of light.” Conceptual artist Martine Syms, in her wry Mundane Afrofuturist Manifesto, feels that the idea should be grounded in a tangible reality (“No interstellar travel – travel is limited to within the solar system and is difficult, time consuming, and expensive”).

Click here for the full story

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Ananse: The Origin #1

NOW AVAILABLE for IOS, Ananse: The Origin #1. We are glad to have our IOS fans finally experience our comics via Comixology.
GET IT NOW! http://bit.ly/1NjatfE
(Also available on Web, Android, Kindle Fire & Windows 8)

Kweku Ananse is one of Africa’s most popular legends. The Leti Team as part of our African Legends initiative is creating a super hero, based in part on Ananse. Our story of Ananse the superhero, has two main thematic settings, Ancient Africa and Present Day. We give you a glimpse into the world of Ananse, The True Ananse.

The True Ananse: The Story

The Story GIST

“ Long ago, Ananse, the god of Wisdom is banished onto earth as a cursed statue of his totem, the spider, by Odumankoma, Ruler of the Skies for treason. Fast-forward to today, the cursed statue of Ananse is discovered and worshipped until fate brings Ananse and an innocent boy, Selasi Rockson together, his vessel for reawakening. ”

The True Ananse is part of the bigger Leti Arts’, Africa’s Legends series. Africa’s Legends reimagines popular African folklore and historic legends, interspersed with fictional characters, as an elite group of superheroes fighting crime in present day Africa. Comics and games based on Africa’s Legends tell the stories behind individual characters and the collective team.

Do enjoy yourself with the latest African Superhero on the planet :)

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Shape-Shifting Sensor...

Image Source: NIST


Topics: Biology, Diagnostics, Engineering, Medicine, Nanotechnology


Scientists working at the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) and the National Institutes of Health (NIH) have devised and demonstrated a new, shape-shifting probe, about one-hundredth as wide as a human hair, which is capable of sensitive, high-resolution remote biological sensing that is not possible with current technology. If eventually put into widespread use, the design could have a major impact on research in medicine, chemistry, biology and engineering. Ultimately, it might be used in clinical diagnostics.

To date, most efforts to image highly localized biochemical conditions such as abnormal pH* and ion concentration—critical markers for many disorders—rely on various nanosensors that are probed using light at optical frequencies. But the sensitivity and resolution of the resulting optical signals decrease rapidly with increasing depth into the body. That has limited most applications to less obscured, more optically accessible regions.

The new shape-shifting probe devices, described online in the journal Nature,** are not subject to those limitations. They make it possible to detect and measure localized conditions on the molecular scale deep within tissues, and to observe how they change in real time.

NIST: Shape-Shifting Sensor Can Report Conditions from Deep in the Body, Michael Baum

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Nous Sommes Humains...



Topics: Diversity, Diversity in Science, Economy, Jobs, STEM, Women in Science


A re-post that, after consideration, I decided not to edit [much] in content, with exception of the post title ("we are humans"), since much of its form and content is still quite relevant. As Dean Kamen has been known to say: "you get what you celebrate." In a society centered on celebrity without talent where we celebrate the vile and absurd; confused between controversy, journalism and governance, we all appear to be celebrating all the wrong things. Hopefully, this month has inspired especially young women to focus on the rational, factual and actual; the scientific, technological, engineering and mathematical; and hopefully for you all: empowering and rewarding things.

From the image source at Nature:

"Science remains institutionally sexist. Despite some progress, women scientists are still paid less, promoted less frequently, win fewer grants and are more likely to leave research than similarly qualified men. This special issue of Nature takes a hard look at the gender gap — from bench to boardroom — and at what is being done to close it."


Unfortunately, the world is not like Star Trek, populated with fictional Captains like Kathryn Janeway of this inspiring description:

"This subject's penchant for the scientific method and clear-cut choices has given her a healthy dose of skepticism, which usually provides a command asset in dealing with new situations. Her preference for difficult studies is self-traced back to childhood, when she would prefer that to outdoor play. Since then, she has indicated no pleasure in outdoor camping, hiking, or cooking." StarTrek.com

I follow a blog: Female Science Professor. The author describes herself as a full professor, and other than staying anonymous (probably important around review time) she's very frank about the biases encountered both from colleagues and students: her most resent post, a student in class evaluation said "You should improve your teaching methods." The prof made lemons into lemonade and blogged about it. The genders of her students - like her own identity - were left nebulous.

Diversity: an ideal we all agree sounds good on paper, but are reluctant to do the heavy lift to achieve it (see Nature excerpt). Even in politics: our current president as probability represents 2.3% of the general population of Chief Executives from George Washington to himself. However, disrespect of the presidential office and obstruction of his agenda approaches Guinness World Record levels as he's being sued for using Executive Orders - the least of any president according to official archives and math - "abuse" being any Executive Order above zero. My concern is beyond executive or party: it is nation viability in a global economy that is growing exponentially and unrelenting in its competitiveness. We need everyone on deck; everyone respected and valued. To survive, the old paradigms need to be buried where they belong: in the past.

