BLOGS

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The youngest of 15 children, Dr. Darnell Diggs raised himself up from poverty to research scientist in physics, earning undergrad and graduate degrees from Alabama A&M (an HBCU). He works at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, USAF Research Laboratory.

As Tyrell Clayton lay on his back on the top bunk in his jail cell he stared up at the grey painted ceiling and the small round light that was there. His hands were resting on the chest of his orange jumpsuit. For a moment the thirty two year old black male’s mind drifted away from the light and changed to a scene outside the walls of his confinement. The scene where he was involved in a drive by shooting in a Pittsburgh neighborhood. He was gunning for a rival drug dealer, Joe Anderson, who was not only turning his attention to encroaching upon Tyrell’s drug territory, but turning his attentions to Tyrell’s girlfriend, Brenda. Neither of these facts did not sit well with Tyrell. So he convinced his cousin, Jake, to drive him past the Big Fish Diner, located in Pittsburgh’s Hazelwood section at the time when Anderson was having lunch there.

          Tyrell instructed Jake to drive slowly past the diner’s window. Through the window Tyrell could see Anderson

sitting at the counter. As the car made it’s pass Tyrell leaned out of the passenger’s side window and Took aim with his .45 pistol. Tyrell’s first two shots shattered the diner’s window and struck an unintended male target in the back. Tyrell’s third shot struck Anderson in the neck. His next two shots tore through Anderson’s head. Satisfied that the job was one Tyrell ordered Jake to drive off with great haste. He did not want his shooting in broad daylight to draw too much attention. Although like so many crimes of violence committed with impunity, Tyrell was confident that no witnesses would come forward and talk to the police.

          Tyrell thought wrong. Four witnesses who were at the scene came forward and identified Jake’s car and Tyrell as the shooter. The key witness against him was the diner’s owner, Albert Caldwell. Tyrell bristled at the thought of Caldwell’s name. His testimony could possibly help to send Tyrell to prison with a life sentence for the murder of two men as the result of his drive by shooting incident. Tyrell had been confined here in the Alleghenny County jail for two months while he was awaiting trial. In his opinion it was two months too long. He was finding the restrictions of prison life to be too unbearable. He had no intention of being locked up for the rest of his life. Or allowing Caldwell to get away with testifying against him. He was hoping that the mysterious individual sitting on the bottom bunk would aid in a plan of escape and revenge. That individual was known as the Sandman.

          “So, Mr Sandman. Thanks for coming,” said Tyrell. “ But I still don’t understand how you got in here.”

          “I’ve got my ways of getting in and out of places,” the Sandman’s voice replied. “And don’t call me Mister. You make me sound like I’m a school teacher.”

          “Ok,” was Tyrell’s answer. He heard the sound of a loud boom coming from beyond the wall of his cell. He rose up and peered out of the small one foot wide, one foot tall window that had two metal bars and was sealed with glass block. Through the glass block he had a blurry view of what was going on outside. Several yards away on the property near the jail a huge construction project was taking place. There were several bulldozers and backhoes clearing away tons of dirt and rocks from an enormous square area. There were two cement trucks backing up close to the site. Tyrell theorized that they were getting ready to start pouring cement for the foundation of whatever building that was being constructed here. Save for the noise that was disturbing his sleep for the past two weeks now Tyrell had little interest in what was going on there.

          Tyrell jumped down to the floor and looked over at the mysterious figure. The Sandman was sitting on the bottom bunk. He was dressed in black pants tucked into black knee high boots. He had a black long sleeved shirt with a black necktie. Black gloves were on his hands. Tyrell admired the black hooded cape that the Sandman was wearing. The cape was spread across the bottom bunk while it’s hood obscured the features of his face.

          “So, you can really help me get the hell out of this place?” He asked.

          “I don’t false advertise,” was the Sandman’s reply. “I mean what I say.”

          Tyrell nodded. “Ok. Cool. And do you help out a lot of guys in jail?”

