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It is a whirlwind in here

Chow Down: Fake Food To Go (With Your Fake News)

 

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Please, Ladies and Gentlemen, I think it’s time to – please, if you don’t mind – it really is time to begin our – thank you, that’s much better – time for our meeting to start.

As you can see by looking around, this gathering is exclusively for Department Heads, and there will be no minutes taken. These projections are for your ears only.

Not only would we not wish another company to get them, but there is a chance the general public may become concerned, little realising the economics of our endeavours. A brief history of colours, dyes and artificial essences will give us a place to start. Run the strawberry jam, please.

As you can see, Ladies and Gentlemen, the colours on the slide are excellent. The rich red hue of the strawberries is exactly the colour you’ll find in the jar. We spent years developing that dye. Also, the years that went into getting the artificial taste and smell to adhere to the colour is something that most people would not imagine.

 Of course, even with our best efforts, there has always been a problem with that cloying, rather heavy sensation on the tongue. That has been offset by the addition of more sugar. We had complaints when the product was first introduced, but it appears these have now disappeared with new generations who know nothing different. People just accept that strawberries, strawberry ice cream, and strawberry jam all have their own tastes. Next slide, please.

Oh, yes, well, we’ll pass over this slide quickly. I just put that in to show you we finally managed to get rid of the strawberries altogether. As you can see on the close-up, the red glob is really made from compressed fibres – as one of our chemists said, more straw than berry. Even the seeds are produced and added with a gum mixture. We have found that bone meal seems to last best of all.

Now, this next lot we are very proud of. Bronson, these should be of particular interest to you, since they deal with our fast food chain.

The buns are made of very porous fibre, almost like real dough. and the brown colouring gives them a nice toasted look. The meat patty is still half real – we can’t seem to budge the government on that. Still, being able to advertise 100% all beef helps – as long as the fat, bone, guts etc that go into it all comes from a cow, we’re home free. Notice the use of the black lines of dye, to make it appear the meat has just come off the grill.

An interesting experiment has been done with some of our ever-thick milk shakes. We wanted to see how long the latex used to keep it together would hold up under the combined attacks of various strawberry, chocolate, etc. dyes, the fats and gums of the milk mixture, and the acids from the artificial flavours. You’ll be pleased to know that some of them still were thick after four months of refrigeration.

It is easy to see how latex based paints can last for so many years. We are now experimenting with making our french fries out of pulped wood chips. Texture, flavour and colour have all been overcome, but there still seems to be some unfortunate reactions to the hot fat.

[Image} https://cbsnews1.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/2015/11/20/60e34786-c484-49a6-8043-848a0523156c/1eca0dcddb6e9e3cb2f8b8f9a6ce42d7/manufacturing-fake-food-a-620.jpg#

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Kafka Has A Beer With His Father

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In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote. 

On this day, Kafka spent the afternoon with his father – an unusual event. And he even had a beer – he was not much of a drinker. But Kafka knew his estranged sister, Ottla, was coming to visit. Her parting of months before had been vicious.

***************************************

25 June 2017

We are rarely alone with each other, and the strain was palpable. I wanted to act as normally as possible, but since my usual conversation is what generally infuriates him, that seemed unwise. We read the newspapers, and I managed enough comments about the articles, and elicited his tiresome opinions about the war, and didn’t argue with him too much, that the afternoon – although slow – passed with little rancour. I even had a beer with him, and he showed his surprise. And, I even enjoyed it – but then, I had earned it.

In fact, it may have been the unaccustomed alcohol which lessened the shock of seeing Ottla enter the apartment with mother. Father stood from his chair, the newspapers falling at his feet. “Ottla has an hour before she must catch her train,” said Mother. “I have asked her in for some tea.” Father glared at her an excessively long minute without speaking, managing however to give me an occasional menacing glance. He then abruptly sat again, gathering his papers and holding them in front of his face. “Don’t give her too much,” came his voice from behind the pages. “Too much tea can make a long journey uncomfortable.” I knew that he had already read the pages he held, and I wondered what he was thinking.

About ten minutes passed, and then mother came back and asked if we would like any tea. “Yes,” my father answered, but instead of waiting for it to be brought to him, as is his usual practise, he followed mother into the dining room. And I followed him. Ottla didn’t look up, but he did manage to ask some questions about the farm, and she delivered some cautious replies. She stayed another twenty minutes, then I walked her to the station. It had been mother’s idea to come home, and Ottla had not strongly resisted. I know that she and father will never apologize to each other, but at least they now speak. Once we were out of sight of the house, she gripped my hand and held it until we reached the train. “How can I love that monster?” she asked from the train as it pulled away. “How can you not?” I replied. I hope the noise from the wheels drowned out my words.

