A SiFi short story by William A. DeSouza
(c) 2006
The wind blew constantly with the force of a category five hurricane, blasting the exposed surface with sand and rocks. Visibility was zero at the height of the constant sand storm, with no vegetation to hold back the onslaught. The planets surface was as desolate as its location in the galaxy and a most unlikely place to find anything.
Yet sweeping across the surface were several hundred unfamiliar geodesic spheres. Tethered together in pairs by a composite carbon fiber cable they wandered across vast sections of the planet’s land mass as the wind howled and ripped them in wild arcs, threatening to pull them apart. Dust and rocks whipped about, carving gouges in the landscape, at the same time trying to rip the spheres apart as the sharp edged debris bounced off their composite skin.
Inside each eight meter sphere, a computer program triggered the release of the tether joining the twins and immediately they were separated, blown apart like balloons in a gale. One by one, across the bleached planet, pairs of the alien spheres separated and spread apart by the hand of raw nature.
The planet’s atmosphere was a thick mix of carbon dioxide and argon with trace amounts of nitrogen and oxygen. Although the planet’s position in space, in relation to its sun, would seem ideal to support life, the run away greenhouse contributed to the current drastic and unstable climate with temperature fluctuations ranging from minus eighty to plus ninety degrees centigrade, first freezing and subsequently baking the ground. On the outside, this extreme planetary weather kept any life from developing and taking a foothold in the fragile ecosystem, but it was still considered a special planet and one worth exploring.
The sphere allowed the planet’s fury to direct its course. At a pre set time and running from another computer program written several thousand light years away, each of the bright orange coloured spheres separated into two half sections as the explosive bolts securing the spheres blasted them apart, both halves coming to rest a hundred and fifty meters apart.
As each section landed on their flattened section, eight hidden panels slid back out of view around the outer perimeter. Specially designed two meter barbed darts fired out and drove into the dry ground, securing the now half spheres where they lay. Each dart passing through rock as if a hot knife were passing through butter. The category five hurricane strength wind would no longer be able to control the destination or outcome of the sphere, which now an immoveable geodesic dome and part of the wind swept barren landscape. An orange pimple dotting a grey brown sterile land, it was hard to imagine which was more alien.
The crest of the Planetary Survey Expedition, emblazoned on the top of each half dome, was covered with sand. It was scared from contact with the brutal ground and sand storms that would cut flesh. They were barely visible. The bright orange domes, circled by a band of red colour at their base and marked with an identification number, split the wind as small vortexes formed just off either side.
Around the planet, one after the other, each sphere split and each half performed the same action to secure itself.
Their job was a simple one, to look for any form of multi-cell organism, something that could be considered life. They would also collect atmospheric and mineral data. It was a wishful dream on the part of the spheres builders. A dream they hoped would one day prove life could exist on a planet every Human thought long dead.
Far above the planet’s surface, a mammoth interstellar ship orbited, it's main drive engines purging waste gases as it cooled. A nearly invisible cloud of water vapor trailed behind as it coasted on the upper edge of the planet's atmosphere. The only sign of the trail - a shimmer, a sparkle, when light from the star reflected off ice particles. Diamond-like jewels with a finite life span, melting as they kiss the atmosphere.
The name on the ship’s bow conjured up Humanities distant past, 'Beagle VII'. A tribute to Charles Darwin and his search for bio-diversity on distant lands, in a distant time. This was the forth 'Beagle' to visit this world, it was hoped that this time the updated scientific packages would yield the same great discovery Darwin found.
The ship lay in a high polar orbit. This high orbit allowed it to easily unburden itself of the spheres - dispersing them across both poles, northern and southern hemispheres.
It was a long term endeavor that James Althone was willing to undertake in quiet solitude. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out the floor to ceiling window on the observation deck of the Beagle VII. As the director of the Planetary Survey Expedition, it was his responsibility to oversee the Life Quest project. This was a gargantuan multi-decade project with a staff numbering in the thousands and spanning light years across the galaxy.
It was his dream and tireless effort of a lifetime that has lead James to this point and with all of that - with all of Humanity behind him, he still felt alone.
The Life Quest project was not one ship, but hundreds which were either on their way to some far off world or already depositing their own spheres on planets long thought dead. It was humanity’s best opportunity to rebuild and expand a population bursting at the seams. Man was outstripping the resources of planets already colonized and so the race was on.
James focused on the planet below as he dared not dream of the possibility that this time he would find what he sought - his Holy Grail - life. This planet held a special place in James's mind, an obsession many would say. Although none would say it out loud. He came back to the planet each time the Beagle VII made the three year long trip.
Even traveling faster than light in the void, the three standard years it took to journey nine light years dragged on for most. James didn't care about time, he only had one single minded thought - to find life where none was supposed to have existed. He needed to return to a dead world and re-build a past by looking toward the future.
"Credit for your thoughts?" Asked Scott Kruger as he quietly entered the observation area.
James did not move or seem startled, instead he spoke with a soft, but deep and penetrating voice. "A single credit? You would have to fork over much more for my thoughts my friend."
"Alas, a credit is all I can spare. The balance of my liquid funds are being wagered on our findings." Scott paused to take up a position beside his friend, "Besides, you'll be happy to know I'm betting on you this time."
James chuckled, "I'm not sure you should have done that. I'm betting on the other side." The two friends shared a laugh.
"I thought I'd find you up here. You have to start carrying your communicator. I wanted to let you know telemetry is coming in from all but one of the spheres."
James nodded quietly, "Only one out of service? That's better than the last deployment."
Scott, standing ten centimeters shorter than his friend, colleague and boss looked up, "Wow! With that kind of enthusiasm we'll have to peel you off the bulkheads." He shook his head asking, "When did you sleep last?"
"Last month - cycle two I think."
"Funny – you’re not having second thoughts, are you?"
James looked squarely at Scott, "Always." He turned, taking his gaze away from the vista. "I'm as nervous about these missions as I am confident in succeeding."
He turned back toward space and the planet below. "This place has a hold on me and I can't explain it. It consumes my life, it occupies my mind day and night when not involved in other research."
Scott took a deep breath and spoke softly, "That, my friend, is the understatement of the millennium. It's also nothing the news wires haven't already reported on. That said, it's a dream shared by everyone. There's not one Human alive that wants to see this mission fail. Your obsession, if that's you want to call it, is the same obsession each of us mere mortals have. This planet is what it is, and finding life of any kind here will give us hope for a future."
"You are a poet - a bad one, but one nonetheless." James was quiet and somewhat introspective.
He looked back at the planet as it circled below, dust storms clearly visible even from space. The dark brown clouds moved quickly over the surface, casting shadows along their perimeter. Scattered around the seemingly empty world the robotic search for biological life continued.
Not all of the spheres separated at the same time. A few, like PSE-S44, took longer to trigger their separation program. When it did however, it was dramatic. The artificial intelligent computer program had no way of knowing about the massive fault that lay opened ahead in the ground, directly in its path. Within seconds the sphere disappeared inside the expansive cavity.
The majority of spheres did well, notwithstanding the physical and environmental dangers they faced.
One pair of robotic explorers, the last to separate and dig in, was located on what was an ancient sea bed. The ground was as parched as any place else, but sensors built into the spheres began to pick up something else. The separation program initiated, sending the twins off on their own.
The half sphere sent it’s securing rods deep into the ground. At the same time sensor probes dived down into the long dried out sea floor to collect precious samples.