Women and minorities are not only underrepresented in the sciences, they are openly discouraged from pursuing STEM careers at the university level and at early life stages. I was personally insulted by my middle school science teacher - "No, you big dummy!" - after asking a question about calculating the coefficient of linear expansion on a metal wire. I had stifled the immediate urgent need at that moment to deck him, confident of the outcome with the authorities if I had. My parents were not amused, and scheduled a visit with the principal. That was followed by a sweaty, self-preserving "apology" from the science teacher. I passed his class with a descent grade, and moved on from the twerp. The fact both groups are so low means discouragement is remarkably efficient to maintain the status quo of the "usual suspects" in the sciences, and a concentration of wealth and opportunities along gender and cultural lines. Suffice to say, to resist the "haters": you have to want it!

Albert Einstein was so fond of answering the fan mail of children interested in science, author Alice Calaprice wrote a book on it. In an exchange with a young science fan from South Africa named Tiffany:

September 19, 1946: "I forgot to tell you, in my last letter, that I was a girl. I mean I am a girl. I have always regretted this a great deal, but by now I have become more or less resigned to the fact. Anyway, I hate dresses and dances and all the kind of rot girls usually like. I much prefer horses and riding. Long ago, before I wanted to become a scientist, I wanted to b e a jockey and ride horses in races. But that was ages ago, now. I hope you will not think any the less of me for being a girl!"

To which, Einstein's reply was classic, and classy (circa October 1946):

"I do not mind that you are a girl, but the main thing is that you yourself do not mind. There is no reason for it."


Carl Sagan pointed out there is an excellent correlation between poverty for women and high birthrates, whether the country is defined by religion - Christian, Hindu, Irreligious,  Muslim, etc. That would suggest access to birth control increases the wealth of women and nations, WHO would have issue with that is beyond me. Sadly, some obviously would, and attempt to litigate or legitimate their regressive tendencies. Slippery slopes forge unintended pathways, and thereby negative consequences unforeseen.

Minorities (an ironic label for the majority of the Earth's population) at least numerically in this country are hampered by generations of specifically-designed social engineering; castigated for not competing in rigged "rights" of citizenship (like voting); when the value of property plummets at their presence; the neurological harmful effects of leaded plumbing in East Austin and other areas not addressed until gentrification (and now I see climate effects); globalization and technology eliminating previous decent-paying jobs, doubled unemployment rates and the obvious differences dependent on which side of the tracks you were born (still) in education since Brown vs. Board. It's also interesting to see screeds on the Internet against the LGBT community, unbeknownst to the screed producer of the Turing Test for artificial intelligence, or that he's the reason we have in the lexicon "algorithm"; "computation"; "cryptography" (the essence of McAfee, Norton or any antivirus software), or as the father of Computer Science that we're typing on laptops at all. Not to mention the ugly, breathtaking displays of xenophobia at the border of California to children by the great-great-grandchildren of immigrants that have yet to recompense the Native Americans for the sins of Columbus.


We can have myriad months of celebrations that target specific groups and their contributions. It all disappears into the social, attention-deficit ether, eventually. Our discourse, our academia, our music, our self-governance; our sense of right-and-wrong (who goes to prison and who goes to rehab) will not change nor will we survive as a species until we see one another: women, migrants, minorities; LGBT and the current majority...as humans.

Related link: Go-Girl - Gaining Options-Girls Investigate Real Life

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This is being co-posted from my blogsite, keithaowens.com.

I was told awhile ago to read "Ark of Bones", but I kept putting it off. Not an excuse but, well, it kind of is.

I get like that sometimes.

But deciding to put it off no longer, I made the dutiful trip to my nearby favorite literary watering hole here in Detroit, the Skillman Branch library downtown,which also happens to be yet another in a long list of beautiful old buildings in this city. It's not until you take a pause, stop, then look up and around at what surrounds you as you're standing inside to see just how beautiful it is but...

Another story, another time.

As may now be apparent by now to anyone who has been following this blog, I'm a huge fan of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and just about any genre where reality takes a back seat while the fantastical takes the wheel. Because there are times when reality gets in the way of telling the truth. Or just plan gets in the way. So when discussing with my friend about my love for all things not quite real, he explained that I really needed to read some of Henry Dumas' work. Especially Ark of Bones. As an African American member of that relatively small tribe of darker-hued scifi writers and practitioners, he felt it was somewhat of an obligation of mine to familiarize myself with "Ark of Bones".

He was right.

Except that it is  not only black scifi writers who owe it to themselves a pilgrimage to the Ark. What Dumas managed to accomplish within the brief duration of this remarkable short story is of value to any and all writers of  speculative fiction any and everywhere. What begins as seemingly a simply tale of a small adventure to be shared by two friends in a small southern town turns into an indescribably larger commentary on African American history and the African American condition  that could not have possibly been confined to a narrative fenced in by reality. For this particular telling it was necessary to venture over to the 'other' side, and I was in many ways so reminded of another favorite writer of mine, Toni Morrison, and her book "Song of Solomon" which changed my life as a writer and as a reader.

