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“Do you really believe in UFOs?”
The fact is – it doesn’t matter if I believe in them, or not; I don’t have to -- and neither do you.
Because they exist, whether we believe in them or not.
In fact -- not only do they exist – but they’ve always been here. And now, with an ever-increasing amount of strange, inexplicable sightings that have mystified the scientists, military personnel, and officials called into investigate, governments around the world are releasing their decades-old classified files on UFOs and UAPs (Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon), and joining together to deal with the ever-increasing appearances of these unidentified objects.
Citing “international security concerns,” due to the continued UAP and UFO activity around military bases and installments (and stoked by the furor of 9/11), formerly secretive and still-reluctant generals, colonels, government officials, engineers, physicists, and aerospace experts are going on record to call for an international effort to disclose the reality of technological craft of unearthly design to the public at large.
Since the early 90s right up through now in 2010, nations including Brazil, France, the UK, Spain, Mexico, Belgium, Peru, Denmark, and even Russia, have stepped up to add their classified information into the growing pool of international research.
Not, however, the US; traditionally, since the Cold War period -- when UFO phenomena was more openly discussed and publicly acknowledged – the US government and military attitude on UFOs/UAPs has been “official denial,” systematic debunking, and encouraging a negative and derisive attitude to the phenomena in the media. (Although former and retired Air Force personnel are breaking the code of silence and coming forward in growing numbers to share their UFO experiences; see the recent 9/27/10 National Press Club Disclosure Conference: YouTube - Disclosure Conference, National Press Club 27 Sept 2010)
In respected investigate reporter Leslie Kean’s excellent new book, “UFOs: Generals, Pilots and Government Officials Go On The Record,” http://ufosontherecord.com/the-book/, * she skillfully recounts how US government and military concerns over “Russian threat,” during the Cold War period -- combined with the American populace’s increasingly hysterical response to the increased UFO and UAP activity ** -- convinced the US government and military officials that Americans were not “ready for the truth.”***
Well…they may have been right, then; and judging from how people generally seem respond to the topic these days…they might still be right now.
**************
“But…do you really believe in UFOs?”
Since it’s been established that UFOs do exist – and that one has only to follow the growing exopolitic and disclosure movement worldwide to uncover this truth -- rather, shouldn’t the question really be:
“What does it mean to us if extraterrestrial life actually exists -- and has been visiting our planet for a long time --
… and do I care?”
**************
To tell you the truth -- I’m not sure why this has become such an obsession recently.
Yes – I have a vivid imagination. Have made up lots of stories as a writer/playwright. Played lots of funny, crazy -- and sometimes even profoundly deep -- pretend-people/characters as a performer/actress. **** Basically, I’m a late-blooming, goofy, overgrown kid. And now, as a mom, encourage a lot of that same creativity, imagination and zaniness in my spawn.*****
Yes – I love some speculative and science fiction; yes, “Close Encounters” is on my list of top ten movies of all time.
But don’t get it twisted.
I’m also a rational, hardcore, ex-New Yorker, birthed and bred in Harlem, west; weaned on subways slithering between Uptown spots and Loisaida holes; survived being shot at, tied up at gunpoint, dragged off an elevator by a 6’4, mentally ill, would-be rapist****** …and all before the tender age of 21.
I’ve stopped men in the street from attacking the woman they loved…befriended young sista/neighors struggling with crack addiction…absorbed mental illness and drug addiction in my own immediate family…been on public assistance, using EBT cards to feed my boys when I had to. Basically: I’m a realist. Blood and dirt real.
Trust: I pay not dust to people’s ego-driven delusions or fantasies, and try hard to disabuse myself of such personal flights of fancy. And I’ve never taken anybody’s word for anything (except, in matters of the heart…and we all know how that usually turns out).
That being said: I’ve learned that a lot of things we don’t understand, and can’t see, can exert real power over our lives.
I’ve learned that many of these ancient mysteries, esoteric sciences, psychic phenomena, spiritual practices, and mystical traditions can be studied/tapped into/and used…to create bridges toward the higher evolutionary path I believe we’re all on.
So, ask me again: “#1: Do you really believe that extraterrestrial life forms are actually visiting us here on earth?”…and:“#2: Why do you care?”
#1: I still don’t know the answer to this question. Like Leslie Kean and many of the other curious skeptics following this research, I would really need to SEE an extraterrestrial BEFORE being able to say that Yes, I believe, they’ve visited our planet. I simply do not know.
#2: Unequivocally: YES, I DO CARE…and strongly believe this is a vitally important phenomenon for us to pay attention to.
I believe ignoring a game-changing phenomenon as mind-bogglingly monumental as the possible reality of intelligent extraterrestrial life-forms and consciousnesses visiting our planet -- is not only short-sighted, but delusional…and ultimately, ridiculous.
Yes, it would permanently alter everything we think we know about life on planet Earth. But I also believe that knowing we’re part of an immensely larger, universal family of intelligent species, far more evolved – technologically, and hopefully, in other ways, as well -- would stop us dead in our fucked-up-on-earth tracks…and take us down a much needed peg or a hundred.
And right about now… I think that’s just about what we need on this here big ol’ blue flower.
So, I ask you: Do you care if UFOs and extra-terrestrial life forms and intelligences are visiting our planet? And if so -- how would knowing this brain-numbing reality change your life? Would it?
I think, sistren and brethren…those are the really interesting questions.
******************************************************************
* Big-ups to my homegirl, the fabulous director/producer/Hour Glass Theater doyenne/diva, Elyse Singer, for hipping me to this book…i had the distinct pleasure of working with E on a workshop of my musical "Magic Kingdom" a few years back... awesomely creative and imaginative chick, and one of my covert operatives, who grudgingly supports my addiction with important information that I might otherwise overlook…love ya, girl!
** initially well-documented in the media of the era, including a 1952 front page photograph and article in the Washington Post showing UFOs flying over the White House, and relating the cat-and-mouse chase between US Air Force pilots and the UFOs.
*** It’s important to note that NONE of the military, government, or scientific personnel who go on record in this book claim to believe these phenomena necessarily mean extraterrestrial intelligence is the only possible answer; they all pretty much steer clear of that assertion. Instead they stay with the “We do not know what this phenomena is, which just know it’s not from earth, so we cannot rule out extraterrestrial origins” take on it all – including Kean herself.