 

26 June 1917

Fight and you die. Surrender and you die.

 

27 June 1917

Live and you die.

 

[Image] https:/ /s.inyourpocket.com/gallery/148184.jpg

 

Follow That Elephant

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The elephant was a curious pachyderm, and followed his persistent quest with a guileless intensity.

“More lucky than smart,” said some of the other elephants, as he blundered his way toward another piece of knowledge. They nodded their heads in his direction with the heavy weight of caution, and warned their small ones that too much thought would make them strange.

“An elephant wades in water,” they would sagely say, “only if the mud hole is wide enough.”

And the little ones would watch him, as they stood between the legs of their parents, and wish that they could follow.

[Image] https: //artofsafari.travel/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Kenya_Amboseli_CorletteWesselsWildlifeElephant2.jpg

Stinking Hot Weather Meets The North Atlantic Ocean

Pier 21, Halifax

I was perched on my favourite bench looking out the mouth of the harbour to the North Atlantic, when three twenty-somethings decided to perch on the edge of the wharf in front of me.

They obviously had been having the following discussion a good time before they arrived. Buddy 1 told the other two he was going to jump into the harbour. Buddy 2 was saying he wouldn’t dare, all the while daring him. The Girl was mostly quiet with an occasional laugh. She did say once or twice it was ass silly idea.

This discussion went on about ten minutes, Buddy 1 getting more determined, Buddy 2 egging him on more and more, and the Girl’s laughter getting a bit more nervous.

I felt I was an audience for them, though their voices did get higher whenever other folk passed. I noted that the idea to jump was not getting any less insistent.  I felt that none of them were under any influence of drink or drugs, they were obviously physically fit, and I noted the closest Life Preserver was two minutes away if I had to throw it. I, myself, was not going in after anyone, no matter how refreshing the splash.

Usually, such joking around does not persist, so I was less surprised than the other two when Buddy 1 started taking off shoes and socks. Then his shirt. Buddy 2 kept daring him. The word “chicken” was bandied. The Girl was now voicing more cautious comments.

Buddy 1, who had made certain they were near a ladder, stood up on the foot-high wooden planking at the edge of the pier. Buddy 2 switched between comments that Buddy 1 was crazy, to more outlandish dares. The Girl sighed dramatically and just said he was crazy. I agreed – but silently. And over Buddy 1 went. He didn’t dive, but side way flopped. It was six to ten feet to the water. The splash was impressive. His scrambling up the ladder even more so.

Now, Buddy 1 was standing, soaking wet in a pool of water. Other people were paying attention. Some made comments as they passed “Was it cold enough for ya? Haw haw.” The Girl was shaking her head. Buddy 1 dared Buddy 2 to jump in. Buddy 2 said he would, if Buddy 1 jumped in again. The Girl said for them to stop being crazy. But, once in, what was there to lose?

Into the ocean goes Buddy 1 again. A side way splash. Up the ladder as fast as ever.

More people are walking past, making comments.

Buddy 2 said there were even people  further away filming with their phones. He told the Girl to take out her phone and take some pictures. He took off his shoes and his shirt. He gave his hat to the Girl. He jumped. He called from the water for Buddy 1 to join him. Buddy 1 did. They both were up the ladder right quick. They were both dripping. They were both shivering. The both dared the Girl to jump.

The Girl handed her phone to Buddy 2. She slipped out of her sandals.  She might have heard one of the Buddies start to say “You wouldn’t dare.” In she went. She was not quite as quick up the ladder,  but both Buddy 1 and Buddy 2 helped her.

They all three were uncontrollably shivering. They all put on their foot ware. One passer by told them how cold the North Atlantic really was. He said they should get home and get into a hot shower or bath.  They were all shivering greatly, but I think they shook their heads in agreement.

And away they went.

[Image] https: //farm8.staticflickr.com/7031/6700698963_b7a10e3063_z.jpg

 

Turn Over A New Leaf Pell-Mell

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Alison Alexandra sometimes thinks of turning over a new leaf. Sometimes at the most traditional of times, like at New Year or her birthday or under a full moon or when the tide is at its highest. But then she remembers that well into her pre-teen years she thought the expression to turn over a new leaf meant reaching into the branches of a tree and flipping her wrist (somewhat like Amanda does when cutting cards) and when she found out the flip flip flipping concerned paper pages she was so bored she never did it. No, not once.