From "The Devil and Henry Dumas," written by Scott Saul and published in the Boston Review in 2004:

Dumas’s truth came in riddles—fiction that was at once elusive and persuasive. Dumas’s stories are parables by and large, and they reveal the wildly speculative and broodingly contemplative aspects of the Black Arts movement. By turns droll, poignant, surreal, and unflinching in their examination of the rituals and ordeals of black life, the stories are united mostly by their refusal to revel in anything except the richness of the imagination. Dumas’s preference for open-ended tales may help explain how he has attracted a crowd of admirers—Toni Morrison, Ishmael Reed, Maya Angelou, Melvin Van Peebles, Amiri Baraka, Gwendolyn Brooks, Jayne Cortez, Arnold Rampersad—who agree on little beyond their enthusiasm for his work. Dumas’s writing can be a point of origin for any number of journeys.

Indeed it can...

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Countering Stereotype Threat...

Scientific American, see [2] below


Topics: Diversity, Diversity in Science, Education, Jobs, STEM, Women in Science


Stereotype threat refers to being at risk of confirming, as self-characteristic, a negative stereotype about one's group (Steele & Aronson, 1995). This term was first used by Steele and Aronson (1995) who showed in several experiments that Black college freshmen and sophomores performed more poorly on standardized tests than White students when their race was emphasized. When race was not emphasized, however, Black students performed better and equivalently with White students. The results showed that performance in academic contexts can be harmed by the awareness that one's behavior might be viewed through the lens of racial stereotypes. [1]

Scott Barry Kaufman seems to refer to this in his Scientific American article "The Need for Belonging in Math and Science" [2]:

From her earliest memories, Catherine Good was good at math. By second grade she was performing at the fourth grade level, sometimes even helping the teacher grade other students’ work. She was praised constantly for her “gift”, often overhearing her mother tell anyone who would listen that she was a “sponge” for anything mathematical.

As time went on:

Achieve she did. Good did so well as an undergraduate, that she decided to pursue a Ph.D. in mathematics. Again, she wasn't driven by the sheer joy, but by other forces:

“My counter-stereotypical achievement, coupled with my belief that those successes were rooted in an innate gift, not only fueled my academic pursuits, but also formed the basis for my academic identity.”

For awhile, Good performed as usual in her graduate program. But then something happened that would change the course of her career: her identity became threatened. As Good puts it, “the identity as a mathematician that I thought was so well-entrenched and established came crashing down, leaving me in a professional crisis.”

Despite her good grades, a flood of self-doubt crept in. She suddenly wondered: Was I simply no longer inspired by the level of rigor and originality necessary for graduate level mathematics? Was it the fact that for the first time in my academic life, I had to work, really work, at my studies?

And, finally...

Whatever the cause(s), one thing was certain: she no longer felt a sense of belonging in mathematics. As a result, she left mathematics.

I have had to come to grips with this in myself, in the US Air Force as a Communications Officer, within the Semiconductor Industry itself and Graduate School: certain things stick out to you.

1. You're the only "one," at the classified briefing to plan the satellite and wireless communications network for an exercise; at the yield engineering meeting (see #2 below). The cartoon above pertaining to the difference for women in STEM could also be of the one African American, Hispanic/Latino/Native American; the Asian that HAS to be good at math as a matter of genetics, so any questions for clarification and understanding means you're a defect somehow.

2. Some indication of that in my offspring. He's performing quite well in Civil Engineering, yet he often feels like "the one." I'm sure if he asked around campus, or joined his campus NSBE chapter (a pet peeve we're working through), he'd find his predicament not so unique.

Ironically, the strength of my taking a Masters in Microelectronics and Photonics online is I am "one" of many "ones". We don't see each other; we only interact/question via email. I send homework in PDF. If I experience some form of stereotype threat, it is in my own self-doubt, which are many: am I too old to do this; will I be the only "one" in the room? There is a freedom and a loneliness in online anonymity, the only brief camaraderie I experienced when I inquired last year how they weathered Hurricane Sandy: Stevens University is in Hoboken, NJ.

I recall once that observation being made by someone I worked with at Motorola: "we're the 'only black engineers' in the room," my fellow alumni said. "And, we're the best damn engineers IN the room" I shot back. He gave me a grin and an "Aggie Pride" verbal acknowledgement. Despite that bravado, I wish I had Dr. JC Holbrook's paper on survival strategies [3] in many instances I have also felt the pressure of stereotype threat. Religion and spirituality - as she mentions - are forms of mental survival strategies (go watch 12 Years a Slave, if you haven't already). Cultural expression - that if not abused by charlatans, pundits, lying politicians and political machinations spewing manipulative talking points, inevitably propels individuals and groups forward despite near insurmountable obstacles. Think of the Civil Rights movement. Unless society were to make a massive, herculean change towards eliminating inequality, this mental skill will remain necessary.