          “I’m here all the time. So much that I should have an office next to the warden’s. In fact I get more letters than Santa Claus. That’s probably why we’re not on speaking terms.”

          “What?”

          “Call it professional jealousy,” said the Sandman. “His loss.”

          “I didn’t believe it at first when I read your ad in that magazine,” Tyrell told him. “You know. That stuff about how I can sell you my dreams or nightmares to get what I want. Then this old dude on the next cell block told me that he made a deal with you a while back. And that you were on the level. So I told myself, what the hell? Why not try him out? So what kind of a deal did you make with the old dude?”

          “Believe it or not he wanted a birthday cake.”

          “Tyrell smiled. “Yeah. I get it. You gave him a birthday cake with a hacksaw or a Glock hidden in it.”

          “No. All he wanted was just the cake.”

          “What? Just the cake?”

          “My guess was that he really loves pastry.”So let’s make a deal.

          There was the sound of another boom coming from the construction outside.

          “It must be a real pain in the ass trying to sleep with that noise going on,” The Sandman commented. “So where were we?”

          “You want to hear about one of my dreams?” Tyrell asked. He searched through his memory for his latest one. “Here’s one. I’m walking down the street with a bunch of my friends. Big Reece, Brick, Moody. These dudes are my boys. So we’re walking down the street and we pass by my house. Or really it’s the house where my folks live. My mom and dad always gave me a hard time about the way I run my life and the people I hang out with. It’s like they know everything, but they really don’t know nothing. So anyway, we pass by the house and for some reason I go up to the front porch. And then I see my dad looking out of the front door at me. Then he slams the door real hard. Bang. Then I walk up to the front window next to the door and I see my mom looking back at me. Then she reaches up and pulls the shade down. Then I go to the front door and I start to knock on it real hard. But there’s no answer. I keep knocking and knocking. But they don’t let me in. What do you think about that?”

          “My guess is that either your parents are big on privacy or you really pissed then off. But overall it sounds like your dream is sending you a message.”

          “What kind of a message?”

          “That your life sucks.”

          Tyrell was insulted by the Sandman’s jab. But he knew that to a degree the Sandman was right. “My life really will suck if I let that prick, Caldwell testify against me. I gotta get my ass outta here. And the first thing I do will be to take care of him and his family. I gotta teach him a lesson about what happens to you when you’re a snitch.”

          “So I imagine that you’re not planning to wash this guy’s car or mow his lawn when you get out.”

          “You’re kidding, Right? I’ve got a real serious lesson planned for Mr Caldwell. Mr upright citizen. He’s gonna watch when I take care of his wife and daughter. I’ll take my time with them. Then it’s his turn. So are you gonna help me or not?”

          “You want me to bust you out of jail. Right?” asked the Sandman. “Done. Just don‘t expect a limo to drive up to the prison gates”

          Tyrell smiled again. “You can really get me out of here? If you can do that then I’ll be your slave for life. All I have to do is get the hell outta here and away from the jail property. Then I’m on my own. And then it’s me and the Caldwell family. And one more thing. This aint‘ like I‘m selling my soul to Satan or something like that?”

          Tyrell heard a faint sigh com from the Sandman. “You know how many times I have to hear that question? If you want to sell your soul then you’re better off putting an ad in the newspaper. Along with a Buick. And I think you’d get a better price for the Buick.”

          Tyrell heard a loud buzzing sound coming from outside his cell. Recognizing the sound he turned to face the bars of his cell door. “The breakfast buzzer. This is one meal that I’m gonna miss.”

          Tyrell turned back to the bunk and was surprised to see that the Sandman had disappeared. He had departed as mysteriously as he arrived. And Tyrell feared that the Sandman had taken with him the hope of escaping the jail.

          “Hey! Where the hell did you go?” Tyrell called out. For a second he waited for an answer. But none came. “Hey! We had a deal! So what? You’re a fake?”