Computers, no matter how sophisticated, and immaterial of their ability to mimic the human brain, could never appreciate the data from the ground probes. A soup of minerals, sulfides, acids and other elements bathed over the probe’s sensors as it pushed its way deeper into the ground. The laser tip burned through any rock that hindered the progress while the fiber and carbon composite probe snaked its way deeper. Something else, something different was also sensed, but in the background. The sensors could see that in the distance, the probe tip was nearing a material that had not been previously found.
Within the computer core, programs to analyze the sensor data were kept busy. The reams of information continually flooding in told a story about the geological and climate history of the planet. The past was slowly unraveled to reveal a present and maybe a future.
The main computers on the ship tied all the pieces together. Each active sphere used its uplink to transmit volumes of data at speeds coming close to that of the Human brain. Centuries of research and development in computing came close, but nothing had been found to rival the speed of the chemical and neuron connections in the biological mind.
As the bits of information assembled, the geologists, paleontologists, anthropologists, and heads of other planetary and life sciences departments gathered in the Beagle VII's situation room. Each one was intent on getting an early peek at the relevant data affecting their departments.
The room wasn't large to begin with so the addition of eighteen bodies only added to the confusion and noise. Terminals with their attendant technicians lined the walls with four other banks of stations taking up the free floor space. Human space was tight. The noise level increased as those present tried to speak above each other, each having something important to say.
In one corner of the control room, farthest from the entrance hatch, a mission specialist watched his monitor intently, waiting for something but not expecting to find anything. Of all the stations, his was the most unlikely to have any luck in taking part in a discovery.
Jason Melborne graduated at the top of his class in Hydrogeology and Environmental Sciences at the university and he could've had his pick of plum research positions and locations around the Sphere of Human Settled Worlds. But his contract was picked up by Doctor Althone with what could only be described as an intriguing offer - "Help me find the water of life".
It was an offer which was simple in statement but infinite in scope. Right now however all Jason saw on his terminals were the sensor readings of a desert the size of a planet. Hardly the discovery he wanted to put his name to - Then…
James and Scott had already made their way to the galley and had pored themselves a cup of synthetic coffee, the real thing too dear and costly to include in a long duration space flight.
James sat listening to Scott defend his favorite sports club losses just prior to shipping out when over the ship wide intercom, "Attention - Director Althone to Command and Operations - urgent." The announcement was repeated three times.
James and Scott were both taken aback by the unexpected page. Scott asked rhetorically, "I wonder what's wrong now?"
James didn't answer as a slight chill came over him. He looked down at the steaming jet black beverage in his cup, visions swirling with the steam. He blinked and tried to control his imagination and emotions. The spheres had been on planet for several days now and it was unusual for him to attend the command and operations centre during that initial deployment time. The mission was to last several months after all, and things ran quite well without his interference. For him to be summoned, something must have gone wrong.
Both men stood quickly and made their way to the lift that would take them deeper into the bowels of the giant ship. If placed in a liquid sea, the Beagle VII would displace close to eighteen thousand metric tons. Compared to the original HMS Beagle's two hundred and thirteen metric tons, this was a big ship. Its beam was nearly three hundred and fifty meters in length. To increase the speed of internal ship transportation, the lifts were designed to travel in both horizontal and vertical directions.
Scott reached the lift controls first and entered his priority access code. This would override anyone else waiting for or using the shafts and bring a car to their position right away. In seconds, one arrived and the two men boarded, immediately entering their destination onto the keypad.
When they reached the C & O, both men stopped short, a bewildered, perplexed look on their faces. The entryway was jammed with officers and crew of the Beagle along with on and off duty personnel belonging to the research team. The hatch, which would have been shut and locked, was now open, its ten-centimeter thick door mechanism obviously overridden to remain open, accommodating the throng of spectators now gathered.
James, without turning to face Scott, leaned his head over and whispered, "This can't be a good sign."
"OK people, let's make some room please!" Scott didn't have to shout, but his voice did have to carry to be heard over the din.
Startled, the crowd began to part, making way for the confused but now equally curious project director. As James entered the darkened control room, he could see a path going straight to the Hydrogeology station and Jason Melborne. Jason had not yet looked up but was so focused on his job that James wondered again what he was being called down for.
Someone nudged Jason and pointed toward Director Althone who now said, "Would someone mind telling me why I was paged and what the hell are all these people doing in my control room?" He wasn't really angry but frustrated that others seemed to know what was happening before he did.
Jason spoke up first, his voice raspy and hesitant, almost stuttering, "Sir, I think you'd better take a look at this. I can't explain it – not now anyway, and it's not supposed to be here at this depth."
James was taken aback somewhat by the hesitation and nerves in the young research technician's tone and demeanor. He walked toward the terminal and look intently at the screen. At first he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, then a faint echo. A hint of something but then nothing, making him consider that Jason, and now himself, were seeing things. James looked out the corner of his eye at the young tech and back to the screen. He reached down and typed in a command to isolate a data set and run it back from the point he thought he had noticed something. The results hit him in the face, vibrating his spine from top to bottom. James stopped the data run and started it over again to make sure. The same thing showed itself. He straightened, apprehension spinning though his mind. Jason stood and offered the Director the chair.
As James sat down, never taking his eyes off the screen and the data it displayed, he asked, "How long ago did the sphere begin to transmit telemetry?"
"Coming up on one hour ship time."
"And these readings – when!?"
"Exactly twenty minutes ago. At first I thought that the instruments were faulty, then I double checked the probe telemetry and uplink – everything showed green. There could only be one explanation. The problem is, I’d never seen this result at this soil depth before." His voice trailed off at the thought.
"OK people, let's get back to work. I know that these readings seem to give us the result we want, but we need to get confirmation. Lock down the C & O and launch the Genesis probe. Jason, you did well, but now its time to get down to the real work. If this is authentic, I'll name it after you." James put his left hand on the shoulder of the young man as he stood and shook his hand.
That simple gesture and its accompanied acknowledgment gave Jason a renewed sense of purpose in the mission. It hit him that this mission, this project, was a worth while effort after all – But the Director was right, this is where the mission got interesting, thought Jason with glee.
The belly of the Beagle VII was a hodgepodge of sensors and sensor arrays, shuttle bays and an assortment of hatchways, as well as defensive weapons pods. The larger of the shuttle bay hatches began to slide open, revealing at first a diamond sliver of light from the bay. The bright light penetrated the darkness surrounding the mammoth ship. To an outside viewer floating in space two kilometres from the ship, the site would have been awe inspiring.
Even before the hatch opened fully into its recess, the viewer would have noticed a puff of gas from the manoeuvring thrusters of a long slender object as it left the ship. The gaseous vapour condensed into tiny crystals of ice in the vacuum of space, the light of the shuttle bay reflecting off each particle creating a dance of radiant beauty.
The Genesis probe, named after the biblical Book of Genesis, was designed to confirm that life existed where none should. It would establish the genesis, the beginning of the rebirth of Humanity on a long dead planet in another unique way – it would kick start the process of rebirth if necessary.
Life developed around the universe in many forms on many planets and the basic building blocks include silicon, crystalline, and others. On this planet however, carbon was the main element and due to this fact, water became the solvent in which a biochemical reaction took place to sustain life. The Genesis probe carried the milieu to jump start the re-emergence of any life that was found by the spheres.
The probe measured five meters in height and two and a half meters in diameter. It coasted out of its cradle in the Beagle, drifting after its initial thrust and moving on momentum only. At thirty meters from the ship, its main engines ignited and sent the craft on a very fast ten minute journey to the ground.