To go further beyond a masters, I'll have to emerge from online anonymity, even with my company behind me (as they enthusiastically are), I'll have to use survival strategies and fight within myself this "stereotype threat" that morphs into self-fulfilling prophecy for many of us. One is a promise I made to my parents. My journey in science started with a chemistry set and my first almost fatal experiment. Instead of discouraging me, they just barred me from repeating THAT particular one. As science lifts countries out of poverty, it has lifted me twice: once post the US Air Force; second eight years after a lay off from that same company where we were the "best damn engineers in the room." And I have obligated myself to finish what they planted in me and seed it forward to their grandchildren, and any other youth I can influence.

There are of course, regressive forces that want nothing more than to maintain the status quo as in atomizing us into separate "teams/factions" within national borders. If we're a part of a team in a particular race: it will ever be the human race and species, irregardless of culture or gender.

It is an important, internal and external struggle we ultimately must win. This country in particular will be bereft of a prosperous future without our triumph and our inputs.

1. Reducing Stereotype Threat: What is 'Stereotype Threat'?
2. SciAm Beautiful Minds: The Need for Belonging in Math and Science
3. #P4TC: Survival Strategies
4. #P4TC: An earlier article on Stereotype Threat

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IR and G-HAT...



Image: NGC 2403 in Camelopardalis. Dysonian SETI, not limited to relatively nearby stars, looks for signs of astroengineering not just in our own but in distant galaxies like this one, some ten million light years away.. Credit & Copyright: Martin Pugh.

Topics: Drake Equation, SETI, Space, Space Exploration


This has been a week devoted to extraterrestrial technologies and the hope that, if they exist, we can find them. Large constructions like Dyson spheres, and associated activities like asteroid mining on the scale an advanced civilization might use to make them, all factor into the mix, and as we’ve seen, so do starships imagined in a wide variety of propulsion systems and designs. Dysonian SETI, as it is called, takes us into the realm of the hugely speculative, but hopes through sifting our abundant astronomical data to find evidence of distant engineering.

This effort is visible in projects like the Glimpsing Heat from Alien Technologies (G-HAT) SETI program, which proceeds in the capable hands of Jason Wright and colleagues Steinn Sigurðsson and Matthew Povich at Penn State (see Wright’s Glimpsing Heat from Alien Technologies essay in these pages as well as his AstroWright blog). For those wanting to follow up these ideas, an excellent introduction is the paper “Dysonian Approach to SETI: A Fruitful Middle Ground?”, which ran in JBIS in 2011 (Vol. 64, pp. 156-165). It’s not, unfortunately, available online, though the British Interplanetary Society offers a print copy of the entire back issue here.

Centauri Dreams: SETI Explores the Near-Infrared, Paul Gilster

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Spheres and Dwarfs...

Image Source: Earth-Sky - What is a Dyson Sphere?


Topics: Astrophysics, Dyson Sphere, White Dwarfs, SETI


TECHNOLOGY REVIEW: Back in 1960, the physicist Freeman Dyson publish an unusual paper in the journal Science entitled “Search for Artificial Stellar Sources of Infra-red Radiation.” In it, he outlined a hypothetical structure that entirely encapsulates a star to capture its energy, which has since become known as a Dyson sphere.

The basic idea is that all technological civilizations require ever greater sources of energy. Once the energy of their home planet has been entirely exhausted, the next obvious source is the mother star. So such a civilization is likely to build a shell around its star that captures the energy it produces.

Of course, such a sphere must also radiate the energy it absorbs and this would produce a special signature in the infrared part of the spectrum. Such a source of infrared radiation would be entirely unlike any naturally occurring one and so provide a unique way of spotting such as advanced civilization.

Because Sun-like stars seem the most obvious homes for advanced civilizations, most studies of Dyson spheres have focused on the properties these kinds of systems would have when built within the habitable zone at a distance of about 1 astronomical unit.

These studies have revealed well-known limitations, however. Such spheres tend to be unstable and require huge volumes of material to build. But most problematic of all, anything or anyone on the surface of these spheres would experience low levels of gravity, a problem that could not easily be solved with known physics.

Today, Ibrahim Semiz and Salim Ogur at Bogazici University in Turkey, define an entirely new class of Dyson sphere. Instead of thinking about a sphere around a Sun-like star, Semiz and Ogur consider a sphere built around a white dwarf.

They say that such a sphere would avoid some of the most severe problems and that there are good arguments to think that they might be more common than the ones Dyson originally imagined.

Physics arXiv: Dyson Spheres around White Dwarfs,
İbrahim Semiz, Salim Oğur

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Women's History Month...