And anyway, why would she overturn anything in some sort of orderly fashion when she pell-mell turns things over at the very time they seem that they need to be overturned and not a minute or an hour or a full moon or one leaf later. That now is indeed now is, indeed, now and as she daily finds out from her windows or cliffs overlooking the ocean; tide and time await no Alison Alexandra. So she will not wait for them.

Alison Alexandra has often thought – and she also often thinks – that she could happily turn over all her leaves just from her prow-of-a-ship room jutting into the sea or the cliffs that, as yet, do not erode under her feet as she walks them looking out to sea. But that would be unwise and probably as stagnant as a rotting fish that sometimes lodges itself at the base of her cliff and though she has not travelled as often as those sailors and their spyglasses, she has travelled as far as many of them just to keep those leaves flip flip flipping.

So, today she is going to walk to town.

[Image} https://www.telllaurailovecrochet.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/turn-over-a-new-leaf-2-520×400.jpg

Kafka And His Hot Summer Night Of The Dead

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Kafka’s House: Number 22

 

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in Franz Kafka’s missing diary entries. Every day chosen is a day where he either left no record, or destroyed the pages.

On this night, he meets the woman who was the girlfriend of Kafka’s neighbour on The Alchemist’s Lane, who had killed himself. Kafka found the body. He also found a note addressed to her, which he kindly burned.

*****************************************

25 July 1917

I had not been here long – the newspaper only partially read – when I thought I heard a noise at the door. A woman was framed in the open doorway, her hand still hesitant upon the wood. I rose from my chair, and she stepped back into the lane.

“Yes?” I asked.

“You knew him?” she asked in turn.

She was a slender woman, sallow complexion, and younger in age than Ottla. I walked toward the door, for it seemed apparent she was not about to enter.

“You were his neighbour – the Herr Doktor?”

She did not retreat any further, and I was now standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” I said. “You mean … ” But I had to stop, for I could not remember his name. I finally had to point to the house next door.

“Yes,” she said. “He killed himself.”

“Yes.” I had to agree.

“Did he …” she began, and I could sense her difficulty in having this discussion. “Did he say anything about me. I’m Julie.”

“We can go in, if you like. I do have a key.” I am an expert at stalling for time. “No one has moved in.”

She looked at me in disbelief, her face seeming to age as various expressions moved across it.

“No – that isn’t …” she began, staring at the other door. “I was never here. We didn’t have that type of friendship. But I have not been able to remove him from my mind. If he ever spoke of me, I care to know about it.”

My hope was that she would never ask about an envelope addressed to her.

“So you don’t wish to go in?”

“No. That means nothing to me.” She took a step closer. “Just if he talked.”

“You were his girlfriend?”

“He thought me so – though I told him differently, and offered no encouragement. But perhaps he drank too much to pay attention.”

“You were with another man?”

“He told you that? So – he did speak of me.”

“Yes.”

“What else did he say?”

There are times to tell the truth; times to expand the truth for clarification; and times to compress.

“He said that he saw you together with a man. And that he missed you.”

“Did he say anything the night he killed … the night he died?”

I didn’t pause, because I had stalled just so I could answer this question.

“He asked me if I was going to be in my house over the evening.” Here I did pause, as if in thought. “And he said he didn’t like the other people on the lane.”

“Nothing else?”

“Pleasantries – good evening, etc. He said he liked our talks.”

“He talked a lot?”

“No, not really.”

“Was there a note?”

“You should ask the police about that.” I was very calm. “They searched his house.”

“Yes, perhaps I will. He said nothing further?”

“We did not really have conversations.” I shrugged my shoulders. “He was always drunk.”

“Even that night?”

“Oh yes. The night he hanged himself – most certainly.”

“And you were the one who found…”

“Yes, Miss. And, I contacted the police.”

“He was … was dead when you found him?”

“Yes.” I looked directly into her eyes. “He did a very effective job.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring at his door. She looked along the Lane, then finally at me.

“You have been most kind, Herr Doktor. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” She did not wait for a response, and was turning away when I spoke.

“If I may ask, Miss. This happened three months ago.”

“To the night,” she said.

