PAE = Performance Art of Engineering. I'll probably elaborate in another posting. I thought it an appropriate title for the merger of science and art.
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It is nice to be wanted.
Will-solve-complex-problems-that-scare-the-BEJESUS-out-of-most-folks-for-food
See why I didn't us it for the title. 
Site: BrightRecruits.com
There's also a Sci-Fi Symposium. Astronaut Mae Jemison, M.D. is chair.
100 Year Starship invites you to participate in the journey of a lifetime! On this mission, everyone has a seat – Thought leaders, experts, trendsetters, space advocates and space enthusiasts, international space agencies, established businesses and start-ups, financiers and entrepreneurs, governmental and non-governmental agencies, universities and private industries, including entertainment, medicine, education, the arts and athletics – and, of course, the general public. You are all invited to join us on a journey to improve our world today as we explore the challenge, benefits, potentially enabling technologies, strategies and awesome potential of interstellar flight to another solar (star) system.
From exotic propulsion systems, exoplanets and “where do we go?” to the social, economic and cultural considerations of “why or should we go?” there’s a technical or academic session just for you. In addition, workshops, classes, networking venues, the Expo, entertainment, celebrities, speakers and guests will enhance your experience and ensure that you have an opportunity to consider and contribute to the wide range of space and related topics needed to chart the research, design, development, policy, outreach and aspirational activities from which long-distance space travel will be generated.
Dear Friend,
We are pleased to invite you to submit to the “Call for Papers” the upcoming 100 Year StarshipTM 2012 Public Symposium to be held in Houston Texas on September 13 – 16, 2012.
The 100 Year StarshipTM (100YSSTM) considers broad and in-depth public engagement critical to accomplishing human interstellar flight within the next 100 years. The 100YSSTM Public Symposium is central to gathering and sharing knowledge, aspirations, capabilities, as well as building advocacy, imagination and momentum. During the symposium space experts will participate in a platform for cutting-edge research, space enthusiasts will expand their knowledge, and the public will be engaged by an interactive exposition.
The Symposium’s technical session issues this open call to individuals and organizations from all disciplines—amateur and professional—to contribute to understanding, developing and building the solutions needed for successful interstellar flight.
The 2012 Symposium’s theme, Transition to Transformation...The Journey Begins, acknowledges the accomplishments of space exploration to date and calls for authors to consider what changes are needed in how we currently envision and “do space” to truly push forward humanity’s journey to another star. Papers should focus upon those transformative ideas and processes within each track—science, technology and paradigms— that facilitate the breakthroughs in space exploration.There are four technical tracks at the Symposium and a series of special sessions as described in the 2012 100YSS Call for Papers
Papers accepted will be included in the 100YSS 2012 Symposium Proceedings. Papers selected presented individually or as part of a panel as decided by each Track Chair. The Abstract Submission Deadline is June 30, 2012. Authors whose papers have been submitted for presentation will be notified by July 29; and final papers must be submitted by August 17th.
If you have any questions, please contact the 2012 Symposium Technical Chair, Dr. Richard Obousy at richard.obousy@100YSS.org. We look forward to your participation in our symposium and hope that you will submit a paper.
Sincerely,
Mae Jemison, M.D.
Chair, 100YSS Symposium
Richard Obousy, Ph.D.
Technical Chair, 100 YSS Symposium
Why it matters: Cells grown on the Wyss Institute's organ-on-chip devices behave more like cells in the body. The devices could improve the speed and success of drug discovery and reduce animal testing.
Technology Review: Building an Organ on a Chip
Site: Wyss Institute
Writing dialogue can be challenging to new and veteran writers alike. However, if you are new to writing there are a few simple things to keep in mind when constructing dialogue for your short story or novel. Here are some things to keep in mind:
What Not to Do When Writing Dialogue Tip #1: Don’t let dialogue dominate your scene.
Some writers will allow dialogue to dominate the entire scene with their characters. This is a big no-no. While dialogue is a form of action, it can’t be the only factor in scene creation. Here’s a bad example.
Bad Example:
“Don’t come any closer, Tony!” Mary yelled.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Tony mocked.
“I said don’t come closer!” Mary repeated.
“Oh?” Tony questioned.
How many times have you read something like this? Doesn’t it seem a little dry? Add something to your conversational exchanges. Such things like physical movement, emotions, objects, etc. can be added to a dialogue exchange to spice it up.
Good Example:
“Don’t come any closer, Tony!” Mary held up her rusted knife. She glared at him as he ignored her order.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Tony mocked. He was deeply amused by her defensive display. He took a step closer.
“I said don’t come closer!” Mary repeated, pulling the knife closer to her. She stepped back.
“Oh?” Tony ignored her. He reached for her knife.
What Not To Do When Writing Dialogue Tip #2: Don’t use characters to preach your agenda.
Every writer has something to say – one could even say that is the main reason for writing – however, don’t make your characters peach your opinions. Unlike facts, when a character states an opinion that in actuality is the author’s own views, it can come across as misplaced or odd. Especially when such a belief is contrary to your character’s personality, beliefs, and actions.
More ‘What Not To Do When Writing Dialogue Tips’ in an upcoming post!
Add your thoughts below!
Yes, cynicism is the stuff of skeptics, and skeptics tend not to write articles associating the physics community being "afire" - on fire; aflame; ablaze; eager and excited - about anything. Not to say they are not...
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| Wireddotcom |
OK, I'll give you "eager and excited." But trust me: your eager and excited is not the typical labs' "eager and excited." I assume "keenly interesting data" would not sell good copy, nor take public interests off the NBA finals or the latest singing/dance off.