Source: National Academy of Sciences [1]


Topics: Diversity, Diversity in Science, STEM, Women in Science

American Association for the Advancement of Science


This Women's History Month, celebrate women in science through reading! Science Books & Films has even compiled a reading list for the occasion. Below, take a look at science books written by or about women with the accompanying Science NetLinks teaching resources.

AAAS: Books for Women's History Month

American Institute of Physics: Scitation


Their Day in the Sun: Women of the Manhattan Project, Ruth H. Howes, Caroline L. Herzenberg and Benjamin C. Zulueta, Reviewer

Amazon.com: The public perception of the making of the atomic bomb is yet an image of the dramatic efforts of a few brilliant male scientists. However, the Manhattan Project was not just the work of a few and it was not just in Los Alamos. It was, in fact, a sprawling research and industrial enterprise that spanned the country from Hanford in Washington State to Oak Ridge in Tennessee, and the Met labs in Illinois. The Manhattan Project also included women in every capacity. During World War II the manpower shortages opened the laboratory doors to women and they embraced the opportunity to demonstrate that they, too, could do 'creative science'.

National Academy of Sciences


Published since 1877, Biographical Memoirs provide the life histories and selected bibliographies of deceased National Academy of Sciences members. Colleagues familiar with the subject's work write these memoirs and as such, the series provides a biographical history of science in America. This special collection features memoirs of women who shaped American science. We hope you will enjoy – and be inspired by – the biographies of these groundbreaking researchers.

1. Biographical Memoirs: Women's History Month

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Starchild

A military leader’s unauthorized decision to destroy an alien starship presages a fateful expansion of Humanity into space.

Commmander Mfune strode the decks of the great Benai Aethership, his footfalls echoing through corridors once filled with life, now only reverberated with the sounds of his steps alone; his and the specter of Death.

His crew had long since abandoned this edifice, this magnificent creation of an alien mind. The echoes of those minds were too strong, their remnants burned into the very metal itself.

Any who stayed too long soon began to see things from the corner of their eyes. Hear voices speaking to them, fearful voices, terrible voices, voices which spoke of madness and death.

Mfune understood.

He had been onboard the Aethership since its arrival. His ship and his welcome fleet waited nearby, disappointment wafting from them, a redolent wind even in the vacuum of space. Everyone had long waited for these benefactors of Humanity to arrive.

Humanity has waited for nearly three hundred years, two hundred of them spent in relentless combat. With each other.

When the Benai first sent messages to Earth, nearly three hundred years ago, it was a time of great trouble. Food shortages, drought, endless wars over resources were the only legacy of Earth at the time. It was estimated we would never see the end of the twenty first century.

With the air hotter than ever, almost all life in the oceans dead, we were poised for extinction, one last battle away from non-existence — when their message came.

SETI share it. It could be nothing but a message from an alien culture. Spliced together from transmissions from Earth, our simplest radio and television transmissions, they managed to send us a message that was unmistakably alien and still able to be accepted. Encoded within the transmission was information, alien technology which would open our solar system to us: the Aetherdrive.

Nullifying or concentrating gravity as we needed, we took to the planets, for the first time able to escape gravity wells without the need for mass. Only energy was required. The remnants of humanity came together one last time and we flew into our solar system, space between us relieving our tensions, our urge for exploration and technological advancement reignited. Nations staked out moons, other planets, asteroids and for a time, we found peace. A hundred years passed and we were explorers again.

It was not to last.

Mfune tugged his close fitting ceremonial uniform, feeling its age and antiquity upon it. An outfit for a war nearly a century out of date. A uniform worn by his father and his father before him, when expansion ceased, trade began and with trade, came inequalities and with inequality came frustration. And this soon lead to war. Small wars at first, the Aethertech we developed was not like theirs.

The commander looked around at the vastness of their construction and realized just how puny the largest of the human warships was in comparison. His science team had scoured the ship. There were medical technologies beyond our understanding — tools that reacted to mental directives, materials that took on shapes envisioned by the user.

Things that appeared as magic to us. The one thing we did not find were weapons. There were no weapons onboard this moon-like craft. Nothing that could easily harm another.

The supposition was they might not have needed to have active weapons, they created them only when needed. No need to keep an armory when you can envision your gun and have your ship make it on the spot.

Perhaps, but Mfune doubted that. His feel of the ship did not bespeak violence. It bespoke curiosity. It bespoke an urge to know, to learn, to embrace the new. And the voices which cried out in his mind, that leapt from the bulkheads, told him he was right.

So what happened to them? Why was there only this one remaining? Out of fear or perhaps reverence, no one touched the one corpse, this starchild of an alien species. Scans were done, readings taken, tiny organic traces gathered.

All that Human science could accomplish in the twenty third century, a century after we had realized the foolishness of war, had been done. At the end of the Final Human War, it was called, we experienced a renaissance, a new Golden Age.