“Three months. Why have you waited until now?”

“It does not seem long.”  She was conscious of others on the Lane looking in our direction. “His attention – though I never asked for it – was so total and persistent, that I have felt it deserved my interest.”  She shook her head slightly. “But not any more. I wish to put an end to it.” She unexpectedly stepped toward me. “That’s all right, isn’t it, Herr Doktor?”

The question was so intense that I touched her shoulder.

“Yes. Without any doubt – yes. You’ve spent enough time on a ghost within a memory.”

I smiled, and she walked away, quickly down the Lane. Death’s hand released its grip.

 

“Star Trek: Picard” Goes Boldly To Stream Through Space

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Star Trek returns to life to stream its images past present and future on platforms far and wide. As far as Space allows.

You can see a teaser/trailer here: https://www.imdb.com/videoplayer/vi3755588633?ref_=ttvi_vi_imdb_2

May I use the word eons when talking of Star Trek? Considering the time travel that often enveloped them, why yes – yes, I may.

So, eons ago, I wrote a script for Star Trek, The Next Generation. Memory says (and I’ve been told my memory is not up to light speed), this was the only television series that asked for, and actively used, scripts from writers outside their own stable. They used one script per season from these submissions. So I submitted.

I had a response from Lolita Fatjo, and it gave me some quiet thrill to see her name among the STTNG credits at the end of each show. I believe she was classed under “Pre production”. I also thought she had a real nifty name. I note she currently still has dealings with Star Trek, helping to facilitate Star Trek Fan conferences and arranging appearances by some of the Star Trek stars.

I did not have an abundance of communication with Ms. Fatjo (I liked to think of her as Lolita). I think I got a package of information about the type of thing they wanted for a script.

Memory says there was a desire to have a main plot line concentrating on just two or three of the main characters. There was to be one additional sub plot. There were arcs to accommodate the commercials.

I believe they hoped for some humour.

And timing, of course, all was timed to the exact minute. I followed directions and wrote a script and put it into the format and sent it off. I had two further dealings with Lolita. One told me they had received the script. The other – so deliciously close to the end of the season – was to tell me they would not be using it.

The script was called The Minstrel. An alien had a musical instrument (I think a horn, but it might have been strings) that would play tunes attuned to whomever he was talking to. It had other properties, but I think I’ll keep them tucked away. You never know – this is a new show.

Anyway, the Minstrel would interact (per act) with the Star Trek characters. Revelations were forthcoming. Not too many special effects (which was something else Lolita requested).

I received no big cheques or writing credits from this foray into television land. But not all was lost.

I was writing my script in tandem with a friend who was writing her own script. News of our endeavours made the local writing circuit, and we were interviewed on regional radio. From that we were asked to speak to a couple of writing classes. and even invited to an alternate world fan club to give a reading. We boldly went..

So, I am more than willing to accelerate plot, characters and writing style to fit into Star Trek: Picard. There are even many of the original cast, and I’m positive I could create a tune for Seven of Nine.

The Moon Looms And Man Lands

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In my novel, The Rags Of Time, travel to the outer edges of Earth’s solar system has been accomplished. But the Moon still holds its sway – literally.

To celebrate the space outing of fifty years ago. Here is the group of segments of my written ascent through the heavens. My crew are returning  from their trip to the outer reaches of our solar system. and something goes awry. There is no Huston to contact, but there is a problem.

And, finally, is the connection to the spiritual/supernatural aspect of the novel, where the Druids of the old religion become a conduit to what is happening in outer space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is a navigator’s moon.

That is how Eric the Red thinks of it, as his space craft enters Earth’s solar system. He is called Eric the Red for his facial hair, and his ancestry. But behind his back, his romantic notions of the ancient ways is more the reason for his name.

Even when they fly past it, Earth’s moon generates little influence upon their return. A minor compensation of the thrusters, and its only effect on the ship, is the ritualistic kiss which crew members bestow against the aft window for the man in the moon. However, as soon as his gravity sensors register the distant presence of Pluto, Eric the Red enhances their output to catch the faintest twinge of the Earth’s moon.

His navigator’s moon.

Tomorrow, Eric will alter course to sweep past Pluto’s satellite, Charon. He plans to use the combined gravity as a sling to amplify his own trajectory, although he will lose some directional control to achieve speed.