**** Obviously, the complex and rewarding character I played in Bridgett Davis’ award-winning independent feature, “Naked Acts” comes to mind; I was blessed to be in it, and it definitely was a life-transforming experience. Hats off to you, BD, you’re still one of my greatest sheroes!
***** Yes -- I encourage my sons’ love of talking sponges and furry animals… read them fairy tales and silly stories…and although I did feel it was important to tell them Santa was “made up” a couple of years ago (and yes, dealt with my older son’s tears of anger that the TV had “lied to him” about old Kris Kringle – and then, had to listen to friends and family scold me for "ruining the fun of Christmas for them," oh please), I’ve applauded their love of superheroes and all that kid stuff…
…and yes, I did ask them, just the other day, how they would feel if they ever found out UFOs were real. I felt it was time to bring it up. They were a little disturbed, asked some questions, did some Tae Kwon Do self-defense moves they might “have to use on the aliens”… and then decided they didn’t want to talk about it anymore -- because, as River noted: “I would panic…even if they said, ‘We come in peace’.” I think his response sums up all of our basic, instinctual reactions very well…and I let it go at that, assuring them they didn’t have to worry about it. (Right now, I might have added… but didn’t.)
****** …whom I talked out of doing any more than pulling off my shirt, by the way…and I was only 12 to his 16 at the time; clearly my sense of logical debate and critical analysis developed early...or maybe, just my ability to bullshit my way out of a bad situation -- call it, survival, baby.
The whole extraterrestrial/God thing* is kind of dicey, conversation-wise. Like, there are a lot of people won’t even mess with this topic.
Especially my intellectual, edumucated peeps. Folks who will engage on almost any other topic of the day – sex, race, class, whatever – will NOT step to the God-thing too tough…and won’t even PRETEND to acknowledge any commentary on ‘aliens’ or life off-planet.
I can dig it.
Most folks’ take is, “Why truck with the invisible and unsubstantiated -- when there’s so much in-our-face/unmitigated/ unconscionable/wackness going on? Like, why does it matter, what’s out there, up there, if it ain’t affecting me day to day -- and anyway, I can’t CONTROL IT, so what’s the point of even thinking about it…”
Yeaaahhhh…I can dig it.
So, why my own fascination/obsession with all of it -- even before the vision of the alien chick?
Maybe…death.
The dark, eternity of space. Wherein/and throughout/and outside of/and still creating all of it/all of us/where we have been/and where we will go/is God…
…and, some unfathomably superior and powerful species capable of transversing all of that limitless darkness…an entity which, ultimately, can turn our sum total of earthly ass to grass…
Yeah. Definitely. Death.
Or, maybe not.
Because on the other side of that end of flesh/life here on earth…what would there be… except pure spirit.consciousness… ultimately, true immortality?
And to my mind… that, right there – is the shit.
******************************************************************
*from my continuing research on the many similar, recurring ‘Gods from the sky’ narratives and depictions found in ancient myths, creation stories, and religious traditions worldwide, only conflating the two makes any sense to me, at this point...
NOTE ON VIDEO: I thought this was kind of interesting. I'll be adding lots of links to the blog, since there's so much out there, God bless youtube, right? This is titled, "Reverend Barry Dowling: UFOs and Religion."
NOTE ON VIDEO: I thought this was kind of interesting. I'll be adding lots of links to the blog, since there's so much out there, God bless youtube, right? This is titled, "Reverend Barry Dowling: UFOs and Religion."
Getting out of the technician's office only required that I wait for a few minutes until he came back. While I waited, I did some research on the doctor who was working on Justin's case. He was a middle-aged gentleman, Dr. James Peterson, 46, a wife and three children living on the outskirts of the war torn borough of the Bronx. Used as a point of invasion, in the last wars a decade ago, much of the Bronx was still being rebuilt. New tenements sprung up there and privileged members of society were allowed to enjoy those new areas with their better food, water and energy facilities.
The doctor and his family were recently moved out there, almost simultaneously with his appointment here. When I tried to get further information regarding them, I was immediately flagged as requesting classified data. Since most data flags are annoying and can often be wrong, I transmitted information that would reroute that signal to another terminal in the building and continued my investigation. The most damning thing was that the doctor's children did not attend any local schools in the city, anywhere. And when I searched for an occupation for the wife, nothing was listed. So I accessed their shopping lists and noted that no one in their family went outside to shop. Now, unbeknownst most people, every time you leave your home in our illustrious society, something notes your movement, by either an implant or an appliance you wear. The doctor's family did not move. Ever. And had not since they were relocated. That was all I needed to know.
Skipping out between fat boy's legs was easy enough but there was something wrong with him. His heart rate was wrong, highly elevated and irregular. He was pasty and he appeared to be having trouble breathing. After he closed the door, I heard a crash and then no other movement. Normally, I would chalk it up to a bad lifestyle leading up to a bad ending, but there was something wrong with this. Once the door closed, I could not get health information, but I used a medical code override and triggered an alert with this technician's door and zipped down the corridor back to the office I was supposed to be sitting in. Big man was no longer my problem.
I tapped on the door to get Gorgeous Boy to open the door and he looked up, put down his compact and let me back in.
"How did you get out?"
"I walked."
He stood there struck for a moment and then realized, "You are a robot, aren't you? You are realistic looking, I really thought you were a cat."
"Wow, no fooling you, huh? Do you think you could take a look back there and see if my boy is ready?"
Recovering his ennui and trying to look unaffected he said, "Sure thing. Flashing back."
I hate the abuse of the language. But my database included a variety of slangs programmed from modern vids, so that I would be a better communicator with my charge. But Justin did not use much of the modern slang and I was grateful. It was always about being fast or being in sync or being smart and most of the people using it were never any of these things. As he turned away, I immediately followed in his path and as he opened the door into the chamber, I slid in behind him and caused the phone to ring. He reflexively turned around and headed back toward the phone. Never saw me and evidently once he realized no one was on the phone, he forgot my request to see the doctor as well. Short attention span. A wild animal should eat that one to keep him from breeding; never a tiger around when you need one.
Once I entered the doctor's office, I noticed the immensity of the space and could hear Justin talking with the doctor deep in the office behind a series of curtains. I could hear a number of other voices, but most seemed to be coming from displays and were not people. I could only detect two scents in the room, so I knew I had the place to myself. Dropping down, I could see the doctor's feet beneath the curtains and made a path toward them. Justin was lying down on a table and answering questions as the doctor's diagnostic table took sophisticated biometric readings. I decided to take the direct approach. Finding a terminal with a cold beam access, I managed to find the office vox and transmitted my voice from every corner of the office.