An age we were hoping to show to the Benai. An age of enlightenment which revealed to us what the Benai already knew; how to take the Aethership to near light speeds. Fast enough to travel to other stars. We wanted to show them we had learned, evolved and could one day, maybe be their equals, with their help.

How could we know, the Benai had continued to monitor us? To watch us grow and develop. Watch us step out into space and explore our planets. To watch us wage countless new wars, more terrible than any before them.

Mfune walked into what was believed to be the command structure of the ship and where the sole occupant of the craft resided. While few could even enter this room without the ghosts overwhelming them, Mfune, a remnant of a warrior age, knew this feeling.

He touched the alien and its memories filled him. Memories of the madness that swept through the Benai as they listened to the transmissions of our wars. The horror they experienced as we senselessly destroyed one another with the tools and technology they had innocently given us.

Tools they had never thought to make war with. Mfune gently cradled the alien body. Deceptively light, its consciousness suffused him, he could see Human madness sweeping through the Benai, like a contagion. They destroyed themselves as each became exposed to the recordings.

They thought they knew the depths of what we could become. They thought they could withstand our cruelty to teach us a better way. The longer they watched, the more of our madness spread to them. In the century left to their arrival, they went mad.

Some dropped dead on the spot. Others fled and threw themselves into airlocks and fled into space. Ever dutiful, their starship cleaned up after them, reintegrating them with the materials of their ship, embodying their very essence within its walls.

This last member of their crew isolated himself in the command area and refuse to interact with the crew, refused to listen to any of the recordings and his was the last message sent to Earth before we lost all communication with them during the Last Great Human War.

“We loved you. And we are undone.”

Mfune volunteered for this mission, for no one could make sense of the message in during the Second Golden Age of Man. He wanted to be the first to understand why such a strange message was sent when the first ones were so hopeful.

He opened the isolation pod and placed the Starchild within. The ship seemed to respond to him now, he had been onboard for so long. With an understanding given to him by his connection to the Benai, he redirected the ship and plotted a course that would take the Aethership into the sun.

The samples collected from the Benai would be isolated and returned to Earth for storage. His priority one message indicated everyone who had entered this ship be kept apart from the population and quarantined until they could be cleared for duty. All information on the Benai would be stored until a coalition of worlds could decide what should be done with it.

One technology from the Benai nearly destroyed Humanity. What would an entire ship full of of their technology, gear we can barely understand, do to us?

As Mfune made his way to his shuttle, he considered the courtmartial he was liable to be subject to as the alien starship vanished into the Aether and plunged into the sun. “Why,” they would shout, “What wealth of knowledge we could have possessed from them?”

Humanity, all of its factions, would give chase, eager to understand all that they could learn. But the Benai ship was superior in every way. No one would be able to catch it or stop it. It’s plunge into the sun was one of the media sensations of the era. Mfune was lauded and castigated, often in the same breath.

As he arrived on his flagship, a response would already be waiting regarding his directives. Outrage from the scientists, now recovered from the alien influence, would be demanding their liberty and their research. His words would stand.

On his trip back to Earth, his courtmartial was scheduled. Unsurprised, he already knew what he would say.

Resplendent in his father’s uniform he stood before the tribunal, defiant. He wore his father’s uniform, closely reminiscent of his own but a reminder, a remnant of a war, no one dared forget — The darkest chapter in Humany history.

“Explain yourself” was the general sentiment in the roaring tribunal chambers. Gone was the decorum he had come to know from previous visits, this was the shouting of factions, of groups who had already considered what could have been learned, what advantages each group had lost. A golden age had drawn to a close.

He responded simply. “The Benai were a simple people. They created complex technologies, to be sure, but they were a people of spirit, powerful of mind, generous to a fault.” His words silenced the room eager to hang him for his perfidy and incalculable loss.

“Recordings of our violence, as they approached the Earth, drove the crew aboard that great ship mad. These were a people who knew little of violence, of lack, of war. From what I was able to learn of them, war was the concept of ours they understood the least.”

“Look at you. In this room which has stood as a bastion for justice for a century, you would now revert to your factions in the face of opportunity over one another. Dominance we had set aside for the overall good of mankind. But you see, I do not believe we have changed at all. I believe what we have done is temporary as it has been in the past.”

“We hunted, we gathered, we squabbled. We created, we learned. We changed. We created agriculture and formed small towns, villages, townships, cities, states, and nations. Each time change took place, war followed us. We learned from war, we learned through war, we changed because of war. And a period of peace followed.”

“The Benai did not learn that way. They were cooperative always. Their shared telepathy made acts against each other an act against themselves. The idea of our violence rendered them unable to continue their very existence. We were a mental infection, our violent nature became a meme they could not withstand.”

Only one voice could speak out now, the leader of the Colonies, an arrogant man whose role was as much a testament to his quest for power as his ability to lead men. “How does this excuse your treasonous act? With such technology we could have surely resolved many of the issues which prevent us from traveling to the stars. Commander, I demand you explain how your historical lesson is relevant.”