Opportunities to observe this unknown planet are still scarce, and he makes adjustments to confront the dual gravity. He decides to attempt the `Film Technique’, which met with success among the moons of Jupiter. The Technique is named after the way film had been threaded in the antique movie projectors of the Twentieth Century.

He plans to wind through the gravities of the various moons, in such a manner that each helps accelerate his ship around the next. There are many factors to consider which affect the interplay of gravities between solar bodies. And they will, in turn, exert their control over his vessel. At times like this Eric wonders how much really has been learned since the existence of gravity was acknowledged.

**************************************************************************************

Eric the Red decides to get back to business. He keys the delay coordinates for the radioscope, and checks his map.

“Follow through on your consoles.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll admit, Malcolm, the surprises of Pluto will be inconvenient to experience. Until the surface is accurately defined, I agree it’s too dangerous for a landing.”

“Transfer at fifty percent, sir.”

“Acknowledged.” The captain glances at the various instruments. “As you know, our probes to Pluto can not be retrieved.”

“That might not be due to the surface, sir.”

“True. There seems to be an electro-gravitational bind.” Eric the Red looks intently at his view screen. “Reason enough to keep our distance.” He magnifies the image in front of him. “Personally, I feel as uncomfortable attempting a landing on Pluto, as I would setting out to explore Iris.”

“The mysterious tenth planet.” Malcolm whistles softly into his microphone. “That might be for our children, sir. The scientists don’t even understand the orbital path of Iris. I don’t imagine I’ll ever get to look at its surface.”

“You sound interested.”

“Iris is intriguing. During its centuries of orbit, it has penetrated space far more deeply than we ever have.”

*************************************************************************************

The Captain turns to again look at Pluto.

“If it’s not internal, then it must be external.”

He shifts the image of Pluto to a larger screen.

“Although, quite frankly, that concept isn’t much better than its alternative.”

He tries to sharpen the focus on the large screen. After a minute of adjusting the controls, he shrugs his shoulders in failure.

“That indistinct picture is not due to our sensors. Have the other stations turn their view screens to Pluto. See if they get the same results.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Malcolm checks with the other observation officers, Eric the Red again runs a sweep of his instruments. As he thoroughly goes over each one, he pays attention to the responses received by his first officer. It is quickly apparent the same fuzzy image appears over the whole ship.

“Any ideas, Number One?”

“I think our movement is being disrupted.” Malcolm looks at the same sequence of instruments. “I’d guess there’s agitation in our centrifugal rotation.” He peers closely at the view screen. “It can’t be much. Our artificial gravity doesn’t seem affected.”

“You don’t look in danger of floating away.” The captain smiles. “So I doubt this explains my `light-headedness’.”

“No, sir.” Malcolm can not tell how serious the older man is. “The rotation alteration is minimal. It is just enough to make our cameras waver.” He taps the view screen. “Considering how sensitive they are, I would judge this force to be weak.”

“Any guess what it is?”

“No data suggests a malfunction within the ship.” Malcolm moves a dial a millimetre. “Which leaves an outside cause.”

“Well.” The captain leans so close his nose touches the view screen. “I think we’re being influenced by the mysterious Tenth.”

“Iris?”

“Yes.” He turns back to his first officer. “With Pluto and Charon positioned the way they are, and our attempt to execute the Hohmann-ellipse to take advantage of the Film Technique, we may have added the weight of Iris to our backs.”

“The alignment shouldn’t be intense enough to – ”

“Iris is so perversely inconsistent, it doesn’t have to fit into our ideas of alignment to make itself felt.” The captain makes some inclusions into the library computer. “After all, we’re the ones entering its sphere of influence.”

“It is a minor influence.” The first officer makes some quick calculations in his head. “We could accept a reduction of our artificial gravity for the duration of the manoeuvre.”

“That’s a viable option.” Eric the Red looks up co-ordinates to enter into the computer. “But we can negate the problem without weakening our reserves.” He inserts a bar of information into the computer. “Run an evaluation of our solar cells.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm walks to the banks of light-activated monitors surrounding the doorway. He takes a laser probe from his instrument pouch, and traces it across a screen. As the figures appear, he reads them aloud. Most are at full capacity.

“Do you see what I’m getting at, Number One?”

“Yes, sir. We use some of this power to counter the effect of Iris.”

“Exactly.” The captain smiles. “We don’t touch our reserve fuel, and we replenish the solar storage during our last month of earth approach.”

The captain pauses to read a number off his computer screens. He performs some equations on his hand-calculator, then turns to look at his first officer.