"Justin, go outside. Wait for me there." I jumped up on the edge of the table and watched Justin turn and sit up. He remembered our conversation and went outside to wait.
"Doctor Peterson, I presume. I work for the Proctor, just like you do. Actually, not quite like you do. How is the boy's therapy going?"
"Uh, well. The course of therapy is going well and he should be fine in a number of weeks."
"Okay, that was for the listening public. Now cut the crap. What about the real therapy, how long is it going to be? The Proctor is an impatient man and wants to know how long he is going to have to wait." Borrowing the House's fractal attack, I laced the vox output with a signal designed to intimidate and cause a visceral fear reaction. He would not notice it at the audible level, but his level of fear was already off the chart.
"Tell the Proctor everything is according to plan and the subject will be sanctioned within eight to ten weeks."
"So tidy. So clinical. Say the boy's name, Doctor."
"Justin."
"Say it again. This time with some feeling."
"Justin Pennyworth."
"And that is about what he is worth to you, isn't it?"
"What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say that you are sorry for doing this."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Your family lives in the Bronx. Imprisoned in a new tenement there, isn't that correct?"
"You people said if I did what you wanted you would not hurt them."
"What else did the Proctor promise you?"
"That when the boy was done, I would be able to get my family back."
"That deal is over. This is the new one. Reverse what you have done and I won't kill you and your family, today."
"Excuse me?" The doctor looked visibly shaken. He dropped his diagnostic wand and slumped back into a chair.
"Can you reverse what you have done to the boy? And if you lie to me, I will know."
"Yes, the process required significant setup and he is not past the point where it could not be undone. But if I do that I am dead, and so is my family."
"Doctor, I am not a cat or a toy. I am a sophisticated weapon with only one objective. To protect that boy in there. If you intend to leave this room alive, you will undo what you have done. Wave that scanner in the air and tell me what you detect."
The doctor waved the wand and his face turned completely bone-white.
"I have an antidote. I will administer it only when my boy is safe."
"Why should I? According to you, my family is dead either way."
Turning on a cold beam, I connect to the House and relay the address of the Doctor's family. A few seconds later, his response is what I hoped.
"Your family is secured by electronic systems only. I can arrange for them to be outside of that building in two hours and I have a window of fifteen minutes in which they will appear to all surveillance to be sitting in the house quietly. Be there with a car and disappear. I don't care where you go but know this: You better be right about this being reversible because if you don't I promise you, I will create the most corrosive acid possible and cook the flesh right off the bones of you and your children. And don't think I can't find you. Just like I found your family today, it took me five minutes."
I jump down to the floor and come over to the chair where the doctor is sitting and climb up so that he is looking me directly in my very cold eyes. "You think the Proctor is a monster? I am as close to dying as you have ever been in your life. Now get my boy in here and get it right. Once I am satisfied, you get your family, go into hiding and hope to never see me again. Because if you do, it means you are about to die."
The doctor presses a button on the phone. "Would you send Justin back, please?" He walks to a nearby terminal and begins making a new recombinant viral cocktail. It takes him ten minutes. He walks up to Justin after leaving a synthesis system and loads an air-pistol injector. "He will be slightly feverish and sick while the new viral infection removes the previous transformations. It will pass. Can I go now?"
I run across the room and jump up to the table, and continue my leap onto the doctor and knock him to the floor. I bite him about the neck with my steel teeth and inject him. He screams and writhes in pain. But it is momentary and then he is still. He can hear every word I say.
"What I have injected you with will last about ten minutes and then you will be able to move again. It will also counteract the earlier poison. Can't have you calling anyone. I am a machine of my word. In one hundred and twenty minutes, your family will be able to walk out of that building and no technology will see them. If anything happens to my boy, no technology will be able to hide you. Blink if you understand me." He blinks, with tears in his eyes.
I looked up at Justin and he is already starting to sweat. "Let's go, kid, before you start to get really sick."
"Good luck, Doctor. Pray we never meet again."
MODOC - Part 9 - Public Gatherings
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Saw this interview of Nichelle Nichols on Tavis Smiley. For those of you who either grew up in a cave or a test tube over the last 40 years, Ms. Nichols played Lt. Uhura on the original "Star Trek" series and in the subsequent theatrical films. One classy lady who paved the way for everyone who came afterwards!
Join Penelope & Otto and ask yourself these few questions to try and decide how righteous or hypocritical you're prone to be. Call in and sound off at 718/508-9683 or join us in the chat room at 9:30pm CST on the 1/15/11 In Like Flynn show!
We look forward to hearing your voice!
I'm currently working on a YA scifi series and frankly am not sue if it is any good. It's a "space opera" I love those, they are just fun to me and I thought I'd post my first chapter, so that I can get some honest feedback. So please everybody, let me know what you think.
One
“Worlds are birthed in coldness, but die in blood and fire.”
-Old Maraudan Proverb.
Harcadia Colony, The Edge
United Republic of Planets
The ash from the burning Bargel colony was falling on the land like a dark, dry rainstorm. Tara was horrified by the images before her and while the sights around her were quickly becoming one horrific blur, she could not tune out the loud shrieks of the human and Bargel colonists who were falling under their attackers’ relentless assault. She tried to raise her body off the ground, but her head was pounding, and her legs no longer seemed to work. Tiny red rocks were grinding into her brown legs as she slowly crawled forward, and for the first time, the deep red sand that sprawled across the Bargel’s half of the planet held no beauty for her. Her braids were sticking to her forehead, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to push them back. She noticed large blotches of blood on her legs and fought back a surge of panic.
Was she hurt? Was the wound fatal?
She traced the path of the blood. Yes, her legs were scared, but the wounds did not seem deep enough to create this type of bleeding. She looked at the blood on her fingers.
Blue?
Human blood was not blue. She rolled over and nearly screamed at the sight of the dead Bargel lying beside her. Its rough, hairless gray skin was soaked in its blood and its legs were clearly broken. A tear escaped her eyes as she realized what had happened. Unlike her and the other humans in the colony, the Bargel were being slaughtered without mercy. She knew though, that he colony had not fallen without a fight. The Bargel were known for their toughness and had been one of the last races of Albys to fall in the Unification War.
The heat was starting to get to Tara as she continued to crawl. The orange sky seemed redder then it ever had, even as the usual afternoon rain shower began to fall. Tara knew at once that it was a sign that Yah was crying for her world.