Kevin Durant needs about 10 - 20 lbs to contest LeBron, or any other man mountain's 60 lb advantage. That's just physics...
Postman's commentary (link to book follows) is described as a "21st century description in the 20th century." Published in 1985 - post the Orwell demarcation - cable news with CNN was just five years old. The Internet (not mentioned) was Zenith computer screens - big and bulky - sending the equivalent of what a teen can do with their thumbs and text messaging. There was no Facebook, Twitter, and blogging would have been the equivalent of exposing your diary to the world, of telling a freezing caveman about fire - Prometheus.
And: if there was such a thing as "reality TV," its impact was not as great as a book.
“We were keeping our eye on 1984. When the year came and the prophecy didn't, thoughtful Americans sang softly in praise of themselves. The roots of liberal democracy had held. Wherever else the terror had happened, we, at least, had not been visited by Orwellian nightmares.
But we had forgotten that alongside Orwell's dark vision, there was another - slightly older, slightly less well known, equally chilling: Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing. Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression. But in Huxley's vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.
What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny "failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions". In 1984, Huxley added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.
This book is about the possibility that Huxley, not Orwell, was right.”
From ― Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business
Wired: Physics Community Afire With Rumors of Higgs Boson Discovery
So the race is on to develop a different kind of chip that more accurately mimics the way the brain works. So-called neuromorphic chips must be built from devices that behave like neurons—in other words they transmit and respond to information sent in spikes rather than in a continously varying voltage.
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| Credit: Technology Review |
ABSTRACT: We present a design-scheme for ultra-low power neuromorphic hardware using emerging spin-devices. We propose device models for 'neuron', based on lateral spin valves that constitute of nano-magnets connected through metal-channels. Such magneto-metallic neurons can operate at ultra-low terminal voltage of ~20 mV, resulting in small computation energy. Use of domain wall magnets as programmable 'synapse' and as 'integrating-neurons' is proposed. Magnetic tunnel junctions are employed for interfacing the spin-neurons with charge-based devices like CMOS, for large-scale networks. Device-circuit co-simulation-framework is used for simulating such hybrid designs, in order to evaluate system-level performance. We present the design of different classes of neuromorphic architectures using the proposed scheme that can be suitable for different applications like, analog-data-sensing, data-conversion, cognitive-computing, associative memory, programmable-logic and analog and digital signal processing. We show that the spin-based neuromorphic designs can achieve 15X-300X lower computation energy for these applications, as compared to state of art CMOS designs.
Physics arXiv: Proposal for Neuromorphic Hardware Using Spin Devices
After a five year period of stability and peace in the Valley, a mysterious visitor from the Chief of the Aesir's past brings potential problems to those of in the land where Gods and Men walk together. Will the Priestess and her Guardian the indomitable Valley Knight allow unrest to be brought forth upon the Valley's inhabitants? Find out as the tale unfolds in The Priestess: A Question of Regrets, Part I!
The first one will be called " The ghost of Rodney King
Where the brother wil come back not to raise hell and cause problems or get revenge.
He will come back to observe and only interfere when somebody is getting some type of injustice served upon them.His new purpose is to preven what happen to him while here not to happen to anybody esle,especially if they are really innoncent.
The second one wil be based on the idea of the lady who was just made a prosecutor of the internatioal court.
Only in this story it will be a universal court and they will send out their people to arrest all the real criminals behind the scenes to be put on universal trial and then given a sentence of life in iimbo in time
Part 3
Sammy was nearing the bridge: a fifteen mile expanse of covered metal and bolts. To the right were the crumbling remains of 21th century buildings and oases of domes. Under the bridge and for miles to the left stretched the deceptively beautiful blue-green expanse of bay waters encasing the city—toxic and deadly poisonous to anyone foolish enough to drink or swim in them.
The homeless in their rags wandered along the bridge... among the buildings or huddled inside them. Aside from the deadly weather, pollutants gradually formed sores on their skin. They were clothed in rags, some with makeshift oxygen masks.
Sammy was crossing the bridge now, where homeless clustered together in packs of two and three or shivered in their boxes. It was near midday when the temperature dropped to 20 degrees. Late that afternoon, it would shoot up to 80 or 90 degrees— if they were lucky.
They saw the car, and shuffled toward it, hands outstretched, begging for money and food. Chamberlain's creased in annoyance. I'll be glad when they all die out. It shouldn't take more than another ten years. Might not take that long.
He looked down at his watch. I got a little time to kill. Even if I'm an hour late Schuyler wouldn't dare leave. I could stop by my favorite cathouse...
Then he saw her.
Just ahead she leaned against the railing, her head uncovered, despite the cold. A honey brown nymph with dark eyes, and two long braids flowing over her shoulders. Her rags were draped around her voluptuous frame, like gift wrapping.
She turned her head and looked directly at him, a tiny smile playing about her lips.
“Slow down!” Chamberlain ordered.
“Sir, I don't mean to be impertinent,” Sammy hedged in his bass voice, “but it's never a good idea to pick these people up.” The chauffeur had seen the woman too, and he knew his master's tastes.
“Sammy?”
“Yes sir?”
“Shut the f*** up, and pull alongside that woman ahead.”
“Yes sir.” Sammy answered meekly. As the sedan slid up beside her, the homeless gathered about the car.
“Please—I'm so hungry!”
“I haven't eaten in days!”