Spheres PSE-S72-A and PSE-S72-B had landed and dug in almost a kilometre apart upon separation and the Genesis probe was targeted in the exact middle of the now two halve spherical probes. In the same way that a human parent is advanced over their children, the Genesis probe was that much more advanced over the spheres. It was the parent that would nurture the organic compounds found by the spheres and if necessary augment the soup. The atmosphere already contained parts of the soup. Methane, ammonia, hydrogen sulphide and carbon dioxide were plentiful in the current environment. Oxygen, water, phosphates and several other amino acids were now needed to seed the planet and Genesis would provide what was missing.
In the Beagle's C & O, James Althone and Scott Kruger sat at the back. They waited for the answer to questions Humanity only started to ask once it was too late, 'can we save ourselves?'
Scott turned to watch the concentration on the face of his old friend. "You'd rather be down there, wouldn't you?"
“Where?”
“On the planet, doing the science up close and personal and getting your hands dirty.” Scott smiled.
"What kind of a question is that? Of course I'd rather be there. I feel so helpless right now." James whispered, pausing before continuing and a certain amount of frustration in his voice. "Other than that, I never really thought about how I'd feel or what I would think about at this stage in the project. I always hoped, no, expected to get to this stage, but never got past that idea. Why, am I not living up to your expectation?"
"You reacted well enough. You put things in place and rehearsed the scenario with the team so that each person knows what to do if and when it happened."
“You’re getting a kick out of seeing me sweat, aren’t you – you can stop now.” James grinned at being make fun at. He was the type to laugh at himself first so it was only fair that he gave his friend the opportunity to do the same.
They were interrupted by a disembodied voice on the speaker, “Five minutes to Genesis contact, glide path is nominal – stand by.”
The disembodied voice was not local to the ship, but the Genesis probe itself, the artificial intelligence designed and programmed for only one mission. It wasn't self aware, but it was dispassionate and focused in its cause and the mission goals. During the development of the programming and the probe, James felt a certain amount of guilt about using an AI program. He knew it was silly, some would say even juvenile in his humanizing of the AI and he knew it was even irrational.
All that said, there was still something in the voice of the machine he first heard at the computer lab when the Genesis programming was first activated. "Good Morning Director Althone." It wasn't human but it wasn't machine either, instead it was almost childlike in its quality. As the programming developed, its language and purpose improved and it became less of a thing or tool and more akin to a colleague – at least to James.
As he ordered the launch of Genesis, he cringed inside knowing that it was on a one way mission. It was as if the probe was willingly and enthusiastically giving up its life that wasn't real for a cause it would never benefit in. James's thoughts betrayed his internal conflict, thanking it for its sacrifice and wishing it well on its short journey. It was a private conflict that not even his best friend and family knew about.
James gripped the arms of his chair now and leaned forward, his muscles tensing as if he was on the probe about to strike the planet surface and he was preparing for the impact. He realized what he was doing and slowly released his grasp, hoping no one noticed.
Too late however, Scott leaned in closer, "You have to learn to relax in moments like this." It was a friendly jibe as he tried to lessen the tension he knew James was under. "You're going to break the arm on that chair and it'll come out of your credits."
The Genesis probe rotated as winglets attached to the body deployed and corrected for an increase in wind. Inside the probe, the advanced sensors began to scan the landing site as the AI communicated with the spheres, trying to gather as much information on the proposed organic find. Was it or wasn't it? That was the question being asked by the probe's computer, with four petabytes of memory it was working overtime trying to decipher all the data being transmitted.
The thick atmosphere parted only so much as Genesis plunged through toward the ground. On board the Beagle James watched his monitor and the telemetry being sent to it from all the other stations. After so many years of doing this he found it easy to compartmentalize the data so only the vital bits and pieces got through to his conscious brain.
At a thousand meters off the ground Genesis fired its retarding chemical rockets to slow its decent. At five hundred meters Genesis began its landing sequence allowing it to touch down at a speed of five meters per second. The nose of the probe never touched the ground itself however because the rock cutter imbedded in the nose sliced through the rock and dried ocean floor, melting and parting the way for Genesis to submerge itself to a level where the suspected organic material was found by the spheres.
As soon as all forward momentum stopped, Genesis began to send out its feelers, tentacles of a sort, no more than three millimeters in diameters made of a flexible composite material. They snaked their way through the rock and dried ground, pushing their way in every direction in an effort to confirm the find and begin the process of re-birth.
James half stood as the Command and Operations room fell silent, each person straining to see the results poring in from the probe. He turned back to see Scott smile and give a nod of approval. It was a ‘well done and good luck’ kind of look. The same expression that was on the face of every other person in the C & O.
Jason Melborne did not turn to see James standing behind him, he concentrated on the information on his monitor – so he didn't see the shock and glee and excitement on James's face when the final signal came through.
"Life! We have a future after all." Whispered James, tears welling up in his eyes after a life time of searching and hoping for this moment, it was now upon him and the Human race. The seeds of life did exist on this place he thought quietly to himself.
The whole room erupted in jubilation all at once. It was too much for three of the researchers as they passed out in the arms of others nearby. Most wept openly, too overcome to hold it back. James and Scott hugged and shook hands as Scott said, "This is a momentous occasion my friend and I wouldn't have missed it for all the credits in the universe. Thanks for taking me along."
Around the ship there was an equal amount of celebration from every department as the news spread.
James was inundated with requests to shake his hand, hugs and a few kisses. He knew that there was still a lot of work to be done and Genesis would need to get authorization to go to the next step. He held up his hands and said loudly, "OK, OK, let's settle down every one."
The room went quiet, waiting for James to speak again. His status as a visionary now elevated even higher.
The tendrils sent out by Genesis had found their target and halted as it waited for a signal from Beagle. In time the signal was received and a chemical soup began pumping from Genesis and down each tendril, seeping into the ground. A primordial soup that nurtured what was a deeply rooted and hibernating terrestrial organism.
The essential elements of life flowed from a human made probe on a planet that was once the birth place of humanity. Earth was gone but not forgotten and Humanities finest may have brought back a slim chance for its revival. It would take another thousand years for any indication that the efforts of Doctor James Althone would succeed but that didn't matter to him and the thousands of people that joined in the hope.
The geochemical soup nurtured and infused the ground around the probe and for the next several hours extended its reach in a one kilometre radius. The ooze was a mix of coenzyme, pantoyl lactone, beta-alanine, various amino acids and other chemicals known to kick start the process of organic growth. Over the next thousand years the RNA and DNA structures of the organism would grow and develop.
James knew now that there was hope and there would be other equally vital finds within his lifetime. And while he wouldn’t be alive when Humanity returned here, he was happy to be there at the beginning of the voyage. There was hope for humanity in the re-birth of its home and that hope was something that would live on even after he was dust.
Organic complex carbon based molecules are the requisite building blocks of life on Earth – and James was beyond words as he came to the conclusion that he help put those molecules back. Playing a God was not what he wanted, but acting as the assistant to the numerous Gods in Human history was just fine with him as he surveyed his handiwork.
“Earth will live once more.” James turned to his friend, tears in his eyes.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
I have a Memory....
I have a memory of a time past;
where child like innocence is heard as laughter in the breeze.
A time where children play in open air fields of green;
and sky's are dotted with wispy clouds that spark young imaginations.
I have this memory - of time past.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Fast Food Generation: Life in 5 Minutes or Less - An essay by William DeSouza (c)2005
First things first - this essay is NOT about self help, or fast food. It's also not about generation w, x, y and z, or about a generation gap.
It's about impatience, it's about rushing through life as fast as we can and it’s about trying to understand why we live our lives while traveling faster than the speed of light. Think of this essay more as reflection and not so much as a rebuke to our daily routine. After all, who am I to pass judgment on something I ‘m equally guilty of?