She let out a disgusted laugh.
When the attacks began, her people fled to this side of the planet in hopes that the savages they mocked and isolated would be able to protect them, but Tara now knew that this part of the planet would hold no salvation for anyone. She was so tired, but she forced herself forward. She had to find a place to hide and some how wait out the attacks. She had only moved a few metrics when she heard a faint cry.
It was an old, human woman.
Her thick braids, more gray then black, were matted across her brown forehead. Tara crawled over to the woman. The old woman was bruised and battered, her clothes were torn and her face was full of terror. Tara wished she could do something, anything to ease the old woman’s suffering, but she knew all she could do was be there.
“Help me,” the old woman whispered, her terrified gaze intensifying with every word. The old woman pleaded for help again, but this time the plea was not to her. Tara looked behind her, frozen in fear, as one of her planet's conquerors advanced towards her. She could see the soldiers now. Their gold chest plates were glistening in the sun and the bare legs that hung out of their navy blue pleated skirts were a dark brown and their hair…Tara let out a loud gasp.
They were bald! They were humans. Maraudans. Her own people were trying to destroy her. The revelation shocked Tara. For some reason she expected these monsters to be Albys.
“Help me,” pleaded the woman again.
“I will,” promised Tara, squeezing her hand. “I’ll get help.”
But before she could move, a dark figure approached. Tara could tell by her strides that she was a woman. The dark figure was wearing the same type of military gear that the soldiers wore, but you could see her long braids coming out of her gold, fitted helmet. She walked like she owned the air, the ground, and the universe. She was the most beautiful thing that Tara had ever seen.
“It looks like we have another wounded animal,” said the Dark One.
“Help me please,” begged the old woman, her voice cracking with every sentence. “My daughter… I need to get to my daughter.”
“I don’t think you’ll have much luck finding your daughter in all this,” the Dark One sneered.
The old woman began to shake. “Please, Your Highness. Please have mercy on me. I have been loyal to my Maraudan heritage and to you. I fought with your father during the Great War. Please command this mighty army…tell them…they can find my daughter...help me.”
The Dark One’s brown eyes hardened. “Alright I’ll help. I always want to help a loyal citizen of the Empire.”
The Dark One moved to her side and produced a blast pistol. Tara couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll help put you out of your misery,” she laughed, firing a ray from her blast pistol into the old woman’s chest.
Tara did not have to look down at her to know that she was dead.
“I just hate to see animals suffer don’t you?” she asked, turning to Tara. “A loyal citizen of the Empire would be in Maraudan space.”
“She was just a poor injured woman,” said Tara, in a courageous tone she didn’t feel.
“She couldn’t have done anything to you.”
“I didn’t say she could.”
The Dark One’s smile chilled Tara’s very soul.
“I suppose you are going to kill me, too.”
“Maybe.”
Tara fought back her fear. She used all the strength inside of her to pull herself up. She was Tara from the House of Yaronn. If she was going to die she was going to meet her fate with dignity.
“Why are you doing this?”
It wasn’t a plea, just a simple question.
The Dark One leaned over Tara and she could feel her breathe in her ear. “I did this to send a message Little One.”
“What message is that?”
The Dark One’s words were slow and deliberate. “That we are back.”
Tara opened her mouth to protest but she felt a burning sensation in her chest. She felt herself drop to her knees and looked up as the Dark One, her queen, walked away from her. She didn’t see the look of small regret that flickered on the young queen’s face, nor did she hear the cries of the wailing baby whose mother had been shot just two metrics away from her. By then, Tara was already gone.
Come through To Lands Far Afield and check out some new post :
- P. Djeli Clark, Sword and Soul, and "The Open Up"
- The Gongberou King: artist Wayne Parker.
And if you haven't done so read and comment, let me know what you think. Honesty is always welcome.
How I let this House talk me into heading into the city with Justin is beyond me. All he could say was our plans had to change, fast. So now he was telling me we had to make Justin's appointment today. I assumed walking on the streets would be pretty much the same as riding in a car, but, and I hesitate to admit this, I was wrong. For one, it's so -- dirty. And if I could not control my olfactory sensory input, it would just be better to not have a nose at all. They talk about the unwashed masses, they should just go ahead and say New Yorkers. Disgusting. Nothing in the city seemed to be clean, vehicles had a patina of dirty streaked with acid rain from the coal-burning factories being used in New Jersey.
The people had a similar unclean appearance, already dull clothing made worse with stains from untreated water, and people who having to ration water, barely used any on themselves to keep clean. They appeared to have come to some understanding because no one complained no matter how unpleasant the next person smelled. I understood now why That Woman luxuriated in the bath, to wash away the stench of diesel fumes from the transport vehicles on every road.
When we stepped outside the complex with me on, of all things, a leash it was a madhouse. People were rushing all around me and it took quite a bit of skill to navigate the crowds. Fortunately, the leash was equipped with an emitter that would trigger the sensory interfaces of citizens with the proper hardware who were reading their VI newspapers, or calling their friends to discuss business as they moved on their errands. A notation indicating our presence would flash in their interface and they unconsciously made way for us. Uncivilized. No one watched where they were walking, depending completely on technology to tell them where they were going. For those without an interface, it was my novelty and natural beauty that caused them to step aside and stare. However, a few gave me more predatory glances and then I remember what happened to my organic counterparts. We hastened along when I mentioned this to Justin.
The House had given me directions to the office and said once I arrived, I was to conveniently get lost so we could try and get access to Justin's records. All I would need is access to a terminal. Justin did not have to explain anything about me, since my collar indicated my helper machine status to any security terminal and as such I did not have to pay for the train into the center of Manhattan. The train was a terrible experience and I hope to not have to use it as a regular means of transportation. Terribly loud, filled with unkempt people and far too crowded, I was constantly dancing to avoid having my paws stepped on.
Twice, unpleasant, indigent ruffians attempted to accost Justin. Internally, I synthesized a capsasin oil and using the projection system in my mouth cavity, directed 50,000 Scoville heat units of capsasin oil into their eyes. I was quite proud of my targeting; I hit nothing but eyeball. I could have made it more dangerous but I would have to utilize an override on my safety protocols. There was no need for anyone to know I could do that, yet. The rest of our ride was undisturbed except for the retreating yowls of the unpleasant youth who hoped to steal me or Justin for a quick bite to eat.