Mfune looked up and the spirit of the Benai filled him. An acute awareness of the limitations of unconnected minds. He strove to be clearer. “Humanity is an expansionist species. We grow to fill the container we reside it. When we reach the limits of the container, we do not stop growing. We do not regulate our development, we do not even acknowledge our limit. We exceed them and expect technology to resolve the issue.

Such resolution is never without cost. Inevitably we would likely go to war as we exhaust our solar system. Such pressures would invariably lead us to seek to expand again. Should we acquire their technology, as we did through their largess in the past, I expect we would expand, and as is our nature wage war on each other.”

Tears streaking down his face, he glared at each of the counselors in turn. “With our complete knowledge derived from their ship, we would want to go to their worlds. What would protect them from us?”

The tribunal was silent.

Justice was swift. Mfune left his command and many of his faithful left with him. Together, they founded a coalition with a single purpose. To warn the Benai, that Humanity was coming.

The Starchild revealed what they needed to know. Through Mfune, together the two of them would teach what they needed to learn. It would be decades while Humanity waged what would one day be called the Expansionist Era brought on by the fragments of knowledge learned from the few hours onboard that great starship.

An aging Mfune hoped there would still be time to save the Benai. The Starchild resonated within Mfune’s mind, assured him there would be.

Starchild © Thaddeus Howze 2015, All Rights Reserved.
Painting “Starchild” © Cedric Peyravernay, All Rights Reserved

Thaddeus Howze is a California-based technologist and author who has worked with computer technology since the 1980's doing graphic design, computer science, programming, network administration and IT leadership.

His non-fiction work has appeared in numerous magazines: Black Enterprise, the Good Men Project, Examiner.com, and Astronaut.com. He maintains a diverse collection of non-fiction at his blog, A Matter of Scale. He is a contributor at The Enemy, a nonfiction literary publication out of Los Angeles.

He is now a moderator and contributor to the Scifi.Stackexchange.com with over a thousand articles in a three year period. He is now an author and contributor atScifiideas.com. His science fiction and fantasy has appeared in blogs such as Medium.com, the Magill Review, ScifiIdeas.com, and the Au Courant Press Journal. He has a wide collection of his work on his website, Hub City Blues. His recently published works can be found hereHe also maintains a wide collection of his writing and editing work on Medium.com.

His speculative fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies: Awesome Allshorts: Last Days and Lost Ways (Australia, 2014), The Future is Short (2014), Visions of Leaving Earth (2014), Mothership: Tales of Afrofuturism and Beyond (2014), Genesis Science Fiction (2013), Scraps (2012), and Possibilities (2012).

He has written two books: a collection called Hayward’s Reach (2011) and an e-book novella called Broken Glass (2013). In 2015 he will be releasing Visiting Hours and A Millennium of Madness, two collections of short stories.

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Image Source: NobelPrize.org


Topics: Biochemistry, Diversity, Diversity in Science, Metabolism, Nobel Prize, Physiology, STEM, Women in Science

The Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine 1947

Born: 15 August 1896, Prague, Austria-Hungary (now Czech Republic)

Died: 26 October 1957, St. Louis, MO, USA

Affiliation at the time of the award: Washington University, St. Louis, MO, USA

Prize motivation: "for their discovery of the course of the catalytic conversion of glycogen"

Field: biochemistry, metabolism, physiology


Prize share: jointly to Carl Ferdinand Cori and Gerty Theresa Cori, née Radnitz "for their discovery of the course of the catalytic conversion of glycogen" and the other half to Bernardo Alberto Houssay "for his discovery of the part played by the hormone of the anterior pituitary lobe in the metabolism of sugar".

Note: Dr. Cori's biography was an interesting read. Considering it was penned by the Nobel committee at the end of the 1940's; women were just a few years beyond the Suffrage Movement, and society was still - in general - not nearly as advanced socially or sociologically on cultural or gender issues. I found and give reference to a biography more about her than... well, you'll see what I mean in a moment.

Carl Ferdinand Cori was born in Prague on the Marine Biological Station in Trieste, and it was here that the young Carl spend his childhood. He received an early introduction to science from his father and this was stimulated on summer visits to the Tyrol, to the home of his grandfather, Ferdinand Lippich, Professor of Theoretical Physics at Prague. He studied at the German University of Prague to study medicine. During World War I, he served as a lieutenant in the Sanitary Corps of the Austrian Army on the Italian front; he returned to University, where he studied with his future wife, Gerty, to graduate Doctor Vienna and a year as assistant in pharmacology at the position as biochemist at the State Institute for the Study of appointed Professor of Pharmacology at the Washington University Medical School in St. Louis, where he later became Professor in Biochemistry.

The Cori's have collaborated in most of their research work, commencing in their student days and stemming from their mutual interest in the preclinical sciences. Their first joint paper resulted from an immunological study of the complement of human serum.