           In frustration Tyrell kicked the bottom bunk. How the hell could I have been so stupid? he asked himself. He was just messing with my head. He tells me that he can bust me out of here and then he just vanishes and leaves me. it aint’ right.

          Tyrell resigned himself to the harsh fact that he was now going to be confined here for a longer duration. And that the only real help that he can depend on now was the work of his public defender.

          Tyrell joined the other jail inmates in the cafeteria located on the jail’s ground level. His mood was somber as he lined up with the other inmates in their orange jumpsuits and grabbed a plastic fork and spoon, and an aluminum tray to receive a helping of oatmeal, two over cooked strips of bacon, and a waffle. At the end of the line he received a small cup of black coffee in a white Styrofoam cup.

          “Another day of this slop,” Tyrell grumbled to himself.

          Tyrell passed by several crowded tables where inmates were eating and chose a less occupied table near the wall. There were only three other men sitting there. He was wishing that he could have an entire table to himself, as he was in no mood to speak to anyone.

          Tyrell sat down and stared at his tray. He was about to plunge his spoon into the oatmeal. That was when he felt a powerful tremor shake the table. He felt a strong force shaking beneath his feet. Dozens of men at the other tables rose up and began to panic. Tyrell heard the word, earthquake shouted out three times. The sound of a loud rumbling noise filled the cafeteria. Tyrell jumped to his feet and saw a large crack appearing across the grey painted ceiling. Large chunks of plaster dropped down onto the tables. The other men began to run. The jail guards stormed into the cafeteria and conducted a quick evacuation. Tyrell was about to run and join the group when he heard a loud crash coming from behind him. He turned and looked. To his amazement he saw that a hole, three feet in diameter, had appeared in the concrete wall.

          A hole. it’s a damn hole in the wall. Tyrell could not believe what he was seeing. But there it was. The tremor had indeed caused a hole to appear in the wall. Tyrell spun from left to right to see if anyone else had spotted this. So far everyone was too busy trying to rush out of the cafeteria to give notice. And the guards were at the far side of the room while being occupied with the crowd. No other thought came to Tyrell’s mind except escape.

Tyrell rushed over to the hole and dove inside. Once inside the hole he found that it was dark. The ground was muddy and cold. But these conditions did not stop him from crawling forward. Tyrell felt another strong tremor. He stopped crawling as he feared that a cave in might take place. There was a loud boom coming from behind. Then the dim light from the entrance was snuffed out.

          Holy crap! This aint’ good. Tyrell thought. His heart began to race at the thought of being trapped in the dark. But before he was thrown into a panic he remembered that he was carrying a useful tool that could help him in a situation like this. In the darkness his right hand fumbled across his waist to find the right pocket of his jumpsuit. Tyrell let out a sigh of relief when he reached into his pocket and brought out the small plastic cigarette lighter that was there. He pressed the switch on the lighter. The glow of the small flame was enough to give Tyrell a dim view of his surroundings. He was in a tunnel with a muddy floor. Clumps of dirt and small rocks were dropping down from the ceiling. Looking behind him Tyrell saw that his fear came to life. A cave in had taken place. The entrance had collapsed. And now he had no place to go except forward into the darkness. He looked ahead, not knowing how far the tunnel would lead. But he knew that one thing was for certain. With the entrance now sealed noone would come after him very soon. Then a certain notion came to his mind.

          “Sandman,” Tyrell gasped. He became overjoyed. “You did this. You did it. You came through.”

          Tyrell was tempted to let out an overjoyed yell, but he was fearful that even within this tunnel the sound might attract the attention of the jail guards. He was not going to do anything to jeopardize his new found freedom. Still smiling, Tyrell held his lighter out in front of him as if it were a lantern and began to make a slow and careful crawl forward. He continued to crawl. The legs of his jumpsuit were now soaked from the mud. The skin of his legs took on a clammy chill. His left hand was caked with mud. But Tyrell continued to crawl forward. He heard a rumbling sound behind him and turned to see that a second cave in had taken place. Tyrell hoped that there would not be another cave in before he had a chance to exit the tunnel. Where ever the exit was.