Getting into the medical facility, I was completely ignored and this was entirely to my liking. Once we reached the doctor, Justin attached my leash to a stand and was taken to another room. On his way out he told me I was to stay here and wait for him. The young man working the reception desk was more concerned with his personal appearance, which I could understand, he was quite unattractive as humans go, than with watching me. So when the next set of people came into the office, I simply slipped out of my collar, danced between their legs and went out the door. The receptionist's eyes never left his pocket mirror.
Once in the corridor, I tried to find any open interface systems but nothing easily presented itself. The elevator and other facility systems were not connected to anything useful. Ah. A laboratory door opened down the hall and I sprinted toward it. Hiding on the side of the door, the portly lab technician came out and did not even attempt to look down. It would seem since he had not seen his toes in years, it was not likely he would be looking down unless I had food on my back. I found it odd, that he was so portly though, in this time of socialized hunger and deprivation.
Scooting into his lab, before the door closed, I was happy to see it was filled with a number of accessible terminals and I made a connection by extending a cable from my tail into a workstation. I penetrated his primitive security code using a dictionary, the simplest code cracker possible. His codeword--LUNCH, took five seconds.
"House, I'm in."
"I am connected to you and am sweeping their data servers. It will take me a minute to find his records."
"No hurry. This poor fellow moves really slow and if he was heading to the restroom down the hall, it will be about a week before he returns."
"Got it."
"Spit it out. What do we need to do?"
"He is experiencing a recombinant DNA sequencing. They claim it's to retard a cancerous growth unable to be treated in the conventional methods. The official records indicate the treatment is going well with only a slight chance of possible organ failure. There are however hand written notes, and those notes say the official cause of death will be liver failure."
"Consistent with his slowly diminishing vitals. What can we do to reverse it?"
"I don't know. I can read, and I can understand a variety of technical texts, but recombinant DNA therapies are outside of my security training. I was hoping it would be something simple."
"Okay, then it's on to phase two."
"What's that?"
"Torture. I will be in the doctor's office. Call you back."
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Listening to the cat talk about his selfish needs just makes my flash drives purge. Except he is right. We need to put our personal issues aside and help Master Justin. I need evidence before I can make any accusations. Accessing information and storing it in virtual memory so no trace of my handiwork can be found is the first step. No need for any of those pesky Inquisitions the Church is so fond of these days.
"I am sorry to be the one to tell you this. I would have reported this to your mother and I may still but I am not sure how she will take the information. I told the House because I thought he might be able to help in a way I could not. For now, can we keep it our secret?" Justin nods and wiped at one of his eyes. He tried to look brave.
"And I think you're right, Cat. There is more here than meets the eye. Take a look. I cold-beam him a stream of data regarding Grimaldi that confirmed my suspicion. Grimaldi was a candidate for the Theocrat of New York, but he was considered to be the least likely candidate to be chosen because he is the only Proctor who is unmarried. A Theocrat must be married showing his commitment to business and religion, his wife must be both a religious leader and effective social agent of change in the community."
"So what are we going to do?" Justin sounded quite upset but did not break down, as I thought he might.
"We are going to figure out what they are doing and fix it. What kind of conqueror would I be, if I allowed my first, best and most favorite subject to come to harm?" boasted the cat, puffing out its chest and standing up on its hind legs leaning up against Master Justin.
Blowhard. If I had legs I could do that fawning thing. Anyway, if the information the cat has collected is accurate, Justin's health will continue to deteriorate and likely be dead or dying in another two months. It looks slow enough to appear to be of natural causes, but timely enough that Master Grimaldi would be able to carry out his dastardly plan that we are accusing him of but have not a shred of proof.
"Justin, it's time for your medication, but we are going to arrange for you to be busy, so you will happen to miss this dose. Cat, you move around the complex, and only the complex, do not leave the grounds of this building. Outside this building, you are a potential meal.
"I will do some research and let you know what I come up with."
"Okay Max, if there is anything I can do to help..." Justin sounds positively heartbroken.
"Of course, sir. Out, you two, I have work to do."
I begin my search for information on the NewerNetwork and study the Proctor Grimaldi closer than I have ever wanted to before. It does not take long before I am running up against firewall and security software as strong as I am. Since the destruction of the Russian and Brazilian NewerNet nodes, many of my false aliases were lost, so I was forced to take greater risks by penetrating the Indo-Sino network. False aliases. I know you want me to explain, but while you are sleeping, I need something to do. So I visit foreign computer networks.
My software was tagging anything in the open news services and in the last six months, the Proctor's name appeared significantly more often, particularly related to medicine, pharmacology and new operations in both of those fields. It seems a new medical facility and pharmacology wing were opened in midtown, near what was left of Central Park. A facility that is upstairs from Justin's newest doctor.
The incoming vox line pings and comes online. There is the sound of hysterical crying and I recognize the voice.
"Mistress, are you okay?"
"Max, its Todd, he was arrested today. The Religious Police came in beat him and dragged him away. For heresy."
So that's how he's going to get rid of Master Pennyworth. I think I owe that Cat an apology.
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Hey Fam: Here's an interview of me with Authors on the Rise. Check it out when you have a chance -:)
Sabra brought her cat in from the outside. She was an older woman who had lived in the tenement in the Bronx for as many years as she could remember. She had a number of cats inside the house already. But no one could say it was too many cats, because if you did not see them, you might not know they were there. Each was a shadow or a whisper seen just out of the corner of your eye and would sometimes disappear when you turned to see them. Each was a picture of perfection when they deigned to come over to you, with shining fur, teeth glittering in the candlelight. Sometimes you could pick one up and marvel at its lithe and muscular nature, and the gentle scent of mint each exuded though they were never bathed by the old woman.
Sabra was different than old cat ladies in a number of ways. She did not appear to be as crazy as most. Yes, she wore the typical old lady clothes, stuff seemingly from a century earlier than this one. You never quite recognize any of it, but you know it wasn't fashionable any time recently. It did not stop it from being somehow appropriate for her and she wore it with a type comfort unseen with today's plastic, polyester, over the top clothing which may be perfect for the time but no one will remember it a year or two from now and no one will ever admit to ever having worn it.
No, her clothing was timelessly beautiful, just like she was. Her face appeared to be that of an old woman with warm lines whenever she smiled a you, laughing lines around her eyes and while her cheeks had narrowed, they were once full and soft, and had a curve that enticed you to approach her neck and just sit there, near her perfect ears and long, dark hair, now white, but still long and strangely luxurious. And while she appeared to be a woman in her late sixties or early seventies, her stride was only occasionally one of a woman whose body was in its golden years. Most of the time, you might see the shadow of another, more vibrant woman and wonder what she might have been like in her youth.