It seems that as a species humans have an ingrain genetic tendency to rush through life in what can only be called a futile attempt at squeezing out twenty five hours in a twenty four hour day. We have become a collective generation of impulsive, hurried individuals, wanting life in five minutes or less - hence, the fast food generation.
Can you remember a time when life was lived at a slower pace, before fast food and hurrying to get here or there? Before the catch phrase Thirty minutes or free?
We're in a rush to find the time to accomplish more in each minute of every day and I'm not sure we're getting there, where ever there is, any faster.
Let’s start our search in attempting to understand this necessity for speed by beginning where most of us begin, the morning routine.
The sun is beginning to crest the horizon of apartment buildings in the East as the dawn of a new day begins and Monday morning has arrived in all its glory. You’ve already hit the snooze button a half dozen times trying to eke out more of that precious morning sleep as you tentatively open one sleep encrusted eye and peek at the time on the clock radio, “Shit!”
You dash out of bed and since you showered last night, no need to worry about it now, a quick spray of the deodorant will do. You tear into the bathroom and run your head under the tap at the same time you brush your teeth in four nippy strokes. Time to hurry through breakfast, sometimes skipping that most important meal of the day. When we do eat it's pre-made, pre-fabricated and pre-cooked, with the slogan 'eat on the run' printed on the box you just removed from the freezer. Then you run off to work because you wouldn't want to miss the bus to attend that meeting, appointment, or some other first light crises at the office like changing your voice mail to say that you’re in, but too busy to take that call.
If that scenario isn’t bad enough, I've seen co-workers run at break neck speed to - not catch an elevator, but to push the button to call for the lift. The wind created as one colleague dashed past almost knocked my touque off.
I asked myself at the time, "When did pushing the elevator button become an Olympic sport?"
By the time I walked up and stood beside her, she was frantically pressing the call button. I turned, smiled, and quietly wondered if pushing the button repeatedly really makes the elevator come faster? Of course I already know the answer, but still I stand in amazement at the site playing out in front of me.
Inside the office, the next deadline looms as I quickly scan my PDA, others checking their paper calendars seeking the same enlightenment to what's ahead. A crystal ball of sorts on how we can speed up the day, allowing us to return home to - wait for it - quickly get supper ready for the kids and our partners. We seem to all want to rush through the week, as if it wasn't fast enough.
When the work week is over, it's time to relax and take life easy. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves because we still have to clean the house. You didn't think the toilets were going to sparkle on their own, did you? And let’s not forget the laundry.
OK, it's Saturday morning, there's still time to salvage a beautiful weekend if you rush the cleaning. So much for relaxing.
At least the kids can relax a bit from their busy life at school. They’re on the computer chatting with the cousin in Edmonton. HRU? IC. LOL SUP? GR8. OIC. PLZ G/F, LOL.
Did you get any of that? It's at the point where even our kids’ daily speech and text is in short hand. A new lexicon for speeding up their pace of life. Speed after all, is vital to this new form of communication. Even our children are not immune. By the way, if you want to know what the kids’ were saying, its - How are you? I see. (laugh out loud). So, what's up? Great! Oh, I see. Please girlfriend! (laugh out loud).
We start our lives in a rush from the second we're born. Let's face it, what new mother about to give birth hasn’t shouted, "Get this kid out of meeeee! Now!!"
Maybe that’s when this goal for a hurried life really begins, at birth. It’s akin to the chicken and the egg really; which came first? Was it the adult mother or the infant child at the moment of taking that first breath of air that begins the race?
Talk about being in a rush. Mind you, who can blame that mother for wanting to be in a rush to give birth. Trying to push something the size of a bowling ball through a vagina is enough to make the most stoic of us want to do it in a hurry. Dragging out child birth just isn't an option.
The act of giving birth by the way is really the first time we see the beginning of the parent child conflict. A parent wanting to hurry along their child who does not want rush, but takes his or her own sweet time moving through the birth canal. You'll see similar scenarios playing itself out many more times while the child is living at home. This is of course the only time our children will take their time. But I digress…
As I was saying, from birth children are born with the gene to be in a rush. As babies they want their food right away, whether it's breast milk or strained prunes. When it's feeding time, they let you know with a set of lungs that break the decibel level of a sonic boom. If they want their diapers changed right away, the signal for this is very similar to the immediate need for food.
As our children grow, the need for speed also grows exponentially. Except of course in their teen years when you're trying to wake them for school or some other event you’re late for. This is part of the parent child conflict which I will not dwell on - that's a topic best left for another short essay. I know, I strayed off the point again, sorry.
Let’s just say that our children learn from us, the parental units, the need for instant gratification.
Fast cars, fast women and fast food, it’s all the same. Even music is getting faster. If you’re over forty, you can remember the vinyl record playing hits from the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, or Led Zeppelin. The average song time for most musical groups ran four to six minutes. Today the average running time for a compact disk or MP3 song with words you can’t understand because they sing too fast is two and a half to three and a half minutes. It’s just not the same thing. Record companies want to sell more songs to make more money and radio stations want to play more songs; also to make more money. The only way to do that is to shorten the songs; but that leaves the artist with less time to convey any message he or she may have in the lyrics. So the only way to remedy that is to speed up the tempo of the songs. Sometimes I get nostalgic for the slow pace of the past when I could really enjoy the music, and of course understand what the lyrics said.
Music videos have changed as well. I remember watching the pop music groups in the late 70’s and early 80’s when music videos were in its infancy and I’d sit back in the recliner and gaze at images as they flowed across the floor console television. In a thirty minute time slot I’d see maybe ten groups and the visual rendition of their hit songs. Now, my children are bombarded with as many as fifteen or twenty videos from hit songs in the same period of time. What gives?
Mind you, the amount of violence you see in some of today’s music video is blasted by them on the screen so quickly the kids don’t get a chance to see what just happened. Sometimes quickness could be a good thing.
Life is full of short cuts and quickies today. Which brings me to – well, you know. You knew that we had to brooch the subject sooner of later, didn’t you? Sex! There, I said it, and now all of you puritan individuals or young children may as well skip down several paragraphs that you may find offensive. After all, you’re already saying to yourself, ‘Is this guy going to get to the end and some point anytime soon? I have things to do!”
OK, it’s just us and the naughty bits for the next few paragraphs. I’ll try to keep it short – no pun intended. Sex, the act of and subject of, is a two headed issue. Again, no pun intended. In one hand we have the male member (I swear I'm not trying to be funny) of society and on the other we have females.
Both male and females have very different views on how they see their role on this particular subject and each one has a valid observation. In this case however, we’ll look at only the issue of speed, tempo, velocity or momentum. There are far too many other issues between the sexes to review at this time and since we’re only looking at the pace of life we now lead, most of those topics really don’t fit (but it would make for another great short story).
I visited an adult ‘superstore’ not that long ago and to my amazement were hundreds of sex aids and toys of all varieties for both men and women. When you read the labels of these, toys, you see one main theme (it’s not what you think you dirty old man), its how to give yourself or your partner pleasure in the shortest amount of time possible.
When did the act of sex become so rushed? I’m in my forties and only just beginning to see the pleasure of taking things slow and the manufactures and purveyors of these ‘toys’ are trying to sell me ‘fast food’. Nothing is safe from the need for instant fulfillment anymore. Never mind the stereotype joke about the man finishing his bit while his partner is still waiting for it to begin.
Nothing is safe anymore; even death has become ‘fast food’. I recently read an article about a drive through funeral parlor. How do you speed up burying someone? I can see it now – you die in your sleep at a ripe old age and around the city is your family’s choice of drive through burial stores. They rap you up in plastic and shove you into a giant paper sack and bring you up to the take out window.
