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.)
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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~
 |
| OpenLibrarydotorg |
U.S. Reps. Rush Holt and Rodney Frelinghuysen visited the Princeton Plasma Physics Laboratory this morning [13 June 2012] to announce that the U.S. House of Representatives has passed legislation to restore $76 million in funding for fusion energy research.
The funding, which supports the Princeton Plasma Physics Lab and other energy research laboratories, was not included in President Obama’s fiscal year 2013 budget request. Without the funding, the lab would face major cutbacks on research projects and staff reductions of up to 100 people, including scientists, engineers, and lab technicians.
“Fusion research is key to America’s energy future, and we are proud to have this important work in New Jersey,” said Holt, who was the assistant director of the lab before his election to Congress. “If you look around us today, you’ll see workers in lab coats, workers in suits, and workers in jeans and hardhats — in other words, a broad cross-section of the New Jersey workforce. All of these jobs, and all of their crucial research, are placed at risk by efforts to cut basic research.”
Helps to have friends/Physics PhDs (Rep Holt) in high places. He is the only one of two trained in physics, with respect to other congressional representatives and senators, few have backgrounds in the sciences. That may explain a lot of inane decisions from the bubble universe/echo chamber called "The Hill."
Link to article: Planet Princeton
Quantum computers are still years away, but a trio of theorists has already figured out at least one talent they may have. According to the theorists, including one from the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST), physicists might one day use quantum computers to study the inner workings of the universe in ways that are far beyond the reach of even the most powerful conventional supercomputers.
DC Wiki: Ray Palmer
NIST: Quantum Computers Will Be Able to Simulate Particle Collisions
Black people on the moon. William Hayashi, has taken this premise and built around it a very thoughtful and suspenseful page turner called Discovery. How did this happen? How did a small group of black people manage to depart Earth undetected? How did they gather the resources to construct a habitat in a lunar environment? On the dark side no less? The first volume in this trilogy, subtitled the Darkside Trilogy, (William is working on volume II as I write this) puts us squarely on the path of answering those questions. But first, the author composes a solid story, taking the reader on an investigative journey leading to this monumental (ahem) discovery. He provides a series of occurrences, seemingly unrelated, but destined to converge.
There are the disappearances of nearly 2,000 highly educated, technically skilled black people over a period of decades; the shoot down of an aircraft in the Middle East, an aircraft with a design and composition unlike anything encountered on Earth; an asteroid on a collision course with Earth, and the invention of a device with unprecedented detection capability.
Discovery is a process of...discovery and I thoroughly enjoyed the process. William takes a very deliberative approach in his storytelling. He makes sure that the reader is ensconced as deeply as possible in the view point of the characters, as the pieces of a grand and complex puzzle are put together. He deftly merges real world tech with science fiction and his superb grasp of space age technology portrayed in the book is an outgrowth of the heavy research he poured into the story.
As I mentioned earlier, Discovery is the first in a trilogy. The answers we didn't get in part one are sure to unfold in forthcoming volumes. But unlocking part of the mystery in Discovery was very exciting. William has written a most intriguing work of science fiction, one I highly recommend.
View Lissajous curve and over 3,000,000 other topics on Qwiki.
Wikipedia: Lissajous curves (very good animation here)
Wolfram Mathworld: Lissajous curves (another way to look @ the math)
Not better in the sense of person: Penny as a character seems quite fun and likable.
Better I mean as role model, breaking away from the "traditional" assignments women are forced by societal expectations to kowtow to, sometimes deliberately steered from study in and mastering technical areas because somewhere along the way some idiot brainwashed a budding scientist or engineer with what was "proper" and "ladylike," similar to the Neanderthals that would rather them barefoot, pregnant and out of competition in the workforce. OK, off my soapbox now...
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Black Steam: A steam punk novel
<This is my intro . . . am i too far off base? >>
Black people who came to America did not always arrive in chains. They arrived by luxury China Clipper sailing ships, underneath giant bags of hydrogen gas, or on the backs of giant Vodoun eagles. These people brought the philosophy, socery and science of Africa to the emerging New World. But their divine mission was not to build an Empire to rule over human civilization; the African ancestors had demanded that the chosen people be put back on the right course and onto a proper timeline.
Thus, with the divine help of the Africans, the Southern Confederate States were destined to defeat the Northern Federal Union in the American Civil War. But even the Ancestors make mistakes and rely upon “The Gifted Messengers” to set things right.
-- Black Steam coming Fall 2012
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| SapientUniversedotcom |
The aide (Karl Rove) said that guys like me were "in what we call the reality-based community," which he defined as people who "believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality." I nodded and murmured something about enlightenment principles and empiricism. He cut me off. "That's not the way the world really works anymore." He continued "We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality—judiciously, as you will—we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors ... and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do."
Ron Suskind, NYT article, 2004
So, it is with heavy hearts we discern the truth: science is no cure for the made up mind, be it climate change, death panels or birth certificates, facts are for wimps and the dimension Rod Serling narrated on has become a functionality:
"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition."