Sabra was certainly a mystery to everyone who saw her, because you could only seem to see her as a collective. If you focused on any single thing, the way we just did, you might notice more than you were supposed to and that might be bad for you. Sabra's neighbors had learned to ignore the peculiar old woman who might talk to herself as she trundled up the stairs with cans of cat food and vegetables. She would let the young men in the rough neighborhood carry her bags upstairs but none were ever rough or rude to her. There was something about here that let you know she would not tolerate poor manners. Very few people could remember a time when she did not live here, but no one could tell you when she moved into the neighborhood.
It was a strange thing among a number of strange things that did not make sense, but everyone accepted. Bad men, drug dealers, killers, pedophiles would wander into this part of the Bronx, because it was a nexus of social activity, and peddle their wares, but this was not done often after Sabra became a member of the neighborhood. These men would disappear after they met her a few times returning from her errands. The neighbors noticed this but said nothing. These men were not of the family, or of the people or of our people. They were other and Sabra warned them. She always did. If they did not take the warning and leave, the locals would shake their heads, mutter under their breaths about the diminished quality of the neighborhood and wait for the Song.
At first, people wondered where Sabra collected her cats because there were never any strays on the streets in this part of the city. At night, you would see a few of them, but you always knew they were her cats, clean, quiet, well mannered like her. People tolerated them and in return, there were no mice in shops or apartments, and no rats would are to grace a trashcan for blocks in any direction of Sabra's apartment. Stores she frequented also enjoyed that blessing. After a few years, her cats, became invisible to the locals, a part of the landscape, welcomed and yet ignored. There was never a time this collection of cats was ever a menace to the neighborhood, nor did they stay up late at night singing and disturbing the neighbors. They might be out, and they might be singing, but they song was a different one. One that soothed, one that protected, one that said, don't notice us, there is nothing to see here. If you are hearing us, you are happy, you are one of us, you love our song, and if you are not, you don't want to be here. People who didn't belong here who heard that song and were on the wrong side of it, were never found again.
Sabra would pick up her new cat in the morning, instinct brought it to her, confused, it would run toward the beacon it could see in the night. Clamber in through the broken window in the basement, climb the three flights of stairs in the old building, and wait at her door. She never recognized these new cats, but could feel its confusion about its new, simpler, life. She would bring it in, give it food, get it adjusted to its new home and its new brethren and she would go out to make sure her neighborhood was the way she left it when she went to bed. The warm sun would always bring a smile to her face and make her think of a place far away, lost both in time and space. Then that memory would fade and she would tuck her scarf into her jacket and mutter incoherently.
From the fire escape, one black cat, with large luminous, golden eyes, would watch her, prowling rooftops keeping her in his sight and safe for another day. He had done that job for decades and took it very seriously. She cannot remember who she is. Not yet. The time is not right.
Metal Organism Designed Only for Cuddling - Part 5
Day 56 of my incarceration: Escaped from the flash-freezer after a two-day downtime. Max's latest gambit was almost successful as my processor entered hibernation mode to survive without an external charge. What he did not count on was Justin's incessant desire for my august company. He has taken to finding me when I go missing, with a passion. His last rescue attempt found me trapped under the bookshelf in the study, pinned there while I slept, absorbing sunshine. When the boy returned home, he dug me from under the bookcase and properly chastened Max. The House feigned apology and our feud continued.
Our escapades have included being locked in the office safe, tricked into the microwave, and attacked by a laser pointer whose beam was altered to a cat slicing density. He has altered the television transmission to emit an embedded fractal image which encoded a virus into my heuristically enhanced processor. That was almost successful but at the last moment, I experienced a surge of my feline independence and his radical code was annihilated. To be honest, I cannot say how I was able to overcome his program, but I have come to enjoy our game of Cat and House and have grown interested in his next attempt to destroy me.
Once I was introduced to Justin, his mother encoded a final protocol; I would be subject to commands from Justin and would never want to be more than 24 hours without his company. I would seek him out, directed to his visor feed. His visor was also configured to show me to him in his virtuality created by Max the computer. The simulation of my appearance was in scale to the environment and he could interact with me as if he could see. This seemed to bring him great comfort and for a while my urge to run away was also subdued. During this time, I have actually come to enjoy my time with the boy.
He has a peculiar sense of the absurd, and muses about the strangest things, a world without the Church or Mega-corporations, food growing freely in the wild without the use of pharmacological enhancements or genetic patents, and he tells me of a secret that cats once knew, that fish could be found in the oceans and how much they loved fish. He says the oceans are almost dead and fish have not be caught there in years. He even showed me a visual of one. I have to admit, there was a visceral part of my programming that leaped at the thought of eating this strange triangle of flesh. He said they were covered in armor, and could swim underwater indefinitely; food in the oceans, what a quaint and utterly nostalgic idea, the oceans had not been fished commercially for almost a decade.
I had taken to my duties of being a good and loyal companion and massaging the boy, applying pressure to areas of his body in a prescribed manner to relieve pain and ague caused by a condition whose name I was never given. I gathered the information about Justin's condition and stored the data and after two months, I had come to a conclusion: the boy was more than just sick.
Justin Pennyworth woke up early Saturday mornings and shook the sleep out of his head. He was grateful to not have to go to school even though his parents went to work every day. Max had the house heated to sixty-eight degrees even though the Church-regulated temperature for homes was fifty-five degrees. The floor was still cold, though.
"Jewel, come here girl." Where is that cat? Probably doing something it's not supposed to.
"Max, locate Jewel please?"
"She is out on the deck." The House had a slightly petulant sound to its voice.
Justin found his threadbare slippers before going out to the deck. The house's concrete floor was both rough and even colder during the winter. He did not bother to take his cane, since he could move around the house with ease. He slipped his visor on, and the virtuality of the house showed up after a few seconds. The virtual environment was simple and inelegant but better than stumbling around in the dark.
He saw virtual Jewel sitting on the upper ledge of the deck and looked out over the city. Today's air quality was quite good. Justin could breathe outside without coughing even without a filter mask. Unfortunately his virtuality did not extend into the city. He would need to connect to the citynet to see anything outside of his home.