Sammy lowered the window on his right. “Get back! Or I'll electrify the car!” They backed away, their eyes wide and desperate. The chauffeur made eyes contact with the woman, and unlocked the back door. “Get in!”
Without a word, she slid in beside Chamberlain, pulling the door shut behind her. The sedan edged back into the street, moving slowly through the crowd.
She gazed at Chamberlain. “Hi... I'm Natalie.” Her voice was low and musical.
“Natalie...” He repeated, smiling pleasantly, tasting her name on his tongue. He stared at her... her eyes were large and almost black, her lips full and luscious. The rags she wore were nearly transparent. ..
Copyright 2012 Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved
read the rest at smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/159250 absolutely free :)
and check out more of my titles at amazon, barnes & noble and http://www.vjeffersandqveal.com
I was researching for my website and ohmygosh, stumbled over these two books! Why, oh why aren't they on my bookshelves already?
Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora (Ages 15+)
The Amazon.com review:
"Dark matter: the nonluminous matter, not yet detected, that nonetheless has detectable gravitational effects on the universe. Dark matter: the Afro-American presence and influences unseen or unacknowledged by Euro-American culture. Dark Matter: the first anthology to illuminate the presence and influence of black writers in speculative fiction, with 25 stories, three novel excerpts, and five essays. This anthology's critical and historical importance is indisputable. But that's not why it will prove to be the best anthology of 2000 in both the speculative and the literary fiction fields. It's because the stories are great: entertaining, imaginative, insightful, sharply characterized, and beautifully written. The earliest story in Dark Matter is acclaimed literary author Charles W. Chesnutt's "The Goophered Grapevine" (1887), in which an aging ex-slave tells a chilling tale of cursed land to a white Northerner buying a Southern plantation. In "The Comet" (1920), W.E.B. Du Bois portrays the rich white woman and the poor black man who may be the only survivors of an astronomical near-miss. In George S. Schuyler's "Black No More" (1931), an excerpt from the satirical novel of the same name, an African American scientist invents a machine that can turn blacks white. More recent reprints include science fiction master Samuel R. Delany's Nebula Award-winning "Aye, and Gomorrah..." (1967), which delineates the socio-sexual effects of asexual astronauts; Charles R. Saunders's heroic fantasy "Gimmile's Songs" (1984), in which a woman warrior encounters a singer with a frightening, compelling magic in ancient West Africa; MacArthur Genius Grant recipient Octavia E. Butler's powerful "The Evening and the Morning and the Night" (1987), in which the cure for cancer creates a terrifying new disease of compulsive self-mutilation; and Derrick Bell's angry, riveting "The Space Traders" (1992), in which aliens offer to trade their advanced technology to the U.S. in exchange for its black population. Other reprints include "Ark of Bones" (1974) by author-poet-folklorist Henry Dumas; "Future Christmas" (1982) by master satirist Ishmael Reed; "Rhythm Travel" (1996) by playwright-poet-critic Amiri Baraka (who has also written as LeRoi Jones and Imamu Amiri Baraka); and "The African Origins of UFOs" (2000) by London-based West Indian author Anthony Joseph.
Most of the stories in Dark Matter are original; these range even more widely in their concerns and themes. In the generation ship of Linda Addison's "Twice, at Once, Separated," a Yanomami Indian tribe preserves its culture in coexistence with technology, while visions tear a young woman from her own wedding. Bestselling novelist Steven Barnes examines degrees of privilege and deprivation when an African American woman artist is trapped in an African concentration camp in his unflinching contribution, "The Woman in the Wall." In John W. Campbell Award winner Nalo Hopkinson's sexy, scary "Ganger (Ball Lightning)," two lovers drifting apart try to reconnect through the separation of virtual sex. A mystic power awakens in the devastated future of Ama Patterson's gorgeous and tough "Hussy Strutt." An artist's infidelity changes two generations in Leone Ross's astute, magic-realist "Tasting Songs." In Nisi Shawl's sharp, witty mythic fantasy "At the Huts of Ajala," the spirit of a modern woman must outwit a god before she is even born. Others contributing new stories are Tananarive Due, Robert Fleming, Jewelle Gomez, Akua Lezli Hope, Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, Kalamu ya Salaam, Kiini Ibura Salaam, Evie Shockley, and Darryl A. Smith. --Cynthia Ward"
Dark Matter: Reading the Bones (Ages 15+)
"In the tradition of The Norton Anthology of Black Literature, DARK MATTER: READING THE BONES, like its ground-breaking predecessor, will introduce black SF, fantasy, and speculative fiction writers to those who have not yet realized the depth and breadth of their work-or even, in some cases, that it exists. Including original short fiction and nonfiction as well as previously published works and essays, DARK MATTER will contain approximately 30 stories from the early part of the century through the most cutting-edge work of today. Contributors to this new volume include Charles Johnson, National Book Award-winning author of Middle Passage; Tananarive Due; Walter Mosley, W.E.B. Du Bois; Samuel R. Delany; Nalo Hopkinson; and many more."
I can only ask myself, "Why aren't these books on my shelves?" I've added them to my own wish list because these are must-have collections for anyone seeking stories and books based on cultures outside of the traditional American/European sci-fi experience. (RDJ)
This is a review of my ANI466 seminar course at the College of Computing and Digital Media at DePaul University in Chicago.