“Will there be flowers with that?” The smartly dressed clerk at the window asks. Your relatives respond with, “No thanks, but do you give air miles?”
Each car in the funeral procession will speed through the viewing area where you’re propped up against the glass like yesterdays donuts on display. The fastest funeral on record – sounds silly doesn’t it. But we’re almost at that stage in our need for more speed. Once you begin to have drive through funeral parlors, who’s to say what comes next? Drive through circumcisions? Ouch!
You’ll notice that I’ve left out fast food, other than to use it as a metaphor, and I did that on purpose because whether it’s drive up or take away, or boil in the bag, drop in the oven or nuked in the microwave, food is too easy to pick on. I think that we’ve all seen this area of our lives get faster since the 1950’s when the first TV diners were introduced. Manufactures are selling the latest conveniences in food preparation to anyone that has a kitchen at an alarming rate. Turn on a television on the weekends or late night and watch a one hour commercial on how to cook a pot roast in ten minutes. Or how to juice twenty applies, oranges, mangoes and old shoes in less than a minute. It’s no longer farmer’s selling us our food, its corporations. They don’t grow food anymore, they manufacture it. And along with food, these same companies also manufacture televisions, stoves, cars and some even drill for oil. I’m having some difficulty in seeing the connection between food and oil, but we do have eatable oil products, maybe that’s it? We also have refrigerators with built in televisions and internet connections and I’m still trying to make that connection as well.
Our need to rush thought life is, in my humble opinion, getting out of hand. We’ve forgotten how to relax and enjoy life for what it is, a wonder of taste, sight, sound and imagination. We’re more stressed, get sick more often and sleep less. Daily routines have become chores and excitement is no longer savored it’s do it fast and get onto the next event. I think that we’re missing the boat on life when we forget to take out time. When we rush from one task to the next we don’t see the life we’ve missed around us and that is unfortunate, because we really can’t appreciate what life is when we don’t take our time. Pity really…
It's about impatience, it's about rushing through life as fast as we can and it’s about trying to understand why we live our lives while traveling faster than the speed of light. Think of this essay more as reflection and not so much as a rebuke to our daily routine. After all, who am I to pass judgment on something I ‘m equally guilty of?
It seems that as a species humans have an ingrain genetic tendency to rush through life in what can only be called a futile attempt at squeezing out twenty five hours in a twenty four hour day. We have become a collective generation of impulsive, hurried individuals, wanting life in five minutes or less - hence, the fast food generation.
Can you remember a time when life was lived at a slower pace, before fast food and hurrying to get here or there? Before the catch phrase Thirty minutes or free?
We're in a rush to find the time to accomplish more in each minute of every day and I'm not sure we're getting there, where ever there is, any faster.
Let’s start our search in attempting to understand this necessity for speed by beginning where most of us begin, the morning routine.
The sun is beginning to crest the horizon of apartment buildings in the East as the dawn of a new day begins and Monday morning has arrived in all its glory. You’ve already hit the snooze button a half dozen times trying to eke out more of that precious morning sleep as you tentatively open one sleep encrusted eye and peek at the time on the clock radio, “Shit!”
You dash out of bed and since you showered last night, no need to worry about it now, a quick spray of the deodorant will do. You tear into the bathroom and run your head under the tap at the same time you brush your teeth in four nippy strokes. Time to hurry through breakfast, sometimes skipping that most important meal of the day. When we do eat it's pre-made, pre-fabricated and pre-cooked, with the slogan 'eat on the run' printed on the box you just removed from the freezer. Then you run off to work because you wouldn't want to miss the bus to attend that meeting, appointment, or some other first light crises at the office like changing your voice mail to say that you’re in, but too busy to take that call.
If that scenario isn’t bad enough, I've seen co-workers run at break neck speed to - not catch an elevator, but to push the button to call for the lift. The wind created as one colleague dashed past almost knocked my touque off.
I asked myself at the time, "When did pushing the elevator button become an Olympic sport?"
By the time I walked up and stood beside her, she was frantically pressing the call button. I turned, smiled, and quietly wondered if pushing the button repeatedly really makes the elevator come faster? Of course I already know the answer, but still I stand in amazement at the site playing out in front of me.
Inside the office, the next deadline looms as I quickly scan my PDA, others checking their paper calendars seeking the same enlightenment to what's ahead. A crystal ball of sorts on how we can speed up the day, allowing us to return home to - wait for it - quickly get supper ready for the kids and our partners. We seem to all want to rush through the week, as if it wasn't fast enough.
When the work week is over, it's time to relax and take life easy. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves because we still have to clean the house. You didn't think the toilets were going to sparkle on their own, did you? And let’s not forget the laundry.
OK, it's Saturday morning, there's still time to salvage a beautiful weekend if you rush the cleaning. So much for relaxing.
At least the kids can relax a bit from their busy life at school. They’re on the computer chatting with the cousin in Edmonton. HRU? IC. LOL SUP? GR8. OIC. PLZ G/F, LOL.
Did you get any of that? It's at the point where even our kids’ daily speech and text is in short hand. A new lexicon for speeding up their pace of life. Speed after all, is vital to this new form of communication. Even our children are not immune. By the way, if you want to know what the kids’ were saying, its - How are you? I see. (laugh out loud). So, what's up? Great! Oh, I see. Please girlfriend! (laugh out loud).
We start our lives in a rush from the second we're born. Let's face it, what new mother about to give birth hasn’t shouted, "Get this kid out of meeeee! Now!!"
Maybe that’s when this goal for a hurried life really begins, at birth. It’s akin to the chicken and the egg really; which came first? Was it the adult mother or the infant child at the moment of taking that first breath of air that begins the race?
Talk about being in a rush. Mind you, who can blame that mother for wanting to be in a rush to give birth. Trying to push something the size of a bowling ball through a vagina is enough to make the most stoic of us want to do it in a hurry. Dragging out child birth just isn't an option.
The act of giving birth by the way is really the first time we see the beginning of the parent child conflict. A parent wanting to hurry along their child who does not want rush, but takes his or her own sweet time moving through the birth canal. You'll see similar scenarios playing itself out many more times while the child is living at home. This is of course the only time our children will take their time. But I digress…
As I was saying, from birth children are born with the gene to be in a rush. As babies they want their food right away, whether it's breast milk or strained prunes. When it's feeding time, they let you know with a set of lungs that break the decibel level of a sonic boom. If they want their diapers changed right away, the signal for this is very similar to the immediate need for food.
As our children grow, the need for speed also grows exponentially. Except of course in their teen years when you're trying to wake them for school or some other event you’re late for. This is part of the parent child conflict which I will not dwell on - that's a topic best left for another short essay. I know, I strayed off the point again, sorry.
Let’s just say that our children learn from us, the parental units, the need for instant gratification.
Fast cars, fast women and fast food, it’s all the same. Even music is getting faster. If you’re over forty, you can remember the vinyl record playing hits from the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, or Led Zeppelin. The average song time for most musical groups ran four to six minutes. Today the average running time for a compact disk or MP3 song with words you can’t understand because they sing too fast is two and a half to three and a half minutes. It’s just not the same thing. Record companies want to sell more songs to make more money and radio stations want to play more songs; also to make more money. The only way to do that is to shorten the songs; but that leaves the artist with less time to convey any message he or she may have in the lyrics. So the only way to remedy that is to speed up the tempo of the songs. Sometimes I get nostalgic for the slow pace of the past when I could really enjoy the music, and of course understand what the lyrics said.