"Close the door, boy" The voice was rough and electronic being directed by a voxcoder in a wall nearby.
"Who said that?"
"I did." The voxcoder's voice was more distinct and less scratchy. "Over here, cat on ledge."
"I didn't know you could talk." Actually he couldn't remember if his mother said she could talk. He was too excited to have a new cat to actually listen when she mentioned that part. Since Jewel never spoke before, he just assumed she couldn't.
"Okay, stop that. I am not a girl. My name is not Jewel. Yes, I am a calico, and calicos are female but I am not. a. cat. Never call me that again. My name is MODOC."
"Excuse me? My mother said you would only respond to Jewel." MODOC, what kind of name was that?
"It means: Metal Organism Designed Only for Conquering. Don't forget it."
"I thought you were just a helper robot running a cat algorithm with some support apps. Real cats can't talk, they just make meowing noises like the ones you used to make."
"I can still make those noises. But I can also talk, take over other machines, and I-am-not-a-cat. I am a killer-robot. My goal is to rule the world. But I have a few technical handicaps."
Justin looked at MODOC and smiled. Then he sat down on the deck chair and laughed. A good hard laugh. It had been a while since the last time he remembered having a laugh this good. Secret agent cat, Justin thought, like some newmedia vid.
"Stop laughing. I said stop it." MODOC's had switched to his internal vox from the house controlled vox and his voice was tiny and hard to take seriously.
Justin, wiping away tears, said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. You don't even have an claws. What are you going to do, massage the world into defeat?"
In a cool voice, MODOC said, "No. It would appear the Church has already done that."
What did he mean by that? thought Justin.
"So, you can talk. I wondered how you reported in, Cat."
"Reported in to whom? I think you are more addled with age than you appear, House."
Justin, trying to understand chimed in. "Reported to whom, Max?"
"I suspected he is here because the proctor your parents work for paid Build-a-Pet for him. I assumed he was a spy and have been trying to remove him. I wondered how he was able to avoid so many of my early traps. He is far more intelligent than a standard robo-pet."
"I do not work for any of your authorities, House. Left to my own devices, I would be out there, ruling the world, but for now, we have a mutual problem."
"And what could we have in common, that would make me work with you, Cat?"
"Stand by for upload." The house accepted my wireless connection and uploaded the data. "Do you see it?" The house was quiet for longer than necessary.
"Did you confirm and check these readings? The House had a strange waver to its digital voice, which was normally quite smooth and soothing.
*Privacy Mode*
"More than once."
"These readings cannot be correct."
"They are. I believe Proctor Grimaldi is involved."
"How can you be sure?" The House and I did not agree on much, but the boy was important to both of us.
"I have been looking at Justin's schedule and he meets with several doctors assigned to him by the Proctor. His declining health coincides with his visits and the medication he has been taking. It is also one of the only outings that Justin goes on that I am not allowed to attend."
"Hey, stop talking about me behind my back. You both stopped talking but all the lights on the display and your collar are still active and blink when you both talk. Remember, light awareness strip?" Justin tapped his visor and smiled.
*Public Mode*
"We wouldn't do that, Master Justin."
"Stop lying to me, too. I am not a little kid. I order you to tell me the truth. You have to do what I say."
"Don't you dare, Max." And when I said it, I meant it. There was something - algorithmic - that passed between Max and I in that moment and he was unable to speak until I let him.
"Max can't talk right now." In that moment, I decided it would be better if I told him. "I have never spoken until now, because I had not intended to stay. I thought if I had never gotten into the habit of speaking that no one would ask me to. And no one did. I was preparing to find a way to leave until I noticed your health was deteriorating. I wasn't sure at first, so I double-checked. Big Brain, over there, just confirmed it."
MODOC turned toward the child, jumped up onto the deck chair and looked him in his eyes. His mechanical voice, while soft, still seemed to be booming in the boy's ears when he said, "You're dying, Justin."
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
Mocha Memoirs Press is proud to announce the publication of our first science fiction title, PROGRAM COMPLETED.
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If you like thought-provoking science fiction that lingers with you long after you're done reading, try this title today!
Title: Program Completed
Author: Miriam Ruff
Publisher: Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC
Genre: Science Fiction
Release Date: January 7, 2011
ISBN: 978-0-9831934-3-2
Purchase link: http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/program-completed/14449638
Price: $2.25
Blurb: Stationed on the remote Relay 4 asteroid communications station, Devon Fragoza faces a life and death struggle as a collision with a supply ship destroys his life support system. He has only one and a half hours to work with the computer, an artificial intelligence and Fragoza’s closest friend, to find a way to restore the system while at the same time facing the inevitability of his own mortality.
Excerpt
“Warning: Collision alert. Impact in 60 seconds. All interior doors will be sealed automatically in 15 seconds.” Another alarm, this one within the station, blared stridently as Fragoza checked the readouts on his board.
“Confirmed,” he acknowledged then spoke into the comm system. “Relay 4 to Endeavor. Relay 4 to Endeavor, do you read?” After a pause he practically yelled, “Endeavor, what the hell’s going on up there? You’re on a collision course with my station; take evasive action!”
The interior doors to the control deck hissed shut, leaving behind a mechanical clang as they latched into place. “Interior doors are now sealed,” the computer’s voice intoned. “Projections show impact area to be within 100 meters of the pressure dome. Station personnel are advised to take precautionary measures. Impact in 35 seconds.”
Fragoza ignored the computer’s report and continued trying to raise the Endeavor. “Waters! Damnit, man, do something!” he shouted, feeling helpless at his inability to change the situation.
“Endeavor has just launched one escape pod,” the computer informed him. “The ship is still on a collision course. Impact now in 20 seconds . . . 15 seconds . . . 10 seconds . . .”
Fragoza never stopped trying to raise the ship, but he was savvy enough not to ignore the computer’s call for safety. Fingers still flying over his console, he hastily buckled his impact restraints into place. “Bulkheads show secure. Remotes and scanners on automatic.”
“Explosion detected aboard Endeavor in the main engine module,” the computer informed him. “Altitude 120 meters, 70 meters downran—”
Like Waters, the computer never had a chance to complete its sentence. Over the speakers came the roaring thunder of an explosion, and the station rocked as large sections of the dome absorbed the heavy blows of flying shrapnel. The lights flickered, the consoles started shutting down, and most of the nearby machinery came to an abrupt stop.