"Gerty Cori - Facts". Nobelprize.org. Nobel Media AB 2014. Web. 28 Mar 2015. http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/medicine/laureates/1947/cori-gt-facts.html

Changing The Face of Medicine: Dr. Gerty Theresa Radnitz Cori, first woman in America to receive a Nobel Prize in Science

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Graphene Ice Sandwich...



Square ice between two graphene sheets as seen in a transmission electron microscope. High-contrast dark spots are oxygen atoms that indicate positions of water molecules. Hydrogen atoms yield too little contrast to be resolved even by the state-of-the-art TEM. The top right inset shows a magnified image of a small area in the centre of the ice crystal. Credit: University of Ulm, Germany

Topics: Carbon Nanotubes, Graphene, Nanotechnology, Nanostructures


Researchers in the UK, Germany and China say they have observed a new type of frozen water in the form of square ice sandwiched between sheets of graphene. The ice films, which are less than 1 nm thick, have a completely different symmetry to that of normal ice – which has a hexagonal structure. This ice should also exist inside certain other types of nanostructures, such as carbon nanotubes, and could help explain why water moves unusually in these materials – a result that could have implications for developing more efficient filtration, desalination and distillation technologies.

"The new phase of ice forms at room temperature, well above the 'normal' freezing temperature of water," explain team leaders Irina Grigorieva and Andre Geim of the University of Manchester in the UK. "Apart from finding this new phase – not something that happens every day – our result will allow us to better understand the counterintuitive behaviour of water inside nanochannels, such as ultrafast permeation though graphene oxide membranes."

Nanotech Web: Square ice forms in graphene sandwich, Belle Dumé, contributing editor at nanotechweb.org

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High Flight...

Bessie Coleman: Image Source at [2] below, slide 5 of 7


Topics: Education, Diversity in Science, NASA, Spaceflight, Star Trek, STEM, Women in Science


"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds -

and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of -

wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.

Hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along

and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.

"High Flight," John Gillespie Magee, Jr., Arlington National Cemetary

The recent death of Sally Ride (2012), the first American female astronaut, has brought to light her contributions to the space program and science. Dr Ride has influenced many females to get into the fields of science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM).

Today, there is an increased push for the American education system to improve their STEM programs as well as to get students to show interest in the fields. It is important to bring attention to some of the African-American females that have, and are still, paving the road for future scientists, astronauts or any STEM degree holders.

Nichelle Nichols is not an astronaut, but her role in Star Trek as Lieutenant Uhura inspired many African-American women to become astronauts and astrophysicists including Mae Jemison. One of the first African-American female roles that was not a servant, Nichols used her position of popularity to work with NASA to recruit minorities and female personnel for the space agency. Those recruited include Dr. Sally Ride, the first female American Astronaut, Colonel Guion Bluford, the first African-American in space and many more. A genuine interest in space and the advancement of space Nichols flew aboard NASA’s C-141 Astronomy Observatory, which analyzed the atmospheres of Mars and Saturn on an eight-hour, high-altitude mission. [1]

1. TheGrio.com: Black women making their mark in space and science,
Similoluwa Ojurongbe
2. Madame Noire:
Taking Flight: 7 Black Female Astronauts and Aviators Who Changed History, Terry Williams

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The Moon's Moon...



This artist's rendition shows part of the plan for NASA's Asteroid Redirect Mission to robotically pluck a boulder off an asteroid and ferry it to high lunar orbit. Astronauts would then visit the boulder as early as 2025. Image Credit: NASA

Topics: Asteroids, Mars, Moon, NASA, Robotics, Space Exploration, STEM


In the 2020s, NASA’s human spaceflight program will revolve around sending astronauts to high lunar orbit to study a small boulder robotically plucked from the surface of a large asteroid, agency officials announced yesterday. The announcement is a crucial milestone for the agency’s nascent Asteroid Redirect Mission (ARM), which is intended to set the stage for future missions sending humans to Mars and other deep-space destinations.

NASA’s decision comes after months of delays as two separate teams investigated how to best achieve ARM’s objectives. The original ARM proposal, dubbed Option A, called for a “grab and bag” approach, in which a robotic space tug captures a small asteroid whole and wraps it in a protective sheath before guiding it into a stable lunar orbit. Though the boulder-snatching concept, Option B, is projected to cost $100 million more than Option A, it won out because it offers more operational flexibility, said NASA associate administrator Robert Lightfoot.

Then again, science is secondary for ARM. Its stated purpose is to test and develop new technologies for spaceflight, such as NASA’s Space Launch System heavy-lift rocket, its Orion deep-space crew capsule and an advanced solar-electric propulsion engine suitable for long-haul cargo trips. NASA is also pitching the missions as a step forward in demonstrating how a spacecraft can alter the orbits of potentially Earth-threatening asteroids—that’s the “Redirect” part of the ARM moniker.

Scientific American:

NASA Chooses a Boulder as the Next Destination for Its Astronauts
Lee Billings

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