“If the Film Technique is successful, we’ll save nine to fourteen days.”

Eric takes a binder from under his work station, and flips through its pages. He enters data into both his computer and his calculator, and talks over his shoulder.

“If we use solar packs A7, A12, A17, K12, K13, O2, O5, S37, then form a Perpetual Loop between the GOT Terminal and the S37 Positive Outtake, we’ll only exhaust 252 of the solar cells. The depletions will be uniform, and restricted to known sectors.”

Malcolm is also doing calculations from the laser screens. He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“That will give us more excess power than necessary to confront the drag from Iris.”

“Yes.” The captain closes the binder. “But with the Loop, we have the option of creating a surge to replenish some used cells, instead of venting the surplus.” He swivels around in his chair. “We should begin the manoeuvre at the first opportune time.”

“That will be five hours and thirty-seven minutes.” Malcolm crosses the floor to stand beside the captain.

“Advise the crew, and have them double monitor until we correct the interference of our rotation.”

******************************************************************************

Ogma has never been to the moon.

He takes a certain satisfaction in the fact. He is the object of some good-natured banter by the other members of the council, although most of them have not made the trip either.

Ogma has been told such a voyage is expected of him, since he is the scientist of the group. Even the Head Druid, who has not only gone to the moon, but far beyond, occasionally jokes about it. Because the Head Druid has a quiet sense of humour, Ogma is never sure how serious the laughter is.

Ogma does not fear the travel, nor is he disinterested. The descriptions of the Head Druid make such a trip sound appealing. However, Ogma has a strong affinity for tradition – and the weight of tradition centres on the earth. According to Ogma, these two centuries of travel from earth are a drop in the bucket of the universe.

He often refers to examples from the past to explain his own reasoning. This causes the comment to be made that he should have been the historian of the council, instead of the expert on the sciences. His response is acute, and often times lengthy.

“You don’t realize who actually goes to these places.” If the Head Druid is present, Ogma always makes an exaggerated nod in his direction. “Male and female of the Homo Sapiens species enter their protective suits, and board an extravagant machine. They put themselves at the far end of a cylinder of all-consuming fuel.” Here Ogma will pause and look quizzical. “Then these inquisitive – and sometimes reckless – people, leave their terrestrial or lunar surfaces, and set out on a quest of knowledge or commerce.”

Now Ogma will stroke his beard.

“They use magnified eyes, and radio-wave ears. Every particle of information is ingested by computers.” Here Ogma leans forward, his eyes moving from face to face. “But what makes sense of these sensors and compilers? What is the final arbiter of all this knowledge?” A wink – one of Ogma’s knowing winks. “The irreplaceable human brain.”

Out of Ogma’s hearing, the Head Druid agrees with him totally. He points out that the anomaly of having a scientist so interested in the ways of the past, adds strength to the continuance of their traditions. Without traditions and beliefs, they can not be part of the order – the progression – which their religion and knowledge has shaped through the ages. They must never make the mistake of living in the past, but they must never make the error of forgetting the past.

If Ogma is present however – particularly at one of the full council meetings – the Head Druid allows this banter at Ogma’s expense to continue. He realizes Ogma can well use balance to his own opinionated attitude. Although Ogma listens carefully to what others say, he has no patience with unfounded speculation. He is vicious with those found in error.

It is not just travel to the moon, or any of the stations and colonies beyond, which draws Ogma’s ire. Although he ranges extensively over all parts of the earth, he does not even like the fuss and upheaval these trips cause. As he so often states: “Man can move through the air only so quickly – and it is never quickly enough.”

Ogma has not moved `quickly enough’ on his present trip, though it has taken him as close to the moon as one can get, and still be on planet earth. He is in the mountains – the familiar mountains of the Druids’ traditions and tales.

He is here because he is certain this is the place where a conjunction of knowledge, space, and elusive time will occur. If it is not already occurring. Or has always been occurring, ever since time itself became a concept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As A Bonus – here is a link to:

APOLLO 11
IN REAL TIME
A real-time journey through the first landing on the Moon
This website consists entirely of original historical mission
material.
https://apolloinrealtime.org/11/
(Image) https //upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/34/Moon_landing_sites.svg/1920px-Moon_landing_sites.svg.png

To Orbit The Moon Is A Step Into Space

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In my novel, The Rags Of Time, travel to the outer edges of Earth’s solar system has been accomplished. But the Moon still holds its sway – literally.