I'd appreciate you leaving any comments directly on my blog, The Animated World of Martin Lindsey.
http://www.martinlindsey.com/2012/06/18/the-wrap-up-for-my-ani466-cinema-animation-art-course/
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| Original Credit: GreadBeyond on Flickr |
Geologists and politicians have been arguing for several years about whether hydraulic fracturing of shale to release natural gas can cause earthquakes. Finally, a comprehensive study released today by the National Research Council has settled the question: yes, fracking can. The number of earthquakes linked to fracking operations is very small, however; many more temblors are linked to conventional oil and natural gas extraction.
Furthermore, the greatest risk of earthquakes due to fracking does not come from drilling into deep shale or cracking it with pressurized water and chemicals. Rather, it comes from pumping the wastewater from those operations back down into deep sandstone or other formations for permanent disposal, instead of storing it in tanks or open ponds at the surface. In January, wastewater injection was blamed for earthquakes that had just occurred in Youngstown, Ohio, on Christmas Eve and again on New Year's Eve, measuring 2.7 and 4.0 on the Richter scale, respectively. Wastewater injection is also commonly used during conventional oil and gas production.
The epicenter of last year's earthquake my family felt in New York was a mining operation in Virginia.
Things that make you go...hmm.
Scientific American:
Fracking Can Cause Earthquakes, but So Can Oil and Gas Extraction
It's free for another three days. It's not science fiction. It's based on the story of the Good Samaritan. Set in the sixties with African-American protagonists.
Like Lynnette, Paul would appreciate your reviews.
(Pssst, I did the cover.)
Invinci-Man slammed into him with a bone-crunching wallop, his massively muscled arms wrapping Jackson in a super powered bear hug. Jackson squirmed to break the grip, but his borrowed strength had run out. He was helpless as a field mouse in the clutches of a hawk. Gone was the look of casual indulgence on Invinci-Man’s face. A cruel glimmer shined from his eyes. Jackson felt exposed as a newborn in the light of the other’s utterly ruthless gaze. “We’re done toying with you.”
Invinci-Man went into a sudden dive. Jackson’s gut lurched. Within a millisecond of hitting the ground, Invinci-Man released his hold on the armored man with a shove and shot upward. Jackson torpedoed into the top of a tractor-trailer truck. Both tractor and trailer were sheared in half on impact an instant before the collision’s full force shredded them to scrap, producing a bruising shock wave that blew out every window in every building in the vicinity.
Jackson groaned. Half his body was embedded in concrete beneath the tractor/trailer’s flaming wreckage. His climate control must have been shot, which explained the failure of his armor to provide insulation from the ferocious fire-generated heat. He needed to get up and out before he baked to death inside his armor. He tried to extricate himself, but the entire left side of his suit refused to respond to his neuro-linked nudge. “NEED HELP?”
Jackson looked up to see the Nile Goddess plunging into the fire with star staff raised. She brought the staff down in a blurring stroke, striking Jackson’s paralyzed left shoulder. A crimson orb issued rapidly from the blow, followed by a powerful blast that tossed up an oil black mushroom cloud. A hot breeze cleared away the worst of the smoke. Jackson lay prone at the center of a deep, steaming depression.
Parts of his armor hung in scorched, tattered strips, barely connected to its pliable, carbon-nanotube inner layer. In some places the armor became porous, oozing globs of inertial gel. His AVD flickered in and out. Snowy static clouded the remainder of his displays. Of course he didn’t need diagnostics to tell him that his suit was no longer functional. As for his body, he ached to high hell from that final round of abuse inflicted on him by Invinci-Man and Candace.
The slightest motion ignited a firestorm of pain. But he weathered the suffering, rising slowly to his knees. He could rise no more. He pulled a string of release tabs along the upper section of his neck guard and removed his helmet, tossing it aside. Jackson ran a hand down his face, wiping away perspiration.
He lifted his head and saw that he was surrounded. Invinci-Man, the Nile Goddess, Windrider, the Blue Blur, and Machine-Ware loomed above him from the ridge of the depression. Undoubtedly, they would have slaughtered him on the spot. All it took was one word from Invinci-Man. Jackson stared at Invinci-Man, partly resigned, partly defiant, and waiting for the latter to give that word.
Instead, the leader of the Guardian Protectors hovered and descended into the pit, his expression softened by sympathy and memories of bygone fraternity. Jackson remembered as well, and for a moment the two men shared fond memories in silence. “What happened to you, Jeff?” Jackson asked with a tinge of anguish. “How did you of all people cross that line from a noble caretaker to being no better than the thugs, lowlifes, and murderers we used to battle?”
Invinci-Man tilted his head, his brow narrowing as if mulling over the question. “Call it enlightenment. One day an epiphany hit me. I realized that people don’t need caretakers, they need prison guards. They need control, discipline, structure. And if they go astray they need swift, harsh punishment to correct their errors. Who else can provide these things other than those of us endowed with the capabilities, be it by accident, design or birth, to exert our will over this depraved planet?”
“How has the killing of innocents made this world any better than before you decided to run rough shod over it?”
“I don’t worry about the innocent. What is that saying?” Invinci-Man caressed his broad chin in a show of thought. “Ah, yes…let God sort them out.” He settled on his haunches, looking Jackson square in the eye, scrutinizing, searching. “Your self righteous platitudes choke with hypocrisy. You hadn’t always abided by the law in your crime fighting. For all the wonderful hi-tech toys that sprang out of that genius head of yours, you were still nothing but a vigilante.”
Jackson dropped his eyes. “You’re right. I was a vigilante, albeit a glorified one. I admit to operating outside the law when I had to accomplish an objective. But this…what you and the others are doing…I never embarked down that path.”