Music videos have changed as well. I remember watching the pop music groups in the late 70’s and early 80’s when music videos were in its infancy and I’d sit back in the recliner and gaze at images as they flowed across the floor console television. In a thirty minute time slot I’d see maybe ten groups and the visual rendition of their hit songs. Now, my children are bombarded with as many as fifteen or twenty videos from hit songs in the same period of time. What gives?
Mind you, the amount of violence you see in some of today’s music video is blasted by them on the screen so quickly the kids don’t get a chance to see what just happened. Sometimes quickness could be a good thing.
Life is full of short cuts and quickies today. Which brings me to – well, you know. You knew that we had to brooch the subject sooner of later, didn’t you? Sex! There, I said it, and now all of you puritan individuals or young children may as well skip down several paragraphs that you may find offensive. After all, you’re already saying to yourself, ‘Is this guy going to get to the end and some point anytime soon? I have things to do!”
OK, it’s just us and the naughty bits for the next few paragraphs. I’ll try to keep it short – no pun intended. Sex, the act of and subject of, is a two headed issue. Again, no pun intended. In one hand we have the male member (I swear I'm not trying to be funny) of society and on the other we have females.
Both male and females have very different views on how they see their role on this particular subject and each one has a valid observation. In this case however, we’ll look at only the issue of speed, tempo, velocity or momentum. There are far too many other issues between the sexes to review at this time and since we’re only looking at the pace of life we now lead, most of those topics really don’t fit (but it would make for another great short story).
I visited an adult ‘superstore’ not that long ago and to my amazement were hundreds of sex aids and toys of all varieties for both men and women. When you read the labels of these, toys, you see one main theme (it’s not what you think you dirty old man), its how to give yourself or your partner pleasure in the shortest amount of time possible.
When did the act of sex become so rushed? I’m in my forties and only just beginning to see the pleasure of taking things slow and the manufactures and purveyors of these ‘toys’ are trying to sell me ‘fast food’. Nothing is safe from the need for instant fulfillment anymore. Never mind the stereotype joke about the man finishing his bit while his partner is still waiting for it to begin.
Nothing is safe anymore; even death has become ‘fast food’. I recently read an article about a drive through funeral parlor. How do you speed up burying someone? I can see it now – you die in your sleep at a ripe old age and around the city is your family’s choice of drive through burial stores. They rap you up in plastic and shove you into a giant paper sack and bring you up to the take out window.
“Will there be flowers with that?” The smartly dressed clerk at the window asks. Your relatives respond with, “No thanks, but do you give air miles?”
Each car in the funeral procession will speed through the viewing area where you’re propped up against the glass like yesterdays donuts on display. The fastest funeral on record – sounds silly doesn’t it. But we’re almost at that stage in our need for more speed. Once you begin to have drive through funeral parlors, who’s to say what comes next? Drive through circumcisions? Ouch!
You’ll notice that I’ve left out fast food, other than to use it as a metaphor, and I did that on purpose because whether it’s drive up or take away, or boil in the bag, drop in the oven or nuked in the microwave, food is too easy to pick on. I think that we’ve all seen this area of our lives get faster since the 1950’s when the first TV diners were introduced. Manufactures are selling the latest conveniences in food preparation to anyone that has a kitchen at an alarming rate. Turn on a television on the weekends or late night and watch a one hour commercial on how to cook a pot roast in ten minutes. Or how to juice twenty applies, oranges, mangoes and old shoes in less than a minute. It’s no longer farmer’s selling us our food, its corporations. They don’t grow food anymore, they manufacture it. And along with food, these same companies also manufacture televisions, stoves, cars and some even drill for oil. I’m having some difficulty in seeing the connection between food and oil, but we do have eatable oil products, maybe that’s it? We also have refrigerators with built in televisions and internet connections and I’m still trying to make that connection as well.
Our need to rush thought life is, in my humble opinion, getting out of hand. We’ve forgotten how to relax and enjoy life for what it is, a wonder of taste, sight, sound and imagination. We’re more stressed, get sick more often and sleep less. Daily routines have become chores and excitement is no longer savored it’s do it fast and get onto the next event. I think that we’re missing the boat on life when we forget to take out time. When we rush from one task to the next we don’t see the life we’ve missed around us and that is unfortunate, because we really can’t appreciate what life is when we don’t take our time. Pity really…
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Quotes / Poems By William A. DeSouza 2009 / 2010
"I do not wish to be 'tolerant' of people.
I wish to embrace Humanity for its varied differences, cultures and languages.
To be tolerant is to be closed minded."
by William DeSouza (30 January 2010)
-----
"We seek a uniform theory of everything yet we can not agree on anything.
We are conflicted as a species.
In time, once we, Humanity, are unified, we may find our answers."
by William DeSouza (28 January 2010)
-----
"Humanity is really an insignificant speck in the cosmos.
We are born and die in what is really less than a universal nanosecond.
It is only our delusions of grander and Human egos that we believe we are more.
It is our own perceptions of time that causes us to believe we matter outside the planet Earth.
Time does not exist outside our own minds and reality is fleeting at best."
by William DeSouza (25 January 2010)
-----
"In the future we see our past and in the past we see our present.
Today we stand at the crossroads of time.
Today we decide the path we take tomorrow."
by William DeSouza (22 January 2010)
-----
"The ability to see into your future is not that hard;
Just open your eyes and look at what you are doing today."
by William DeSouza (18 January 2010)
-----
"The rule of the game is simple - Survival.
Just remember this; to survive, you must be smarter than the enemy....
And the enemy is time. Will your survive?"
by William DeSouza (27 December 2009)
-----
"Time is a Human construct that has no meaning or place in the Universise....
If this is true, then we are as young as we are old.
Our future is only written in our imaginations."
by William DeSouza (26 December 2009)
-----
"Life is located where time and space collide.
The inevitable result is Humanity has Whiplash."
-----
"The past, the present and the future all collide in a kaleidoscope of confusion and incriminations.
Truth and lies are both victims of denial.
Who is to blame does not matter;
Who will pay for damages is what Humanity wants to know."
by William DeSouza (16 December 2009)
-----
"Humanity continues to crawl toward their future;
Their eyes closed a tight as a newborn.
The direction Humanity travels is - uncertain at best.
Good, bad, indifference and confusion all lay in its path.
The direction Humanity takes, will decide its future."
by William DeSouza (16 December 2009)
-----
"We are the children of the stars and infants of the Universe.
The Human species is barley conscious of its existence, and only now begin to open its eyes.
We want to run, yet all we can see is a blur, our vision obscured by our infantile sense of self.
The true ideals of Humanity has not yet developed - yet in time, the species will mature.
In what direction, remains to be seen."
by William DeSouza (14 December 2009)
-----
"Life is the illusion of time. Humanity has not lived, only just being born.
We are but days old and have much to learn."
by William DeSouza (13 December 2009)
-----
"Time is an illusion, reality a myth and the past only a dream.
If that is really the case, then what is it that holds us fixed in the present
when all we want is the future?"
by William DeSouza (11 December 2009)
-----
"The present is just a bookmark for the future'"
by William DeSouza (08 December 2009)
-----
"Building your future means knowing where to lay the bricks.
If you're not careful, you will build a future with no entrance;
and a future with no entrance is no future."
by William DeSouza (06 December 2009)
-----
"Your past will mean nothing without a future and your future is irrelevant without the present.
Your actions today will directly affect your future and tell if you've learned from your past."
by William DeSouza (04 December 2009)
I wish to embrace Humanity for its varied differences, cultures and languages.