          Tyrell continued to crawl. He was thankful that for now he still had air to breathe. As he continued to crawl forward his driving force was the thoughts of his freedom. And reaching Albert Caldwell and his family. He was eager to see the terror in their eyes. After he dealt with them he would go to his cousin Angelo’s house to hide out for a day or two. Then make his way to his cousin Bertha in Detroit. From there he could establish contacts within the drug trade there and start over. He would build up his life again. Tyrell had every detail of his future planned out. All he had to do in order to make it all come to fruition was to get out of this tunnel.

          Tyrell continued crawling for several more minutes. Now he was starting to fear that he would either run out of air or fluid in his cigarette lighter first. There was another rumbling sound from behind. Tyrell stopped. He was fearful as he turned to look. Another cave in. This aint’ good. The next one might come down on top of my head. But how in the hell far does this thing go?

          Tyrell resumed crawling again. Then the ground beneath him gave way and he fell down into a large muddy pit. Tyrell panicked when the lighter went out and he was plunged into darkness. He was fortunate to be able to keep his grip on it as he rolled across his back twice and then struck his head on what felt like a large rock as his body came to rest. Tyrell’s body was wet, cold, his back and head were both sore. But he was still alive. And if he could help it, still free. He sat up and raised his hand to turn on his lighter. That was when he noticed a thin shaft of light shining down from above. Tyrell was frantic with joy at this sight. Daylight! he told himself. I did it! I made it! I’m free!

Tyrell looked about at the pit he had fallen into. It was not deep. By his estimate it was only seven feet to the top where the shaft of daylight was coming from a small opening. Tyrell knew that it would be an easy task for him to climb up to the top and dig his way through in order to reach the surface.

          “This is it. So long county jail,” Tyrell declared with joy.

          As Tyrell was about to begin his short climb to reach his freedom a torrent of thick, grey sludge began to drop down on top of him. Fearful, Tyrell cried out as the sludge washed over him. He held his lighter high over his head to try to preserve it’s flame. His light enabled him to get a better look at What this thick sludge was. “Cement? What the hell?”

Tyrell was being drowned by a now steady stream of cement that was flowing down through an expanding hole above his head. As the cement began to rise up to his knees, then to his waist, he wondered where it was coming from. Then he remembered the construction project that was taking place next to the county jail property. He remembered earlier on when he peered out from the small window of his cell to see the cement trucks backing up to begin pouring the foundation for the new construction. Tyrell had gotten what he had asked the Sandman for. A way to escape the jail and get free from it’s property. Now Tyrell was free. And as the flow of cement began to rise faster until it was now reaching his neck he realized that he was about to become a permanent part of the new building next to the jail.

          Tyrell panicked once again. “Hey! Somebody! Hey! I’m down here! Help! Somebody!“

          As Tyrell was crying out for help the cement had now risen up to his head. He tried to climb out of the pit, but it was a difficult task using one hand while holding the other over your head to keep a lighter burning. The sides of the pit were too soft and muddy for him to gain a firm grip upon. Tyrell decided to drop his lighter and take his chances in the dark. Now the cement was rising past his mouth and up to his nose. He opened his mouth to gasp for air. But he only took in a mouthful of cement. Tyrell’s arms thrashed about. His hands clawed at the side of the pit, but to no avail as the level of cement was now rising up to his eyes and he was no longer able to breathe. As the cold sensation of the cement began to wash over his body Tyrell was at least confident that Albert Caldwell would never get the chance to testify against him in court. Because Tyrell Clayton would never be seen again.

Dr. Mark Dean is an IBM fellow, and one of the first inventors of the ISA system bus that enables multiple devices - think printers and modems - to be connected to the computer. He holds 3 of the 9 original patents on the personal computer. You can truly say "Dr. Mark Dean is responsible for the content of this message."

The NIST and University of Maryland have found an iron-based superconductor that operates in the highest known temperature of a material in its class.