“But you considered it! Didn’t you, Victor?!” Invinci-Man leaned in close until his piercing, umber eyed glare became the only object in Jackson’s scaled down universe. “Be honest. You never thought once about using your suit to its fullest potential?” Fullest potential. The question stung in ways Jackson couldn’t disregard. He kept his eyes averted, unwilling…or unable to meet the other’s gaze. Invinci-Man stood, choosing not to press for an answer. His tone weighed heavy with regret.
“You should have joined us, Victor. I hate that you forced me into this position. I would just love to plop you inside a maximum security lockbox somewhere far from civilization. But then I’d have to spend my every waking hour worrying that you might figure a way to escape. We can’t be distracted by loose ends. Not while we’re in the midst of whipping this world into shape. I can make this quick and painless for you. It’s the least I can do for a friend.” Jackson eased his way to a standing position. Pain surged like electricity through his body.
“Thanks for the offer, Jeff,” he managed through gritted teeth. “But I have a second option.” Invinci-Man possessed multi-spectrum vision. Had he used the X Ray portion, he would have spotted a thumbnail size wafer lodged beneath Jackson’s temple. Jackson pressed a finger to his temple, activating an implant. That action sent up a transmission to a satellite orbiting in geo-sync directly above Valor City’s South District. Invinci-Man’s brow crinkled in suspicion. Suspicion morphed into alarm.
He made a move toward Jackson. “What are you…” A haze of light suddenly filled the depression. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. Even so, the searing brightness soaked through his eyelids, fully immersing him in a glaring void of white. Seconds, moments, minutes may have passed. Jackson had no idea. It was like he slipped into a crease in time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Invinci-Man was gone. Jackson searched the ridge. The others were also gone, seized by the light. “And this was the least I could do for a friend.” Jackson sank back to his knees as exhaustion took its toll. Intelligence Chief Yohannes Brady approached the ambulance where a paramedic just completed wrapping Victor Jackson’s ribs in bandages. Jackson gently prodded the area above his two cracked ribs and winced. Brady expressed something close to paternal concern.
“How are you, Ace?” Jackson’s lips parted minimally in a tired smile.
“I could be better.” He gave a thumbs up. “But I’m alive.” The intelligence chief looked around, taking in the bleak sight of a neighborhood resembling old footage he’d seen of Berlin in the aftermath of World War II. The place had truly been a warzone. The difference in this case was that the combatants comprised one human, of extraordinary brilliance with technology to match, pitted against a squad of super-powered psychopaths. Brady had to shake his head at the wonder of it all.
“Your suit held out pretty well. Longer than I expected to be honest.” “It took some hellified punishment, didn’t it?” Jackson boasted. On a serious note, he added: “I upgraded it. I needed it to last just long enough for me to gather them in one area.”
“And spring your trap,” Brady finished. “What exactly was that light beam from the sky? A weapon? Did it kill them?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, they’re not dead…at least I’m sure they’re not. There exists multiple universes, multiple realities. I discovered a way to open a door to any one of them. The satellite I built created a portal.” Brady gave a look verging on merriment.
“You sent Invinci-Man and his gang to another universe?”
“I’m not exactly comfortable with that outcome,” Jackson qualified soberly. “I would’ve liked to have had time to vet universes before I used the portal. Now, I’m afraid I might have sent them to a populated realm where they’ll be able to duplicate the terror they’ve created here. But I needed to get them out of this universe with all due haste, before they caused further pain and suffering.”
The intelligence chief nodded thoughtfully. “Humanity is going to be damn grateful to you for getting rid of them. And don’t worry. Chances are you sent those bastards to a place without people. They could be stranded on a dead world.”
Jackson considered the possibility. “Could be.” At that moment, a sleek black SUV limo pulled up beside the ambulance. The driver, a long-legged, cocoa skinned beauty (whom Brady suspected might have served Jackson in other ways) emerged from the vehicle.
“Mr. Jackson, thank God you’re all right,” said the driver reaching for her employer’s arm. “Hello, Chastity…no, please, I don’t need help. Thank you.” Chastity held back her assistance, but remained vigilantly close as Jackson moved gingerly toward the limo.
“And where are you off to?” Brady asked.
“Home,” replied Jackson. “I’m going to hit the sack and sleep for a week…maybe two.”
“Oh.” Brady looked troubled and hesitant, but only for a second. He tried to mask his unease with affability. “Hey, uh, why don’t you hang out with me for a little while. We can run to the local office, you provide a debrief, and afterward I’ll treat you to your favorite restaurant.” Nothing in the intelligence chief’s manner escaped Jackson’s keen notice. Which is why he enjoyed seeing the other trying to suppress a squirm as he refused the invitation.
“Appreciate the invite, but I’ll debrief later. And my favorite restaurant is not in this city. It’s not in this country for that matter.”
Chastity opened the limo door. “Victor,” Brady called out. “How does it feel being the only Guardian Protector?”
Jackson’s expression dimmed with melancholy. “I’m no longer a Guardian Protector. They don’t exist anymore.” He stepped into the limo and the driver closed the door. An hour later, Jackson entered his ops center located in the basement level of his mansion. Chastity Hunter, his driver and assistant, frowned her disapproval, insisting her employer get some much needed rest. Jackson kindly declined her advice. Rest could wait for a few minutes. There was something he needed to check on. The side walls of his ops room were lined with book shelves that were neatly stocked with thousands of volumes. The facing wall was a gigantic terminal screen that doubled as a CCTV monitor.