To be tolerant is to be closed minded."
by William DeSouza (30 January 2010)
-----
"We seek a uniform theory of everything yet we can not agree on anything.
We are conflicted as a species.
In time, once we, Humanity, are unified, we may find our answers."
by William DeSouza (28 January 2010)
-----
"Humanity is really an insignificant speck in the cosmos.
We are born and die in what is really less than a universal nanosecond.
It is only our delusions of grander and Human egos that we believe we are more.
It is our own perceptions of time that causes us to believe we matter outside the planet Earth.
Time does not exist outside our own minds and reality is fleeting at best."
by William DeSouza (25 January 2010)
-----
"In the future we see our past and in the past we see our present.
Today we stand at the crossroads of time.
Today we decide the path we take tomorrow."
by William DeSouza (22 January 2010)
-----
"The ability to see into your future is not that hard;
Just open your eyes and look at what you are doing today."
by William DeSouza (18 January 2010)
-----
"The rule of the game is simple - Survival.
Just remember this; to survive, you must be smarter than the enemy....
And the enemy is time. Will your survive?"
by William DeSouza (27 December 2009)
-----
"Time is a Human construct that has no meaning or place in the Universise....
If this is true, then we are as young as we are old.
Our future is only written in our imaginations."
by William DeSouza (26 December 2009)
-----
"Life is located where time and space collide.
The inevitable result is Humanity has Whiplash."
-----
"The past, the present and the future all collide in a kaleidoscope of confusion and incriminations.
Truth and lies are both victims of denial.
Who is to blame does not matter;
Who will pay for damages is what Humanity wants to know."
by William DeSouza (16 December 2009)
-----
"Humanity continues to crawl toward their future;
Their eyes closed a tight as a newborn.
The direction Humanity travels is - uncertain at best.
Good, bad, indifference and confusion all lay in its path.
The direction Humanity takes, will decide its future."
by William DeSouza (16 December 2009)
-----
"We are the children of the stars and infants of the Universe.
The Human species is barley conscious of its existence, and only now begin to open its eyes.
We want to run, yet all we can see is a blur, our vision obscured by our infantile sense of self.
The true ideals of Humanity has not yet developed - yet in time, the species will mature.
In what direction, remains to be seen."
by William DeSouza (14 December 2009)
-----
"Life is the illusion of time. Humanity has not lived, only just being born.
We are but days old and have much to learn."
by William DeSouza (13 December 2009)
-----
"Time is an illusion, reality a myth and the past only a dream.
If that is really the case, then what is it that holds us fixed in the present
when all we want is the future?"
by William DeSouza (11 December 2009)
-----
"The present is just a bookmark for the future'"
by William DeSouza (08 December 2009)
-----
"Building your future means knowing where to lay the bricks.
If you're not careful, you will build a future with no entrance;
and a future with no entrance is no future."
by William DeSouza (06 December 2009)
-----
"Your past will mean nothing without a future and your future is irrelevant without the present.
Your actions today will directly affect your future and tell if you've learned from your past."
by William DeSouza (04 December 2009)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
New Sales Outlet for Death's Door - Where Right and Glory Lead
Death's Door - Where Right and Glory Lead, can now be purchased at Preston NewsStand, located at Tower III, Preston Square (347 Preston Street in Ottawa).
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
An Evening With William DeSouza
Join me at the Ottawa Public Library - Hazeldean Branch in Kanata on Thursday, 05 November 2009 from 7pm to 8:30pm.
I will be discussing my Sci-Fi novel Death's Door - Where Right and Glory Lead. I will also speak about the research, writing and publishing process.
Registration is required - Please visit the Ottawa Public Library website by CLICKING HERE or phoning 613.836.1900
- Ottawa Public Library - Hazeldean Branch is located at 50 Castlefrank Road in Kanata
Monday, October 12, 2009
Excerpt of 'Home World'
Damage alarms would cycle on and off as smoke and sparks lit up the darkened bridge of the Starlight. Captain Knox held her right arm close to her body with her left, trying to protect the broken limb while a medic put a ring bandage around a piece of bone that was protruding at an angle. At first she thought the bone was hers but the medic quickly realized, and pointed out to her that it was from the leg of a crew member that was scattered around the bridge.
She couldn’t remove it however as there was too much bleeding and this would at least control the flow until she could get to sick bay where the doctor would remove the bone and repair the artery and wound. Knox winced from the pain as the medic completed the bandage, applied a pain killer patch on her neck and then moved on to the next casualty. There were many casualties as the Starlight took several direct hits from an unknown energy weapons before it managed to limp behind a large planetoid.
Knox slowly reached down and after picking up a piece of conduit that had fallen into her chair threw it aside but out of the way. Half her bridge crew was dead or injured and replacements were slow in arriving, everyone having to deal with their own catastrophe.
She coughed and said, “Damage report!”
No one answered at first, but an older Ensign, coughing and spiting blood on the decking spoke up from the tactical console. “Auxiliary bridge is cut off from ship access – no comm traffic in or out. Damage control crews are swamped and only twenty file percent have reported in. The repair robots have been assigned to vital sections only but progress is slow. Medical is spread throughout the ship – casualties on every deck. Starboard missile tubes four through ten are open to space, port side tubes all report faulty outer doors or no launch computer access and unable to fire. It leaves us only three workable tubes and they are loaded, but have to fire using manual guidance and programming. Laser turrets on the belly are operational but targeting computers are down – top side batteries are all gone.” He took several breaths and found it hard to breath, the smoke becoming chocking as the venation system struggled to clean the air.
A medic reached the Ensign and gave in a needle with a breathing compound in an effort to help oxygen reach vital organs. He continued, “Engineering reports jump engines are gone and we only have minimal propulsion with maneuvering thrusters.”
Knox was an optimist but it was hard to see a bright side to what was happening. The decoys had worked but it didn’t take the Horde ships long to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. The final sensor data confirmed that the attacking ships were of Horde design so it was pretty much safe to assume it was the Horde.
Knox was shaken from her chair and she fell to the ground when an explosion somewhere on the ship rocked it. What the fuck was that she swore to herself.
“Report!” she winced in pain as she picked herself up off the deck.
“Secondary explosion in starboard missile tube fifteen – one of the repair robots cut through the containment bottle trying to get to trapped crew. Three tubes on either side of fifteen is now open to space – all crew lost in that section.” The Ensign was a professional but he had a hard time holding back his emotion.
“Fuck!” Knox swore out loud as she tried to take in the death of her ship. “Do we have access to the sensor buoys?”
“Yes sir, they were on the belly section not touched by the attack. Status lights are green but we have no way to confirm that.” The tech was a bit confused as to why the captain was asking about the buoys.
“We’re not in position, but launch the remainder and send them on their way. Their internal AI will take over without input from the ship. We came out here to do a job and we may as well finish it. Besides, we can use the network once it’s up to see what the hell is going on outside, assuming we can even tap into the network with all this damage.” Knox coughed. “Comm, load a message packet, flash status. Drop all our logs into it and send to command.”
She took her good arm and wiped back the sweat that had built up on her forehead, running her fingers through her hair. Her eyes were burning as she blinked. Turning to see the ship status board, she noted that the fires reported earlier were slowing coming under control and the surviving crew was safe for now. She also realized that there was still a lot of work left for the damaged control crews as they worked overtime in a feverously pitch to contain the ship wide damages. She took in a deep gulp of air and almost suffocated on the sulfur like smell that resulted when so much of the protective covering on the damaged power and optical conduits burned away.
At once the sensor technician spoke up, breaking the silence, “Captain! Limited external sensors are online.” The young tech checked her board and confirmed the readings before continuing. “We have short range sensors only but we can get a good read of our immediate area out to five hundred kilometers.”