To celebrate the space outing of fifty years ago. I’ll post another segment of my written ascent through the heavens. My crew are returning  from their trip to the outer reaches of our solar system. and something goes awry. There is no Huston to contact, but there is a problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Captain, Eric the Red, turns to again look at Pluto.

“If it’s not internal, then it must be external.”

He shifts the image of Pluto to a larger screen.

“Although, quite frankly, that concept isn’t much better than its alternative.”

He tries to sharpen the focus on the large screen. After a minute of adjusting the controls, he shrugs his shoulders in failure.

“That indistinct picture is not due to our sensors. Have the other stations turn their view screens to Pluto. See if they get the same results.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Malcolm checks with the other observation officers, Eric the Red again runs a sweep of his instruments. As he thoroughly goes over each one, he pays attention to the responses received by his first officer. It is quickly apparent the same fuzzy image appears over the whole ship.

“Any ideas, Number One?”

“I think our movement is being disrupted.” Malcolm looks at the same sequence of instruments. “I’d guess there’s agitation in our centrifugal rotation.” He peers closely at the view screen. “It can’t be much. Our artificial gravity doesn’t seem affected.”

“You don’t look in danger of floating away.” The captain smiles. “So I doubt this explains my `light-headedness’.”

“No, sir.” Malcolm can not tell how serious the older man is. “The rotation alteration is minimal. It is just enough to make our cameras waver.” He taps the view screen. “Considering how sensitive they are, I would judge this force to be weak.”

“Any guess what it is?”

“No data suggests a malfunction within the ship.” Malcolm moves a dial a millimetre. “Which leaves an outside cause.”

“Well.” The captain leans so close his nose touches the view screen. “I think we’re being influenced by the mysterious Tenth.”

“Iris?”

“Yes.” He turns back to his first officer. “With Pluto and Charon positioned the way they are, and our attempt to execute the Hohmann-ellipse to take advantage of the Film Technique, we may have added the weight of Iris to our backs.”

“The alignment shouldn’t be intense enough to – ”

“Iris is so perversely inconsistent, it doesn’t have to fit into our ideas of alignment to make itself felt.” The captain makes some inclusions into the library computer. “After all, we’re the ones entering its sphere of influence.”

“It is a minor influence.” The first officer makes some quick calculations in his head. “We could accept a reduction of our artificial gravity for the duration of the manoeuvre.”

“That’s a viable option.” Eric the Red looks up co-ordinates to enter into the computer. “But we can negate the problem without weakening our reserves.” He inserts a bar of information into the computer. “Run an evaluation of our solar cells.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm walks to the banks of light-activated monitors surrounding the doorway. He takes a laser probe from his instrument pouch, and traces it across a screen. As the figures appear, he reads them aloud. Most are at full capacity.

“Do you see what I’m getting at, Number One?”

“Yes, sir. We use some of this power to counter the effect of Iris.”

“Exactly.” The captain smiles. “We don’t touch our reserve fuel, and we replenish the solar storage during our last month of earth approach.”

The captain pauses to read a number off his computer screens. He performs some equations on his hand-calculator, then turns to look at his first officer.

“If the Film Technique is successful, we’ll save nine to fourteen days.”

Eric takes a binder from under his work station, and flips through its pages. He enters data into both his computer and his calculator, and talks over his shoulder.

“If we use solar packs A7, A12, A17, K12, K13, O2, O5, S37, then form a Perpetual Loop between the GOT Terminal and the S37 Positive Outtake, we’ll only exhaust 252 of the solar cells. The depletions will be uniform, and restricted to known sectors.”

Malcolm is also doing calculations from the laser screens. He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

“That will give us more excess power than necessary to confront the drag from Iris.”

“Yes.” The captain closes the binder. “But with the Loop, we have the option of creating a surge to replenish some used cells, instead of venting the surplus.” He swivels around in his chair. “We should begin the manoeuvre at the first opportune time.”

“That will be five hours and thirty-seven minutes.” Malcolm crosses the floor to stand beside the captain.

“Advise the crew, and have them double monitor until we correct the interference of our rotation.”

(Image) https: //www.rocketstem.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/AS11-0629-69H-977.jpg

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As A Bonus – here is a link to:

APOLLO 11
IN REAL TIME
A real-time journey through the first landing on the Moon
This website consists entirely of original historical mission
material.

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