Dr. Lewis is an National Science Foundation grant winner ($575,000) to advance electronics used in medicine and toxic sensing technology (important in a post 9-11 world). She graduated from Dillard University, and holds a summer research camp open to HBCU science and engineering majors hoping to learn and advance in the field.

Nikola Tesla pretty much predicted the modern-day cell phone before its Star Trek communicator clone:

How can we speak of science and our scientist without George Washington Carver:

This is a device that operates in the extreme ultraviolet of the electromagnetic spectrum. I've included a chart for reference.

In the late 1990s, I remember attending a panel discussion of African-American SF authors at Robert W. Woodruff Library in the Atlanta University Center. The panel included my favorites like Octavia Butler and Brandon Massey. It was the first time that I’d ever participated in an event that highlighted a variety of African-American authors in SF. I was elated.

This last year, I’ve had the opportunity to participate in a variety of events that have highlighted Black Speculative Fiction. I attended an exhibit at the Harriet Tubman Museum in Macon, Alien Encounters at the Auburn Research Library, and my favorite event Onyx Con at the SW Cultural Arts Center in Atlanta. Click here to read more:

http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/78-the-state-of-black-scifi-2012-i-heart-onyx-con

In our image: by 2050, it is projected that the "Roomba," or domestic robots may have a different attitude...

Meet Dr. Shirley Ann Jackson, president of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, NY. Previously posted as "Strong Force."

A US researcher finds perfect quasicrystal patterns...in Islamic architecture. Ecclesiastes said: "there is no [new] thing under the sun."

Greetings, all;

Along with being a Trekkie and Whovian, I am also a writer.  I'm working on an original sci-fi novel, but that's not what this is about.  A few years ago, I discovered Fan Fiction, and I've written some stuff that actually surprised me!  I invite you to check out my stories at  http://www.fanfiction.net/~computersteve .  I would love to hear your thoughts and comments.

The latest is a Dr. Who piece entitled "QED" that features David Tennant as the doctor and Freema Ageman as Martha.

Thanks!

African American screenwriter Tony Puryear is writing a new comics series for Dark Horse Publishing. Recently, Puryear wrote scripts for Jerry Bruckheimer's upcoming Buck Rogers big screen adaptation, and the upcoming Lady Scarface film for RKO Pictures. He is also an artist, and created the official campaign poster for Hillary Clinton's presidential bid.

by digitar

Born on November 23, 1923 in Chicago, Illinois, J. Ernest Wilkins, Jr. entered the University of Chicago to study mathematics at the age of 13. He received his B.S. degree as a Phi Beta Kappa graduate in 1940 at the age of 16, his M.S. degree in 1941 at the age of 17, and his Ph.D. degree in December 1942 at the age of 19. In 1942 he was also a Fellow at the Institute of Advanced Study. This was the beginning of one of the most exemplary careers of scholarship and application of an American mathematician/physicist/engineer in the 20th century.

A biological computer made entirely of biological molecules. Another WHODATHUNKIT, and now: who's going to write it?

See below. :-)

Exclusive 1st look at DC Comics/Vertigo's intergalactic Mystery in Space

Orginally posted at: http://www.phathom.com/2012/02/dc-comicsvertigos-intergalactic-mystery-space/

Journey to the edge of the abyss with a story written and drawn by Mike Allred! Arrive in the middle of an intergalactic space heist with a story written and drawn by Paul Pope! Loaded with unsettling stories that will hijack your imagination and and take you to strange mysterious places Mystery in Space will also include stories by fantasy and science fiction writer Nnedi Okorafor with art by Michael Wm. Kaluta, novelist and comic book writer Robert Rodi with art by Sebastian Fiumara, as well as Ann Nocenti, Fred Harper, Andy Diggle, Davide Gianfelice, Steve Orlando, Francesco Trifogli, Ming Doyle and others.

Here's the exclusive reveal the variant cover by the awesomely talented Mike Allred, (Madman, iZombie). The main cover will be by Ryan Sook.