Knox smiled and walked over to a working monitor, “Send the feed to the A-six monitor.” She studied the screen as it came to life with the data. The Starlight was on the far side of a planetoid that was part of a series of asteroids and other small bodies that could have been from a collision of to two or more large asteroids. Either way it was helping to mask the big but damaged ship. Knox said to the officer on watch, “shout down all non-critical emissions and use passive sensors only. No active energy signatures – go to silent running.”
The order was repeated and carried out amongst the ciaos that was taking place on the bridge. Knox didn’t know at this point if the missiles they fired had any effective results or if the enemy ships were still out there. If they were still out there and out of sensor range they only had to wait the Starlight out and as soon as they showed their heads, come in for the kill and finish them off. It wouldn’t take them much at this point thought Knox. The air scrubbers began to kick in and clean the foul air chocking the bridge as the recovery crew removed the dead and injured. Damage control was working on repairing damaged systems at the same time. To Knox, the bridge looked as it did during initial construction as she remembered the confusion on the ship when she made her initial inspection tour.
“Auxiliary bridge is reporting sir, there’re using text only – internal communications is still out in that section and no video feed is available. They report two dead and only one injury.”
“What about the XO?” asked Knox as she peered down at the communication station officer.
“It was the XO that reported in sir.”
Knox was relived to hear her executive officer was alive as she had grown fond of the Commander over time. Any other emotion other than relief however at this time would have to wait. Knox pulled over one of her screens and called up a schematic of available resources, including offensive missiles. She wanted to be sure that there was enough of a punch left in case she had to fight off another Horde attack. In the back of her mind she knew any gesture of confrontation would be futile and that they were dead. She was determined to go down fighting if it came to that.
Most of the port missile launch rails were still locked out with launch doors unable to open. Crews were trying to space walk and open the doors from the outside but it was doubtful at this time if this would work. Knox had a thought however, “Missile control – relay to port tubes to rig demo charges on the door slides and blow them off. I want those tubes open and ready to fire in one hour.”
She couldn’t remove it however as there was too much bleeding and this would at least control the flow until she could get to sick bay where the doctor would remove the bone and repair the artery and wound. Knox winced from the pain as the medic completed the bandage, applied a pain killer patch on her neck and then moved on to the next casualty. There were many casualties as the Starlight took several direct hits from an unknown energy weapons before it managed to limp behind a large planetoid.
Knox slowly reached down and after picking up a piece of conduit that had fallen into her chair threw it aside but out of the way. Half her bridge crew was dead or injured and replacements were slow in arriving, everyone having to deal with their own catastrophe.
She coughed and said, “Damage report!”
No one answered at first, but an older Ensign, coughing and spiting blood on the decking spoke up from the tactical console. “Auxiliary bridge is cut off from ship access – no comm traffic in or out. Damage control crews are swamped and only twenty file percent have reported in. The repair robots have been assigned to vital sections only but progress is slow. Medical is spread throughout the ship – casualties on every deck. Starboard missile tubes four through ten are open to space, port side tubes all report faulty outer doors or no launch computer access and unable to fire. It leaves us only three workable tubes and they are loaded, but have to fire using manual guidance and programming. Laser turrets on the belly are operational but targeting computers are down – top side batteries are all gone.” He took several breaths and found it hard to breath, the smoke becoming chocking as the venation system struggled to clean the air.
A medic reached the Ensign and gave in a needle with a breathing compound in an effort to help oxygen reach vital organs. He continued, “Engineering reports jump engines are gone and we only have minimal propulsion with maneuvering thrusters.”
Knox was an optimist but it was hard to see a bright side to what was happening. The decoys had worked but it didn’t take the Horde ships long to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. The final sensor data confirmed that the attacking ships were of Horde design so it was pretty much safe to assume it was the Horde.
Knox was shaken from her chair and she fell to the ground when an explosion somewhere on the ship rocked it. What the fuck was that she swore to herself.
“Report!” she winced in pain as she picked herself up off the deck.
“Secondary explosion in starboard missile tube fifteen – one of the repair robots cut through the containment bottle trying to get to trapped crew. Three tubes on either side of fifteen is now open to space – all crew lost in that section.” The Ensign was a professional but he had a hard time holding back his emotion.
“Fuck!” Knox swore out loud as she tried to take in the death of her ship. “Do we have access to the sensor buoys?”
“Yes sir, they were on the belly section not touched by the attack. Status lights are green but we have no way to confirm that.” The tech was a bit confused as to why the captain was asking about the buoys.
“We’re not in position, but launch the remainder and send them on their way. Their internal AI will take over without input from the ship. We came out here to do a job and we may as well finish it. Besides, we can use the network once it’s up to see what the hell is going on outside, assuming we can even tap into the network with all this damage.” Knox coughed. “Comm, load a message packet, flash status. Drop all our logs into it and send to command.”
She took her good arm and wiped back the sweat that had built up on her forehead, running her fingers through her hair. Her eyes were burning as she blinked. Turning to see the ship status board, she noted that the fires reported earlier were slowing coming under control and the surviving crew was safe for now. She also realized that there was still a lot of work left for the damaged control crews as they worked overtime in a feverously pitch to contain the ship wide damages. She took in a deep gulp of air and almost suffocated on the sulfur like smell that resulted when so much of the protective covering on the damaged power and optical conduits burned away.
At once the sensor technician spoke up, breaking the silence, “Captain! Limited external sensors are online.” The young tech checked her board and confirmed the readings before continuing. “We have short range sensors only but we can get a good read of our immediate area out to five hundred kilometers.”
Knox smiled and walked over to a working monitor, “Send the feed to the A-six monitor.” She studied the screen as it came to life with the data. The Starlight was on the far side of a planetoid that was part of a series of asteroids and other small bodies that could have been from a collision of to two or more large asteroids. Either way it was helping to mask the big but damaged ship. Knox said to the officer on watch, “shout down all non-critical emissions and use passive sensors only. No active energy signatures – go to silent running.”
The order was repeated and carried out amongst the ciaos that was taking place on the bridge. Knox didn’t know at this point if the missiles they fired had any effective results or if the enemy ships were still out there. If they were still out there and out of sensor range they only had to wait the Starlight out and as soon as they showed their heads, come in for the kill and finish them off. It wouldn’t take them much at this point thought Knox. The air scrubbers began to kick in and clean the foul air chocking the bridge as the recovery crew removed the dead and injured. Damage control was working on repairing damaged systems at the same time. To Knox, the bridge looked as it did during initial construction as she remembered the confusion on the ship when she made her initial inspection tour.
“Auxiliary bridge is reporting sir, there’re using text only – internal communications is still out in that section and no video feed is available. They report two dead and only one injury.”
“What about the XO?” asked Knox as she peered down at the communication station officer.
“It was the XO that reported in sir.”
Knox was relived to hear her executive officer was alive as she had grown fond of the Commander over time. Any other emotion other than relief however at this time would have to wait. Knox pulled over one of her screens and called up a schematic of available resources, including offensive missiles. She wanted to be sure that there was enough of a punch left in case she had to fight off another Horde attack. In the back of her mind she knew any gesture of confrontation would be futile and that they were dead. She was determined to go down fighting if it came to that.
Most of the port missile launch rails were still locked out with launch doors unable to open. Crews were trying to space walk and open the doors from the outside but it was doubtful at this time if this would work. Knox had a thought however, “Missile control – relay to port tubes to rig demo charges on the door slides and blow them off. I want those tubes open and ready to fire in one hour.”
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