A brown leather bound swivel chair and a large maroon desk with a computer and keyboard sat in the center. Jackson noticed the swivel chair was turned a hairbreadth of a degree to the left, evidence of an intrusion. His suspicion was confirmed. There were other ways he could tell that he’d been breached. One of them he picked up from MachineWare who long ago constructed micro-size video pickups the size of dust particles. Jackson had deposited a small handful of the micro-cams throughout the ops room, on the floor, the book shelves, the desk.
He pressed a key on the keyboard, bringing the wall screen to life. Then he inputted a code that pulled recorded visual data from the micro-cams and transferred it to the screen. A view of the ops room from the perspective of the west facing book shelf came up. Three figures in black skulked into the picture. One took a seat at the desk. The other two did a circuit around the room before taking guard positions on opposite sides of the door.
Dressed in head to toe black combat gear and armed with short barreled assault weapons, Jackson had no doubt the intruders were Intelligence Branch Para-Military ops soldiers. He fast-forwarded the scene. The soldier at his desk was typing on the keyboard. Jackson knew what the soldier was after. He was trying to crack Jackson’s network, gain access to his files in order to steal his technology. It was the schematics to the armored suit that they wanted in particular. That was the prize. Instead of feeling alarmed or violated, a certain amusement fell over Jackson. Brady’s people thought they had executed a clean in and out operation, undetected.
Of course, they did manage to bypass his security to get this deep into the mansion. Jackson would give them that. The Intelligence Branch didn’t recruit slouches. Good as the organization was, however, it wasn’t that good. The intruders still failed to hack into his files. Jackson tapped another key, bringing up a schematic of his suit. His network remained the most secure on the planet.
If the full resources of the federal government couldn't break it, no one could. He smiled. He actually liked Brady and had worked with the intelligence chief in the past. Strip away layers of subterfuge and a good person lay at the core of that which was Brady. Nevertheless, Jackson trusted the man about as far as he could toss the moon. Jackson plopped in his chair, fixated on the schematic. His thoughts raced back to the question Invinci-Man asked him…the question he didn’t want to answer.
But Jackson knew the answer. The temptation to abuse the power of his suit dogged him like a bad habit since he built the thing. The urge still beckoned, a devil’s enticing whisper appealing to the very worst aspect of himself, an aspect he could ill afford to let loose upon the world. He couldn't…would not follow the others down that dark path. Oh well. There was only one way to overcome temptation: get rid of the source. He could have turned over the suit’s schematics to the government. No good. The military would have replicated it. One super advanced armored suit had been enough. A mass produced army of suit wearing killers amounted to an affliction the world could damn well do without.
His finger hovered over the delete button. He faltered for a few seconds, before tapping the key. The schematic vanished from his screen. Years of research, development, creation… purged… gone. Jackson’s shoulders slumped. He was an ordinary citizen again. The world would have to tackle its own problems. Humanity didn’t need superheroes. It didn’t need caretakers. He stared at a blank screen, staving off feelings of loss and emptiness. He would get over it in time. He stood and walked out of the ops room.
He never looked back.
 |
| Credit: The Offbeat Drummer |
Physicist Richard Feynman helped create the atomic bomb, shared a Nobel Prize for his work on quantum electrodynamics, and helped figure out the source of the space shuttle Challenger explosion.
But he was also subject to scrutiny by the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation, as it sought to uncover communist sympathizers during the 1950s.
The FBI began keeping an eye on Feynman after other members of the Manhattan Project, which built the first atomic bomb, turned out to be Soviet spies, including Klaus Fuchs, the project's primary physicist. The documents, 361 pages, record statement after statement from the physicist's friends and colleagues, mostly praising Feynman for his brilliance, trustworthiness and loyalty to the country.
Like I said: nutty, but safe.
MSNBC Science: FBI Files on Feynman Released
Invinci-Man slammed into him with a bone-crunching wallop, his massively muscled arms wrapping Jackson in a super powered bear hug. Jackson squirmed to break the grip, but his borrowed strength had run out. He was helpless as a field mouse in the clutches of a hawk. Gone was the look of casual indulgence on Invinci-Man’s face. A cruel glimmer shined from his eyes. Jackson felt exposed as a newborn in the light of the other’s utterly ruthless gaze. “We’re done toying with you.”
Invinci-Man went into a sudden dive. Jackson’s gut lurched. Within a millisecond of hitting the ground, Invinci-Man released his hold on the armored man with a shove and shot upward. Jackson torpedoed into the top of a tractor-trailer truck. Both tractor and trailer were sheared in half on impact an instant before the collision’s full force shredded them to scrap, producing a bruising shock wave that blew out every window in every building in the vicinity.
Jackson groaned. Half his body was embedded in concrete beneath the tractor/trailer’s flaming wreckage. His climate control must have been shot, which explained the failure of his armor to provide insulation from the ferocious fire-generated heat. He needed to get up and out before he baked to death inside his armor. He tried to extricate himself, but the entire left side of his suit refused to respond to his neuro-linked nudge. “NEED HELP?”
Jackson looked up to see the Nile Goddess plunging into the fire with star staff raised. She brought the staff down in a blurring stroke, striking Jackson’s paralyzed left shoulder. A crimson orb issued rapidly from the blow, followed by a powerful blast that tossed up an oil black mushroom cloud. A hot breeze cleared away the worst of the smoke. Jackson lay prone at the center of a deep, steaming depression.
Parts of his armor hung in scorched, tattered strips, barely connected to its pliable, carbon-nanotube inner layer. In some places the armor became porous, oozing globs of inertial gel. His AVD flickered in and out. Snowy static clouded the remainder of his displays. Of course he didn’t need diagnostics to tell him that his suit was no longer functional. As for his body, he ached to high hell from that final round of abuse inflicted on him by Invinci-Man and Candace.