Welcome to the USA: we create our own realities and act on them as if they were true. Engaging in creative obfuscation, we make faith a lie and lies its charleton pimp: never clear on the facts, but Paul Bunyan tellers of tall myths; reinforcing our worldviews only with those we agree with; only opening our mouths to bark the latest sound bite. It's no wonder as a nation we're falling behind in STEM careers; it's no wonder our children's attention spans are short: modeled after our adult Twittering own, with the lifespan of dung heap fleas.
Could we even agree - now in the 21st century - to disagree as well as Sam and Ralph?
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| See content in embed below |
ANSTO = Australian Nuclear Science and Technology Organisation (European spelling)
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| Brian Coxall - Theses on the Open Humanities |
Audacity: 1.The willingness to take bold risks: "her audacity came in handy during our most recent emergency."
From the web site: "We believe university-level education can be both high quality and low cost. Using the economics of the Internet, we've connected some of the greatest teachers to hundreds of thousands of students all over the world.
"Udacity was founded by three roboticists who believed much of the educational value of their university classes could be offered online. A few weeks later, over 160,000 students in more than 190 countries enrolled in our first class, "Introduction to Artificial Intelligence..."
Udacity: Courses
© 7 June 2012, Thom the World Poet, © 9 June 2012, the Griot Poet (response)
I have a friend who is paid by IBM
Just to sit around and solve conundrums
He is a poet-as several other IBM ex-poets
Whose lateral emotional bases allowed flexibility?
Yet whose individuality clashed with corporate groupthink
(You cannot make soup out of ice cream-
Ideas often threaten power structures focused upon control)
Investment post September 11 is in military, police, surveillance mega-industry
All of which constitute inertial economic drags upon productive creative processes
As schools now focus more on learning to the test
Movies and music become retro /recycled clichés eating off past visions
Toffler was right/De Bono was right-to sell thought processing to Corporations
Every cliché is true. Dick Tracy wristwatches exist/as do jetpacks
They have yet to be commercially marketed. Space travel exists (privatized)
Patents for new inventions compound Jetsons/2001/Star Trek previews of the possible
Venture capital supported enterprises seek solutions/even when most investment is military
Eccentric individualism has been replaced by robotic anime-
Programmed drones kill civilians with no responsibility
Technology has no morality. Science is value free.
Economics only one factor when it comes to innovative technology
What philosophy Armageddon? Sarin, anthrax attacks? Deliberate assassinations…
STUXNET cyber-warfare, universal surveillance, secrecy and censorship-
All limit both individual freedom and initiative. New ideas required
But first we need to replace those robots and drones
With poets, artists, philosophers-free thinkers all!
*****
We forget the lesson of "Ender's Game,"
As Mazer Rackham, of bugger-kill fame
And the faux military-industrial-complex declares fair game
A sentient race we make "other" with epithet
No science used to program
- A Google translator
- Or Star Trek "universal communicator"
To see what a hive-complex species thinks,
To know how an entire entity of beings
Lived in harmony,
Before Ender advertently: made them extinct!
Seeking only to live
Beyond its planetary borders
We were attacked in the story: what for?
Because: "they hated our freedoms"?
Orson Scott Card does not explore
The myriad possible reasons Earth was assaulted
In his treatise...as a species, we’ve got a history of pissing people off!
OBL of 9/11 fame made it quite plain: it was for the children
WE bombed in Iraq between false wars
And his twisted devotion
To eye-for-eye killings of more innocents
as if that would implore
Blood to flow that had once been poured,
Sinews and skin to assemble
Upon dry bones
"La vengeance se mange tres-bien froide,"
Or,
"Revenge is very good eaten cold," (Novel: Matilde, 1841)
As I compose verse to the coming sun,
I bear witness:
IT [revenge] makes a poor spark,
Or kick start
To a resurrection!
It's the old argument: nature versus nurture.
Yet, I've seen parents invest tons of money, time and training in what should be recreational sports programs more than happy to take their investment on the "promise" of becoming superstar athletes with the real (sad) potential of becoming paupers one day. A fraction of the same amount of time could be invested in learning to read and comprehend (needed to solve infamous 'word problems'), instead of endless hours spent mastering the 'next level' in video fantasies that don't matter once the subject has come up for air so-to-speak.
I'd rather nurture: it's something we could control versus wait on and wish for like lotteries.
Huffington Post:
Sho Yano, University of Chicago Student, To Become Youngest MD In School's History
Ok, I was doing a PC tech job on a NASA base. I saw in the hallways a number of older black women who were scientist or engineers. I still imagine older black women as grandmas' or aunts', sort of like the seer in the Matrix movie. Can you imagine granny in her granny dress, baking cookies or cooking a stew being a space scientist and her roles criss-crossing to save a space mission or the class science project.
Do you want a free copy of Trash?
If you do, you can enter the my first free book giveaway! All you have to do is three easy things!
1) Read the free preview chapters of Trash!
2) Write a few quick thoughts about your idea of the story so far. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Why?
3) Be sure to leave a valid e-mail address/private message/review, so I can contact you.
There will be two winners! Winners will be selected by the depth of their review.
The Free Book Giveaway Ends: June 15, 2012.
THIS FREE BOOK GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED! THANKS TO ALL THAT PARTICIPATED!