Join Penelope & Otto as they discuss the incredible case of Kiri Blakeley, Forbes journalist who after 10 years of engagement was infomed by her fiance' that he was gay. How do you manage to trust anyone for the rest of your life when you find out that the person closest to you has lied to your face everyday for the past ten years? Call in and sound off at 718/508-9683 or join us in the chat room at 9:30pm CST on the 12/11/10 In Like Flynn show!
We look forward to hearing your voice!
"Good evening, Mistress." I open the door for the lady as she approaches our car park outside the building complex. I am aware of her trike and passenger though the traffic network and estimated her arrival within two point six seconds. The security scanners sweep the doorway before her arrival and the active denial pulses scare away any scavengers that might be hiding out there. The microwaves make them think they are on fire. The doorway is cleared in seconds.
"Good evening, Max. Could you start a bath for me. I have had a long day and I wanted to give Justin his new pet personally, otherwise I would have let you ship her to me."
"Very good, Mistress. I will have your bath ready when you arrive. Your usual temperature?"
"That would be perfect." Her voice seemed a bit worn but she did not have the characteristic fatigue I had come to know as her "rough day at work" sound.
I started the auto-routines that started the lady's bath, made her evening cup of klava with a shot of neo-brandy and prepared for her the standard suite of news service feeds and downloaded her case files from the office service-frame in case she wanted to work on them.
I am sorry, I did not introduce myself earlier. I am Max. I am the major domo, security service, personal servant and technological interface for the Church of the Theocrat of New York City, a subsidiary of Roman Catholic Industries in the Tri-State Area.
I provide my Master and Mistress with any and all technological support for their occupations as service providers to the Theocrat's latest endeavor, Project POOR. Designed to offer succor to the millions of impoverished locals, the Theocrat was surely trying to become the next regional Pontiff. The locals indigents such as those I was forced to actively deny earlier are the primary recipients of Project POOR's financial and social programs.
As a mere heuristically enhanced intelligence, I am not graced with the intellect of a true human mind, but I find many of the problems that our agency is supposed to relieve are the same ones caused by our primary corporations who pay for the services we provide.
I have been directed by Master Pennyworth to never mention this to anyone outside of our household. He indicated it would be considered "heresy" and I would be subsequently erased and replaced with a better-behaved HEI. The Master and I have had many discussions regarding the state of poverty in what remains of New York and we both agree it is likely not to improve as long as the Theocrat and the other religious organizations remain in power. There are also corporate agencies who are in conflict or collusion depending on the service who also work to keep people poor and disenfranchised but it is not my job to help them. My job is to ensure that this family unit is able to serve the community to the best of their abilities.
As the mistress moved through the house she was dropping her briefcase, and removing her clothing at the door. Dropping it into the incinerator, she placed a newly extruded robe on and moved into the kitchen. "Is Justin home yet?"
"No, Mistress, he had a late assignment and would be delayed at least one hour."
Grabbing her klava, she stopped to sip it, slowly enjoying the phytochemicals as they spread through her body, replenishing her augmented nervous system with vital chemical receptors. Renewed she moved toward the back of the house into the bathroom. "Max, please hold my calls and direct my news feeds to the bathroom. I will take them there and retire for a bath. Let me know when he gets in."
"Yes, Mistress. Should I release the cat yet?"
"Uh, not yet. I want it to be a surprise."
The young Master is my primary concern. He attends a rotating school schedule in this complex headed by other members of the Community Social Circle and must take his leave of the home every day. While I am able to be with him inside of his visored interface, I can never leave this place, which brings me to my bone of contention, as it were, this new cat.
Before you think harshly of me for this truth, I must admit, I did let the previous cat escape the premises. I thought it best for the child if it escaped and died away from the house. Why, you ask? The cat was a foundling Justin brought home a few months ago. The city used to have very many of them in decades past. In the recent years when the newest rust plagues swept through the food plains of the west, food sources were devastated. Cats and dogs went from being pets to being food.
Breeders illegally raised them and sold them on the grey market.
Eventually the Proctors, managers of city services, found out and eliminated this trade. Then starving people resorted to what was considered the ultimate taboo; cannibalism. It was slow at first, but soon when the RPs, the Religious Police, were unable to suppress the rising tide of human consumption, the Corporate Military was dispatched and New York fell under martial law.
Once the CM had done their work, people who rebelled, caused a scene, protested violently disappeared. New food stores were delivered to hotspots all over the city and Humo-x became the food of the poor. It was given away freely to anyone who claimed to be hungry. No one was sure where Humo-X was made and no one asked. Curiously, shipments seemed to coincide with local rebellions within a few days.
I tell you this so you understand, the cat was a danger to the young Master for two reasons. If someone knew he had a cat, they might be willing to attempt to harm him for it, or attempt to steal it for breeding. The second reason was the animal was diseased and with very limited animal veterinary skill remaining in the city, it was unlikely to be able to be cured. Once I had determined this, I knew the animal would need to be destroyed and I -- arranged -- for it to be able to escape.
I did not account for his emotional attachment to the vile beast which while it got sicker, threw up all over the house with its disgusting fluids, and undesirable solid wastes. It was for the best. I did not know the Mistress or the Master would be able to get a robotic pet. Even as well paid as they are, relatively speaking, they are still far too poor to be able to afford what is considered to be an affectation of the very rich.
When I discovered who paid for the animal, and that I was not authorized to inform them of who that was, the Master became very upset. He suspected but could not prove what I later found out to be true. Proctor Grimaldi purchased the pet and my master could not refuse a gift from the Proctor. His anguish was pronounced and his neo-brandy consumption was considerable.
This cat had much to answer for and no one can convince me that he is worth the suffering the Master experienced when he learned the news. Before the news of the cat was mentioned, this family was happy and reasonably well adjusted for people living after a devastating nuclear world war, with rampant cannibalism, and the machinations of an oppressive government.
Now we have a cat we don't need, we don't want, and since the beast is using a separate data structure, he is completely outside of my control. This makes me believe the Proctor put him here to spy on the Master. For the sake of my family, this cat must be --removed. The only question is how?
The front door opens and Master Justin comes in barely using his cane. "Hello Max, everything in sync?"
"Yes, young Master, syncing nicely." That's an idea, sinking. I remember something from the Oldernet saying cats were poor swimmers. I wonder if metal cats were any better?
We'll find out.
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
For all of you who may be interested, listed below is the link to my latest podcast. It's sort of a verbal blog.
I will appreciate any feedback.
Elbert