The slightest motion ignited a firestorm of pain. But he weathered the suffering, rising slowly to his knees. He could rise no more. He pulled a string of release tabs along the upper section of his neck guard and removed his helmet, tossing it aside. Jackson ran a hand down his face, wiping away perspiration.
He lifted his head and saw that he was surrounded. Invinci-Man, the Nile Goddess, Windrider, the Blue Blur, and Machine-Ware loomed above him from the ridge of the depression. Undoubtedly, they would have slaughtered him on the spot. All it took was one word from Invinci-Man. Jackson stared at Invinci-Man, partly resigned, partly defiant, and waiting for the latter to give that word.
Instead, the leader of the Guardian Protectors hovered and descended into the pit, his expression softened by sympathy and memories of bygone fraternity. Jackson remembered as well, and for a moment the two men shared fond memories in silence. “What happened to you, Jeff?” Jackson asked with a tinge of anguish. “How did you of all people cross that line from a noble caretaker to being no better than the thugs, lowlifes, and murderers we used to battle?”
Invinci-Man tilted his head, his brow narrowing as if mulling over the question. “Call it enlightenment. One day an epiphany hit me. I realized that people don’t need caretakers, they need prison guards. They need control, discipline, structure. And if they go astray they need swift, harsh punishment to correct their errors. Who else can provide these things other than those of us endowed with the capabilities, be it by accident, design or birth, to exert our will over this depraved planet?”
“How has the killing of innocents made this world any better than before you decided to run rough shod over it?”
“I don’t worry about the innocent. What is that saying?” Invinci-Man caressed his broad chin in a show of thought. “Ah, yes…let God sort them out.” He settled on his haunches, looking Jackson square in the eye, scrutinizing, searching. “Your self righteous platitudes choke with hypocrisy. You hadn’t always abided by the law in your crime fighting. For all the wonderful hi-tech toys that sprang out of that genius head of yours, you were still nothing but a vigilante.”
Jackson dropped his eyes. “You’re right. I was a vigilante, albeit a glorified one. I admit to operating outside the law when I had to accomplish an objective. But this…what you and the others are doing…I never embarked down that path.”
“But you considered it! Didn’t you, Victor?!” Invinci-Man leaned in close until his piercing, umber eyed glare became the only object in Jackson’s scaled down universe. “Be honest. You never thought once about using your suit to its fullest potential?” Fullest potential. The question stung in ways Jackson couldn’t disregard. He kept his eyes averted, unwilling…or unable to meet the other’s gaze. Invinci-Man stood, choosing not to press for an answer. His tone weighed heavy with regret.
“You should have joined us, Victor. I hate that you forced me into this position. I would just love to plop you inside a maximum security lockbox somewhere far from civilization. But then I’d have to spend my every waking hour worrying that you might figure a way to escape. We can’t be distracted by loose ends. Not while we’re in the midst of whipping this world into shape. I can make this quick and painless for you. It’s the least I can do for a friend.” Jackson eased his way to a standing position. Pain surged like electricity through his body.
“Thanks for the offer, Jeff,” he managed through gritted teeth. “But I have a second option.” Invinci-Man possessed multi-spectrum vision. Had he used the X Ray portion, he would have spotted a thumbnail size wafer lodged beneath Jackson’s temple. Jackson pressed a finger to his temple, activating an implant. That action sent up a transmission to a satellite orbiting in geo-sync directly above Valor City’s South District. Invinci-Man’s brow crinkled in suspicion. Suspicion morphed into alarm.
He made a move toward Jackson. “What are you…” A haze of light suddenly filled the depression. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. Even so, the searing brightness soaked through his eyelids, fully immersing him in a glaring void of white. Seconds, moments, minutes may have passed. Jackson had no idea. It was like he slipped into a crease in time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Invinci-Man was gone. Jackson searched the ridge. The others were also gone, seized by the light. “And this was the least I could do for a friend.” Jackson sank back to his knees as exhaustion took its toll. Intelligence Chief Yohannes Brady approached the ambulance where a paramedic just completed wrapping Victor Jackson’s ribs in bandages. Jackson gently prodded the area above his two cracked ribs and winced. Brady expressed something close to paternal concern.
“How are you, Ace?” Jackson’s lips parted minimally in a tired smile.
“I could be better.” He gave a thumbs up. “But I’m alive.” The intelligence chief looked around, taking in the bleak sight of a neighborhood resembling old footage he’d seen of Berlin in the aftermath of World War II. The place had truly been a warzone. The difference in this case was that the combatants comprised one human, of extraordinary brilliance with technology to match, pitted against a squad of super-powered psychopaths. Brady had to shake his head at the wonder of it all.
“Your suit held out pretty well. Longer than I expected to be honest.” “It took some hellified punishment, didn’t it?” Jackson boasted. On a serious note, he added: “I upgraded it. I needed it to last just long enough for me to gather them in one area.”
“And spring your trap,” Brady finished. “What exactly was that light beam from the sky? A weapon? Did it kill them?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, they’re not dead…at least I’m sure they’re not. There exists multiple universes, multiple realities. I discovered a way to open a door to any one of them. The satellite I built created a portal.” Brady gave a look verging on merriment.
“You sent Invinci-Man and his gang to another universe?”
“I’m not exactly comfortable with that outcome,” Jackson qualified soberly. “I would’ve liked to have had time to vet universes before I used the portal. Now, I’m afraid I might have sent them to a populated realm where they’ll be able to duplicate the terror they’ve created here. But I needed to get them out of this universe with all due haste, before they caused further pain and suffering.”
The intelligence chief nodded thoughtfully. “Humanity is going to be damn grateful to you for getting rid of them. And don’t worry. Chances are you sent those bastards to a place without people. They could be stranded on a dead world.”
Jackson considered the possibility. “Could be.” At that moment, a sleek black SUV limo pulled up beside the ambulance. The driver, a long-legged, cocoa skinned beauty (whom Brady suspected might have served Jackson in other ways) emerged from the vehicle.
“Mr. Jackson, thank God you’re all right,” said the driver reaching for her employer’s arm. “Hello, Chastity…no, please, I don’t need help. Thank you.” Chastity held back her assistance, but remained vigilantly close as Jackson moved gingerly toward the limo.
“And where are you off to?” Brady asked.
“Home,” replied Jackson. “I’m going to hit the sack and sleep for a week…maybe two.”
“Oh.” Brady looked troubled and hesitant, but only for a second. He tried to mask his unease with affability. “Hey, uh, why don’t you hang out with me for a little while. We can run to the local office, you provide a debrief, and afterward I’ll treat you to your favorite restaurant.” Nothing in the intelligence chief’s manner escaped Jackson’s keen notice. Which is why he enjoyed seeing the other trying to suppress a squirm as he refused the invitation.
“Appreciate the invite, but I’ll debrief later. And my favorite restaurant is not in this city. It’s not in this country for that matter.”
Chastity opened the limo door. “Victor,” Brady called out. “How does it feel being the only Guardian Protector?”
Jackson’s expression dimmed with melancholy. “I’m no longer a Guardian Protector. They don’t exist anymore.” He stepped into the limo and the driver closed the door. An hour later, Jackson entered his ops center located in the basement level of his mansion. Chastity Hunter, his driver and assistant, frowned her disapproval, insisting her employer get some much needed rest. Jackson kindly declined her advice. Rest could wait for a few minutes. There was something he needed to check on. The side walls of his ops room were lined with book shelves that were neatly stocked with thousands of volumes. The facing wall was a gigantic terminal screen that doubled as a CCTV monitor.
A brown leather bound swivel chair and a large maroon desk with a computer and keyboard sat in the center. Jackson noticed the swivel chair was turned a hairbreadth of a degree to the left, evidence of an intrusion. His suspicion was confirmed. There were other ways he could tell that he’d been breached. One of them he picked up from MachineWare who long ago constructed micro-size video pickups the size of dust particles. Jackson had deposited a small handful of the micro-cams throughout the ops room, on the floor, the book shelves, the desk.
He pressed a key on the keyboard, bringing the wall screen to life. Then he inputted a code that pulled recorded visual data from the micro-cams and transferred it to the screen. A view of the ops room from the perspective of the west facing book shelf came up. Three figures in black skulked into the picture. One took a seat at the desk. The other two did a circuit around the room before taking guard positions on opposite sides of the door.
Dressed in head to toe black combat gear and armed with short barreled assault weapons, Jackson had no doubt the intruders were Intelligence Branch Para-Military ops soldiers. He fast-forwarded the scene. The soldier at his desk was typing on the keyboard. Jackson knew what the soldier was after. He was trying to crack Jackson’s network, gain access to his files in order to steal his technology. It was the schematics to the armored suit that they wanted in particular. That was the prize. Instead of feeling alarmed or violated, a certain amusement fell over Jackson. Brady’s people thought they had executed a clean in and out operation, undetected.
Of course, they did manage to bypass his security to get this deep into the mansion. Jackson would give them that. The Intelligence Branch didn’t recruit slouches. Good as the organization was, however, it wasn’t that good. The intruders still failed to hack into his files. Jackson tapped another key, bringing up a schematic of his suit. His network remained the most secure on the planet.
If the full resources of the federal government couldn't break it, no one could. He smiled. He actually liked Brady and had worked with the intelligence chief in the past. Strip away layers of subterfuge and a good person lay at the core of that which was Brady. Nevertheless, Jackson trusted the man about as far as he could toss the moon. Jackson plopped in his chair, fixated on the schematic. His thoughts raced back to the question Invinci-Man asked him…the question he didn’t want to answer.
But Jackson knew the answer. The temptation to abuse the power of his suit dogged him like a bad habit since he built the thing. The urge still beckoned, a devil’s enticing whisper appealing to the very worst aspect of himself, an aspect he could ill afford to let loose upon the world. He couldn't…would not follow the others down that dark path. Oh well. There was only one way to overcome temptation: get rid of the source. He could have turned over the suit’s schematics to the government. No good. The military would have replicated it. One super advanced armored suit had been enough. A mass produced army of suit wearing killers amounted to an affliction the world could damn well do without.
His finger hovered over the delete button. He faltered for a few seconds, before tapping the key. The schematic vanished from his screen. Years of research, development, creation… purged… gone. Jackson’s shoulders slumped. He was an ordinary citizen again. The world would have to tackle its own problems. Humanity didn’t need superheroes. It didn’t need caretakers. He stared at a blank screen, staving off feelings of loss and emptiness. He would get over it in time. He stood and walked out of the ops room.
He never looked back.
Hi friends! I was interviewed by the wonderful Nichelle Gregory, and I think I had a little bit too much fun. I included a sultry excerpt from my upcoming release for your viewing pleasure. Swing by and show some love. xo
~Yvonne~
